What to do on a snow day

We had two snow days this week. It seemed a bit unnecessary at first, but there was an inch of snow on the ground. Fair enough. Matt is a full-time student this semester (thank you very much, taxpayers), so he was home both days, too. One of his classes was even canceled. We obviously were not used to all the free time.

We cleaned and organized the pantry:
Barley was a big help:

We also did copious amounts of laundry and cleaned the entire house. I finished days' worth of lesson plans, and Matt did something to our house's wireless network that I don't understand. That was on day 1.

By day 2, we were getting restless. Poor Barley bore the brunt of our boredom, but you, loyal readers, get to enjoy the resulting photos and videos. Barley says, "you're welcome," but he's glad I'm back at school.

Every doggie looks cuter with snow on his nose:

We did let him in right after this video was taken:


Honestly, we did.


Edit: For the record (and before the Maryland SPCA comes knocking on our door), Barley jumps and barks at the sliding door like that every single time we let him outside. While it may look and sound like we torture him, that's just what he wants you to believe.

No, I'm not sorry

When I was younger, I remember saying "I'm sorry" to just about everything. My dad would tell me to stop apologizing all the time, to which I would reply: "I'm sorry, Dad." I would even apologize when I bumped into a wall or other inanimate objects. It was a disease.

As I grew older, I made a point to stop apologizing all the time. Lately, however, I've noticed that the old habit is back. I've been thinking about this ever since Maria's recent post.

Matt came inside earlier today and asked if we had an ice scraper in the house. "No, I'm sorry," I said. Why? Did I intentionally leave the ice scraper in the car?

Last night, Matt asked if we had any ketchup. "No, I'm sorry," I said. Did I know he would need ketchup and maliciously not purchase any the last time I went to Safeway? Of course not.

And the list goes on. Maybe all this apologizing is a nasty case of "Minnesota nice;" maybe it's female nature to apologize when things aren't exactly perfect; maybe it's just a habit. Regardless, I'm devaluing myself with each needless apology. So from this day forward, I'm issuing a self-imposed "I'm sorry ban." Sorry, Matt. Shoot! Okay, starting now.

Buy a newspaper...please

I grew up in a house filled with reading. My parents subscribed to all sorts of magazines, and my mom especially read every book she could get her hands on (especially during the summer when she could take a break from To Kill a Mockingbird and The Scarlet Letter).

My parents also read newspapers, at least two each day. Some of my earliest memories are of long summer mornings, the smell of coffee in the air, sun streaming through the front windows and newspapers strewn all over the floor. When I describe my parents to people, I say that they would roll around in words if they could.

When I went to college, I pursued an English degree without much focus. During my second year, though, I took a journalism course as a requirement, and I discovered my collegiate purpose. I started writing for the campus newspaper soon after that, and I found some of my life's best friends. We were a small staff of writers and editors, but we saw ourselves as the campus crusaders for justice--exposing wrongs and questioning the establishment.

Now that I'm an adult, I've continued my love affair with newspapers and journalism. I subscribe to the Washington Post, and try to read at least one article each morning before school. On weekends, I make a big pot of coffee, let the sun stream through the front windows and surround myself with words.

Sadly, fewer and fewer people are starting their days with a hard copy of the newspaper. I understand that many have chosen the convenience of free access to the news, but I worry that fewer people are actually reading the news. Maybe it's my social-studies-teaching father speaking through me, but the thought of a free society without the watchful eye of the press petrifies me. As Thomas Jefferson said, "The only security of all is in a free press. The force of public opinion cannot be resisted when permitted freely to be expressed. The agitation it produces must be submitted to. It is necessary to keep the waters pure."

So, in an effort to ensure that the agitation of public opinion continues, I implore everyone to help save the freedom of the press: participate in Buy a Newspaper Day. If you're feeling especially generous, shell out another $.50 and buy two.

Inaugural guilt

I was overwhelmed with terrible guilt on my way to school this morning. I didn't make it to any inauguration festivities over the weekend, despite living just 20 miles away. I was wondering if I'd be kicking myself 20 years from now that I was missing the inauguration itself, too.

"A celebration like none other," one NPR commentator said.

"The energy is palpable," said another.

"I should've skipped school," I thought.

Then, as I was sitting at my desk, trying to figure out what to do with another day of shortened classes (seriously, there wasn't even any snow this time), it hit me. Instead of wallowing in self-pity or guilt, I'd turn today's history into a life lesson.

In my English 10 classes today, my students wrote letters to the president. I showed them how to write a respectful letter, even when writing to disagree or complain. I explained that part of their duty of living in a free country is using the skills we learn in English class to communicate with those in power.

Inevitably, this assignment was greeted with a few of those expected questions, which were followed by my less-than-appreciated questions and replies:

"Can I write to McCain instead?"
"Is he the president?"

"I can't vote. Do I have to do this?"
"Do you live in this country?"

"I don't feel strongly about any issues."
"Then write about the problem of apathy among America's youth."

"If this is a free country, I'm deciding not to write this letter."
"Ah, but this classroom is a benevolent dictatorship. Write."

Overall, I was quite pleased with the care and concern with which my sophomores wrote to the new president. The spirit and excitement they showed while exercising their democracy more than made up for the fact that I wasn't among the 2 million frozen bodies on the Mall today. Even if they didn't agree with our new president, my students still wrote with the expectation that their voices will be heard. I can't think of a better way to celebrate today's historic change.

Cold comforts of home

My friend Mindy came over the other night. She had to hurry inside because it was "so freezing" outside. We figured it was about 15 degrees. We talked about how cold it was back in Minnesota and Wisconsin. "Why do we miss those places?" Mindy asked.

Yesterday morning, a few girls in my first period were complaining about how cold it was outside and how cold my room was. It was around 10 degrees outside, and it takes a few bodies to warm up an old classroom, so, yes, it was cold. I told them how cold it was in Minnesota. "Why do you want to move back there?" they asked.

Then, yesterday afternoon, my friend Jessica (also an escapee from the bitter Minnesota winters) sent me this video:


21 below? Really? That's the air temperature! This dude isn't even wearing a hat! Although hammering with produce and calling it a "bammer" may have been a questionable choice for national television, this dude is proud of how cold his home state is. He's embracing the cold and, by God, it's embracing him.

This last week, Anna wrote about how cold it is, too. In Minnesota, life doesn't stop because it's cold. Minnesotans don't make a run on milk and bread when there are snow flurries in the sky. They're tough people who not only get out of bed when it's colder than the Arctic, but also find clever ways to multitask with fruit and get their butts to the gym.

Mindy, this is why we miss that place.

Kids, this is why I want to move back there.

Stalker dog

Matt and I have a loft over our bedroom. I call it my library, but it's slowly becoming Barley's bedroom. Barley won't sleep on dog beds, but he loves to migrate from couch to couch throughout our house. The faux-leather one up in our library loft has become his favorite.

This wouldn't be a problem if he didn't always get off the couch and peer down at us from above:

I wonder what goes through his head when he's up there...

"Do they know that I can see them? Will they see me eat this chair?"

"How far can I fly if I get a running start?"

"I'll wait until they fall asleep. Then, I'll attack."

If people were more like animals

My mom sent me this video, and I just had to share it.



Why can't we all be more like Bella and Tara?

The gift that kept on giving

I got a wonderful birthday present from my Feyds and Annabear this year. Thanks to wonderful after-Christmas sales these past few weeks, it's the gift that has kept giving and giving (and, thanks so some mismarked items this afternoon, it will continue to give):


The only thing that would have made this awesome gift better would have been shopping with Feyds and Annabear. Maybe next birthday.

Christmas with the Bergs, Hedlunds, Petersons...

Here it is, mid-January, and I'm still writing about Christmas. I'm either overwhelmingly busy educating the youth of Baltimore County, or I'm channeling Tiny Tim: "I will honor Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year." I prefer the latter.

After a few days with Matt's family, we drove across town to spend a few days with mine. It was wonderful to be able to see both our families at Christmastime without having to travel back to 2-degree Minnesota! Thankfully, I thought to take my camera out on this side of town.

Like our time with Matt's family, we spent hours relaxing, eating and loving. Trips like this make it really hard to live thousands of miles away from our immediate families. Thankfully, we made the very most of the time we did have together.

Matt and my uncle and cousins went skiing (thanks for the photos, Rob! I was most definitely not on the top of that mountain):

My mom and I did a fair amount of drinking (yes, we shared):

We all did a ridiculous amount of eating:

And my cousin, Rob, taught me the neatest game with our digital camera (he's had a lot more practice than I have):

Aside from our copious hours of lounging around and gorging ourselves, we obviously spent a good part of our time in Colorado laughing and laughing...and laughing. It helps that we also spent most of our time with people under the age of 13. They just make life that much more enjoyable:

Thank you to all the family who welcomed us so warmly over the holidays! Our Maryland door is always open.

Christmas with the Scherers

I'm absolutely kicking myself that we didn't take out our camera during our few days with Matt's side of the family in Colorado. Still, we had an absolutely wonderful time. Thank goodness for these obligatory 1,000 words (give or take) to take the place of said picture.

We waited over an hour for our bags (state-of-the-art luggage system at the Denver airport, my foot), but Matt's dad waited ever-so-patiently with us. It was just so good to see him again, I think I could've been standing outside on a January day in Minnesota and been happy.

We spent the rest of our time with the Scherers split between his brother's house and various local shopping centers. We saw a mall, we saw an outlet center, we saw what was probably the world's biggest liquor store ever. It had a mountain of Busch Light in the back. I mean, a literal mountain. Someone should tap those Rockies, if you know what I mean.

The thing I love most about any time we have with Matt's family is the way we all laugh and laugh and laugh...and then laugh a little more. We played some stupid little game (A to Z...think Cathphrase meets Taboo or Scattergories), but it made us laugh for hours. Matt obviously grew up in a house with a lot of laughter, which means the world to me. Thank you, Cathy and David!

Even more importantly, every time I'm with the Scherers, I marvel at how deeply they love each other. I can feel the love they have for me, too, and I know I'm just about the luckiest daughter-in-law/sister-in-law ever.

I'll write more soon on the second half of our vacation: Christmas across town with the Petersons, Hedlunds and Bergs.

Barley's Christmas

We're back from Colorado, getting settled into our semi-regular routine again. I have some pictures and stories to post, but it may take a while to sort through everything. In the meantime, enjoy some adorable (albeit terribly gratuitous) videos of Barley opening his Christmas presents:

Two before we left home:




And one surprisingly similar present when we got back, thanks to my parents: