Lesson Learned-"I'm lovin' it" Style

Today I had to return a library book to the Lake Oswego library. It was overdue. I kept waiting for an opportunity to go that way, since I did not want to waste gas on a single errand so far away. But nothing came up and I realized that every day I didn't go I was racking up overdue fees. So today I went.
We passed a park and I took note of the fact that it wasn't raining and thought perhaps we could stop there on our way back. Letting Charley run around and play would redeem the trip a little. Later down the road we passed a McDonald's with a big play place. Charley noticed it too.
I thought since it was lunch time and we don't have a play place like that by our house, we might as well go there. You know to redeem the trip.
So after the library stop we hit the McDonald's. Let me just say that when a mother is saying things like, "You have to eat two more french fries drenched in ketchup before you can go play in the play place," it's a rough life.
After the nuggets had been gnawed on, orange soda spilled and playtime thoroughly enjoyed, it was time to go.
"Charley, time to go home. Come down the slide now please."
"No! Hee, hee, hee!" Gleeful, rebellious giggling ensued. After me standing at the bottom of this colorful structure for awhile trying to coax, bribe and threaten my daughter down, I realized I was going to have to go up.
Now the way up was not a simple set of steps like the one shown here, or even a ladder, but this was a crazy angled back and forth set of floating stairs-for lack of a better description. You climbed up on one and turning and ducking you went up the other-sort of like an over/under thing that went vertically. Did I mention it's made for little kids and is therefore scaled down to little kid size? But I'm flexible, I could do it. It wasn't that it was difficult or complicated, it's that it made me look and feel ridiculous. Also, did I mention I was wearing a skirt? A mini skirt no less! It was mostly grammas in the room who were very impressed with my physically being able to do this. However, there was one dad to whom I wanted to say, "Dude! Come on, I know this is probably the most entertaining thing you're going to see all day, but don't be a perv and make me uncomfortable! Please look away!"
Anyway, all in all I have to say I think I retrieved my kid in the most ladylike manner that the situation would allow. Plus I was wearing leggings so that's one reason to be thankful it's cold outside I suppose.
Okay, so I get it now. I know why we wear the grubby sweats and the workout clothes. It's because we have naughty, sinful children.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

At the start of the third year of Chehalem Valley Academy's young life, two things happened, I became a senior and we got a new vice principal.
This is Dale Hosley. He replaced "Mr. Hamilton" whom had been there the previous two years. Mr. Hosley or "the Hoz" as we fondly referred to him as, couldn't wait to get his feet wet. He was ready to jump right in, anxious to give this administration position his all, get to know the kids and be our fearless, likable, leader.
Early on, during one of the orientation talks that take place during the first day or two I saw an opportunity and I seized it.
See, since we were a new, small, private, start up school with kids attending at different levels and with different educational backgrounds, sometimes the school had to supplement a student's class schedule with an "independent study" class. This was simply to help fill in the blanks for cases where a student who was a junior maybe never had a Health class that all the other juniors took the year before. Or say maybe you were a senior needing to graduate but there was a time conflict in which you needed to take two different classes that were going on at the exact same time. Say, like Geography. That was me. I needed Geography, but Geography was a Freshman class and since the school didn't even exist when I was a Freshman, I hadn't taken it. And Geography happened to conflict with Senior English. "Independent study" here I come! This translated into one thing. Paces.
These are paces. They are made by a homeschooling curriculum called ACE (Accelerated Christian Education). One year of paces in just one subject meant you had to complete about twelve little booklets. The format was identical for every pace. You read several paragraphs, answered a couple questions about what you just read, and after about seven pages or so there would be a checkup. This would ask you all those same questions again, maybe worded a little differently. After you answered these twelve to fifteen questions you would start a new section in the pace that was identical to the first. There were three checkups per pace and at the end of the pace there was a self test. This was all the questions from all the checkups combined. You did this, you studied it and then you took your pace into the office and said you were ready for Geography test #1. You sat in the office while you took your test, which was identical to the self-test, turned in your test and then received a new pace-pace #2 and then you started all over. This was tedious and time consuming and independent so you had to be disciplined to stay on course and ensure that you completed all twelve paces and tests by the end of the year. We hated paces. So much reading, writing, re-writing, memorizing and testing!
One morning at the beginning of a class that "the Hoz" was teaching, I think it was junior/senior Bible, somehow paces came up. He asked if there were anymore questions about paces. I raised my hand. I told him that Mr. Hamilton had only required us to do the checkups and tests and that we didn't have to do all the meaningless, mundane writing in between. This was a lie. "So, is that okay if we do it like that again this year?" He thought that was fine and responded as if I had just given him an inside tip into how things were run. He seemed to appreciate the tip. "Listen up," I heard him say as he explained this "standard" way of doing paces to the rest of the school at the start of the next chapel in which everyone would've been gathered. Most students thought this was a new way of doing this paces year and were excited about it. A few students who had heard me "ask my question" new this was bunk. They must've either thought that Mr. Hamilton had been giving me special treatment since they all had always answered all the questions in all the paces, or they thought they were stupid and had been doing extra unnecessary work the previous two years, or they knew I was lying. But they also would've known that they were going to be benefiting from this lie, so they kept their mouth shut. I sooo wanted to tell everyone "secretly" that I was the mastermind behind all this and that they could all thank me for my brilliance and lack of conscience. However, I knew it would never stay hush-hush and I'd be outed, punished and eternally bound to doing paces every Friday night of my senior year. So I kept quiet. So did everyone else, no one asked, no one told. Not even Donna, the faithful, loyal and much loved school secretary who had the mundane task of correcting most paces asked questions. It went over like...like...whatever the opposite of a lead balloon might be. It went over like a hot air balloon, which was fitting since that's what it was, hot air.

Rescue 911

The other night I called 911 from my cell phone. We were on the freeway driving home. It was dark and somewhat rainy. Devlyn and I both noticed the car in front of us swerving. Swerving a ton! It was only going about fifty mph while the speed limit was sixty-five, but it couldn't decide which lane it wanted to be in. It was mostly driving on the shoulder one second and then veering to the far left the next. It was really scary to watch. The brakes would get tapped, then the left turn signal would come on while the car would veer right and then the right turn signal would come on immediately followed by the hazards. We were following at a bit of a distance in the right lane, it was mostly in the right lane. Cars in the left lane would hang back until it seemed somewhat stable and then bravely step on the gas to pass it.
"We have to report this." Devlyn said. So, it being dark, me not having a phone book and being in a hurry, I decided 911 was the best route to take. I dialed and pressed send. Then my phone made a noise I'd never heard it make before. Weird. "Clackamas Emergency," a recorded voice said, "if you need help, say 'help' or press 2." I did nothing since all I could picture was a person with a broken leg somewhere saying "help." I didn't feel like I really needed help, that just wasn't the best description of the situation so I waited, assuming that there would be other options.
"I'm sorry. I didn't get that, if you need help, say 'help' or press 2," The voice repeated. Okay....it looks like this was my only option. "Help," I said. Shortly after an operator came on and asked what my situation was.
He (or she, I really can't remember what gender the operator was...weird huh?) patched me through to the Oregon State Police. As I was being transferred, the car in front of us pulled off the road. Devlyn pulled off right behind it. He got out without hesitating (I would have hesitated). As he was approaching the car, a woman got out looking around nervously and anxiously. They walked to the back of the vehicle, squatted down and started looking at the car. I wondered if she was trying to tell him that her car had a drinking problem that was apparent when you look under it.
Meanwhile, I was telling all this to the officer on the phone and feeling really stupid. Um, I'd like to report a drunk driver, Um yeah, hi, we're actually pulled over now and my husband is talking to her. Yeah, they are looking at the back of the car. No, they aren't getting aggressive. Yeah, I can read the license plate number. Oh, call back if I have any more info? Okey dokey, rodger dodger! Click.
While I had been on the phone with the officer, I had been watching Devlyn and this woman standing on the shoulder only about three or four inches from the white line, talking back and forth while huge semi trucks roared past. They weren't looking at me while I was on the phone, but I was waving my arm almost like a reaction, motioning for them to "Get the heck away from the freeway where cars were speeding past!!!!!"
Anyway, Devlyn came back to the car and the women got back in her car. "What's going on?" I asked. Apparently the back left tire of the car was a spare. Oh, yeah it is only half the size of the one on the other side and I'd only been staring at the back of the car for ten minutes. I must've been distracted by trying not to visualize my husband being taken out by a semi-truck!! I wanted to say, "Remember when you were standing on the white line talking to some lady about her car while semi-trucks roared past you!!!" But I didn't. I showed amazing restraint. I must've said something about it though, because he said, yeah she kept leaning backwards while I was talking to her and making me nervous. He said she seemed a little incoherent but he couldn't smell any alcohol on her. Devlyn found out where she was headed and told her how to get there using back roads. She needed to get off the freeway and keep it under thirty-five miles per hour. She got back on the freeway and we followed her most of the way, since it was on our way home. She still swerved. The spare tire was pulling the car to the left and she kept over correcting to the right. Scary. I felt a little silly for calling 911 but then realized weather she had been drinking or not, she really was unsafe on the road.
As we got closer to home, I thought, "I just called 911 tonight, I don't think I've ever done that before." And then about two seconds later, I thought, "yes I have".
When I was about five or six years old, I was at my babysitter's house with my younger sister, my best friend Ginger and her younger brother Danny. Ginger was a year older than me and Danny was a year younger. My babysitter Ginny, had a playroom for us. At some point an unneeded phone was placed in the playroom for us to play with. However, the phone wasn't broken and as fate would have it, there was a phone jack in the play room behind the toy shelf. I plugged it in. There I said it! I plugged it in. Next, I wanted to see if it worked, so I called Ginny's number (it was written on the phone) and hung up. A second later Ginny's phone rang. I listened down the hall as she answered it, "Hello? Hello?" Click. Hmmm, no harm done.
Later I wanted to use the phone again but I didn't really know anyone's phone number. There was one number I knew though. 911. I knew how to dial 911. So I did and hung up. Nothing seemed to happen. A minute later when no one was watching I dialed and hung up again. I may have done it a third time, I'm not sure. I do remember being brave enough to listen to "911 What's your emergency?" once before I hung up. A little while later Ginny came in and discovered the phone plugged in. She asked who had dialed 911. We all looked at her bewildred. Danny and Ginger because they had no idea what she was talking about and me, because I was a good actor. When no one fessed up, she marched out to the living room and had us stand with our noses in separate corners. She said we were to stay there until someone fessed up. "Maybe it was Bethany?" I offered trying to use my baby sister as a scape goat. "She's not old enough." Ginny shut me down and probably began to grow suspicious of me.
Okay, so I'm standing here with my nose in the corner. This isn't so bad I thought. Not bad compared to what might happen if I tell the truth. I'll be in more trouble with Ginny, then she'll tell my parents with whom I'll be in even more trouble with.
"Danny! Tell her it was you!" Ginger screeched in a whisper to poor Danny. Of course, she thought it was him. It wasn't her and oh what faith she had in me to assume it wasn't me. I was old enough to know better. Danny was younger than me, but still old enough to know better. I couldn't let Ginger know it was me. How embarrassing that would be. She'd think it was dumb and be confused that I would do such a thing. No, I was fine standing with my nose in the corner. After about an hour, Ginger wore Danny down and he finally confessed under much pressure. I couldn't believe it. He fessed up to something I did and when Ginny heard, she said Ginger and I were free to continue playing. "I can't believe Danny did that!" Ginger said to me implying the dialing of the 911. "I know," I replied still shocked by his false confession.
Really that memory has haunted me. I never fessed up to it. I stood there while Ginny told Danny's dad what had happened. Danny was going to go home and be in even more trouble. He'd probably even try to tell his parents that he didn't do it, but they wouldn't believe him.
I couldn't sleep that night, the one that happened a few days ago. I felt like either a police officer was going to knock on our door at any moment and say, "We pulled that car over you called about and the driver was sober. You're going to jail for abusing the 911 system," to which I would have to concede. I had abused it and, officer, I had lied about it and, officer, I had let someone else, someone innocent take the blame and the punishment.
Lock me up.

An Early Performance

I have another one for you. My last post made me think of this. We're talking same Mrs. Brown, same first grade classroom, same little liar (me) the whole scene. There was a girl named Crystal in my class. Two actually, I think, but this story involves the blond one.
It was show and tell day, which I think only came once a month or maybe two since somehow each student had to get their day in by the end of the school year. Again my years of aging and child like memory distort my sense of time. It seemed that show and tell occurred very rarely.
We all loved show and tell, because again all eyes would be on you the "more special than everyone else student" of the day. I think everyone felt this way...I did...yes, I'm sure everyone felt this way!
Anyway, this particular show and tell day belonged to Crystal. She had the big, cloth, blue bag hiding whatever it was she brought from home. To start things off, she gave hints about what was inside and we all raised our hands and took turns guessing. Finally the big reveal came Crystal reached into her bag and pulled out...a violin. Everyone ooowed and ahhed, but not me. I wasn't easily impressed.
She played us a song or two on her violin, which impressed me even less. How easy did that look?! When she finished, everyone clapped and she took a little bow. Brother, I thought.
Mrs. Brown opened it up for Q & A time. "How much did that cost?" someone wanted to know. Crystal didn't know. Mrs. Brown steered the conversation in another direction. "How long have you been taking lessons?" another one of my inquisitive classmates asked. I could do better than this.
I raised my hand. "Can I play? I know how to play the violin. Can I play a song on it?" I asked most confidently. "That's up to Melinda"-hey I just remembered her name wasn't Crystal! It was Melinda! Anyway, Melinda said that I could.
I walked up to the front of the class, gosh this was exciting. I took the violin and the bow from her, placing them in what I thought were the appropriate positions, and began to play. No one in the room could have been more surprised than I was at the screeching that followed. It had looked sooooo easy. Why was it screeching for me? I pulled the bow back and forth over the strings, mimicking just what Melinda had done, but the harder and faster I played, the worse it sounded. I tried not to panic and I definitely wasn't going to stop playing. I needed to keep playing for a couple of reasons. One, if I stopped now, Mrs. Brown and everyone else would know that I didn't really know how to play the violin. So the "fake it till you make it" tactic crossed my mind. Also, I needed to buy myself some time to figure out what I was going to say once I did stop playing.
Now, I did take piano lessons so I knew a little something about music. One was the normal duration of a song. I played as long as I thought a normal song should last. When I stopped playing Mrs. Brown said something like "That was interesting" and "What was the name of that song?" The second thing I'd learned in my year of piano lessons was that the titles of the songs usually sounded like what they were, (i.e chopsticks) so I replied confidently with, "Screeching Cars." And with that I handed the violin and bow back to Melinda who looked a little bit bewildered. And I went back to take my seat thinking I had pulled it off marvelously!
Some punk from the class made a comment like, "That's not how it's supposed to sound!" to which Mrs. Brown (bless her heart) said, "There are many sounds a violin can make. That was one of them." Yeah! I thought. By this point I had convinced myself that I really did know how to play the violin and was ready to add it to my resume. I didn't wake up knowing that about myself that morning, but hey, you learn something new everyday!

An Unproud First Grade Moment

When I was young(er) I was boy crazy. I realize this is probably shocking to some of you, but there's really no two ways about it. I was also a really bad friend occasionally because of it.
In first grade I was in Mrs. Brown's class at C.S Lewis. Part of our daily routine was to go over what the day of the week and month were that day as well as the weather and who knows what else. The cool part about this routine was that each student got a turn leading this activity. There were color pictures, numbers, velcro and felt that went along with this routine. If it was your day to head up this activity, you got to pick out the colorful symbols and adhere them to the board appropriately. Since this was such a big ordeal you also got to pick a helper...to help you with this big important job. Now usually this dragged on probably, oh I'm guessing somewhere around ten times longer than it needed to be. My sense of time has been distorted by my years of aging and child like memory, but bless all those first grade teachers with unbelievable patience just the same. Anyway, the kid who's day it was drug it out because they were in charge. They were the center of attention, while we all sat around with eyes on them, yelling out obvious answers to Mrs. Brown's rhetorical questions such as, "It's rainy and cloudy today! Put up the rain and the cloud pictures!"
Now early on in the school year I became good friends with Sarah McMenn. Occasionally Sarah and I planned to wear matching outfits to school. We also chose each other as bathroom buddies, as we were required to use the buddy system when we needed to leave the classroom for such purposes. We sat by each other at lunch and played together at recess. I even named one of our goats after her-a dying goat, because if it had a name when it died, it would be sadder and I could mourn it more dramatically. (Yes, we had goats, but that's a different story). Somewhere among all this bonding we promised each other that when it was our day to head up the morning routine we would choose each other as our "helper".
Now as fate and the alphabet would have it, Sarah's day came first. (Her last name started with a letter earlier in the alphabet than mine did.) Sweet and true as she was, she chose me for her partner without hesitation. I don't think anyone else chose me for their partner all year except for maybe a semi-mental kid named Josh. (I'm not being mean, I think that's what he was).
Anyway, the weeks went by and finally it came my turn to head up the morning routine. (You know I feel kind of sick just writing this and I'm starting to wonder if Unproud Moments shouldn't be a re-occurring subject label to have on my blog :/ you let me know). Sooo, as I sat there in the little blue plastic chair in front of the whole class-ALL eyes on me and no doubt my dorky home-perm, but I was oblivious to that at the moment-I felt the power!
"You need to choose a helper." Mrs. Brown instructed me. "Oh, I know. I know! Just let me savor this for a minute," I thought. Hands shot up everywhere. My eyes scanned my classmates. I saw Sarah, with a smile. Then I saw Crystal, Josh, Maris, Sarah...this time with a confused look on her face as I was hesitating in my decision. Then I saw Michael Rosenoua (and believe me, it's not easy remembering how to spell a last name like that for twenty years.) Ahhh, Michael Rosenaou, my secret crush. He never said two words to me and now he was looking at me, hopeful, pleading and cute as could be. It was more than I could handle. I pointed, I spoke, I chose. Just like that. The look on Sarah's face was one of confusion and hurt. I hadn't planned on or prepared for the feeling that would overtake me once I saw that look. I felt sick and though I'd like to say that I didn't enjoy my time as the class leader of the morning routine with Michael Rosenoua as my helper that day, I'm sure I did. I'M JUST BEING HONEST!
Though honest certainly wasn't my strong suit that day. I hadn't held up my end of the bargain with Sarah. She'd chosen me to be her helper. I'd gotten what I wanted and I wasn't willing to return the favor to her when it would cost me something. I don't remember what, but I made something up later that day at recess as to why I hadn't chosen her and had chosen Michael. I can't imagine what it must've been, but she bought it! I told you she was sweet and true. Unlike me. I was a natural born liar-there are no two ways about that either!