So...

Miss Williams, the Prude.

So…

I’m in the library with my fifth graders while they’re working on their research projects, and one of my kids calls me over because she can’t find pictures of constellations ANYWHERE on the internet. So I casually proceed to show her how she can do a Google search for words related to constellations, and I type in stars.

To my horror, what pop up on the screen, scattered amongst the North Star and Polaris, are scantily clad women, in very seductive poses.

So now I’m freaking out, diving to cover the screen with my body and any notebook within reach, and my kid and the boy next to her are giggling at both the pictures and my panic. And as I’m stuttering about how I have no idea why such pictures would ever be under a search for stars, the giggling boy who now clearly feels bad that I’m so horrified, matter-of-factly explains to me, “Um, Miss Williams, I think it may have thought that you meant to put another word before stars…”

And I thought I was going to die. Of course, porn stars.

Apparently when I am at school, I am Miss Williams, the Prude, who thinks of no such filth. Weekend Miss Williams would have been far more well equipped for such a situation…

 

Carnivores, Herbivores, and Me.

Today my friend Leah called me to relay the following story:

After arriving home from school, she was telling her boys (Carter, 5 and Jack, 3) how she was teaching her third graders about animal adaptations and how they need them to survive. After thoroughly explaining to the boys why carnivores need sharp, pointed teeth to tear into their prey, and how herbivores need flat teeth to grind the plants they eat, Carter stops her and asks, "So what kind of teeth does Julia have?" 

And he was competely serious...

I have no idea how, or why, he remembers that I'm a vegetarian, but it makes me love him even more than I already do, and feel super happy that I take up the vegetarian space in his little heart :)

 

Hitler's Wife

So…

I’m sitting in class, and the kids are working on their research projects. I’m reading a book, as usual, and look up to see J in front of me. “Miss Williams, I feel like you’re going to know a lot about this,” she says. “So Hitler had this wife who liked to collect rings and jewelry from the Jews who were killed, and that’s not all, she collected TATTOOS from them too, to make lampshades and stuff. So messed up right?” And at this point, I’m thinking, I am fully engaged in a conversation about Hitler with a fifth grader right now…

And then this happened:

 J: What’s this word?

 Me: Oh, that word? That word is homosexuals.

 J: What does that mean? I don’t know what that is.

 Me: It means men who like men and women who like women.

 J: Oh ok, well Hitler REALLY did not like them.

 Me: No he didn’t J, no he didn’t.

The thing is, when you work with kids, you have to make split second decisions on the fly. And though my answer might seem like it was easy enough, it was well thought out, as not to be biased either way. And J’s answer let me know that the world had not yet jaded her, for which I was so very thankful.

It also made me realize that these children see me as a wealth of obscure knowledge, which I totally love. 

 

A Total Dean Moment

So…

Back in the day when I worked at the sports bar, I met Dean. Dean was one of those guys that every girl hopes to have in her life, best friend style. He was a great dancer, hilarious, dashing, charming, kind, thoughtful- and he had a tattoo of a giant gorilla ripping through his skin that covered his entire back. And for awhile, he was seeing my dear friend Rhiannon, so the three of us, plus several of his goofy friends, were inseparable.

Here’s a great example of the kind of friendship we had: One year for Dean’s birthday, Rhiannon and I decided to make him a plaster cast of her boobs (which were quite magnificent). She came over, I plastered her naked torso in my living room, and we presented Dean with not only the final product (covered in metallic paint, wearing a tiny bikini top hand crocheted by Rhiannon), but also a video tape of the process, complete with a soundtrack that included TLC’s Red Light Special. To this day, he maintains that it was by far the best gift even presented to him.

I have Dean stories for days, but there is a point to all this. Hands down, my absolute favorite Dean memory is that he insisted on opening and closing all doors for any lady who was around him. I literally never, ever opened or closed any door, including my own car door, whether passenger or driver, when we were together. Not even once. There was no ulterior motive behind his chivalrous behavior, other than he just felt it was the right thing to do. I’m not going to lie, silly or not, it always made me feel super special.

Fast forward eight years.

Today I was at Goodwill, donating half my life, and the tall, scrawny kid helping me brought the last bag into the donation center, and before I could even close the trunk, had my car door open for me, just waiting.

And I had a total Dean moment. 

 

The Great Window Conundrum of 2012

So…

After enjoying several hours of fresh air breezily infiltrating the house, I went over to the window in the living room that faces the back yard, to gently slide it shut before I ran an errand (open windows = burglary/dognapping).

Since I have to straddle the Gazelle, put a foot up on the radiator, and bear hug an aloe plant (Spike) to close this window, it always requires the use of two hands.

Well, as I’m sliding the window down in this precarious stance, the ENTIRE window suddenly comes off the track, lightning fast, clobbering my entire left side before wobbling all of its sharp parts onto my right arm.

So now I’m straddling the Gazelle, with a foot up on the radiator, bear hugging Spike, balancing a giant window on my forehead, and bleeding profusely from my right arm. And really, at that point, all I could do was laugh, wondering how in the world I was going to get this window off me, and if I had a concussion.

Fifteen minutes later, after teetering the window on Spike and the Gazelle, after getting the window back on track with scissors and yogi-like patience, after mourning the loss of four Spike tentacles that were severed in the conundrum, after washing the blood off my right arm, I was on my way to the pet store.

And while casually signing the credit card slip for Puggalina’s dinner, I not-so-casually noticed that I had, apparently, also lost 1/3 of my left pointer fingernail, and part of my fingertip in The Great Window Conundrum of 2012.

 I mean, seriously, how did I not notice that before I left the house?

 

The Great Jamaican Jellyfish Incident of 2010

So...

It was April in Ocho Rios. A bit cloudy and overcast, it was a perfect day to pass the time snorkeling. 

After awkwardly flopping around the beach like fools in flippers, Ben and I made it into the water and started to get our snorkel on. We followed the rock wall around the cove, snapping shots of the interesting creatures we came face to snorkel with as we bobbed along.

Some time later, I noticed that Ben had ventured out into more open water and I cautiously followed suit. All of a sudden, he popped his head up, whack-a-mole style, and announced calmly (in true Ben fashion), “Hey, I think I just got stung by a jellyfish.”

Now, at this point, most reasonable human beings would have dipped back down into the ocean and scanned the perimeter to see if they too were in legitimate jellyfish peril.

Nope. Not me. I fled (as much as one can flee in water), throwing all caution to the warm Jamaican wind, helter-skelter toward the distant beach.

The sting was almost immediate. I felt the tentacles glide across my belly, up my back, wrap around both thighs, and entangle my left arm, stinging and burning the entire time. And for the first time in my life, a full-fledged panic set in. I started thrashing about, and insisting that I needed to get out of the water IMMEDIATELY, that I wasn’t going to make it back to the beach. We were sooooo far out.

Ben (again in true Ben fashion), came to my rescue. He first convinced me that I was, in fact, not going to die. And as he helped me back toward the beach, he endured stings on his own skin from the residual tentacles still suctioned to my rapidly swelling body.

By the time we reached land, each place the jellyfish had engulfed on my body had turned into a tentacle shaped welt. People on the beach came running, surrounding us in shock and horror as my welts continued to swell right before their eyes.

While in Jamaica, the land where everything irie, both the symptoms and pain were handled with rum, splash of punch.

Fast forward ten days, and my jellyfish wounds were starting to turn black. Under the advisement of pretty much everyone who saw aforementioned wounds, I decided to check in with my doctor, who, upon seeing me, called everyone in the office into the room to see the ridiculousness that was unfolding on my torso, legs and arm.

After the first ten day round of intense steroids failed, I was put on a mega dose of super steroids to clear up the poison that was still spreading through my body.

These days I have to carry three epi-pens to the beach with me. My doctor claims that if I get stung again, the best case scenario is anaphylactic shock, immediately, and that I’d need two to three doses of epinephrine to even make it to the hospital.

 

Crazy, right?

My medical forms now all read: Allergies- Penicillin, Demerol, Imitrex, Jellyfish

 

So...

What I forgot to tell you is that, the other day after I casually applied chapstick to my lips, the entire left side of my upper lip turned black. I know. Unreal, right? It took almost 12 hours to fade from black to purple, to a slightly bruised look, and back to pink.

Only me.

Hula Hoop War by Proxy

So...

The fifth grade classroom in which I interpret participates in an Oregon Trail-like simulation called Discovery. The children have to sail to, and settle the New World, while managing supplies, animals, settlers, attacks by natives, and each surprise the luck of the draw brings their way. 

The best part? Pirates can attack at any moment. In our room we have basketball pirates, hockey pirates, trivia pirates, and I, of course, am the hula hoop pirate.

But today was different. Today was a hula hoop war by proxy, in which our classroom teacher, "Mr. Z", and I each chose one student to represent us in the hooping competition. This was his idea, and in his mind, he had already won. He allowed me to choose first, and I picked my hooping protege, "S." Without hesitiation he selected a boy, "C", and I thought for sure I had just fallen into a trap.

My student, S, was up first. She hooped effortlessly for 3 minutes. At the 3:01 mark she had to hoop with her arms over her head, and at 3:30 switch to only one foot on the ground. She did this successfully until the 3min 46 sec mark. 

C took the floor next, following the same routine. However, the one foot trick did him in. He faltered 14 seconds before my student's time, much to the horror of Mr. Z.

After the kids burst into an eruption of cheers and groans, Mr. Z came over to me, and I was like, "Seriously? You thought he'd beat her?" He confessed that he thought S would loose it immediately when she had to lift one foot up.

My reply? "Oh no, Mr. Z. She learned from the best." ;)

 

 

Mostly, I’m thankful I’m not dead.

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, here is my list of things for which I am grateful, in no particular order: 

1. Aunts, uncles, and cousins who always laugh at my antics and support my dreams. In their eyes, I can do no wrong. It’s a pretty amazing feeling.

2. A mom who, at 2am, will gladly answer the phone not only to make sure I’m ok, but will also be very excited that I’m having a ridiculously good time.

3. Friends who love me so much that they selflessly harbor me in their home for six days so I won’t be lonely, show up within minutes any time I’m sick/injured/otherwise incapacitated, dance the night away with me, and though I’m a lot to handle, believe that anyone who doesn’t love me just the way I am is crazy (insert warm, fuzzy feeling here).

4. A little cousin, who at 15 years old, is rapidly becoming one of my best friends.

5. My health, because despite all of the insane things that have tried to kill me/stop my shine, I’m still alive and dancing.

6. Fat, wrinkly animals. Specifically, the one who has been the love of my life for the past 11 years. 

7. Finding my path when I was 8 years old, and being able to turn it into a career that leaves me brimming with happiness and a sense of fulfillment every day.

8. Always having enough: a cozy home, clothes that fit me, and never having to go hungry- things that I regularly feel guilty about when I think about my babies in the orphanage in Jamaica.

9. The opportunity to turn life’s bumps in the road into chances to become a better, more understanding person.

10. Every single time someone in my life has protected me from something moving in an unpredictable manner. 

 

The Best Compliments Are Never About Your Appearance

I love those unexpected moments, when people reveal what they truly think about you.

I was in the copy room at school the other day, desperately trying to locate a three hole punch, when a teacher walked in and asked why I didn’t just use the electric one. “Oh, no way,” I gasped. “That thing scares me.” To which she casually replied, “I never imagined that anything could scare you.”

I mean, I’ve hit some bumps in the road since I’ve known this person. Cancer. Ending two long term relationships. Heart valve issues. The deaths of several loved ones. A serious car accident.

I guess it’s just nice to know that through this person’s eyes, I’ve come out on top, unscathed, and seemingly fearless.