12/25/10
10/17/10
The last few months in pictures...
Tonight I started thinking about how so much has happened in the last few months, and how I've documented so little of it.It would be safe to say that most of our happiest "happenings" have revolved around this little one...
It's strange to think that a few months ago we didn't even know him.
He brings joy to everyone around him:)
He loves his Grandpa! My dad is affectionately known as "The Baby Whisperer." He tucks Brox in tight and talks in his deep voice, and Brox calms right down. 
9/26/10
The Best Boy
I'm sorry for the previous rant. I am ready to start the week fresh and with a good attitude.
"The Best Boy" as most people call him, was blessed today. He filled his pants as the blessing commenced. All the men giggled. Apparently there is no age limit to poop being funny.
He is all fun and games until I hold him. Don't believe what you see. He really does love me. And he really is the best boy.
"The Best Boy" as most people call him, was blessed today. He filled his pants as the blessing commenced. All the men giggled. Apparently there is no age limit to poop being funny.
9/24/10
Being a Teacher
Being a teacher is hard. Like, really hard.
I imagine it's a lot like parenting, although I wouldn't know.
I think the absence of blood relation and the sheer ratio of teacher:students just might push it over the edge.
Although my job (kind of) ends at 3:30.
Actually, when I really think about it, it doesn't really ever end. I take my work home with me. It's the last thing I think of at night, and the first thing I think of when I wake up.
How do you even teach 30 6th grade children at once? And have them understand and retain any sort of information that was given?
I digress.
Anyone who is or has been a teacher can attest that the first month is the most difficult.
All of the training involved in creating a classroom that doesn't immediately erupt into pandemonium the moment you leave to go to the bathroom before you explode because you're trying, REALLY TRYING to drink more than 4 ounces of water per day given the fact that your mouth doesn't stop teaching for more than 30 seconds at a time or long enough to guzzle more than a caffeinated stimulant in a beautiful silver can.... (sorry- run-on sentence. I just taught a lesson on these. Please forgive me.)
And just when you think that you've adequately modeled just exactly how to put on your name badge for specialty and walk oh-so-quietly on the third tile and turn in your weekly work to the appropriately labeled folder and get your book out to show me you're ready to go to library, and absolutely without question you must raise your hand to be called on, you can take a breath. Because it appears that they get it. They understand. They perform. (Run on AND beginning with conjunctions. Double sin.)
And then, like setting a high-powered magnet next to your hard drive like someone on NCIS or ALIAS would do, ZAP. Everything is wiped clean. And in front of me I have not the absorb able, mild mannered and ever-eager to please group of 30 eleven year olds I had the day before. No no no. Lest you be too impressed with my uncanny ability to train and expect excellence of their actions, rest assured that these 30 proceeded to fall apart as if they were a cookie made without an egg. A body without a skeleton. A government with too many politicians. A house without a frame. (Also taught "showing not telling" in writing. Sorry, again, about the conjunction usage. ) You get the point.
I was ripping my hair out this week. Literally. I think I have a bald spot. There is nothing like a few boys running at full speed down the hallway, constant talking, and disrespectful and defiant children to make you feel about this big in a matter of seconds. (Don't worry. I don't let them know they made me feel this big. I keep it inside) Like you are the worst teacher ever know to the education system. Sometimes I think I'm starting to get the hang of this classroom management thing. Good thing I have children to keep me humble.
I promised that if they were out of their seats and talking when I walked back in the room, they would get double homework. And I am not a liar. Can I say that I didn't feel one ounce to regret when my children pulled out not one, not two, but three sheets of notebook paper, with work scrawled on both sides from their binders? And not one person complained. I won that battle, I think.
Teaching isn't all about winning. Before you think I am a control freak (I like things the way I like them, OK?) and call the school district voicing concern, understand this.
-I wake up at 5:30. Every morning. Sometimes with the help of my friend, Emily. (I tend to sleep through multiple alarms. Much to my husbands chagrin.)
-I drive to school in the dark. I drive home in the dark. Usually, between the months of August and May, the Sun and I have an every-other-weekend custody like relationship.
-Upon arrival I'm lucky to get to prep for my day without interruption. Usually I'm not so lucky. Usually a parent wants to come in and "check on how their child is doing... in general." (parents- please have a specific concern. Do you know how many things we do in a day for 30 something humans? It's not that I don't love and care for your child. I just don't have every statistic of their academia imprinted on my brain folds to rattle off on command.)
- At 7:55, whether I'm tired, hungry, stressed, have my own personal issues to worry about or not, I must be "on" for the 15 or so children that are looking to me for love and guidance. And in another hour, 15 more join them.
-On any given day, I break up fights, try to reconcile differences between wounded friends, talk to someone about their dad quitting smoking and wanting to run away, find out why one child has been wearing the same clothing for two weeks, hear about another child's brother getting arrested and going to jail last night, resolve missing homework issues, lead the class in the Pledge of Allegiance, take role, ask so and so how their sick mother is doing, another child about how he's feeling about his brother being killed in Iraq, break up the pencil/light saber duel, hand out spelling tests, read out loud, explain the Vietnam War, make eye contact with everyone, try to teach how to be a responsible member of society, how to tell the truth, how to write a research paper, how to write a great personal narrative, how to tell the difference between a prime and a composite number, how to visualize images while reading, about the revolutionary patterns of the Earth around the Sun, and still somehow find time to e-mail parents about concerns.
And I teach the upper grades. There are no boogers or pee pee pants in 6th grade. Thank Heaven above.
And honestly, I do not care about the money. Yes, teachers probably should be paid more. I do not even care. I have a job. I have benefits. Which is more that 10% or our nation can say at this very moment. I am grateful for that, even after weeks like this one. But that is beside the point.
All I want is order. Organization. Consistency. Children who do not have parents who teach them to avoid responsibility. Parents who do not teach their children that it's OK to defy authority. Parents who don't let their children stay up until 3:00 am watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Saw, or any of the like. Parents who help their kids with homework.
What is this world coming to?
Parents- please parent. Teachers have enough to do with making sure that your child's brain is filled with knowledge.
I have decided that come Monday, we will enjoy another first week of school. Training wheels and all. We'll see if we can't rectify this falling-apart business.
That is all.
I imagine it's a lot like parenting, although I wouldn't know.
I think the absence of blood relation and the sheer ratio of teacher:students just might push it over the edge.
Although my job (kind of) ends at 3:30.
Actually, when I really think about it, it doesn't really ever end. I take my work home with me. It's the last thing I think of at night, and the first thing I think of when I wake up.
How do you even teach 30 6th grade children at once? And have them understand and retain any sort of information that was given?
I digress.
Anyone who is or has been a teacher can attest that the first month is the most difficult.
All of the training involved in creating a classroom that doesn't immediately erupt into pandemonium the moment you leave to go to the bathroom before you explode because you're trying, REALLY TRYING to drink more than 4 ounces of water per day given the fact that your mouth doesn't stop teaching for more than 30 seconds at a time or long enough to guzzle more than a caffeinated stimulant in a beautiful silver can.... (sorry- run-on sentence. I just taught a lesson on these. Please forgive me.)
And just when you think that you've adequately modeled just exactly how to put on your name badge for specialty and walk oh-so-quietly on the third tile and turn in your weekly work to the appropriately labeled folder and get your book out to show me you're ready to go to library, and absolutely without question you must raise your hand to be called on, you can take a breath. Because it appears that they get it. They understand. They perform. (Run on AND beginning with conjunctions. Double sin.)
And then, like setting a high-powered magnet next to your hard drive like someone on NCIS or ALIAS would do, ZAP. Everything is wiped clean. And in front of me I have not the absorb able, mild mannered and ever-eager to please group of 30 eleven year olds I had the day before. No no no. Lest you be too impressed with my uncanny ability to train and expect excellence of their actions, rest assured that these 30 proceeded to fall apart as if they were a cookie made without an egg. A body without a skeleton. A government with too many politicians. A house without a frame. (Also taught "showing not telling" in writing. Sorry, again, about the conjunction usage. ) You get the point.
I was ripping my hair out this week. Literally. I think I have a bald spot. There is nothing like a few boys running at full speed down the hallway, constant talking, and disrespectful and defiant children to make you feel about this big in a matter of seconds. (Don't worry. I don't let them know they made me feel this big. I keep it inside) Like you are the worst teacher ever know to the education system. Sometimes I think I'm starting to get the hang of this classroom management thing. Good thing I have children to keep me humble.
I promised that if they were out of their seats and talking when I walked back in the room, they would get double homework. And I am not a liar. Can I say that I didn't feel one ounce to regret when my children pulled out not one, not two, but three sheets of notebook paper, with work scrawled on both sides from their binders? And not one person complained. I won that battle, I think.
Teaching isn't all about winning. Before you think I am a control freak (I like things the way I like them, OK?) and call the school district voicing concern, understand this.
-I wake up at 5:30. Every morning. Sometimes with the help of my friend, Emily. (I tend to sleep through multiple alarms. Much to my husbands chagrin.)
-I drive to school in the dark. I drive home in the dark. Usually, between the months of August and May, the Sun and I have an every-other-weekend custody like relationship.
-Upon arrival I'm lucky to get to prep for my day without interruption. Usually I'm not so lucky. Usually a parent wants to come in and "check on how their child is doing... in general." (parents- please have a specific concern. Do you know how many things we do in a day for 30 something humans? It's not that I don't love and care for your child. I just don't have every statistic of their academia imprinted on my brain folds to rattle off on command.)
- At 7:55, whether I'm tired, hungry, stressed, have my own personal issues to worry about or not, I must be "on" for the 15 or so children that are looking to me for love and guidance. And in another hour, 15 more join them.
-On any given day, I break up fights, try to reconcile differences between wounded friends, talk to someone about their dad quitting smoking and wanting to run away, find out why one child has been wearing the same clothing for two weeks, hear about another child's brother getting arrested and going to jail last night, resolve missing homework issues, lead the class in the Pledge of Allegiance, take role, ask so and so how their sick mother is doing, another child about how he's feeling about his brother being killed in Iraq, break up the pencil/light saber duel, hand out spelling tests, read out loud, explain the Vietnam War, make eye contact with everyone, try to teach how to be a responsible member of society, how to tell the truth, how to write a research paper, how to write a great personal narrative, how to tell the difference between a prime and a composite number, how to visualize images while reading, about the revolutionary patterns of the Earth around the Sun, and still somehow find time to e-mail parents about concerns.
And I teach the upper grades. There are no boogers or pee pee pants in 6th grade. Thank Heaven above.
And honestly, I do not care about the money. Yes, teachers probably should be paid more. I do not even care. I have a job. I have benefits. Which is more that 10% or our nation can say at this very moment. I am grateful for that, even after weeks like this one. But that is beside the point.
All I want is order. Organization. Consistency. Children who do not have parents who teach them to avoid responsibility. Parents who do not teach their children that it's OK to defy authority. Parents who don't let their children stay up until 3:00 am watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Saw, or any of the like. Parents who help their kids with homework.
What is this world coming to?
Parents- please parent. Teachers have enough to do with making sure that your child's brain is filled with knowledge.
I have decided that come Monday, we will enjoy another first week of school. Training wheels and all. We'll see if we can't rectify this falling-apart business.
That is all.
9/7/10
9/4/10
(Almost) One month later...
School has started and I am LOVING 6th grade. It's incredible how much one year can have such an impact on the maturity level of a child. I am having a great time getting to know these little people who are learning how to become adolescents.
Paul just started his last (!) year of undergraduate work.
That is all.
8/12/10
Ok seriously...
Have you ever seen a baby that is so incredibly perfect and beautiful (you know, in the boy way) as this one is? I suppose if you have your own children you might think so... But I have not.
This particular baby takes the cake for me. What an angel.
Oh my. Are you jealous? It's ok if you are.
Photos taken by BellaBaby Photography
Photos taken by BellaBaby Photography
Oh, and by the way. His name is Brox.
8/10/10
"There's nothing like a brand new baby"
That's what my friend Emily always says. Today, I realized how true that statement is.
I've tried and tried to formulate words to adequately describe the feelings I've felt today as I watched my beautiful sister and ever supportive brother-in-law marvel over their brand new piece of heaven. Heaven is the most accurate description of the little boy that has blessed our family, and has only been here a few short hours! Such unequivocal perfection can only come from one place... heaven. It is my belief that heaven was in fact very near this sweet baby, as he said goodbye to his angel brother that we said a tearful goodbye to 10 months ago today.
This is what a beautiful, perfect, amazing piece of heaven looks like.
"The Lord compensates the faithful for every loss. That which is taken away from those who love the Lord will be added unto them in His own way. While it may not come at the time we desire, the faithful will know that every tear today will eventually be returned a hundredfold with tears of rejoicing and gratitude.
One of the blessings of the gospel is the knowledge that when the curtain of death signals the end of our mortal lives, life will continue on the other side of the veil. There we will be given new opportunities. Not even death can take from us the eternal blessings promised by a loving Heavenly Father.
Because Heavenly Father is merciful, a principle of compensation prevails."
Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin, “Come What May, and Love It,” Ensign, Nov 2008,
As completely joyful as today has been, my mind can't help but recall the last time we drove to the hospital, that time with absolute sorrow at something that was taken from us. Tears flowed freely as I tried to understand why my sweet sister should have to bear the burden of losing a child, at such a young age. I still don't understand how so much pain can be felt by the human soul. I do know, now more than ever, that we have a merciful Heavenly Father, and "that every tear today will eventually be returned a hundredfold with tears of rejoicing and gratitude."
That day was today.
And he is such a wonderful kind of compensation.
As I looked into the beautiful, bright eyes of this brand new, fresh from heaven Baby Angel, my heart overflowed with immense love for him. And also for another Angel Baby that because of the Plan of Salvation, I will get to hold in my arms and admire with all the love an auntie can. Heaven felt pretty darn close at that very moment.
There really is nothing like a brand new baby.
5/26/10
To germs.
One of the very best things about being a teacher is constantly being exposed to germs. I'm being completely serious. Little by little, I've been inoculated by just about every disease/virus/bacteria known to the human species. In my classroom this year there were 11 cases of Swine Flu, 2 waves of the stomach flu, 2 cases of pink eye, 6 outbreaks of strep throat, and an endless stream of snotty noses. Nearly every person in the class was sick at least once. Every person, that is, except for the teacher. Thankfully, I am exposed to small amounts of these plague-like illnesses a little at a time, much like a vaccination.
Today I left Costco so thankful that the above is true.
I had to run and pick up a picture, and as I walked past the cafe my nose caught the scent of churros that had recently been pulled out of the industrial oven. One dollar seemed like a small price to pay for that cinnamon sugar small piece of heaven. I stood in line for far too long and received my celestial snack. As I turned to walk away, the little delicacy slipped from it's tissue paper house, and in slow motion, hit the cold, dirty, cement floor.
**Insert edited expletives here**
Quickly I picked it up and surveyed the damage. I had a choice to make. By all social rules, I should have immediately thrown it in the garbage. I tossed the idea back and forth in my brain, until the choice seemed obvious. The churro (with considerably less cinnamon and sugar on it) and I walked out the front doors of Costco and drove away. After about 3 miles, only one of us was in the car. Hint- it wasn't the churro.
All during the rest of the ride back to school, I wondered how bad on a scale of 1-10 eating a churro that had fallen on the ground was. It was pretty gross. I'd never let my own child do it.
As I walked back into the school and down the hall, I saw 3 kids pick their boogers and eat it, then proceed to give me a hug. Somewhere down the hall I heard a cough and a sneeze.
Eh, I figured, I think I'm inoculated against the Bubonic Plague. The churro most likely won't kill me.
Today I left Costco so thankful that the above is true.
I had to run and pick up a picture, and as I walked past the cafe my nose caught the scent of churros that had recently been pulled out of the industrial oven. One dollar seemed like a small price to pay for that cinnamon sugar small piece of heaven. I stood in line for far too long and received my celestial snack. As I turned to walk away, the little delicacy slipped from it's tissue paper house, and in slow motion, hit the cold, dirty, cement floor.
**Insert edited expletives here**
Quickly I picked it up and surveyed the damage. I had a choice to make. By all social rules, I should have immediately thrown it in the garbage. I tossed the idea back and forth in my brain, until the choice seemed obvious. The churro (with considerably less cinnamon and sugar on it) and I walked out the front doors of Costco and drove away. After about 3 miles, only one of us was in the car. Hint- it wasn't the churro.
All during the rest of the ride back to school, I wondered how bad on a scale of 1-10 eating a churro that had fallen on the ground was. It was pretty gross. I'd never let my own child do it.
As I walked back into the school and down the hall, I saw 3 kids pick their boogers and eat it, then proceed to give me a hug. Somewhere down the hall I heard a cough and a sneeze.
Eh, I figured, I think I'm inoculated against the Bubonic Plague. The churro most likely won't kill me.
5/24/10
5/7/10
Prom Pictures
I realize that I don't post much. It's not because I don't want to.
OK. I lied. It's mostly because I don't want to.
Also because without children of our own, there really isn't much to post about. I don't personally enjoy reading about the happenings of people without children... especially ones who lead relatively mundane lives. I figure others don't either, right?
Our existence lately can be summed up in relatively few sentences:
I turned 25
Paul finished spring semester VERY well
I'll be teaching 6th grade next year
Paul was awarded multiple scholarships for his large brains. I'm very proud.
Admittedly, this post comes purely because my dad, who I had no idea was reading my blog, asked why I hadn't posted lately. I could post my sibling's Prom pictures, he suggested.
They are pictured here:)
OK. I lied. It's mostly because I don't want to.
Also because without children of our own, there really isn't much to post about. I don't personally enjoy reading about the happenings of people without children... especially ones who lead relatively mundane lives. I figure others don't either, right?
Our existence lately can be summed up in relatively few sentences:
I turned 25
Paul finished spring semester VERY well
I'll be teaching 6th grade next year
Paul was awarded multiple scholarships for his large brains. I'm very proud.
Admittedly, this post comes purely because my dad, who I had no idea was reading my blog, asked why I hadn't posted lately. I could post my sibling's Prom pictures, he suggested.
They are pictured here:)
3/13/10
This Weekend
I can't believe they are this old... but Maddie and Morgan are 16 and dating! This weekend they asked boys to a dance called MORP (Prom backwards). It's a casual dance where they wear matching shirts. They were smart and did everything casually-They made their shirts with a stencil, I took their pictures and they made pizza at my parents house. Isn't that smarter than spending tons of money? Here are a few. I think they are just the most beautiful 16 year olds on the planet, but perhaps I am biased...
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