Me not so suhmart no mor

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Remember how a few days ago, I was all on top of my business and shouting "yes, I can" from the rooftops?

Nothing like a little slice of humble pie to bring you back to the reality of, "Umm, no, I really can't."

You see, I volunteer to help in my kids' classrooms. A lot. I like to be there, see how the teacher interacts with the students, and see how my kids interact with other kids.

Plus, I really have no excuse this year, what with them in school all day now.

So, I went to help in McKay's class for the first time this year. As soon as I enter the classroom, his teacher hands me a heavy math book. She points out the page the students are currently working on (which is multiplying with decimals). She smiles sweetly, and asks me if I'd feel comfortable teaching this concept to one of the groups, while she works with the other.

Panic immediately sets in. Math has never been my strong suit. But this is fifth grade math. Surely, I passed fifth grade math at some point in my life, right? I smile, and tell her, "Sure, no problem," and head for the white board.

To my surprise, things move along rather well. I find that I am actually pretty good at teaching the math. McKay gets over his instinctive embarrassment and even makes eye contact with me a few times, which is a huge victory in and of itself.

Well, just about the end of our time together, the teacher returns to the classroom with her group. At this moment, one of my students raises her hands and says, "Um, I got a different answer for that one." Before I can respond, the teacher notices my problem on the board, comes over, erases it, AND RE-DOES IT FOR ME.

Apparently, I am not so good at the fifth grade math.

I made a REALLY STUPID error and did not have my decimal in the right place. I knew it as soon as I looked at it, unfortunately a little too late.

But there, in front of my son, and all of his classmates, I looked like an idiot. I felt so dumb. I have no doubt she is wondering exactly what I had been teaching while she was out. I wanted to tell her that, "YES! I REALLY DO KNOW HOW TO DO THIS!"

But instead, I smiled, thanked her, and went to my car in a cloud of stupidity and shame.

And so, next week when I go in, I fully expect her to have a desk with my name on it.

Think McKay will be embarrassed if I have to repeat my fifth grade year?

Yes, I can!

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Chase has been taking tae kwan do lessons for a few months now. He absolutely loves it. Through a thick Korean accent, Grand Master Rho has the kids repeat, over and over, the words, "Yes, I can!" It's a mantra that Chase has readily adopted to fit his 'just try and stop me' personality.

So, in honor of that, I thought I would give you some of the lessons I learned this week, in "yes, I can" style.

Because it's my blog, and, well, because I can.

Clicked off to hunt for free porn yet?

No? Good. Here goes. Things I learned this week:

  • I can survive two field trips in one week, even when one of them is spent chasing down other people's annoying wandering children at the zoo in the pouring rain.
  • I can recover from poison ivy. (Though can anyone tell me why the rash is gone but I am still itchy?)
  • I can clean out the kids' bedrooms and throw away five bags of plastic crap (all of which I am sure they will never miss).
  • I can tell the random caller from one campaign that I am currently undecided.
  • I can then field two phone calls per day, and one front porch visit in an attempt to sway my vote.
  • I can decide to never again admit that I am undecided.
  • I can enjoy my workouts again, thanks to a new TV season.
  • I can order my Christmas cards in October (please don't hate me. I'm diseased. I can't help it).
  • I can pay other people's children to smile for me in photographs.
  • I can actually watch general conference and not take a nap. Go me.

What did you learn this week?

How to take an Amish Country Tour

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Step one: Read all of Beverly Lewis' books. Become obsessed with the Amish people. Discuss the Amish on a regular basis with your friends. Get giddy with excitement when the local community college offers an Illinois Amish Country Tour. Sign up immediately and ignore all mothering responsibilities to attend the day-long tour.

Step two: Board the bus for your Amish Country Tour, and realize, to your dismay, that you are the youngest people there, and I do mean the youngest by decades. Be grateful you can walk without the assistance of a cane and do not yet require Depends. Stop for bathroom breaks every 16 minutes on the two-hour drive. Try to recover from a very unmentionable bathroom incident involving one of the elderly passengers.


Step Three: Eat lunch a thanksgiving feast in an actual Amish home. Be very grateful for make-up and pretty shoes. Decide those two factors alone would be deal breakers in your husband's Amish conversion/go-off-the-grid-dream. Eat yourself sick on fresh bread, jam, chicken, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, fresh corn, and pie. Wonder why the Amish don't weigh 900 pounds. Realize all this food was made by hand instead of by Costco. Decide Amish work load is too hard. Call your Husband and break the news that you will not be converting after all.

Step Four: Get back on the Old Folks Mobile tour bus and begin the long drive back to St. Louis. Accept the impending 19 bathroom breaks. Laugh mercilessly with your friends. Make lots of jokes in Effingham. Search i-phones for You Tube videos and pictures of Rupert Penry-Jones, your new imaginary boyfriend.

Step Five: When, and only when, you are positive the lady in front of you is about to fall out of her seat for the eavesdropping, be sure to invent some stories about your friend's illustrious street walking career and nekkid bungee jumping escapades. Be a little frightened later when she tells you how much you all remind her of her daughter.

Step Six: When one of the bus patrons loses control and pees all over her seat, be renewed in your desire to spend hours a day doing kegel exercises.

Our weekend, in photos

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This weekend we did a lot of stuff.

Some of us played basketball, and did not go easy on our opponent just because they're ten and have shorter arms:

Some of us created science experiments out of sand and water:

One of us sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" with his fellow fifth graders during the seventh inning stretch of Saturday night's Cardinals game.

It is rumored that one child in particular may have sang, "Root, root, root for the Red Sox" instead of, "the Cardinals," though that child officially denies this rumor:
Some of us had foot races in the backyard, and did not want to let our little brother win:
(hmm...wonder where he gets that from?)

One of us pitched (at least according to him), "THE BEST GAME OF HIS LIFE!" And as you can see, this person takes baseball very seriously:

There will be no mercy on the mound when you're staring down this fellow. He means business.
Some of us thought it would be fun to stand on our brothers and see how long they could hold us up:

The answer? About four seconds. One brother will cave under the pressure and the pyramid will come toppling down.

The only damper on the weekend? One of us spent it (and the majority of last week) scratching her mad case of poison ivy:

Oh yes, and that is the improved version. Trust me when I tell you, it was much worse a few days ago, and covers a good portion of my entire body (I decided to spare you the rest of me, especially the nekkid parts. You're welcome).

Yeah, so remember the near-electrocution yard work day last week? Apparently, of those 1,934 weeds I pulled, a good portion of them were poison ivy.

And poison ivy? Not so much fun, as it turns out.

Still, though, a pretty good weekend for us.

At least, for those of us not scratching and smelling of Calamine lotion anyway.

The only way I'll carry that NRA card

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Question--
What do you get when your boys discover their father's old BB gun at Opa's office?

Answer: You get two very excited boys, begging and pleading to have it. They will be absolutely sure that life, as they know it, cannot go on without the BB gun.

Question--
What do you get when Opa, reluctantly frighteningly proudly, decides to pass that gun onto the next generation and gives it to them?

Answer: Your own private backyard shooting range, that's what.


Oh, if only Mr. Crazy Scouting Man, Sir! could see us now with our dangerous weapon constitutionally-protected firearm. I'm pretty sure he'd have us signed up for the NRA.

I have decided we will only join if Charlton Heston will personally come to the house , stand on the kitchen table and say, "RAMSES, LET MY PEOPLE GO!"

I'm betting it's not likely to happen, what with him, you know, being slightly not alive and all.

But, still. Stranger things have happened, right?

And don't tell me you wouldn't want to see it. You know you love that line, too.