Evie going down the slide.

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Evie on the slide!

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And now for another episode of "Why teachers drink..."

In my 7th grade social studies class, we have been studying the Renaissance for oh, the past month. After giving them the chapter review, holding discussions on the key elements/themes of the chapter, we played Jeopardy last week. The Jeopardy questions were actual test questions; the kids took the test the following day. They BOMBED it.

So, thinking perhaps we didn't prep them enough, or between the two of us (I partner -teach) there was too much lag time in information, my partner spent Wednesday -Friday of last week re-reviewing with the students, making sure they REALLY understood the important information and themes.

They re-took the test today, and I am grading tonight. Most students are doing much better however a few obviously still didn't study.

I came across this answer and couldn't help but share it:

Question: Why was northern Italy a natural birthplace for the Renaissance? In your answer, explain what the Renaissance was.

Answer: (all spelling and grammatical errors left unedited for full effect.)
"Northern Italy was a natural birthplace for the Renissainse beacause, The Renissaince is the time where everyone started liking art. the 16th chapel is where everyone started to like art. Then it was built in Italy. After that, it (art?) started building. That is Why Italy is the natural birthplace."

I can't decide which part is my favorite, the absolutely WRONG answer, the misspelling of the word Renaissance, (the spelling of which is typed on the test above the answer,) or the fact that this student refers to Michelangelo's masterpiece as "the 16th chapel," apparently a place where everyone started to like art.

Excuse me as I go pour myself a stiff drink and cry for a while.

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Evie singing along with Cinderella

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The first casualties of the potty

As I was growing up, my parents both used to tell a story about how, when I was around two years-old I had a tendency for flushing things down the toilet. The most famous story told was a tale of how I found my father’s wallet the day he cashed his paycheck and systematically flushed each bill down, one at a time. They came to this discovery only after they heard a flush followed by the sound of my toddler giggling, and the phrase “uh-oh.”

As has been proven in photos, Evie is my tiny clone. It seems however, she is not only my clone in looks, but also in actions. Last night when I was getting her ready for bed, I could not find her toothbrush, which usually sits on the back of the bathroom counter in a small cup. I looked all over the bathroom, her bedroom, my bedroom, the bathtub, they were nowhere to be seen. Finally I noticed the lid to the toilet was closed over the top of her small potty-seat adapter. Suspicious, I opened the lid, and there, soaking in the toilet, was her toothbrush, her cup, a plastic action figure from Mcdonalds and her “radio,” a small rubberized mp3 player for kids that we had just recently purchased for her.

All were taking a swim inside the porcelain bowl, and from what I could tell, they had been in there for quite a while.

I looked at Evie, who was standing next to me, peering over the side of the toilet; I asked her, “Evie, did you put these in the toilet?” She looked up at me with her big hazel eyes, and very seriously explained “Dey go potty, Mommy; dey go potty, in dere.”

Indeed.

Visions of my future, memories of my past

I took Evie up to bed this evening and as I do every night, I sang "you are my sunshine" to her, a song that was sung to me as a child. We sang together, we gave each other hugs and kisses, I arranged her blanket(s- she has 3 she likes to rotate through the night) and I tucked her in.
Immediately, upon laying her down on her little toddler-sized pillow, she declared "I don't want it."

I responded, "I know, but it's bed time, and you are tired, so lay down please."

She laid down on her back, head on the little pillow I made for her, and then stuck her feet straight up in the air, to block any blanket tucking.

I looked at her and decided not to engage. Instead, I held up her soft pink blanket, which is silky on one side; we call it her "silky."

"Do you want your silky?" I asked.

With a thumb firmly set in her teeth, she grunted, "nuh, uh."

I held up her real quilt as well as a crocheted blanket which she usually just hugs all night:

"Do you want your blanket?"

Evie: "nuh uh"

Me: "Ok, suit yourself, I love you." I stroked the hair out of her face, gave her a kiss on her forehead and laid her blankie next to her at arms reach, in case she changed her mind once I left the room.

She immediately started crying, and once I closed the door I could hear the thud, thud, thud of blankets and stuffed animals being thrown overboard, as she systematically declared "I. Don't. Want. It!"

I waited a few minutes, and then opened her door, she was standing there, in a barren bed, beginning to strip.

The second the door opened however, she dove face-first into the mattress, and went limp, as if to try to fool me into thinking she was asleep. Her pajama shirt was un-buttoned, one leg was already out of her pants, but there she was, still and silent, pretending she was asleep.

As I looked at my not-yet 2 year-old daughter, "playing possum" in her bed, blanket strewn across the floor, pillow thrown across the room, I laughed to myself and remembered my own childhood, trying as hard as possible to stay up later than allowed. My mother would inevitably come storming in to lay down the law, and each and every time she would turn the knob of my door, I would dive under the covers and pretend I was asleep.

She never bought it obviously, and yet I always tried.

And then tonight, history has repeated itself. I have become my mother and my daughter has well, apparently our looks aren't the only thing we have in common.

As I put her jammies back on, and told her to lay back down and go to sleep, I contemplated what the next week, the next month and the next 16 years are going to bring.

What's scary? She's not even two yet.

New phrases by Evie

"No, my do it!" In reference to everything, buckling in her seat, velcro-ing her shoes, zipping her jacket, etc.

She also like to run around the corner from where I am standing and then say: "Mommmmmy, where awww yuuu?"
She then runs back around the corner to where I have been standing, to announce "There you is!"

Whenever the dog barks, she now runs to the door, knocks on it, and says "HEY! Shasha! Be Nishe! No Balking!" (Hey, portia, be nice, no barking.)

When I tell her it's time to go to bed, she says "No, I don't want it." :-)

I'm so enjoying her little sentences, and really finding her expressions of her own personality.

Fertile Soil

Last November, I attended the Christian Musician's summit and happened to have the opportunity to meet Katherine Scott, a very talented singer/songwriter from Ireland. She had some beautiful songs about life in general and remaining faithful through tough times. During one of her song transitions, she started talking about her own life and mentioned her observation that the "waiting periods" in our lives are God's way of preparing the soil of your heart to plant new seeds. A very Irish saying, but I found it very true.

Bryan and I are in one of these waiting periods. Everything it seems, is falling apart or not working out the way we had planned. We are in a flurry of uncertainty in many different aspects and thus we wait for answers and direction.

And so as we wait, we ask our friends to pray for us as our soil becomes more and more fertile.

Today

Today began at 5:45 am with the ear piercing squall of a toddler who did not yet want to be awake, but who certainly did not want to be asleep alone. She screamed until her father brought her to our bed, where she quickly made herself comfortable between our two bodies, laying vertically to that her head was on him and her feet were shoved into my back.

Soon, she was squirming around, spinning and pressing against the two of us until nobody could sleep anymore and we all decided it was time to get up.

Bryan drove us all into town where I was to have my MRI. However, upon arrival it was determined I had already had an MRI in the hospital (I have little recollection of much of my hospital stay) and thus the doctor had decided to cancel the MRI and await further instructions from the neurologist. In the meantime I am to continue taking the pills and not drive for fear I will seize again.

Bryan had already left so I had to call him to turn around to pick me up.

We then went to the hardware store to retrieve spray foam for the vents to block the rodent stink from the crawl space until he has the time to go spelunking.

We are home now, he has sprayed the foam, the candles are lit and he has requested that I help him tear out the wall in the garage. I reminded him that I can barely hold a pencil, let alone a hammer, but this seemed to be of little consequence to my husband. So I will go out and cheer him on, but there will be, I assure you, no wall removal by me.