My Own Little One-Room School

There probably aren’t many of them around anymore, at least out where the general public can see them. But the prisons are full of them. Here’s a written snapshot of mine:

*Over in the corner are the 4 guys that make up what I call the Mexican Mafia. I, of course, never call them that out loud. I’m careless sometimes, but I’m not totally stupid.

*The Polynesians claim the center back of the room. They’re Tongans, Samoans, and Hawaiians. On the Outside, they would be enemies, but on the Inside, they join forces to increase their numbers.

*My newest student is a 17-year-old who still acts like he’s in a public high school. That is, he shows up with no books, paper, pencil, or pen. He slouches, mumbles, curses, and scowls. He likes to stroke the teardrop tattoo he sports on his cheek. And he has these huge, brown, cow-like eyes that never let you forget that he’s just a kid.

*Sitting next to him is the 57-year-old gentle giant who refuses to let the State fit him with a set of false teeth. He’s a bartender by trade and likes to listen to the other guys’ stories. Big surprise there, huh? He spends a lot of time scoffing at the 17-year-old next to him, and rolling his eyes with impatience when the Kid says something stupid. Neither of them know their times tables.

*Over in the corner in the front row is the Loner. He came from SDS, so he’s clearly a sex predator of some kind, shunned by the rest of the class. I’d never try to push for inclusion for this guy. There are some unwritten prison rules that you just don’t mess around with if you’re an Outsider.

*Front and center are the 2 or 3 guys who’ve “caught the learning bug” and figured out not only are they capable of learning something, but they actually enjoy it. The closer they get to completing all requirements for graduation, the more demanding and impatient they become. They say things like, “I took that test this morning. You tellin’ me it’s not corrected YET?” “I know you’re busy, and I don’t mean to interrupt you, but I need more work!” Translated, that means, “I don’t care how busy you are, I’m here to interrupt you and exercise some of my entitlement issues!”

*Sitting in the desks closest to mine, are the pair of Needies that always seem to show up. They ask endless questions, need reassurance about every step of whatever they’re doing, can’t for the life of them decipher written instructions on their own, and ask permission to leave the room to pass gas! (Do you hear me screaming, “Yech!! Too much information!”)

*Roaming around the room is a slight, unassuming 42-year-old who can read, write effectively, spell correctly, and has walked himself through 10 levels of Algebra and 6 levels of Geometry. He’s in great demand as a tutor, and knows how to reach the guys on their own levels. He’s pleasant and interesting, and I just keep thinking, “What are you doing in prison? And how did you not manage to graduate from High School?”
I haven’t asked those questions yet, but I will before he leaves. I’m seeing “Student of the Year” written all over him.

And to this motley crew I’m supposed to teach whatever they need to graduate. Did I tell you that I love my job, it’s just the hours I hate. Oh, and I’m not too crazy about my principal……but whatever. So I challenge the 17-year-old and the 57-year-old to teach each other the times tables, I engage the Mexican Mafia to jointly prepare a mini-lesson on “Rosa Parks and the Fight for Equal Rights,” I separate the Polynesians and test them on the Middle Ages Part II (“and don’t ignore the essay questions this time!”), I tell the Needies they’re allowed to ask a maximum of 2 questions per hour so they better consider them carefully, then I corral the rest of them and do a direct teaching session on plotting the slope of a line in Algebra Bk. 4.

Thankfully, there’s a 10-minute break at the top of every hour, and I only have this particular group of mish-mash for 3 hours. Starting at 1:00 p.m., I get a new bunch and start over. That’s how my day goes unless there’s a stabbing or a fight. Then school gets real interesting!

"But it's what I do!"

Let me set this up for you:

I was rushing the last week of school to get through the last unit of Financial Literacy. Unit 7 is titled "Your Career: Doing What Matters Most." It talks a lot about the reasons people work, beyond just having to pay the bills.....you know, job satisfaction, making a meaningful contribution, learning new skills, adding value to your life.....stuff like that.

Realistically, I know the vast majority of my students will never see the inside of an institution of higher learning. So I try to gear it toward identifying what they enjoy doing and what they already have some expertise or experience with. This course if now required for high school graduation, so the text is aimed at typical 17- and 18-year-olds who aspire to actual careers where they will pay taxes and get benefits and such.

My students, on the other hand, proudly talk about:
a. the precision required for making meth
b. the use of fractions when splitting 8-balls for drug deals
c. the amount of time needed to properly strip a car
d. the money available to top-ranking car thieves
e. the downside of not being able to get insurance and benefits for a
job well done!

I take a deep breath, quote a line from Pretty Woman ("Your parents must be so proud of you.") and dive into the value of a good education. I'm telling you, it's an uphill struggle some days.

So when we get to the part about the statistics of lifetime earnings, broken down by years of education, where I point out that the average worker who has some high school but no diploma earns about $1 million (that's in a lifetime), and the worker who has a bachelor's degree typically earns about $2.1 million, I'm thinking this is where they'll really "get it".

No such luck. These are the comments I got:

1. "$1 million over a lifetime? Are you kidding me? That's why I'm a car thief."
2. "Benefits aren't all that important anyway. My family is all on welfare, so that's not really an issue."
3. "Do you know how much money I'd miss out on if I took 4 years to go to college? I'm already 26 years old!"
4. "Miss Gae, do you have any idea how much it costs to get together everything you need for a topnotch meth lab?"

Now, granted these are only some of the comments I got. Of course there are the ones who understand the intended message of the lesson, even if they can't see how they're ever going to get a job, pay child support to 3 different mothers, pay court-ordered restitution, and somehow manage to procure a college education!

Some days, my job is harder than other days.

I Am A Sometimes-Blogger

It's not that I'm not committed to it. It's not even that I have a short attention span. It's that I have so many interests, I have to spread my time around. Yeh, that's it! That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it! (either that or I'm lazy......)

I've been on hiatus...you know, like popular TV shows. Now I'm coming back, like Lost and Big Love and Dateline. It'll be all new, not necessarily improved. Let's see now......

There was September where not much happened. Then there was October where not much happened either, until Halloween (see pictures below). then there was November where even less happened, but it happened faster because the month seemed to fly by until Thanksgiving (again, see pictures below). All in all, my life is pretty mundane and predictable.

I actually have no idea where these pictures will end up. I know now why I don't add pictures to my blog. It's too damn hard! Thanks for the blogging lesson, Tracy.

Thanksgiving was a special one this year. It's the first time (and I mean the first time EVER) that all of my siblings have been together for the holiday. We grew up in one of those families where parents raise two sets of kids. The two boys, followed by several childless years, and finally two girls. When we talk about our childhoods, it's almost like we didn't even belong to the same family. You know how raising kids kind of wears you down. The boys trained my parents in so they were broken and tolerable by the time my sister and I came along. And, of course, being the youngest, I was the spoiled one. They just wanted to be done with it by the time I appeared.

I was conceived in a meadow, by a stream, while my parents were on a picnic with friends. They went to get water. And came back with.........moi! It's a sweet story, isn't it? I didn't know it until the day of my dad's funeral. One of the picnic friends came to the mortuary, threw her arms around me, and said, "There's our little pail of water!" After some lengthy questioning, my mom finally came clean with the whole story. I'll take it. I think it was a nice beginning.

So here it is...December. Another year will bite the dust. My cheeks (all of them) will sag a little more. I'll bother less often with make-up because it doesn't make much difference anymore. I'll gain a few more pounds and redistribute the ones I have until I have that nice matronly girth that photographs so well. I'll no doubt read more obituaries and less self-help books. But you know what? I enjoy sunsets more that ever before. I watch the deer lying on the hillside and think, "Ah...this is why I got up this morning!" Nothing cheers me up like talking to my grandkids on the phone, even if they have to be dragged there by the upper arm. I don't jump up off the couch like I used to; now I stand there for a few seconds until the blood flow through my extremities catches up with thought process that says, "We're moving now!"

All in all, life is good.

No, really. Just checking to see if you're still checking........are you?

JUST CHECKING

JUST CHECKING

Oh The Times.....They Are A-changing....

My week started with a kick in the chest from a dying deer. Here's where it went from there:

The nation is in a financial crisis. I don't know if I'll have a retirement, insurance, or Social Security. The State legislature is in special session, cutting every agency's budget to make up for a sudden $275 million deficit! Just weeks ago, we had a huge surplus. Where did it go? Am I the only one asking? Who, pray tell, is keeping the books -- or cooking them?

The only budget protected from cuts right now is Education. Good for me, huh? Sadly, no. If Education can't be touched, our little South Park Academy becomes part of the Corrections budget, which CAN be cut. So, cut they did. They've let all of our part time teachers go, no night school, no summer school next year, no new hires to replace anyone who retires this year. Oh! And don't forget, several of us are sitting there with $1,000's worth of Interwrite boards that we can't use! I've already shared my feelings about that fiasco, I believe.

Corrections has already let 17 upper level officers go. Needless to say, moral is keeping company with the slings and arrows of misfortune in the nether world.

And then out of nowhere comes this bright spot. The ConQuest director asked me to be the keynote speaker at Graduation, which was held last week. Let's see, how do you paint a hopeful future for guys who are leaving prison with what they think are new skills and a fresh determination to make it on the outside, when the outside is as corrupt and grueling as the inside? The Big House or the White House -- it all gets mixed up sometimes.

Anyway, I delivered my commencement address. I was a whole lot nervous and a little bit funny. I tried to remember to talk slowly and look individuals in the eye. I willed my hands not to shake and tried not to bump the microphone with my teeth. When it was all said and done, 100+ convicted felons and their hopeful families stood on their feet and applauded.

That might not ring your chimes, but it was cathedral bells for me!

Oh Deer, What Can The Matter Be?

So here's the scene: I stayed home from school on Monday because......well I......ah......just because I wanted to and thought I deserved a day off! There's nobody here I have to answer to, right? Anyway, I was lounging around, playing computer games, and tinkering with the ConQuest graduation speech I'm giving tomorrow when Dale called upstairs with a slightly frazzled, "I need your help!"



I came running of course and followed him outside and two doors up, where a deer had attempted to jump the neighbor's fence -- the fence that clearly was too high -- the fence that sits on always-moist mushy grass -- the fence that has arrowhead shaped spikes about every 4 inches. You guessed it. The poor little guy, he was a young buck, had impaled himself in the lower gut, but he was hanging completely off the ground!



Sadly, he was still very much alive and clearly panicked beyond belief. We tried to approach him quietly, but it didn't matter. He started to struggle. So we each grasped one of his hind legs and started to lift him skyward, trying to clear the spikes that pierced him. The fence itself was about chest high for me, so lifting something that heavy straight up required almost more strength than I had. It was easier for Dale because he's of course taller and stronger than I am, but it was too awkward for him to lift both legs and the full weight of the deer high enough,



Adrenaline, sheer determination, or lack of alternatives, whatever it was, we were able to lift him clear of the spikes. But there was no chance of putting him down on the ground gently. As soon as he was free, he started to kick, and caught me right in the chest. We had no choice but to drop him on the other side of the fence where he struggled to get away, but he was bleeding profusely and clearly had no strength left.



I hurried in to call Animal Control. They sent a couple of officers out who confirmed that the deer was mortally wounded. The Animal Services officer came in our direction and said they were indeed going to put the animal down. I said I definitely didn't need to see that, so I turned to walk away. But I had barely turned when I heard the shot! Geez! Give me 5 seconds to get in the house, can't ya?!



Anyway, it was traumatic and more upsetting than I would've thought. Today I have a good-sized bruise just over my heart. Dale said it's a love-bruise because I did a good thing in helping him free the poor thing. I told him I'm not faking sick anymore.

I'm Baaaacccckkkkk..........

Long time no blog. That's because I refuse to teach during the summer, then I went to Norway, then I got all involved in knitting, reading, quilting, and my emboidery machine -- all of which are incredibly boring to the average person. Not that my life at the prison is all that interesting. But at least it's a slice of life that most of you don't get to see (or don't want to know about)....or whatever.

So here's the latest.

Our humble little pseudo-school tried to take a leap of faith into the 21st century by purchasing the latest in teaching technology - the Smart Board. It's actually an Interwrite Board, which is a competitor of the Smart Board, but I like the catchy name.....Smart Board, so, much to the dismay of the Interwrite Board rep, I call it my Smart Board. He even went so far as to say, "You need to remember: Smart Board: bad; Interwrite Board: good." Isn't he so clever? I still call it my Smart Board, which, by the way, it ain't! As I shall no doubt explain.

The whole concept, you see, is that this 4' x 6' rolling board, through the wonder of Blue Tooth technology, becomes the desktop of my computer. I have a special smart pen that works like the mouse on my computer. I can write, click and drag, select, cut and paste, navigate -- all that cool stuff that you can do with your mouse. Sounds cool huh? Then there's this desk top pad (about the size of a laptop) that comes with it. And with this remarkable innovation, you can give it to any student, and whatever they write on the pad, magically appears on the Smart Board screen. Better and better, huh? What it means is that nobody has to get off their fat ass to do anything. We can just sit comfortably on our butts and, with the click or stroke of a magic pen, interact without having to come into close proximity. Are you sold yet?

Here's what they DON'T tell you:

1. To make your computer and the Smart Board talk to each other, in addition to the Blue Tooth connection, you have to have a projector which connects to the computer via a 25' heavy duty cable that's about as easy to move as a fire hose. Then of course, another power cable runs to one of only 3 outlets in the room -- another hazard to be negotiated all day long.

2. That really cool desk top pad? The one that allows a student's work to be displayed? He can't SEE what he's writing! That's right, it's blind writing, but every movement of the pen is projected. The average human with even above average intelligence can't even produce their own name legibly, let alone an algebraic equation like 21x+3=46. My first comment upon learning this? How tough could it be to make it like an Etch-A-Sketch? The rep tells me there's a bit of a learning curve involved. So I guess I should hand the pad to a student, tell him to practice for 30 minutes, then do problem #7 for all of us. Who ARE these people?

3. This is the best part. There's been an update to the system since our purchase of 5 of these systems last May. All you have to do is go online and download the update. Very calmly, I say, "We don't have internet access." Mr. Rep says, "What do you mean you don't have internet access?" Still fairly calmly, I explain, "This is a prison. None of the classrooms have the internet. Can you get us the update on CD so we can bring it in and install it?" Mr. Rep says, "You'd have to pay for it." A little less calmly, I say, "But we just paid nearly $10,000 for this system. Doesn't that give us the update that was clearly in place if not yet distributed when we purchased this piece of .......ingenuity?" "Sadly, no."

Still trying to make a go of this thing, I offer the following: "The site secretary up in the office has the internet. Can we download it there, to a CD, then bring it back to my classroom and install it on my computer?"
Know what he said? This smart rep? "Well......now you're asking a computer question!"

Honest to God, I'm not making this up!

End result is this. I don't have the update. What I DO have, doesn't work properly or completely. None of the felons can write anything coherent or legible on the desk top pad, but they sure like to play with it. It takes 20 minutes in the morning to set this system up, we step over the cables all day long, and it takes 30 minutes to break it down and lock it up every evening (another wrinkle no one bothered to explain to Mr. Rep. who tried to tell me the beauty of this system is that it's all ready to go every morning as soon as you turn your computer on).

Long story short -- I'm not happy with the Smart Board. As a matter of fact I'm Bored with the Smart Board. Give me the $2000 you spent on my portion of this fiasco and let me buy textbooks, pencils, erasers, and paper. Throw in a few sets of flashcards, and I might be able to actually teach these guys something. Oh no, sorry, that's a different budget altogether. We have "technology money", not "textbook money". GIVE ME A BREAK!!! (just not a prison break!)

God Bless America

Here's a question you've probably never asked yourself. So let me ask it and answer it so you can broaden your horizons:

Question: How does one celebrate the Fourth of July in Norway?

Answer: One gets silly-drunk down by the lake and one loses one's footing on the uneven rocks that line the shore. Consequently, one tumbles ass-over-teakettle into the lake, fully clothed, of course. One then begins to laugh so hard that rescue is almost necessary.

I, of course, am the one who celebrated thus. And once I was in, there was no sense in not enjoying it to the fullest. It took very little urging at that point to get Jamie onboard, er....actually......overboard, and the out-of-control laughing began in earnest. The kids weren't far behind, also fully clothed. Daniel and Torbjørn stayed dry, smiled indulgently, and gave the evening some small sense of dignity. I don't know how much fun they had, but we girls had a ball. The crowning moment was a tipsy duet by mother-and-daughter singing "You're a Grand Old Flag" and "God Bless America" at the top of our lungs.

So that's the full answer to the question "How does one celebate the Fourth of July in Norway?" Aren't you glad you asked?

Visual Aides

Just a few pictures of the fun and frivolity. Very patriotic stuff here. We've never been so proud to be Americans.
Just after the initial tumble. All I wanted to do was show Daniel my mad rock-skipping skills. Honest.

It's a very steep slope, just under the water there, so climbing out again can be a bitch. Emma was glad to help.

Jamie and I after both of us had been in and climbed out. Again, two of America's finest. Note how our hair isn't even wet. How clever are we?

We hadn't been out more than 2 minutes before we both decided we just had to jump in again (much to Torbjørn's dismay). Emma and Amanda joined us, which left no one on shore to help drag our asses back out again. That asshole Torbjørn refused to help.

Musings from Norway

1. How do you say no when a 4-year-old takes your face in her hands, tilts her head just so, bats her long eyelashes, and says, "pllllleeeeeeeeasssse, Grandma....."???? The answer is, you don't!

2. This is how I woke up this morning: all three kids are crawling in, on, around, over, and under my bed covers while I'm trying to create a warm and cozy moment that can be remembered for some time in the future when Daniel says in his sweetest little-boy voice, "Grandma, remember your rule about no screaming?"

I say, "Oh Daniel, you remember!"

He replies with, "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGAAAAAA" at volume 10!

3. As Emma and Daniel are arguing about one of the finer points about family rules, Daniel thinks he's made the deciding point by saying, "Daddy says so!" And ever-wise Emma says, "That's just a rule Daddy made up. It's not really a rule unless Mama says it." End of argument!

4. Yesterday we went for a walk. Not much walking got done as I stood back and watched all three kids hunched over as they made their way up a hillside to pick wild blueberries and strawberries. After every mouthful of blueberries, it was a contest to see whose tongue was the bluest. I called them Heidi 1, Heidi 2, and Peter. This doesn't happen in Utah. And there I was without my camera.

5. We went for pizza earlier in the week. Sounds like a simple family outing, right? Wrong! Since the car only seats 5, somebody had to take the bus there. It was raining like crazy, but Torbjørn and Amanda headed for the bus while the rest of us headed for Os. We all met at Peppe's, sat near the fire looking out at the open sea, and consumed 2 pizzas, 2 beers, and 4 sodas for about $135. After some negotiation about who would take the bus home (Jamie agreed to do it), we started back with Grandma driving and Torbjørn in the co-pilot's seat. I'm sure I was making him cringe (he kept using an imaginery brake pedal and leaning heavily right or left around every curve), but since I'm not a beer drinker, I became the logical designated driver. Meanwhile, Jamie was being accosted at the bus stop by a crazy lady and had to call for moral support. Torbjørn was rethinking his decision to have a beer. And still the rain poured down. I won't be taking for granted the ease and convenience of going out for pizza again.

6. I read to each of the kids individually every night. It's my favorite part of the day because they're calm and easy and oh-so-sweet. Amanda likes to hear fairy tales (she cried when I told her about Hansel and Gretel), then we sing each other a song. Daniel's into the Magic Treehouse books and has a hard time sitting still while I read. He's constantly playing with something else, but he knows in a heartbeat if I say something that doesn't make sense.

Then I get to go to Emma's room. She's deeply involved with the American Girl series and says Native Americans are her favorite people that ever lived. This was a surprise to me because it's something that seems so far removed from her life here. When I stumble over phrases like "Katsee-yow-yow" and "Aa-heh, tawts" Emma says, "Grandma, when you come to those, you can just tap me on the shoulder and I'll say them for you." I love reading at bedtime!

That's just a sampling of my daily routine. I'm having a great time.

From the Land of the Midnight Sun

So here I sit in the late afternoon sun (which will STILL be late afternoon sun at 11:oo p.m. tonight), typing on a computer that has at least two extra letters that clutter up the keyboard, and knitting socks just like an old Norwegian lady! And I feel strangely at peace and at home (except for the obvious fact that my other half is in America).

I've never been one of those people who gets depressed in the rain, and I'm more and more becoming someone who hates the heat, so the fact that it rains here almost every day isn't a problem for my psyche. I guess that's easy to say when I only have to deal with it for a few weeks at a time. Who knows? An entire year here might drive me stark raving mad. I'll tell you what DOES drive me stark raving mad....it's not being able to understand what people are saying as I pass by them in stores, or when they have conversations when I'm in the same room and I feel invisible or stupid (or both) because I don't have a clue what they're talking about. I fear even my grandkids think I'm a little bit stupid because I don't understand both languages like they do. Even Amanda, who just turned 4, says, "But Grandma, how come you don't know what they said? I know what they said. Emma knows what they said. Daniel knows what they said. Daddy know......" Yeh, Yeh, Yeh, Amanda, I get it!

So I figure I need to set myself a goal. Am I too old for this, or can I learn a new language at this late stage of my life? For the first couple of days that I was here, Amanda would only speak to me in Norwegian. Apparently, Mom is the only adult she speaks English to. It's fine when they come to the States because they can all switch to English on command, but I do plan to come here to visit, and I can see it's becoming more and more difficult. And it's not one of those languages like Italian or Spanish or German where you can buy tapes and teach-yourself books at any Costco or Barnes & Noble. So....I'm seriously on the prowl for someone who knows Wegie talk. Any old viking will do.

I'd attach some pictures, but you know how it is when you switch to somebody else's computer and you don't know their system and such. As it is, I'm having a hard enough time not putting one of these "æ" or "å" or "ø" in the middle of my words because they're located right where I'm used to finding other letters.

So anyway, you'll just have to believe me when I say it's lush and green and beautiful in Norway. Every square foot is some shade of green, and every hillside has water running down it somewhere. Almost every bend in the road offers a lake, large or small, and flowers bloom until midnight. Women over a certain age always have short hair, and no one wears shoes in the house. Food is spicy, but salt and pepper donæt (see???) usually show up on the table. Fruits and vegetables are plentiful, and fish is served as a main dish, a casserole, a soup, or a pudding. You never drive if you're going to have even one glass of wine, and dinner at a restaurant requires a no-limit credit card. Virtually everything is recycled, and you go to the market every day except Sunday (because they're ALL closed on Sunday). The roads are narrow, and roundabouts are plentiful, but you better know what you're doing or people will honk you off the road. It doesn't cost anything to see the Doctor, but they all go on vacation at the same time, so you'd best not get sick in July. Moms love their kids, and kids love their grandmas. That's the best part......at least for me.

Emma thinks I'm always cool; Daniel thinks I'm okay unless I want to hug and kiss him; and Amanda tolerates me most of the time except when she's honery and says, "I don't like you much, Grandma!" But I know she doesn't mean it, she loves me through and through......or else!

Punk and Circumstances

Did y'all think I abandoned this little corner of my life? Well, for a while, I guess I did. Sometimes it's so hard to keep up with the things that really do make me feel better. Some of those things include (but are not limited to) exercising, eating right, limiting my intake of chocolate, keeping in touch with friends, and.......writing. It's always been therapeutic for me, and I tend to hate my life when I think I'm too busy to take care of me.

The last 3 weeks have been murderous (as in I wanted to murder some of the people who populate my day-to-day life!) The month leading up to Graduation is always stressful, but this year it's been over the top. I spend months trying to make a plan for each inmate so that he's constantly moving ahead toward Graduation. You'd think I'd know by now that a plan is only that -- a plan. It doesn't motivate the unmotivated and it doesn't interest the uninterested. Okay, fine....I can accept that they can't be forced to do the work.

But then, about 3 weeks before Graduation, they realize they've wasted the last 7 months and need to get with the program. In their twisted egotistical minds, this means that I'm supposed to suspend MY plan and get them graduated. They want to spend double and triple time in my classroom (even though every class is already full), they get offended and testy if their work isn't corrected and graded within a few hours of completion, and they somehow want to make it MY fault that they've wasted time and gotten behind.

I can hear you......you're saying something like, "It's not YOUR problem, just ignore them. Go on with your program. If they get it done, great; if not, oh well." I hear you. Let me just say, "It's not always that easy." Remember they're experts at manipulating, making excuses, and appearing to be victims.

I said to one guy, "Have you ever heard the saying that poor planning on your part doesn't constitute an emergency on mine?" He looked at me blankly and said, "Huh?" I said, "Get the fuck out of my face!"

When one guy finally finished, he said "So, what do I do now?" I said, "You go away. Get the fuck out of my face."

Another guy told me, "All I'm trying to do here is graduate. The least you could do is be here to correct my work." I said, "It's a holiday! I'm not coming in on Memorial Day to correct your damn test. I already have my diploma. Get the fuck out of my face!"

I'm exaggerating of course. I've never said (outloud) Get the fuck out of my face. I've thought it on several occasions, but I've stopped short of actually saying it.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to Graduation as never before. Four more years of this? I think I need a therapist. I'm too old for this. I care too much. I need to WRITE more often. Hang in there with me.

Go Ahead.....Decipher This One!

I get a myriad of notes and letters from inmates on a regular basis. A few, because I've asked for a written response to something I've thrown out there, but mostly they're spontaneous and random. A guy needs to vent, or he needs to reach out to someone, but sometimes it's just a matter of expressing gratitude and caring.

So, I offer the following letter I received from a very memorable student. As a matter of fact, he's the first inmate that referred to me as "Queen LaTeacha", and it just seemed to stick.

A little background on this particular felon is in order. He's big, tough, black, clearly gang affiliated, tattooed from head to foot, including a blood-dripping "Compton" across the front of his throat. He's incarcerated on a homicide charge and a slew of drug-related offenses. But he has this uncharacteristic soft side and a penchant for memorizing vocabulary words he never uses in his everyday language. It's like he knows a whole lot more words than he uses. He can recall a hundred multi-syllable, high-falootin', really kick-ass words, but most often he expresses himself with down-home ebonics laced with a variety of four-letter words.

So, here's the letter: (The penmanship is beautiful, and the change of ink color is true to the original letter)

Dear Miss QueenLaTeacha:

I'll like to take this opportunity to present you my meaningfulness Gratitude for the "knowledge" you are Donating to us, and the time you're sharing with us. It takes a real woman with enough quality to penetrate through the intimidation of this Hell on Earth place, to conceal your fear from being expose to darkness due to the nature of this environment. We are not only appreciated your time and teaching, but we also appreciate the captivating scene of your everyday performance, "thank you".

I was born and raised in Compton, California. So you can say I seen more then our eyes can bare. No man alive can witness the struggle that I survived, and I must admit that life on the street taught me how to cut through the toughest air to remain alive. And life in the prison is to recorrect my poor decision from its own darkness to take life seriously.

I was one of the kid that never have much, and my schooling was so poor it still effected it me to this days. The truth is, I gained more knowledge in prison then it was on the street. The only knowledge I possess at the moment it's a self-taught knowledge picked up from experience behind these walls.

During my upcoming life, I never thought that school was so much of a Guiding Star to our lifes. Now that I'm facing the everyday challenge that come within the approaching fate, and the only weapon to bring Victory against those challenge it's in those books that I intendedly lefted dusty on the side of the door of my 6-grade classroom. I wish that today's Generation will recognize the error of my early age, because life don't take kindly on those whos going to refuse to capture what is inside of those books. The lack of schooling can make life worser then the street of Middle East.

What I Expect out of you and your time. Lace me up with everything you got ma'am. I'm not so much of a perfect man, with the perfection of any edication, no, but to keep it realistic for striving towards happiness and freedom is my only intend in this life. Ima do my best to make up with the books I lefted behind.

Thank you. Sincerely, ______________, Inmate #_______.

Are you touched? I was.

It's Just a Number......

That's what everyone says about the "round" birthdays. That, along with some nonsense about only being as old as you feel, or something like that. Whatever. Anyway, here are some other numbers that went along with my "round" birthday last week:

720 = months old

2880 = weeks old

20, 160 = days old

483,840 = hours old

29,030,400 = minutes old

But here are the real interesting numbers from that week:

1 = Number of daughters who traveled across the Atlantic Ocean to surprise me on my day!

7,315 = Approximate number of miles she traveled from Norway.

150 = My heartrate when I saw her standing on my front porch.

17 = Number of times I said, "I don't believe this! You're here!"

15 = Number of drinks I consumed that day starting with mimosas in the morning, lattes at mid-morning, drinks with lunch, champagne in the limo, wine with dinner, and martinis at the Red Door.

1:00 a.m. = Time the limo driver poured us out on the driveway at the end of the night.

0 = Number of keys any of us had to get into the house in our delightfully drunken state!

Wow! What a birthday! What a surprise! What a girl!! She managed to turn what could have been a somewhat depressing day into what will go down as the most memorable of celebrations!

THANK YOU, JEDA!!!

Please....release me.....let me go......

Do you know the song? Can you sing along? It's an old song; one I thought I was through singing when I left the Mormon church. If you are now, or have ever been, of the Mormon persuasion (good pun there), you'll understand my story. Here it is:

I had been asked some months ago if I would run for the board in my little gated community. The Village needed an idiot, I guess. I respectfully declined, citing job and family priorities. What I didn't say was that I had no intention of getting involved with the politics and personalities of running anything, been-there-done-that, didn't like it. So they sicced one of the brethren on me! He came to the house, talked in that subdued low-key voice they use as they lay on you some guilt trip about "you've been called", and we all have to help where we can,and you mustn't hide your light under a basket, or some such nonsense. I finally told him NO, in no uncertain terms.

So a few weeks later, another neighbor asked me if I would help them proofread the newsletter that goes out monthly. Okay, I can do that, so I agreed. At the first meeting, I got assigned to do interviews on new residents, appointments to the board, couples leaving to serve missions (like I care!), and just generally highlight somebody every month. I tried to back down, saying I'd been recruited under false pretenses, but agreed to do what I could.

I hated it! The older I get, the less of a people-person I am. I don't WANT to call total strangers and ask them how they met, where they vacation, what books they read for God's sake, and what improvements would they like to see in the Village. Oh, and how about this suggested question: "Do you want to tell us about any divorces or diseases you've experienced?" Who the hell thought that one up?

Well, after about 6 months on my new "job", I've had a gut full. So I called the neighbor who persuaded me to get involved with this crap (a guy I really do like -- it's the only reason I agreed in the first place), and told him I wanted to be released from my calling. I told him to call somebody else. Actually, I sicced him on my other neighbor (sorry, Franny!). But really, she likes people a lot more than I do.

I know this seems to be much ado about nothing. Easy for you to say. Maybe you didn't internalize that guilt-thing like I did. When I explained I didn't like calling people, my handler said, "Well, you shouldn't do anything you don't what to do. Don't worry about it. I'll do it. I'll find.....somebody. But you shouldn't have to do something you really don't want to do." My thoughts exactly!! So why do I feel like I left him in a lurch?

Well, that's my tiny little suburban crisis. So beware! A "carefree community" comes with strings attached. There's the Social Committee, the Finance Committee, the all-powerful Architectural Committee, the Pool Police, the Water Master, and the Club House Committee. And these are all in addition to the Board of Directors and the Association Officers! And you better be prepared to do your part or face the disapproval of the Village fathers (who are also the Ward Brethren). Is there no escaping it?

Somewhere the sun is shining......Somewhere hearts are light

And last week, I found that somewhere. It's in San Diego! What a great week of getaway for some much needed change of scenery.

I made extended eye contact with this big brute even though the sign told me not to. They find it threatening, or some such nonsense. I tell ya, he and I connected on some really primal level. Everyone else had walked on, and the Beast and I made goo-goo eyes at each other.

It was a week of sunny and windy beaches during the day, nearly non-stop witty repartee with the Hawkes', and evenings awash with martinis and wine. Ah, the good life.

We had dinner one night with Peggy, a friend from my first childhood, who remains one of the nicest and most pleasant people I know. We had dinner another night with Sheri, a friend from my second childhood, who continues to make me laugh after so many years. We dubbed the disembodied voice of the GPS, Sally, with whom we developed a real love/hate relationship. When she got us to where we wanted to go, we thanked her. And if we missed a turn, turned too soon, or tried to second guess her, we called her a sleezy bitch -- and worse. But all in all, we appreciated Sally and wondered how we ever got along without her.

We discussed politics, religion, marriage, family, business, literature, and art. We didn't always agree (the war in Iraq), we had spirited differences of opinion (Hemingway was an asshole), we supported each other's efforts (here dumbshit, let me find that knitting stitch you dropped), and we discussed at length the merits of grandchildren and the failings of old acquaintances.

But alas, the week ran out, and we returned to a snowstorm that started just after we landed in Salt Lake, and continued throughout the night. This morning we had about 5 inches of white reality and were forced to concede that winter's not over yet (which made last week's respite all the more memorable). We had a great time, but now it's back to the grind.

Good Hunting, Will

Like any other teacher, I can't help but like some students better than others. There are some who can't exit fast enough for my liking. But every once in awhile one comes along that gives me hope. Such a one is Will. He's been locked up for a long time -- long enough to go completely gray; long enough to lose whatever contacts he had on the outside. This can be a bad thing of course, but it can also be a good thing. For Will, it's been a good thing.


He finished High School with me about a year ago, but has continued to stop by my classroom to chat and to let me know how he's doing. As his parole date neared, he teeter-tottered between over-the-top anticipation and paralyzing fear of what life was going to be like for him on the outside. As fast as the world is changing, how do you make the transition from being told what to do, how to do it, and when to do it to having unlimited choices as well as unlimited consequences? How do you go from knowing exactly what you'll wear every morning, noon, and night, which is exactly what every other inmate is wearing every morning, noon, and night to having to make a choice about style, color, appropriateness, and all of the subtleties that go along with dressing yourself?


And food.....does he remember how to grocery shop, cook, or eat with something other than a plastic fork? Where does he begin.......again? To make better choices, and better friends, and ask for help when he needs it? These are all things I wonder about when I think of Will. I wonder what he did after he walked out the front gate. How did he spend that first day? Did he sleep well that first night? For several years now, he's been living in a dorm-setting with 50 other guys where there is virtually NO privacy. It was never completely dark; it was never completely quiet; the temperature was never completely right. He had a flashlight shined in his face every hour during the night, and he shared toilet time with 5 other guys.


How does he walk away from that and assimilate back into society? When he came to say goodbye to me, we hugged (against all the rules), he shed a few tears. He told me he had a place to stay, a job waiting for him, and support from his adopted family (volunteers from the LDS church program at the prison). I told him to go buy some cool duds to wear -- NOT white -- and take life verrrrrryyyyy slowly.


When I asked him if he felt strong, he said, "I've forgiven God -- and He's forgiven me -- we're working things out." It's hard not to know the end of the story, but I only want to know it if it has a happy ending. I have high hopes for Will.


Good hunting, Will.

The Queen Regains Control

It's all a matter of "Smile and carry a big stick.....or in this case a shank".

The next time I started the class from Hell, I took a new approach. I forgot you have to do that with kids, and these guys are after all stuck somewhere back there where you thought absolutely EVERYTHING was about you. Remember? It doesn't matter that some of them are 28 or 30 or 50. Emotionally, they're still 14 or 15. It's one of the reasons they're where they are. For the most part, they never learned that lesson about delayed gratification and not always looking for the easiest possible route.

Anyway, I waited until they all straggled in, signed in, and made their way to their desks. I stood in front of the room, exchanged NO pleasantries with them, responded to NO demands for paper, books, tests, and I didn't make a single attempt to get them directed or started. I just stood there with the most engaging and friendly expression I could muster. I think it was plain curiosity that finally made them focus on me and shush each other into compliance. What a golden moment! When it was finally so quiet you could hear a handcuff clink shut, I smiled, spoke in a voice that was quiet, tranquil, and laced with acid as I said,

"Please consider what I'm about to say very carefully. If you're incapable of maintaining even a modicum of self-restraint or you can't muster even the slightest inclination to learn something in the next three hours, please do us all a favor and leave now. Save yourself the humiliation of an OMR referral, and save me the indignation of shouting 'Shut-The-Hell-Up' to a roomful of adults. If you have any questions, save them. There is no room for discussion. Do I look like I'm negotiating?" (They haven't seen the movie of course!)

It worked like a charm. Total silence and cooperation ensued. A fair number of them were no doubt baffled by my bullshit, but there was no mistaking my intent. They didn't need to understand all the words. Besides, it throws them off balance when I use vocabulary they don't know. It was a moment of hard-earned and well-deserved power, and I enjoyed every nano-second of it. Maybe I understand an officer's need to exercise power and control a little better. Whatever. I have to say I liked exercising my Gestapo side for a bit.

I wonder sometimes if one of them ever turned on me, would I crumble and cry like a scared little girl, or would I go berserk and try to slap the shit out of him (and probably get myself a load of lumps and bruises or worse). And yet, I maintain, you couldn't drag me back into the public schools! What's wrong with me?

"SHUT THE HELL UP!!!!!"

Okay, this would be me today. Not one of my more inspired teaching moments to say the least. You know, every individual class develops its own unique personality. I've known this since my first year of teaching. In a typical classroom, you expect to have a full range of abilities, 3 or 4 ADD (attention deficit disorder) kids, 2 or 3 BD's (behaviorially disordered), maybe 1 or 2 physically handicapped, a handful of whiners, a smattering of troublemakers, and if you're lucky a dozen or so students who are interested in learning something.

Granted, a classroom of 18 adult prison inmates isn't a typical situation. But I swear, my Monday/Wednesday flock has developed the unique personality of an ADD-BD-whining-troublemaker-who-says-whatever-the-hell-random-thought-pops-into-his-head-and-has-to pee-every-hour-on-the-hour. I'm not talking here about 1 or 2 students, I'm saying 15 of the 18 of them share these maladies. Of the other three, one is totally deaf, and the other two think they're both smarter than I am! I endure this group for 3 straight hours every Monday and Wednesday morning. And my Monday/Wednesday afternoon class is only marginally better. I leave the prison on those two days exhausted and longing for a double shot of something amber colored, really strong, straight out of a bottle.

I'm too old for this. THEY'RE too old for this. Even 6th graders understood when they'd pushed me to the edge. But not this group, no, they entertain themselves and each other by trying to be the funniest, the most outrageous, the grossest, the baddest one of the bunch. It's almost humiliating (or should be) to have to tell adults, "You need to sit down and get busy" or "I'm sorry. Am I interrupting your conversation with Mr. So-and-so?" or "Which part of GET-TO-WORK don't you understand?" All of which, led me to a dramatic, high volume, "SHUT THE HELL UP!!!"

Tonight, I'm tired. I've been worn down by drug-lovin' deadbeats. I yelled at a room full of criminals who outweigh me by 50 to 150 lbs. My favorite student is totally deaf. Tomorrow is only Thrusday. And for all of this, I rake in an extra $27 a month hazard pay.

I'm going to bed.

Huh?.....Stupidest Questions and Answers of the Week #1

Just a sampling of the questions I was asked or the answers I was given this past week.

1. Inmate #27350 (during an Algebra lesson):

"After I subtract, I don't got no more x's. Is that right?

Me:

"You mean you don't have any more x's?

Inmate #27350 (much disgusted):

"Geez! I thought this was Math, not English."


2. Me (during a Financial Literacy lesson):

"Now that you've made a budget, what factors could influence it?"

Inmate #37268:

"If my wife or my girlfriend quits sending me money."


3. Me (again, during a Financial Literacy lesson):

"Who should carry Disability insurance?"

Inmate #41023:

"People with disabilities."


4. Me:

"Mr. Smith, it's obvious to me you and Mr. Jones cheated on this test!"

Inmate #37592:

"I'm sorry I gave him the answers, but I'm trying to do what ConQuest says and be a more caring and sharing person."


5. Inmate #37592 (much later that day):

"I know I'm gonna get suspended, but can you just wait until after I finish the 1.5 credits I need to graduate?"


6. Inmate #15083:

"Is that a picture of your weiner dog?"

Me: (frustrated and tired of answering stupid questions)

"No, Mr. Brown, that's a picture of my great dane."

Inmate #15083:

"Oh......hmmmm......, it looks like a weiner dog."


7. Me: (during an Algebra lesson)

"Any questions about the Order of Operations?"

Inmate #39871:

"I'm not doin' Algebra witchall. I'm workin' on Health. What's coitus interuptus?"


8. Inmate #40036:

"I need to pass gas, and out of consideration for my fellow students, I'd like to go out in the hall to do it. That okay?"


9. Inmate #36015:

"How do you spell copacetic?"

Me: (a bit surprised he even knows the word)

"Interesting. How are you using it?"

Inmate #36015:

"Like in 'When I get out, let's you and me copacetic.' "

Me:

"It doesn't matter how you spell it."


10. Inmate #41029 (during a Financial Literacy: Investing lesson):

"I don't really need any of this. On the outside, I'm a stock broker."

Me:

"And yet, here you sit in my High School class. How does that happen?"


I'm tellin' ya.....I don't get paid enough!!!

"Oops...Did I say that out loud?"

If you're going to see the humor in this little incident, you need just a tiny bit of background information about 2 points.

1. The ConQuest program at the prison is a 12-18 month drug rehab program. It is contained in a separate facility from the rest of the prison and houses about 400 inmates. This is where I teach, and these inmates are my students. ConQuest is a therapeutic community (or TC) where residents (that's what they're called rather than inmates) oversee the day-to-day workings of living, therapy, group sessions, school, seminars, etc. As a TC, each resident is partially responsible for contributing to the success of all members. The residents live in 8 dorms that house 50 guys each. These dorms can be locked down, but there are no bars or doors within the dorm. It looks more like a military barracks than anything else.

2. The high school has a separate site clerk or secretary for each of its 5 sites. I'll call ours Ms. Tayk (because she makes so many of them!) Nice lady, but not the sharpest pencil in the box. Ms. Tayk often enrolls residents in our classes, but fails to let teachers know anything about it. So new guys show up, saying "I'm in your class now." And I say something like, "No, you're not. You're not on my roll, you're not on my sign-in sheet, I don't know what you need, and I'm just not prepared for you!" It's a broken system that makes me look like an idiot 2 or 3 times a week. No amount of remediation or support seems to boost the competence of Ms. Tayk, so we patiently (or, in my case, IMpatiently) limp along and try to keep our classes going.

Okay, so here's the incident that happened last Wednesday. We were in class (that would be me and 18 convicted felons in a room made of cinder blocks with only 1 exit) when all the power went out. No backup generators, no natural light. Prisons have a minimal number of windows, and there are NONE in any of our classrooms. Luckily, I was sitting at my desk, so I had my flashlight out in seconds. Of course, you just sit tight for a few seconds to see if the power comes back on. When I say the lights are out, I mean it's TOTALLY dark, you know, the you-can't-see-your-hand-infront-of-your-face kind of dark.

After about 5 minutes, it seems obvious this is a serious blackout, so an officer shows up and officially sends everybody back to the dorms. Once in the dorms, residents have to lie on their beds for the duration of the power outage because it's the easiest way to keep track of them. You can't let too many of them have free reign in an open area during a blackout, you see.

The majority of officers report to the dorms to make sure everybody is "racked-up" and not getting into mischief. Everyone else just kind of gravitates to the central hallway where there is a bit of light coming from the doors at either end of the central hall. So, while we're mingling there (Ms. Tayk happens to be there with us), out of the Coordinator's office comes BIG Black Dude, who seems to have slipped through the "rack-up" order. BIG Black Dude realizes he's in the wrong place and could face consequences for not being in the dorm. He considers, out loud, whether he should stay with us or make his way down the dark hallway, unescorted, to his dorm.

Now here's the precious part. Ms. Tayk, in her irreverent grating voice, says (nice and loud) to BIG Black Dude, "What do you care? If you stand still, they won't know you're here."

So, now we have not only total dark, but awkward total silence! Almost as if we had rehearsed it, everyone else just walks away, leaving Ms. Tayk there to explain to BIG Black Dude how that was really just a joke, and you're not offended are you? Because you know I was just being funny, and oh, sometimes I'm so dumb, and I say dumb things, but really........I'm.....just......being.......funny........

And her voice trails off as I reach my pitch-black classroom, shaking my head, and muttering, "I don't believe she just said that!"

Happy Birthday, Aubrey!

I just have to share with you the experience I had today. This sweet 10-year-old is my niece's daughter. Does that make her my great-niece? Well, whatever, she IS a great niece. I wish this picture captured her gorgeous eyes and her unbeatable smile.

Her party was at the Make-A-Wish Foundation, a place I'd never visited before. If you haven't been there, you must go. If you haven't learned about the Foundation, you must find out. If you weren't at the party today, you'll just have to experience it through me.

Before the party really got started, the hostess asked if we wanted a tour of the facility. Sure, why not. The building is unimposing, but tastefully done and well designed. Through big double doors you can see a fountain outside with an impressive bronze statue of two small children and a unicorn. Touching to look at, but frozen in the freezing temperatures of January in Utah. In the main entryway, your attention is drawn to the ceiling where you see a huge wrought-iron framework with gentle waves in it that flows across the ceiling for about 25 feet. Hanging from this frame are scores of individual leaded glass stars organized in the colors of the rainbow. Each star represents a wish granted by the Foundation and bears the name of the Recipient. As you watch them twist and turn with the slightest breeze, the colors sparkle and catch whatever light comes through the glass doors at either end of the rainbow. A small lump forms in your throat as you begin to realize the enormity and generosity these stars represent.

Then the hostess took us upstairs to the Wishing Room. This room is locked and must be opened by a key that is given to each Wish Recipient. As the door opens, you see a cool blue-lighted circular room whose centerpiece is a huge standing marble slab with water cascading down both sides. The whole room makes you feel like you're standing on water. Around the outside of the room, the floor tiles are clear and cover a series of lights that change and bathe the room in a kind of surreal light show. At this point, the lump in your throat is keeping you from saying anything, which is fine because this feels like a sacred place that shouldn't be disturbed by human speech anyway.

In front of the cascading fountain sits a cone about 3 ft. high where the actual Wish Cylinder is deposited. When the cylinder containing the wish is inserted in the cone, the entire room turns red and pink, and triumphant music begins to bounce off the round walls. There is no escaping the fact now that you couldn't speak if you wanted to. You look around and realize that everyone has this hazy, wavy look to them because you can't control the tears cascading down your cheeks any more than you can control the water cascading down the marble slab. I wasn't prepared for a spiritual experience for crying out loud!

We solemnly filed out of the Wishing Room and made our way back to the party room, where we sang Happy Birthday, ate cake, and watched an incredible slide show of Aubrey's life. Then Aubrey took center stage and, with Mom's help, told everyone she hoped all our wishes come true. She was so happy, and that smile said everything she couldn't say.

When I was sure I was emotionally drained and couldn't take another tug on my fragile heart strings, they called everyone out into the entry way where there was a small podium set up. On it sat Aubrey's blue star. Attached to the star was a long rope-and-pulley. Everyone got quiet, soft strains of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" could be heard, and Aubrey (again with Mom's help) pulled on the rope hand-over-hand as she raised her star to join the rainbow overhead. Well, I pretty much lost all composure at that point, but it was okay because we were all in the same blubber-boat! Beautiful Mom-Delsa then tearfully thanked everyone for sharing Aubrey's celebration of 10 years of ups-and-downs, triumphs and tribulations, heartache and happiness.

Did I say I had a good time? Did I say how glad I was to have been part of her day? Did I say how much respect and love I have for Delsa and her family? And did I tell you about Aubrey's heart-stopping smile? I meant to say all that.....but I'm all choked up again! It's time to take stock and count your blessings. And after you do that, make a contribution to the Make-A-Wish Foundation. These are people who really do make wishes come true.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AUBREY!

"Bring out your dead.......bring out your dead...."

I take extra Vitamin C. I got a flu shot. I wash my hands obsessively. So how come I still got sick? And I don't mean just "oh-mama's-got-the-sniffles" sick. This has been more like "the-Mucinex-guy-waged-war-and-I-think-he-won" sick. At this point, I think I'm going to live, but the jury's still out on whether or not I'm better.

It seems like everybody I talk to has either been sick or lives with somebody who's been sick. I'm reading World Without End by Ken Follett about the devastation of the plague in 1300's England, (hence, the reference to "bring out your dead") and I figure I would've gone in the first wave of illness. I don't see me as one of those tireless and selfless souls who tends to the sick and injured, and manages to escape the ravages of the dreaded plague. "Take me Lord, take me now. Before I disgrace myself by throwing up in public."

Anyway, that's the reason for my lack of communication. I went back to school a day too soon and ended up spreading my coat out on my classroom floor so I could lie down rather than fall down. I don't know why I felt like I needed to be back. It's not like somebody will swoop in and take my job from me. It's also not as if my students are going anywhere. I literally have a captive audience. I opted not to have students, figuring I could use a prep day to get ready for the new quarter. I posted a sign on my classroom door and locked it, thinking I'd have peace and quiet in which to work. No such luck. The inmates could see my light was on, so they repeatedly ignored the locked door, peaked over my "No Admittance" sign, and generally pestered me until I dragged my sorry sick self to the door and opened it to them. Then they'd say something really perceptive, like "Oh! You're here! Are we having class?" Or "Just wanted to say hi." Or (love this one!) "You been sick? You look sick. You should just lock your door."

Anyway, I persevered until about 3:30 when there was no longer any question about coming back too soon. I came home, crawled back into my bed, and stayed there until Big D had dinner ready. I know all you mothers-of-little-ones out there are saying, "Oh you big baby. Try feeling that crappy and still having to take care of kids, fix meals, buy goceries, and keep the family afloat!" I only have this to say to you........"Been there, done that, bite me!"