A New Year's Attempt

Well, it's the end of 2011, and while most people traditionally get rip snortin' drunk, fall headfirst into some highly questionable decisions, and then wake up to make several promises they cannot/will not keep, I am not one of them.

I'm too wise for rip snortin' drunk. I'm too old for any more questionable decisions. And I'm far too realistic about promises. Too many have been broken in my life.

But I'm not so cynical that I can't make attempts. So in 2012, my attempt will be to see the positive. Too try to see the good. To avoid running from the bad. To face down the bad with as much courage as I can muster because the bad already knows all my best hiding places.

So tonight, I've tucked myself in on the couch, put on a movie, wrangled a snuggly kitty, and poured myself a margarita. And I've thought about all my favorite memories from 2011. Because when the clock strikes, and the year turns, I only want the good creeping into my brain.

To all of you who love me, support me, make me laugh, buy me double birthday cakes, share your families, homes, and strength, I raise my glass to you. You make my life better and brighter and sometimes rowdier than all of Times Square.

I Just Don't Know...

It's been a hard Christmas, y'all.  A hard one.  And it's not even Christmas yet.

That's how hard it's been.

I'm just in the weirdest place.  There is so much good around me, but I just can't seem to shake all the Bad.  And the Bad always just seems to swallow up the good.  Swallow.  Devour.  Annihilate.  Consume.

Even when I'm happy, the Bad just seems to linger nearby, waiting to pounce.

Yesterday, a terrible thing was happening during the end of the school day.  A terrible thing that I blew off before I realized just how terrible it truly was.  And it brought grief to my school, to my friends, to my former students.  A young life, taken far too soon for all the wrong reasons.  And the person who took it was smiling as he was led to the back of the police car.

I don't know why these things happen.
I don't know why the best we have to offer are so often taken too soon.
I don't know what is wrong with our world.

I just don't know.

Happy Birthday, Alison!

This is my crazy, wonderful friend, Alison.  This happens to be one of my favorite pictures of her because it totally encapsulates our friendship.  Full of laughter.

It was taken while we were laughing maniacally at nothing of any importance whatsoever.

She's a crazy girl.  Obsessed with nail painting and Taylor Swift and obscenely huge purses and building the perfect hair bump, on the surface, you'd think that there's no possible way for us to be friends.  But we are.  And I'm glad for that.

Because, mostly, we love to laugh maniacally at nothing of any importance whatsoever. 

It's fun.  You should try it.

And we sing, loudly, on the Mule -- the camp all-terrain vehicle for most.  Motorized lounge act for us.

You should try that too.  In your car.  At the mall.  Outside your boss's office.  You know... wherever.

Happy (early) Birthday, Alison.  May your tomorrow be full of  laughter and impressively terrible, but spontaneous, song.

I Certainly Don't Do It For The Money

I didn't want to be a teacher all my life. I didn't grow up playing school house. I certainly never had the craving to wear school bus earrings or apple sweaters.

I still don't, by the way, so don't get any bright ideas.

Yet somewhere along the way, I made a startling realization. I really love to teach people new things. Sincerely. It's not because I presume to be some kind of genius. I'm not. Or because I'm some jackass know-it-all. Because I'm not. Or at least I hope I'm not. I simply get a huge charge out of learning new things, and as I love to learn, I also love to see others learn.

It's that moment that the light bulb comes on. The smile that bespeaks confidence and accomplishment. And then the subsequent moment that person teaches someone else.

After teaching and coaching for almost twelve years, I can honestly say this: on any given day, I'll get four times as many blank looks as I do light bulbs. And that's even probably a generous estimation. The blank looks are maddening -- soul-crushing -- at times, and the continual repetition is wearing to say the least. But the challenge of seeing a problem and searching for new ways to approach it is what keeps me going.

On Friday and Saturday, I moved four of my A-Team basketball girls down to the B-Team. They were disappointed, for sure, but I asked them for only one thing: to believe that I was doing this to help them. To teach them in a space more suited to their level and at a slower pace.

And in the first game of the morning, in the most crucial time, the girl who wouldn't so much "shoot" the basketball as "attempt to crack the backboard by chunking the basketball" received the entry pass, pivoted to the goal, took a power dribble, and put up the most beautiful lay-up I've seen in a decade of awkward junior high basketball. My heart skipped a beat. And then, as if the basketball gods had not been kind enough to me already, she did it again on the very next possession. I promptly fell off the bench in a fit of giggles.

The whole gym got a little bit brighter from both of our smiles.

And that, my friends, is why I teach.

Why I'm the Dumbest Person I Know

I loves me some Diet Coke.

Loves.

Really, a Diet Coke from QT, with some crushed ice is basically my A.M. lifeblood. And P.M. Let's be real. It's an all-day love affair.

So one might wonder, considering my loyal dedication to this nectar of the Gods, why I've decided to try to give it up. Because I'm stupid. That's why.

It started on Saturday with me being frugal. Wait. Strike that. Lazy. Yes, that's the word I'm looking for. I was so tired/lazy on Saturday morning, I couldn't go to the store. I couldn't get out of my pajamas or brush my hair. Not that theses are deterrents for anyone looking to visit my local Wal-Martz.

So I thought to myself, "Hey, Self. You don't need no stinkin' Diet Coke! Have some tasty tap water instead!"

This is the moment I needed someone to intervene. But I live alone, and I'm pretty convincing, so I talk myself into some stupid shit all the time.

I lived off the tap water for a couple of hours before the first twinges of caffeine withdrawal settled in. I popped some ibuprofen and brewed some tea. I staved off the shakes for another couple of hours, and thus decided, "This isn't so hard! I could totally give up Diet Coke! Think of the money I'll save!"

Again. I live alone. And I'm fairly stupid at times. And stubborn.

By Sunday afternoon, I believe I was in full-blown Diet Coke de-tox. But I was determined. Because I'm absurdly competitive, even with only myself. Even when I literally could not peel myself off the couch for a while because my head and body ached so badly.

I think the Betty should open a wing just for recovering Diet Coke-heads.

I did manage to get up this morning although I cracked and had one normal-sized Diet Coke. I did not, however, strangle a child or co-worker as I was afraid I would.

But tomorrow's a new day.

Ring the Bell

Sometimes, you suffer what feels like a soul-crushing defeat.  It feels that every turn of good luck is met with an equally powerful dose of bad luck.

But here's the good news. 

Tomorrow, the sun will rise.  Your kids will smile at you, and you will find yourself smiling back.  Your favorite song will come on the radio, and you'll find yourself humming along.  Maybe you check your winter coat pocket and find a leftover 10 spot.  Or maybe you don't, but the sun's still up and you've still got a chance to turn things around.

And that's when you find out what you truly believe.

I'm sad for our Rangers.  I'm devastated for my long-time, die-hard Ranger faithful friends.  It is little salve to say that it was an incredible match of wills and determination that unfortunately didn't go our way.  But here's what people don't realize: sometimes you are strongest and most dangerous with your back against the wall, and that's when the fighters really step into the ring.

So shake off the bad.  Lace up your gloves.  Wait for the bell.  Come out swinging.

And tomorrow, when you walk out the door, don't forget to check your pockets.

Buyer Beware. It's a $30 Rant.

Take a look.

What might that be?  A clean desk?  No...  A new manicure?  Not so much...

It's a pencil.  That's right.  A pencil.  And before you roll your eyes and click that little red "x" in the corner, understand this... That's a $30.00 pencil.

Oh, you heard me right.  I didn't stutter.  That, my friends, is a $30.00, not-fancy, not-even-mechanical, will-be-devoured-in-5-turns-of-my-jacked-up-pencil-sharpener kind of pencil.

Uh. huh.

Now, I have to confess.  I didn't know that I was buying a $30.00 pencil.  Frankly, I hate pencils.  Detest them.  The writing's faint and reflects the light.  They smudge.  They leave eraser shavings all over my desks and require no less than 23 trips to the pencil sharpener per day.  I abhor pencils.

So, I'm sure that you're positively puzzled as to how I wound up with such an unwanted treasure.  Well, I'll tell you. 

I donated to a charitable cause.  And this was my "thank you".  I found it in an envelope addressed to me.  Without so much as a thank you form letter inside. 

A pencil.  In an envelope.

Now, before I get tens of emails/comments chiding me with phrases like, "It's the thought that counts" or "You should be grateful for even the smallest things" and treat me like some ungrateful wench, understand this:  I love to give.  Love it.  Can't resist it.  I buy cookie dough and gift wrap and coffee from every little kid with a fundraiser pamphlet.  I don't even drink coffee, but I'll buy it.  You're jumping rope for heart?  Tell me how much your mom pledged.  I'll probably double it.  Bowling for Kids?  Knock $50 worth of pins down for me!  You've lost your mind and decided to run 26.2 miles for cancer research?   Better you than me!  Here's my check, Crazy Face!

That's who I am.  A sucker giver.

You are funding educational grants for teachers who never have the funds to do all the things for their students that they can?  I'm in for $30!  And normally, I'd be in for a lot more ,but I bought a crap ton of giftwrap and coffee this year.  For real, you're all getting coffee. for Christmas.  Or Tuesday.  Gift-wrapped coffee.

Understand another thing, however, before you place that trinket in an envelope with a scrap of paper with my name taped to the front (I mean for God's sake, can't you at least take the time to hand write my name?).  I DON'T WANT IT!  In fact, it seems a tad trite and pathetic.  And junky.  It makes me wonder how when our state and district is in an enormous budget crunch, you're still shelling out the bucks to Oriental Trading Company for engraved pencils or coffee mugs. 

Last year, when I donated a bit more, I got a mug.  For the coffee I don't drink.  But at least I can't sharpen away a coffee mug.  For real.

More than just the ridiculous eyeroll that one little pencil brought on, it made me start to think about our entire society, and I became outraged.  That's right.  Pencil = All of Society's Problems.

That's how my Rage Brain works.  Just FYI, I'm like the Incredible Hulk of Illogical Rage. 

"DEANA NO LIKE YOUR CRAPPY LITTLE PENCIL.  DEANA BREAK PENCIL IN TINY PIECES!"

Why does our society request expect demand something in return all the time? Why is a simple thank you or a personal note or a phone call not enough? Has real gratitude gone out of fashion entirely?  Or do people just think that if you throw something -- anything, really, no matter how craptastic -- at you, that you will not only continue to give but also somehow be satisfied?  Are they expecting me to whip out my PENCIL at the grocery store to write a check only to have the man behind me inquire in a squeally wondrous voice, "Heavens to Betsy!  Where upon Earth did you find such a marvel of lead and wood?"  And then when I explain that it came from the recipients of a charitable donation, do they expect him to run out and throw some money their way?  No.  He won't.  Mainly because I broke your little thank you gift in the midst of a Hulk-Out.

I fully understand that not every kindness should merit a plaque or medal or t-shirt or even a coffee cup.  It shouldn't.  You shouldn't do something with the expectation of getting a return; feeling good about yourself should be quite sufficient.  But it is nice to be appreciated.  It's really nice.  Just don't patronize me.  Sometimes it's enough just to hear a thank you, receive a hug, or see a picture of what your small kindness created.  Instead of just figuring out a way to spend a little money to say thanks for gathering a ton of money, THINK.  Think about who gave the gift.  Think about who they are as a person.  Know your audience.  Grab someone's heart, and you're sure to get a lifetime of contributions.  Junk up their desk drawers and kitchen cabinets, and all you'll get is an eyeroll and a healthy dose of Rage Brain Hulk-a-Mania.  I guarantee it.

Lest I leave this on a bitter note, I made sure today to not just take pictures of that measly pencil.  I also wanted to share some of the notes and thank-yous that mean the most to me. 

1.  A thank-you note from a co-worker after his adoption shower.  It wasn't just the note; it was the words he chose and they way those words spoke to me.  While we'd worked together for 11 years and become friends, I would never have thought that my presence and support could mean so much.  And when he called me Aunt Deana, I was hooked.  I look at that note, with it's crayon-scrawled 6 year-old signature, every day when I go to work.  I didn't take a picture.  I wish I had now.  It's completely precious.

2.  Home-made certificate.  On plain white paper.  Cheap but clever.  Clever always works.  In case you can't read it, it's a Taco Bell Fire Sauce packet, and it says, "Thanks for all your hard work!  You've really been on FIRE" and "Way to think 'Outside the Bun'".  I'll never throw it away.

For just the cost of a bean burrito, you can make someone's day...

or this one:

3.  I found it in my mailbox at work.  A plain piece of paper with the words "You're doing a great job" penciled in.  No reason.  No signature.  But I found it on a day when I really wasn't believing I was doing a great job.  Even though I recognized the writing right away, it didn't matter.  At all.  Because THAT'S when the thought really counts.

Although in pencil, not in $30 pencil. 

or this:

This picture screams, "My run and your donation are helping to kick Cancer's ass!" 

That's my sort-of sister, Amanda, after finishing her 13.1 mile half-marathon.  It was my pleasure to donate to her cause.  I got a wonderful thank you on my Facebook and even better -- a chance to see her success, in full-on America's Next Top Model jumping fashion.  And her smile.

Or this:

I'll wait while you sop your melted heart up off the floor.

Okay.  Maybe I orchestrated that thank-you photo by making sure I gave a present proclaiming love for me on it.  Or this:

Not really a thank you.  But still.  How cute is that kid?  And how many birthday checks and college fund donations will I make as a result of that video?  That's what I call a preemptive thank you strike.

So go forth.  Be gracious and giving, and when someone gives to you, don't forget to say thanks. 

But not with a pencil.