Nuggets of Matt Brilliance

Matt and I were running errands today, a task that is becoming increasingly less fun as my midsection expands.  While we were at Trader Joe's, I was taking a break in the frozen food aisle while Matt kept shopping.

After a minute or so, a very sweet old lady came up to me and said, "Oh my goodness.  You are so cute!"  I thanked her embarrassingly and walked over to Matt to tell him what had just happened.  He looked around and said, "Oh yeah?  Who was she talking to?"

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

We talked about run-on sentences in class yesterday.  I asked students if anyone knew the name of the grammatical error created by putting a comma between two independent clauses.  The answer is "comma splice," but only one or two students all day had heard of the term.  In one particular period, it quickly became clear that no one had heard of it:

Me:  "Does anyone know the term for a comma separating two independent clauses?"

After some silence or a few random guesses.

Me.  "It's a comma....."

Still no answers.

Me.  "A comma ssss....."

Student: "Sutra!"

Who says grammar isn't sexy?

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

Two of my favorite students (we totally have favorites; teachers who say they don't are lying) were working together on a project in class last week.  Both students are extremely proud African American girls, as should be evident by this conversation:

Girl 1: Daaaang, Ms. Scherer.  You gettin' kinda big!
Girl 2: Kinda?  You done popped out!
Me: Is this a good thing?
Girl 1: Oh, for sure.  You know how some pregnant ladies be all skinny all over, but then have the belly?
Me: I think that's kind of cute.
Girl 2: Ugh.  That's so ugly.
Girl 1: I know, right?  You look good, Ms. Scherer.  You fillin' out like a pregnant lady ought to.

Girl 1 had told me previously that she has 11 (yes, 11) siblings.  She knows what a pregnant lady ought to look like.

Later in the same class period, the two girls stopped me again.

Girl 1: Ms. Scherer, we decided we gonna buy you a present.  What you havin?  A boy or a girl?
Me: We don't know.  It's going to be a surprise.
Girl 2 (to Girl 1): Here's what we gonna do.  I'll buy a girl outfit, you buy a boy outfit, then we'll return the one we don't need.
Me: You ladies don't have to buy me anything.  But you know, they do make gender-neutral baby clothes.
Girl 1: Snap!  Ms. Scherer, that's why you the teacher, not us.

Barleyvac

Hmm... I thought dogs were supposed to be afraid of the vacuum cleaner.

Hoping for a nerd

Matt and I often tell each other how we hope and pray that Franny is a nerd.  Cool kids get in all sorts of trouble, especially if they have too much money and time on their hands.  My favorite students aren't the ones who are the most popular, but the ones who work hard and are sweet and respectful.

Last weekend, I found one of my favorite childhood books.  I read it over and over to Barley/Franny.

Later that weekend, Matt said, out of nowhere, "I'm going to get Franny an abacus."  I laughed and asked why in the world that would be necessary.  He looked at me like I was crazy.  "Uh, how else am I going to teach him binary?"

Perhaps we should direct our concerns away from Franny being too cool and toward protecting him from getting beat up under the bleachers.

Counting Down

As the days to maternity leave tick nearer and nearer, I find myself increasingly cranky about having to go to school.  It doesn't help that my classes consist of either stoned pot-heads or mollycoddled mama's boys.  There are good kids in there, too, but they seem to be lost in the shuffle this year.

This morning, as I was reminding myself not to make long-term career decisions at 5:15 on a Monday morning, I couldn't help but think of this poem by Shel Silverstein (and my students said there was no practical purpose to memorizing poetry):

"Sick"
By Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox.
And there's one more - that's seventeen!
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue,
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke.
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in.
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that?  What's that you say?
You say today is...Saturday?
Good bye!  I'm going out to play!"

Pearls of Teenage (and Matt) Wisdom

I'm grading my first batch of essays of the year--always a difficult undertaking.

The students wrote about culture and its effects on individuals.  One student wrote, "If you witness a doctor heal a fatally sick patient, then you may be more inclined to become a doctor."

I laughed and shared this line with Matt.  He shouted, "Lazarus!  It's possible!"

I said, "Okay, with the exception of Jesus Christ, this is a completely ridiculous statement."

Matt thought for a minute and calmly replied, "Regardless, if I saw a doctor do that, I would definitely want to become a doctor.  I just think you're overlooking some things."

Reason number 763 why Matthew Scherer should never become an English teacher.

Baby Dreams

Before Matt and I got married, we talked about what we were looking forward to most about being married.  We always said that we weren't looking forward to anything specific or particularly exciting--just everyday life together.  In spite of the many nice outings we've had and great vacations we've taken, the best parts of our marriage are still the boring nights at home with no one but each other.

When we think about having Franny, we look forward to the same thing.  Last night I had a dream that Franny and I were alone together in his room.  Franny was eating, and I was telling him a story.  We heard Barley whine downstairs like he does every day when Matt gets home, and Matt soon came upstairs to join us.  Franny got so excited to see Matt and Barley, and we all just sat in his room for hours doing nothing.  Blissful, beautiful nothing.

Defending Against Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

My two female students from yesterday's post asked me later how we plan to decorate our baby's room if we aren't finding out the gender ahead of time.  I told them that we're going to decorate with primary colors and a lot of book covers as artwork, specifically Dick and Jane.  We received a wonderful homemade Dick and Jane blanket from Matt's mom that inspired the idea. 

One girl's response to this adorable idea was less than supportive, however: "A book room?  Seriously?  Uck."  Then she kind of glared at my belly and said, "That kid is going to be so freaking smart."

Instinctively, I turned my belly away from her and said, "Well, I hope so!"  Franny isn't even fully baked, and already I'm having to defend against bullies.

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

I was talking with a few of my students near the end of the day on Friday--two girls and a boy.  The girls were asking all sorts of questions about our baby, and they finally asked if we're going to find out the gender.  The poor boy sitting next to them was so confused.

Girls: "So is it a boy or a girl?"
Me: "Yes, one of those."
Girls: "Are you going to find out which?"
Me: "Nope."
Boy: (After a long pause to consider what he'd just heard)  EVER?!

Def Poetry...Womb Style

I started this school year with poetry from HBO's series Def Poetry Jam.  Call it "gangster poetry," call it "street poetry," call it "slam poetry."  Whatever you call it, there's no denying that it's poetry--seriously powerful poetry.

Franny was especially moved by the last poem we analyzed today: "Knock Knock" by Daniel Beaty.  I could feel him jumping around throughout the performance, but especially at the end.  Can you blame him?



Franny has such soul.

Nuggets of Matt Brilliance

"I'd like to adopt a second identity.  I think I'd enjoy being a part of the criminal underground."

End-of-summer Checklist

I head back to school bright and early tomorrow morning.  I'm looking forward to seeing friends and colleagues again and to getting settled into my classroom.  Still, I always feel a bit melancholy as this time of year approaches.  To fend off the blues, it helps to think about how productive (relatively speaking) I was over the summer:

1.  Visited Minnesota?  Check.  For two whole weeks!  It was like we were living at home again.

2.  Visited Las Vegas?  Check.  (Though this city is not nearly as great while one is pregnant)

3.  Visited local museums?  Check.  And two of them were new visits!  Thank you, Groupon.  It's always a treat to visit a new museum, especially in this part of the country.

4.  Cleaned every inch of our house?  Check.  As a bonus, I completely gutted the closet in Franny's future room.  I'm sure s/he appreciates that.

5.  Canned like a Little House on the Prairie cast member?  Check.  Our pantry is stocked once again with hand-picked vegetables, homemade marinara sauce, jams, pickles and other goodies.  After we make a trip to the apple orchard in the fall, I'll finish it up with some applesauce.

6.  Read several books without thinking about character analysis or literary criticism?  Check.  Realizing that I won't be able to continue reading at this pace once school starts is always the hardest part about saying goodbye to summer.

7.  Napped daily?  Double check!  This was a delightfully lazy summer.  Thank you for that, Franny!  Mommy loves you already.

Nuggets of Matt Brilliance

Matt and I are not big dessert eaters.  Matt especially dislikes anything that's too sweet.  So even when I make a pie or a cake, we always end up throwing at least a quarter of it away.  The other day Matt was lamenting the mold that had grown on a Baltimore Peach Cake I made just days before.

Matt: It's totally impossible for two people to eat an entire cake.  Impossible.

Rachel: Well, it's not possible for us, but maybe for some---

Matt: Impossible!

Big News FAQ

In keeping with tradition established by my good friend, Rebecca, I'm going to answer several of the questions that Matt and I have gotten in recent days and weeks, re: our big news.

How far along are you?  As of tomorrow, the fetus will be roughly 15 weeks.  I'm roughly 31 years.  We're due February 7th (or thereabouts...due dates are just guesses anyway).

How are you feeling?  Much better, except when I brush my teeth.

Was this planned?  Despite how horribly inappropriate this question is, the short answer is "yes."  The long answer will come in a later post.

Are you going to find out the gender?  Only when we meet our little peanut in February.  In the meantime, we're referring to him as Francis/Frances.  Because of the obvious spelling/gender confusions, we usually just say "Franny."

Where will you deliver?  Despite my desire to deliver in the comfort of our own home, my midwife practice only delivers at Mercy Hospital in Baltimore.  This makes my man-of-science husband very happy, and I'm dealing with it.

Are you showing?  Right now, I look more like a corn-fed Midwestern girl who ate too much at the State Fair.  Hopefully Franny will pop in the next few weeks.

Are you craving anything?  Most days, I'd kill for some Starburst or a Clausen pickle--not simultaneously.  Otherwise, I'm fine with anything that doesn't contain roasted red peppers or cabbage, two pre-pregnancy favorites.

I think that's everything.  Did I forget anything?

Big news!

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

It's not that I wish I was back at school.  Really, I'm thrilled that it's summer.  But I do miss seeing kids every day.  I just found this note from a student I had this year, and it made me pine for the ridiculousness of life surrounded by 100 teenagers.

Dear Mrs. Scherer,

This is a public service message stating that I, Ted King (not even close to his real name), go hard in the muthaf***ing paint, ni#&a.  Also you are required to attend all my football games next year.

Teacher Rickrolling: The Aftermath

As a follow-up to my last post, I have to share first the beautiful video Matt made to help me trick my students:

Before I started the video, I handed out the essay questions found in yesterday's post and told them they had the last 15 minutes of class to work on this supplementary final exam.  It's sad, really, how many of them actually thought they would be writing two essays on "The Divine Existentialism of Cyrano de Bergerac" in fewer than 15 minutes.  Some even became openly hostile.  It was delightful.

A couple of my favorite students did something I hadn't planned for, however: they actually answered the stupid question.  Keep in mind that these are not the students Baltimore County has labeled as "gifted," and that they had maybe 10 minutes to write these essays.

Student 1
On Professor Puetner's follow-up lecture on Roxane's love interests, he dispels the myth that the Don Juan complex flourished at the time of the Musketeers.  I believe that, yes, it would have flourished in the pre-Raphaelite age at that time because of the many events in world history, including (1) the French Revolution during the 18th century with the conflict between the ruling class and the bourgeoisie on voting on important issues and (2) the European colonization and use of the sphere of influence of China's cultures as it relates to not controlling their own government.

Student 2
The Professor's follow-up lecture on Roxane's love interest in Christian dispels the myth that the Don Juan complex flourished at the time of the Musketeers.  The historical evidence of Charlie Sheen relates to this because of the way he treats women and his true love.  Roxane is actually Charlie Sheen in disguise.  I do not believe this is appropriate to read about in a 10th grade English class.  Thanks for being a great teacher, Mrs. Scherer!

The students have become the masters.  Mission accomplished.

Rick Rolling, Teacher Style

As their final project each year, my students create Facebook pages for the characters in Cyrano de Bergerac.  They typically have a lot of fun with them and ultimately show a greater understanding of the text than if they had simply written a paper.

This year, I've had a uniquely close relationship with many of my students.  As a result, they felt it would be okay to Rick Roll me through these projects.  For those not aware of the act of "Rick Rolling," it involves tricking people into hearing the lyrics and/or music of Rick Astley's 1987 painful classic "Never Gonna Give You Up."  Said listener wasn't expecting to hear the song, and he or she then curses the prankster as the song (rick) rolls through his or her head all day.  Allow me to Rick Roll you now as a demonstration:



I'm not one to sit back and let teenagers have the last laugh.  After they've taken their final exams this week, I'm going to tell them we're listening to a recording of a lecture about Cyrano de Bergerac and that they will be expected to respond to it with two formal essays, each of which will count for 50% of their final grade.  After they've received the instructions below, I'll begin to play the text of the "lecture."  And then Mr. Astley's song will kick in, thus effectively Rick Rolling my sophomores.  Last word: Mrs. Scherer.

The Divine Existentialism of Cyrano de Bergerac

Final Exam Supplementary Essays  

Directions: As you listen to Oxford University professor Raymond Logue's lecture on the existentialism of the divine actions of Cyrano de Bergerac, write a well-organized and detailed essay on the professor's assertions that dichotomy of Cyrano's perfunctory nature is in direct contrast with his stouthearted actions. 

Further analyze the professor's opinion on the protagonist's archaic actions as contrasted with the coquettish nature of his fraternal cousin and the play's heroine, Roxane.

In a second essay, predict how Professor Logue's follow-up lecture on Roxane's love interest, Christian, seeks both to support and dispel the myth that the Don Juan complex flourished at the time of the Musketeers. Would such a complex have flourished in the pre-Raphialite age as it did at that time?  Or are the two inherently mutually exclusive? Support your answer with at least six historical examples, including direct quotations from Sigmund Freud's early theories (references to later theories or other psychologists' refutations of such theories will result in zero credit).    

In both essays, support your position with exact quotations from Cyrano de Bergerac and at least three other texts read this year. Paraphrasing is unacceptable and will result in zero credit.

Maternal Superstar

My mom is receiving an award for her amazing volunteer work at Rezek House in St. Paul.  Other retirees take up knitting or gardening; my mom reaches out to homeless teenagers.  She's uniquely amazing.

The recognition ceremony for this award is tomorrow night, and it has me running Carol Berg memories through the brain.  Who else's mother includes a quote from Hamlet in the senior ads portion of the high school yearbook?  Everyone else's said some Chaska variation of, "Go, Billy!  We love you!" but mine said, "Darling daughter: to thine own self be true."  I've done my best, Mom.

Then, of course, there's also the memory of the time she had the second margarita and gave us a very entertaining car ride home (from the passenger seat, naturally), but I'm sticking with the Shakespeare thing.

Nuggets of Matt Brilliance

Matt and I were at a hardware store this weekend, searching for parts to he could jimmyrig his grill.  Nothing says "Scherer" like jimmyrigging something that involves gas and fire. 

Anyway, he looked around at the other customers, then looked at me with his sideways, contemplative look and said, "Judging by the number of crazy old guys around here, I'd say this is a pretty good hardware store."

Happy Mother's Day!

And, thanks to my dear friend Mary, I'm also reminded that it's "Mothers' Day."

Something tells me my grammar-loving, bleeding-heart mother would appreciate this.  Is is any wonder I love her so?

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

On this week's vocabulary quiz was the word "Quell":  To put an end to; to subdue.

One student interpreted the definition a bit more literally.  When eating crabs in Maryland, we hit them with hammers or smash them on the table.  I assume this is what she was imagining when she wrote this very different sentence:

"Every summer at my grandma's, we sit outside to quell our crabs."

"You're a Word-maker..."

Today in class, my sophomores found passages from the novel we're reading, then wrote words to describe the tone of each passage.  This is the week before Spring Break, so some students got a little punchy and began making up words.

Then their teacher got a little punchy.

"You're such a word-maker," I said.  Then I thought about it.  The tune to "Heartbreaker" by Pat Benatar started running through my head.  Soon I was singing:

You're a...
Word-maker
Thesaurus-writer
Synonyms, don't you mess around with me

You're the right kind of sentence
To release my inner imagery

You're a...
Word-maker
Thesaurus-writer
Synonyms, don't you mess around with me

The next thing I knew, I was singing it all afternoon.  It really is catchy.

My delightful 7th period (which I can now share is my favorite--thank you, blog lock-down) added this addendum at the end of the day: "And then we gonna go all antonym, yo!"  Yes, the shift from 80's pop icon to gansta rap is a bit jarring, but they did include a hand signal: picture a "hang loose" gesture upside down, kind of like the letter A--for antonym.  Brilliant.

And just in case anyone isn't familiar with "Heartbreaker," (and so you can have "Word-maker" in your heads all day, too) this is my gift to you.  Go ahead...sing along.

Blog Lock-down

Amidst all the talk of a government shut-down, I feel rather guilty for explaining my own shut-down.  But since some of you have asked, here's the story:

I was talking with a few students not long ago, and one of them told me a story about getting flicked off by someone with a Twins bumper sticker.  I asked him to describe the car, because said flicker could most definitely have been one of our Minnesota acquaintances.  The student asked why I wanted to know, and I explained that Matt and I have several friends from Minnesota living in Maryland.  I said that we function like an immigrant community, forming our own "Little Minnesota," watching football, going to baseball games, etc.  Out of nowhere another student asked, "And blogging?"  I told him that was ridiculous, then Googled myself as soon as I had a chance.  Our blog is the fourth link.  This is the same student who has a D because he hasn't turned in a single homework assignment all quarter.  Obviously, his free time is being terribly misspent.

And so we're locked down for the foreseeable future.  Thank you for continuing to love our family and language as much as we do.

Pearls of Teacher Wisdom

This week my students are reviewing the difference between "whose" and "who's."  At the end of today's discussion, I made a comment about the "who's," as in the plural.  "Know the 'who's' by Friday's quiz," I said. 

Then off the top of my head, I rattled off the following delightful stream of consciousness:

The "who's."  Hmm...  That sounds like Dr. Seuss...

The "who's" down in Whoville liked grammar a lot.
But the Grinch who lived just north of Whoville did not.
He was a math major.

Poor Mr. Conehead

Barley is a bit neutoric...which is a bit of an understatement.  When he gets a small cut, he licks it and licks it until it becomes a big problem.  We've always been able to treat it with some wrapping or, honestly, yelling at him a lot to just knock it off.

That wasn't enough this time, and we had to resort to the dreaded doggie conehead.  I know they claim dogs can't cry, but I swear I see little tears in those eyes:

Thankfully, Barley is also very adaptable, and within minutes, he was back to his old routine (if one can call doing absolutely nothing a routine):

The cone did present a bit of a problem a few days later, however.  Barley often gets himself stuck in our laundry room, since the door easily opens but doesn't stay that way.  When we came home, there was no Barley at the door, but there was a definite whimper in the basement.  Not only had he locked himself in the basement, but he had also gotten himself (and his cone) stuck in the legs of a sawhorse.  He couldn't have been in there all day, though, because his once-full bag of dog food was suspiciously half-empty, and Mr. Conehead's tummy was noticably inflated.

Pearls of Teenage Wisdom

I spent this entire weekend grading papers.  It feels great to be caught up on my work, but it felt better to chuckle at some of my students' delightful missteps:

One student meant to write that one character was "proving" something to another.  Instead, she wrote that the character was "probing" him.  Ouch!  I'd hate to be on the receiving end of that typo.

Another meant to write on a vocabulary quiz that his "squalid bedroom is covered with dirty wrappers," but instead wrote that his "squalid bedroom is covered in dirty rappers."  In his defense, I have heard that Snoop Dogg can be quite filthy.

2BBLESS

I recently saw a second in what seems to be a new series on ridiculous license plates.  They're just so self-serving and perplexing.  I'm as mystified by the people who choose to display such vanity as I am by the puzzling plates themselves.

This plate read "2BBLESS," and it has had me perplexed ever since.

Was the driver telling us to frequent bed and breakfasts less frequently?

Does she enjoy a place called "Bobbles," and does she want to go there?

Or, as was my first instinct, is she just too boobless?

Hatin' on Howard

I teach in Baltimore County, considered by many to be the consolation prize to teaching in Howard County.  Many families prefer Howard County as well, paying more in property taxes for schools that come with a slightly better reputation.

I'm very proud to teach in Baltimore County, and I'm especially proud of my high school and its feeder schools.  Understandably, I get a little defensive when people imply that Howard County Schools are in any way superior.  So I felt somewhat vindicated about a week ago when I left a Speech tournament at a Howard County high school and saw this sign at the middle school across the street:

I don't know if I would trust a conferenc with one of their teachrs.  It also didn't help Howard County's case that the house across the street was proudly waving not one, but two, Confederate flags.

The Beginning of the End

I begin the last semester of my Master's degree this week.  In fact, I began writing this post while sitting in a course called "Applications of Multimedia."  Yes, it's that challenging.

In the days before this course began, our instructor sent us an email with directions to our class.  She gave us the wrong room number, and I ended up in the same room where I had my very first class at Notre Dame.  I talked with that class's instructor and learned that she was teaching that same course that began my journey over two years ago.

When I found my way to the correct classroom downstairs and settled in, I thought of the people in the classroom upstairs, beginning the same journey to teacher certification and advanced degree that I started in that same room.  I was envious of the excitement and anticipation they were likely feeling, but I wouldn't have traded places with them for anything.

If "your" not good with grammar...

Don't make shirts with words on them:

(Thanks for the heads-up on this one, Garrett.)

Four Chords, a Cat and Some Dream Hands

One of the benefits of hanging out with teenagers all the time is that I get to stay tuned in to pop culture...or at least be reminded when I've fallen woefully behind.  I spent last weekend in Ocean City with the teenagers from our church.  In between the times when we talked about God and stuff, we were entertained by the viral videos that at least 21 million other people have already seen.  It's good to be in the loop again:

Snow day slacker

It snowed two inches last night, so, naturally, we don't have school today.  Usually I welcome these days to get caught up on my grading or get a jump-start on lesson planning.  Not today.

I attended an event with a student last night, so I intentionally left a stack of papers and my flashdrive at school.  I knew I wouldn't get to it last night.  So what to do now?  A snow day with no work?

1.  Take Barley to the dog park and tackle him in the snow.  Try to throw a snowball to him (usually he tries to catch it), only to have it hit him in the face.  Poor baby.

2.  Shovel our steps.  Then our sidewalk.  Then the rest of the sidewalk on our side of the street.  Subsequently talk myself out of going to the gym.

3.  Get caught up on my reading, especially my wonderful Christmas present.

4.  Consider cleaning the house, but convince myself it's "really not that bad."

5.  Write about how little I've done today so I feel just the teeniest bit productive.

You should see the other guy

Maryland received a fair amount of ice last night, so our entire neighborhood was pretty slick this morning.  I tried to warn Barley of that before he went outside this morning, but chasing squirrels was just way too tempting.  He shot out of the back door like he always does, slipped on the deck, regained his footing, tried to sprint down the stairs, and ended up going arse over teakettle the rest of the way down.  The last thing I saw was a white fuzzy bum spinning into the snow.  He stood up, saw a few stars, then remembered the pesky squirrels and resumed angry barking.

It wasn't until a few hours later that I noticed the gash over his right eye.  It's much smaller now, but it's still a good sized cut.

He let me clean it and stop the bleeding, but the whole experience was still taxing on him.  Trauma is exhausting, even for brave puppy dogs.

Every time I feel the spirit...I make a fool of myself

The Holy Spirit can move anything--even chapstick.

It had been a while since Matt and I attended our church's formal service.  We went back this morning.  I think it's best we stay away.

This morning, we came in late.  Actually, we were right on time, but at the formal service, that's "late."

During the opening hymn, Matt asked to borrow some chapstick.  I spent the next two verses rummaging through my purse, much to the annoyance of the elderly woman sitting behind us.

At the end of the hymn, Matt was getting irritated that the organist was slowing down too much.  I was trying to explain that he was doing this for dramatic emphasis, but as I made the universally acknowledge hand gesture for "dramatic emphasis," my chapstick flew up into the air, fell onto the pew in front of me, took a mammoth bounce (who knew chapstick could bounce?), and rolled under the foot of the person in the row in front of us.  He looked around with "Did I just hear something?" puzzlement, but, thankfully, remained confused.

We're going to back to the noisy come-as-you-are contemporary service.

Conservative Constitution

There was a wonderful article in the Opinion section of the Washington Post last weekend.  I can't get its "Preamble" out of my head:

We, the Real Americans, in order to form a more God-Fearing Union, establish Justice as we see it, Defeat Health-Care Reform, and Preserve and Protect our Property, our Guns and our Right Not to Pay Taxes, do ordain and establish this Conservative Constitution for the United States of Real America.

The rest of the "Conservative Constitution" is worth a read.

Cleaning up Christmas

We took the tree down today and put away most of the Christmas decorations.  This wasn't nearly as much of a downer it normally is.  There are too many exciting things on the horizon to feel blue.

While I was cleaning, I found our camera and realized I didn't take one picture while my parents were here for a holiday visit.  I suppose that's because we took a break from the touristy things and just had family time at home.

In fact, our time together was so wonderful that I find myself now wishing they were still here.  I'm 31 years old, and I still miss my parents.  When do you get too old to miss Mom and Dad?