Can we talk?  I will be the first to admit to you that I love being an independent woman, a woman who has built a long and I hope, successful career,  a strong woman who has raised three great kids, made some mistakes and learned from them and returned even stronger.  But despite all of this, there is nothing like my husband calling me his “princess”.

Yes, I said princess.  Not queen.  I have a sign on the wall of my sitting area that says “I want to be a princess.  Queens have responsibilities.”  And that’s it I suppose.  I have so many responsibilities so much of the time that sometimes I just don’t want them anymore.  I want to be a princess.  With princess things.

Like my princess bed.  When I was a kid I had several friends who had those wonderful princessy canopy beds, all pink and purple.  I wanted a canopy bed SO badly.  After all, I am a frilly, romantic girl at heart and it just seemed to fit my personality.  But no, I had the little twin bed in white covered in a sensible (yet still bright pink and purple) bedspread.  No frills, no ruffles.  Sensible.

As an adult, I decided I needed to get rid of silly, childish, frilly things and ideas and become more sensible.  The sensible beige sofa and chair that went from “child proof” to child destroyed with it’s sensible wood coffee and end table.  The sensible bed frame with whatever the latest style of comforter was on sale.  After all, I wasn’t a princess, I was a married mom to three boys.  Three boys who had no appreciation of anything girly.  After all I was Mom, not a girl.

But then the princess began to rebel a little bit.  She wanted color and patterns.  She wanted pretty even if it wasn’t practical.  She wanted pedicures and highlights in her hair and cute shoes. And she wanted the princess bed.  So several years ago, when we decided to replace our bedroom furniture, I chose the princess bed.  A wonderful four poster canopy bed done in a style of something you might see in the Bahamas.  No, I haven’t subjected my poor husband to pink and purple – well ok, maybe a tiny bit of purple – but he’s a good sport.  There’s just something so luxurious, something so impractical, so youthful about this bed that everytime I have to hoist myself into it (it’s tall too!), it makes me feel like, well – a princess!

So the princess bed has led to the princess chair in my little reading nook with all its bright colors and my little yellow convertible bug because quite frankly, life it too short not to surround yourself with pretty.  I can still be smart and strong and hard working and bring home the bacon AND still be just as feminine as I want to be.  Surrounding myself with colorful little pieces of joy and having my princess bed to climb into every night.

Goodnight!

Most teachers I know are going full speed all day everyday.  With the requirements for more rigor for students and the necessity for increased student engagement, a teacher is “on” from the moment they arrive until the moment they leave.  This being on doesn’t lessen during the school week and usually results in what I refer to as the “Friday Crash”. This “Friday Crash” totally gets in the way of our looking forward to doing something fun for the weekend because before we can do something fun, we have to recuperate from the week before.  And then comes spring break.

It is Monday of spring break and I have spent the weekend doing what I always do on weekends – doing the weekly cleaning, catching up on things like getting the hair done, etc.  So it doesn’t feel like a break yet.  I’m sitting in my usual spot, writing this and literally talking to myself, saying things like “breathe” and “look at the sunshine and the melting snow” while I’m trying to focus on the birds at the bird feeder.  And yet my mind is going a million miles an hour and the anxiety and energy I feel in my body has not left.  It certainly doesn’t feel like break yet.  And that’s the problem with breaks.  I know that I have a week to catch up on stuff I can’t usually do during school, sleep in some and yes, probably work on some grades and school stuff,  but for me it usually takes the entire week to let go and relax before we’re back at it again.

I found myself becoming upset because I have some great friends who are able to really get away for the week.  I mean far away.  Like warm places with beaches.  Jealously is an ugly thing, I know.  I suppose I could have gone away too but it would have been alone.  So while I plan for my better half to be with a bunch of college kids at basketball games in Chicago, I will try to fill up my days with a pedicure here and a maybe a movie there, lunch with some friends and some alone time.  It’s not like I don’t want to relax and accept the staycation but there are just times when my body won’t let me.

Do other teachers feel this way or am I just weird?  It’s like being a parent I suppose.  One doesn’t throw away their parental thoughts and duties just because the child, no matter the age, isn’t in the room.  I can’t just drop school because I’m not there.  I’m still thinking of the play coming up or the grades that have to be done or the choir that needs to be prepared or the lesson plans to be written and the essential outcomes that need to be covered before the end of the year.  It never ends.  That stuff doesn’t just go away because I’m not in the building for the week.  So if I don’t work on them just a little bit during break, they seem to hit me in the face just a little bit harder when I return to school.

So in the meantime, maybe I’m not putting on the brakes, I’m just trying to let off the gas a bit, taking advantage of the time given to me to appreciate those things I don’t get to do or experience during the week.  Like actually experience the sunshine since I have no windows in my classroom.  Or celebrate the snow melting and looking forward to outside recess when we return.  Or relish in the silence I have instead of hearing children talk, yell, and scream from the moment I walk in until the moment I leave.  Or enjoy the unstructured time to do whatever whenever instead of being relegated to a rigid time schedule.  Even something as silly as using the restroom whenever I need to instead of whenever I have a minute break in that rigid schedule.

Maybe I can use this break to be grateful for the break itself and all the possibilities that it inspires.  And just breathe.

 

 

If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs….

That’s really the secret of life isn’t it?  From the very smallest of agitations to life changing events, it’s how we handle them that proves whether or not we’ve matured, according to Rudyard Kipling.

I watched it today at a local sandwich restaurant as a large group of people in front of me ordered a ton of sandwiches.  The restaurant was full of people, groups of high schools girls, families who obviously have been attending local high school basketball games and one lone older couple who were watching the chaos with some amusement.  The two young men working behind the counter maintained composure, professionally taking orders and working together like a machine throwing sandwiches together freaky fast.  A silly example perhaps but one where keeping their heads meant that everyone was taken care of.

Keeping your head during life changing events however, is so much more difficult because we are creatures of habit and comfort and these events can change our life direction, our perceptions, our finances, our relationships, our belief systems.  In these instances, we have three choices – adapt, flee or perish.  I believe adapting and keeping our heads is the mature thing to do.  Easier said than done.

I have watched several people I work with deal with things calmly in situations that would give them every reason to curl up in a ball and hide.  And yet, they keep their heads,  stay strong and push through.  They’re dealing with life changing events, spouses or other family with cancer, adult children committing suicide, and parents passing away.  In private you know there is anger and there are tears but they keep their head up and trust in others to help support them.  In most cases, they depend on their God and their faith to get them through.

Sometimes however, we attempt to rely on ourselves for all the answers.  We suck it up, pull ourselves up by our shoestrings, clench our teeth and make it work.  Unfortunately, at least for me, things begin to “leak” when I try to do it all myself.  Anxiety rears its ugly head, and tears or anger come out of nowhere.  Why is it that during these tough times that prayer seems the last thing we think of?  I can only speak for myself, but being the fixer I am, I tend to depend on my intelligence and ability to trouble shoot for things to work.

I don’t mean this the wrong way, but sometimes being intelligent can be a detriment.  I’m pretty good at fixing minor things and when it comes to those large events sometimes I assume I can fix those too.  There’s got to be a way, right?  If I just create the right scenarios. look at all my options and think logically, I can fix it, right?  It becomes a challenge. Sure, I get lucky just enough to reinforce my belief in my own abilities, but the real question is, what if I had given it up to God instead?  What if I had allowed God to perform his work and do something so much more than I could ever imagine?  After all, he sees the big picture and I only see the one event happening at that time.  So maybe keeping my head means letting go and letting God.

Without details, a life event beyond my abilities to fix has occurred and I am once again working to keep my head even if others are losing theirs.  This is life, right? It is an opportunity to give it up to God, to grow, and watch to see how this will become a learning experience.  Don’t get me wrong, I still want to fix it with every fiber of my being, but I can’t.  This has to be a prayer thing leading to a God thing, knowing that whatever his answer, he knows best.  My job is to let go, trust and keep my head.

 

 

 

It’s a Wednesday evening, an evening we usually have nothing to do, where the anticipation of a quiet meal and enjoying some Netflix together in the same room is a pleasant change to our usual manic schedule.  More and more we find ourselves looking at things we would like to do together but invariably one of us says, no, I can’t, I have a (rehearsal, meeting, concert, conference).  So tonight I was looking forward to that evening together, especially since he said he wasn’t going to go to a concert tonight.  Little did I know he was going to bring the mistress home.

His text to me at the end of the day said “decided not to go to the concert tonight”.  How wonderful!  However, thanks to the wonders of technology, the Netflix is on pause while he is watching the streamed version of the concert he decided not to go to.  The mistress is still there, he just decided to bring her home.  So, here I sit, in my usual spot, looking at the paused screen, ten minutes left of a relatively tense episode and just at the exciting part he asks, “can I put this on pause until after the concert?”.  “That’s fine” I say.  After all, whats a girl to do?  Say no to him doing what he’s passionate about?  As he sits there, staring at his little screen, tapping his toes and nodding his head to the music, occasionally conducting, while wearing his red head phones with the blinking blue light looking like something out of Star Trek, he reminds me of one of the reasons I fell in love with him in the first place.  And also one of the reasons it makes me sad.

I recently wrote that music is not what we do, it is who we are and I believe it wholeheartedly.  I believe so strongly in music and music education for all children that I serve my professional organization and speak to teachers about its importance and how it changes the lives of children.  I get it.  And yet I don’t.  It is that continued love/hate relationship that has interrupted our lives more times than not.  Like the little girl in the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem, when it’s good, it’s very, very good and when it’s bad it’s horrid.

The other day, another band director friend of mine posted a cartoon to my feed.  It was a phone conversation between a band director and his wife after a basketball game.  The wife asks “did they win?” to which the husband answers yes.  “They did?  And they are moving to the playoffs?  That’s great!”  The standard band wife response.  However inside she’s thinking “dammit”.  I get it.  It’s part of the gig.  And this certainly isn’t the first time he’s brought her home or that I’ve had to work with her. I just don’t have to like it.

So this next week, my husband will be spending necessary time with the mistress.  A basketball pep band on Sunday, then leaving with the team on Tuesday for tournament play.  He’ll stay as long as they win.  Did I mention it’s my spring break?  So I’m making plans for a personal “staycation” complete with chick flicks, shopping, lunching and a pedi.  In a way this is good I suppose because after all these years, going on 39, I have finally learned to be somewhat independent.  Doesn’t mean I like it, but I’ve learned where my place is in the scheme of things and I can accept that.  And besides, the next week is his spring break and while I would love to do things with him, I won’t be able to because, oh, I have a conference to go to.  Two can play this game.

Tuesday mornings are a little crazy as we have choir rehearsal next to a beginning band rehearsal literally sandwiched between two groups of early morning day care groups.   It’s an exercise in learning to focus on your own sounds and not all the others going on.  This morning was just a little different however as instead of the occasional yelling in the hall, there was a louder disturbance, enough of a disturbance that I left the rehearsal my student teacher was teaching to see what was up.

There was a gaggle of little girls gathered in front of the bathroom.  As I walked out my door, preparing to ask them what the deal was, they all shouted at me at once, “there’s a tarantula in the bathroom!”.  One girl did say, “there are no tarantulas in Nebraska”, but the others were convinced.  “Are you sure it’s not just a big spider?”  I asked.  “It’s HUGE!” one of the girls said, while the one with common sense showed me with her fingers just how little it was.  I told them to get the custodian and ask him to get the spider for them and I returned back to choir.  At least for a few minutes.

Several minutes later, there was another commotion and I walked out the door again, only to find a gaggle of girls and a couple of boys running into the girls bathroom, ahead of the custodian to see the “tarantula”.  I’m immediately on the boys for going into the girl’s bathroom and our hero Custodian David walked in to capture the massive spider.  I start to chase the other kids away when one little girl looks at me with concern on her face saying “but Mrs. Bush, I have to use the bathroom!”.

That’s one of the things that’s fun about kids and what I take great pride in when I can keep a straight face – their ability to tell me the wildest stories and totally believing them.  One 4th grade girl told me that everyone was telling her that she and a friend were dating but they really weren’t, they were just friends because dating a boy would be gross.  I didn’t even know kids used the word “gross” anymore.

I couldn’t walk into my room this morning without a little one running up to me and lifting up her chin to show me she had gotten stitches taken out yesterday, her poor mom following her to tell her to leave me alone, but it’s ok.  They tell me about stitches, broken bones, bloody noses, loose teeth and braces.  One little guy stopped me on his way out of the bathroom with a silly grin on his face to tell me that someone was using the stall to poop.  With a straight face, I told him that’s what it’s for.

Multiply this by 180+ school days and you can see that I’ve heard just about everything.  Maybe not about a tarantula every day, (and notice I didn’t go in to check out the tarantula but told them to get someone else), but enough to fill a book I’m sure.  Here’s looking forward to what the kids have to tell me tomorrow!

Most of the time I’m a pretty positive person.  I get excited by adventures and possibilities, about new experiences and fun times with family and friends.  I try to put positive things on social media, especially when life seems so full of negative these days.  However, I hate to break it to you, I have bad days, just like everyone else, and like most people, I try to hold it in so that I don’t appear to be a complainer or whiner. But some days are just not so golden.

Don’t you wish you could just be honest with others when those not so golden days happen?  When someone stops and asks how your day is going you don’t just go the automatic “good!  How’s yours?” to which they respond “good”.  For me it’s refreshing when someone make the decision to to confide in me a little, to let me know that their day or week has not been so good and that they’re struggling.  It allows me to get out of myself for a little bit and pay more attention to someone else.

For me however when I find my less than golden days occur more and more often, it lets me know that I need a change somewhere.  Sometimes it’s just getting away for a weekend, sometimes it’s leaving the computer behind and enjoying friends and family, and sometimes it means that major changes need to happen.  I think it’s God’s way of letting us know that we’ve let something go on too long, that it’s time for a change in habits or routines or people.

As much as I would love too, I want to say that things have been great, but there have been struggles of late, struggles that have manifested themselves in the form of lethargy and sadness, frustration and feelings of hopelessness.  It’s something I have to watch out for as it can become overwhelming.  But how do you share this kind of thing with anyone?  I have to get up every day, put on a professional smile for colleagues and friendly smile for students and do my job.

Perhaps it’s the weather.  After all, there has been nothing but gray, cold and snow forever now and after a while it gets to me.  I know it happens to a lot of people and we’re all struggling together.  Maybe it’s because it’s the end of the third quarter, right before break and the kids haven’t been able to get outside for a while.  Maybe it’s because I have children rolling their eyes at me and questioning how I do things.  Certainly could be.

I struggle because this all seems so very trivial.  I have a roof over my head, food to eat, clothes to wear, a good job, a great family and friends.  And yet we know that depression doesn’t depend on whether or not you have access to the creature comforts.  I am very fortunate and I am also bummed.

The good news here is that tomorrow is another day.  Something magical could happen, a surprise perhaps,  a meaningful note or conversation could occur.  Maybe it will get warm enough for the kids to go outside for recess.  You never know.  Just hoping for a golden day.  WWBD.

 

 

“Art is just another form of prayer.”  Rainn Wilson

How often have you heard a musician say “music is not what I do, it’s who I am”?  I believe that this is a crazy hard statement for those who are not musicians or artists to understand.  While other professionals may say they are an engineer or lawyer or doctor, they are trained in these areas, they do not become these things.  I believe musicians,  actually become a part of the art form, something that not only requires both cognitive and physical skills but intense emotional investment and vulnerability.

I feel very strongly that music must be done well – period.  At whatever age, at whatever level of skill, it must be done as well as possible.  This requires work.  My students who are 4th and 5th graders join choir just because they like to sing.  This is a great start and I choose music accordingly – I WANT them to enjoy it.  However, they are quick to discover that singing is work as they stretch their ranges, their air capacity and their knowledge of the music itself.  What are they communicating through the music?  It can’t all be left up to the words, those are merely lyrics that someone else wrote.  They must be interpreted and we must allow ourselves to be vulnerable enough to let go and become a part of the music as part of that interpretation.  How can we make music so that the audience is impacted?

Sometimes words are simply powerful and other times a melody in itself can be beautiful.  However, put those two things into the hands of a musician who can put life into that melody and those words and you have something magical.  And once it has been given to the audience it is gone, never to be replicated the same way ever again.  It is a once in a lifetime experience, a gift, just for that particular community of people to hear and be a part of in that moment.  This is why the quote from Rainn Wilson touched me so deeply today when I heard it – art is just another form of prayer.  When music reaches this level of oneness with a person or group of people, it is truly a prayer to God, a thank you for creating us in the image of the Creator.  For that tiny moment, we can imagine what it might be like to sing with the angels.

I’m not saying that all music has to be so serious.  We are born with the capability of making music.  Just watch babies and toddlers create their own music and movement.  It is innate, something they just have to do.  This doesn’t change.  I watched a couple of young men in the car next to me yesterday, just singing away, rocking their heads up and down and laughing.  This was not music to be performed at your local arts center, but it was shared experience of using their minds and bodies to express themselves and enjoy music.  Whether it’s singing or playing an instrument at church, at a karaoke bar, in the shower or while playing with a child, everyone and I mean EVERYONE has this inside of them.  Just like using our bodies to play sports or dance because we were meant to do that, so it is with music.

Music made together by a community of people can be a communal offering to those who hear it.  It takes collaboration, selflessness and getting out of your own head enough that you can let go and make the music happen.  Yesterday I watched a transmission of the opera La Fille du Regiment by Donizetti by the Metropolitan Opera.  A colleague who works at the Met sent this thought to those of us participating:

In our divided global community, witnessing a Mexican tenor and a South African soprano captivate an American audience in a French comic opera by an Italian composer is an event I wish every student could witness.

As cliche as it sounds, music brings people of all backgrounds together.  In good times and in bad times, it can be the glue that keeps things sane.  Imagine if everyone worked together with the same intensity for a common goal, in a manner so unselfish, working on something that they aren’t going to keep for themselves but give as a gift to others.  It is why music education is so important in the lives of our children as they learn to navigate this world and in turn learn to put in the work and give it away.

There is nothing more frustrating for a teacher than losing their voice and when that teacher happens to teach music, it’s even more frustrating.  Losing the ability to sing with and for your students often leaves a teacher feeling apprehensive as to how they’re going to keep their students engaged and participating in the music making process.  Sometimes however, we forget about the power of silence.

Teachers are notorious for going to school even when they’re sick because quite frankly it’s just too much trouble to write lesson plans for someone else if you can just suck it up and make it work.  The only problem is when you can’t speak loudly enough to be heard. So today, when my student teacher showed up at school with no voice, this seemed like the perfect time to work on this with her.  Now, I want you to know that several of us urged her to go home or at least go home early but like many good teachers, she said she wasn’t feeling that bad, she just couldn’t talk – so she stayed.  (She did go to the doctor this afternoon and it’s just some nasty post nasal drip – nothing serious).

After explaining to the kids what was going on, and after we had worked on a plan for the class, she began teaching.  Her lesson plan was projected on the board in a simple form for the kids to read and a couple of students were chosen as “teachers”.  Through the written instructions and “sign language” from my student teacher, the class kicked into gear and what happened was a joy to behold.  Instead of the teacher being the sage on the stage, she became the facilitator and the students became teachers for each other.

Watching the learning happening before our eyes was amazing.  The lesson was about identifying triplets, through both listening and reading and they began creating their own compositions incorporating triplets.  We watched them kindly correct each other when needed and congratulate each other when they succeeded.  My student teacher ended up  just walking around, observing, encouraging, answering questions (quietly)  and facilitating.

The amazing thing was that she barely spoke a word and yet there was more learning going on than I had seen in a while, which spoke volumes to me.  How often do I spend too much time talking and less time with them actually learning?  The problem is that most teachers LOVE to talk and pass on information about those subjects they’re passionate about, which means kids are doing a lot of listening and not enough DOING.  I know this but have to admit that I too love to talk about music and maybe I should stop talking so much.

I also have to admit I took a little bit of pleasure listening to my kids ask questions of each other like I do, asking if they agree or disagree with things and why or why not.  They were able to figure things out for themselves, keep steady beats for each other and work  collaboratively.  I was so proud.

Amazingly, students who are asked to step it up when a teacher is struggling usually do and they feel good about themselves when they do it.  Sure, I could have popped in and taught for her today, but then neither of us would have seen what these kids were capable of both academically and emotionally.  It was certainly one of those times where I was thrilled to be an educator, both for these young students and this young teacher.  It reminded me that if I’m going to talk the talk, I might think about walking the walk in silence.

Ah, Spirit Week.  For Red Ribbon Week or Read Across America, the idea is for all the students to bind together as a school family, usually by wearing something similar.  Sounds harmless enough.  Unless of course you’re actually trying to do SCHOOL!!  Oh sure, you have “the talk” with students about not letting what they’re wearing distract them from their work, but the very act of wearing something different from normal is a permanent distraction.

So how distracting could Hat Day be?  Monday began our day with hat day and if everyone was wearing a baseball cap, that might work out just fine. Nope, it’s not only baseball caps, but it’s fedoras, big sun hats, hats that look like a squid, cowboy hats – you get the idea.  And despite “the talk”, a lot of those hats end up on my table by the door, waiting for students to pick them up on their way out of my class.  You would be amazed at how creative kids can be with hats, especially a pirate hat that can be molded into different shapes.  I can’t make this stuff up.

Day 2 was the dreaded pajama day.  Again, if it was just pajamas, it probably wouldn’t be a problem.  But it’s p.j.’s with hoods that go over their faces with other faces printed on them, fuzzy slippers that must be played with and robes that invariably turn into capes or blankets.  One student was swinging hers around like a bull fighter.  I gave her a choice.  She chose wisely.  P.j.’s automatically make you feel comfy and sleepy, both bad ideas when you’re trying to learn something.  I’m not anti-fun, really I’m not. I’m just pro education.

Today was one of the least obtrusive days, Crazy sock day.  These were funny and creative, short and long, colorful and reflective of the students’ personalities.  It’s hard to take off the socks during the day so there’s not much they can do to distract anyone with them.  Even I participated with crazy socks which was fun, until I forgot and wore them out in public.  I’m sure I looked like that poor old lady who has forgotten how to dress herself.  At least I didn’t run to the store in my pajama pants after school like a couple of friends have.  I’m not laughing at you – really I’m not : )

Tomorrow is team color day with all of the grade level teams being assigned a color except for the team I’m on.  So we’ve decided to be the black team, perhaps equating the absence of color with the absence of an assignment of color.  Not that we’re bitter or anything, after all, we already know we’re special. The great thing is this probably won’t be a distraction at all in class.  As long as I don’t focus on my own disappointment….

And finally, Friday is supposed to be dress as your favorite book character day.  You should know that teachers are the ones who make these decisions as to what constitutes spirit week, so we no one to blame but ourselves when parents send kids in with a complete superhero costume or Pinkalicious costume.  No, these won’t be a distraction at all.

Before you begin to believe that I’m anti fun for children, I want to reassure you that I’m not.  I’m all for more recess time and fewer academics for Kindergarten so they can learn how to socialize and work with others.  However, knowing that we are driven to academic rigor, it just seems like cutting our legs out from underneath ourselves to allow these activities and assume we can just keep up the status quo.  It is frustrating to me as a teacher who only sees their student once a week. What it means for me is 500 students who throw away one of the 8 or so classes I see them during a quarter.  I can’t afford that.

I suppose if you want to think I have no spirit you can.  But I say we can have spirt week as long we honor the spirit of the young people we teach, loosen up and let them have fun.  Maybe do some things that are still educational, just not as rigid perhaps.  As teachers, then we can stop being frustrated, fighting against the very thing we created and just have fun.

 

All kinds of red and green lights flickered and turned on and off and hard to hear voices interrupted radio stations on constant scan.  A small device kept saying what seemed to be arbitrary words with those of us in attendance trying to make sense of them.  A trek to the basement of a 125 year old building held the promise of something interesting but apparently the spirits were not amused with a voice saying “leave” on that crazy radio.  My friends and I left a little disappointed that we didn’t seen any shadow figures or hear any disembodied voices but it was fun and something different to do.  After all, the idea of spirits in an after life of some kind is intriguing.

The rest of the evening was spent straightening up for the following day and then it was off to bed to get ready for our grandkids who would be staying the day and overnight with us.  We’re both old pros with children, so what could go wrong? Well, if we brought someone home with us, all kinds of things could happen.

Now, I certainly can’t blame a poltergeist for a blizzard coming through,  but I’m starting to wonder about the rest of our day.  The morning they arrived I made breakfast having promised them I would make omelets.  As we were cleaning up, we noticed that the freezer door was a bit ajar and the ice cream was melting.  There wasn’t much so, rather than refreeze it we just threw it away, cleaning out the freezer and the floor and making  sure the door was closed until lunch when I went to get out some burger and it was beginning to defrost too.  Now we knew for sure that the fridge wasn’t working so it was a race against time to eat what we could and figure out what to do with the rest of it.

At some point, one of my husband’s little game systems just died.  Changed the batteries, nothing happened.  It had been just fine until yesterday.  Then I noticed how snippy everyone was getting at each other, even us old people.  Thinking that getting to sleep might be the answer,  we sent the boys off to bed where one promptly dropped his water bottle and more snippiness occurred.  Doug and I finally got to bed and around 2:30 a.m. or so, my phone lit up telling me that my battery was sufficiently charged and at the same time I heard the pipes singing in the bathroom in the hall.  Concerned that the sound would wake up the boys, I jumped up, threw on a robe, walked across the hall and flushed.  And the toilet overflowed.  The one plunger was in my son’s bathroom, so I’m knocking on his door (after I’ve thrown towels on the bathroom floor) to get the plunger and unclog the toilet.  Other than my son and myself, nobody was the wiser except maybe someone who followed us home.

This morning the fun didn’t stop as I decided to finish up some laundry and there was some kind of gum, shredded up and stuck all inside the dryer.  Not my circus, not my monkeys so I got the culprit and had him scrape it all out so I could finish. I’m not naming names.

The boys were up and roughhousing at 7:30 this morning, which wouldn’t normally be a big deal but not so much when you were up at 2:30 unclogging a toilet. Grandpa walked through the snow to get breakfast since everything was now defrosted and we enjoyed a combination of burritos and donuts.  Well, I only enjoyed the donuts, but to each his own.  After breakfast we got the boys to help pack up to go home and in his zeal to help, one of the boys pulled his mattress past the Kokopelli art piece I have and ripped a hole in the mattress.  If it could go wrong, it certainly did.

We were told that if something attaches and goes home with you it usually only lasts about 24 hours.  Well, things have calmed down quite a bit and nothing has broken or stopped working for a little while so maybe our guest has left.  Perhaps this is “not me”, the poltergeist we had while the boys were growing up.  After all, they never did the crazy things that happed in the house, it was always “not me”.  So next time I go to one of these paranormal investigations,  I’ll be sure to not bring “not me” home with me.