The Weekend that Wasn't

I had many, many plans for this weekend, and they all fell apart. One by one by one.


My husband was to be out of town.  I was to be in town--celebrating.  Not celebrating in the traditional sense, you see.  I was going to celebrate the successful completion of my first year of teaching by myself--quietly.  


I intended to watch miserable amounts of television and devour book after delicious book perhaps stopping for real sustenance along the way.  I would do only the things that struck my fancy and nothing more.  I would be still; I would be quiet; I would be proud of what I'd accomplished.


How were my plans derailed, you ask?  Sabotage.  Sabotage by none other than the vessel that holds my tired and weary new-teacher soul--my very own body.


It all started on Monday(ish)--I can't be certain of the exact date, as I didn't see the attack coming because, quite frankly, I never do.  It started with a headache that wouldn't go away, an itchy throat, an achy  muscle.  You get the drift.  By Thursday I was feeling a bit light headed and my throat was no longer itchy, but a deep and painful scratchy.  When I got home after a long day I had a fever.  I was up all night pleading with the germs, the illness, God, myself, ANYONE to please, please let me sleep.  The answer was always, except for an hour or two, a deep, sadistic NO.


By Friday morning when it was time to go to school for the last day of finals, I was a mess.  A germy, feverish mess.  I had two finals to give.  When the last students of the last group left, I packed it all up and went home.


I stopped at Walgreens and loaded up on sinus medication, sleeping pills, potato chips (who knows why?), orange juice, and soup.


I spent the weekend that was to be the glorious end of a glorious year bobbing between sleep and wakefulness, being able to breath and struggling for air.  


I should have known my weekend of beauty and reflection and quiet would be ripped from underneath me; after all, this is how I live.


I push and I push and I push and I reach a goal, and then, as if my body and spirit detach from one another and the sprit says KEEP GOING, my body rises up with a tired and spent, but strong and forceful, NO--IT'S TIME TO STOP.


It happened in high school; it got worse in college when I was sick after every single semester.  It happened after I got married.  I made it to the end of the honeymoon before I crashed, and now it's happened again.  


So, my weekend disappeared into oblivion, a sick and nasty oblivion of nose blowing and fitful sleep and pill popping.


I suppose, though, that having a 101.5 fever and being so, so sick is just a way for my body to celebrate its long, faithful hours of success.  Because, although it was forced, she finally got her long overdue rest.

I hope your weekend was healthier than mine,

One Year Ago Today

Today, Hub and I are celebrating the conclusion of our first year of marriage!

Yay for us!

I was so surprised when our wedding day rolled around, and now I am equally (if not more) surprised that we've been married an entire year already.  

Our wedding already seems so far away but just like yesterday.  It's weird.  

I say that about all significant (and insignificant) events in life, but it's really how I feel.

Happy Anniversary to Us, 

...and had a Big Party...

When Hub saw pictures of our cake, he said, " Wow!  Our cake really was pretty. I bet it tasted good, too."  We wouldn't know.  That's right, ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom missed out on the cake.  It's a hard life.

This is the moment we thought the band was playing the wrong song.  Turns out, we were mistaken.

Once we figured out it really was "our song" and we should be dancing, we decided to forgo the steps we'd learned at dance class and just sway.  We felt only slightly guilty.  The slight guilt left us when friends promised to tell our instructor that we had done a beautiful job.  That's what friends are for.

We were briefly instructed on how to cut our pieces of the cake.  Personally, I found the instructional help to be lacking, as we followed directions, but it didn't seem to go properly. Therefore, we had to have assistance.  At least we look like we know what we're doing in the picture, right?

This is how much cake we had.  Really, you can't even call it a piece.  It was more like the tiniest of tiny crumbs.

This is the little Princess singing, "and I was like baby, baby, baby, ooh. like baby, baby, baby, nooo. like baby, baby, baby oooh, thought you'd always be mine, mine....and i was like baby, baby, baby, ooh. like baby, baby, baby, nooo. like baby, baby, baby ooh, thought you always be mine, mine...and i was like" for the fiftieth time.  Such a precious memory, as well as my favorite part of the wedding video.

They caught my bouquets!  Kanis actually caught two.  We still aren't sure what that means.

We danced a little before we left.

Then we walked into our happily ever after.

Thank You Isn't Good Enough

Remember day before yesterday when I said I'd be back tomorrow to talk about my bridal party?  It looks like I meant the day after tomorrow which would be today which would mean I'm right on schedule.  Right?  Right.  Okay, here we go.

This picture of all of us outside the chapel and the one on the beach are two of my absolute favorites from the wedding.
Aren't we all just precious? ;)

Here I am with all of the boys. Starting with the upside down one and going clockwise, you have: Jakie, the Prince, Dubbie, Tylando, Will D., Jimmy(the one you can barely see), Ando, and Caber.

The bridesmaid's didn't get as crazy, perhaps due to the dresses.  I don't want to leave the impression that they're lame or anything because they're pretty awesome.  Starting from the left: Kanis, Too, Hub, the Princess, Kitty, Tater, and Charles.

UNRELATED TO POST: Perhaps I should add  a little note about nicknames.  I use many, but not all, of these nicknames in real life.  Mostly the girls' are real and useable, the boys' are a little less so.  I go with nicknames on my blog because I don't think it's fair to plaster someone's name all about the internet.  I just thought you'd like to know that. :)

I conceived this whole notion of appreciation for my bridal party to start off the posts about my wedding quite a while ago. The execution of this, however, has been a little tricky.  I had a million different ideas, and every, single one of them seemed inadequate.  Finally I realized that I can't adequately describe how much these lovely ladies and gentlemen mean to me.  Each of them contributed to the fun of the wedding weekend.  They weren't just there to take up space.  They were there because Hub and I love them all very dearly.  These people are more than friends; they're our family.  They're my brothers and sisters.

Each of them, in their own special way, has taught me what true friendship is and what it means to be able to count on people. I feel so blessed that my bridal party ended with these very special people in it; I feel so blessed that my bridal party ended up containing the people I truly wanted to stand next to Hub and I as we took our vows.

I consider it an honor that each of them so enthusiastically agreed to participate in the wedding festivities, but, more than that, I consider it an honor to know each of them.  They are beautiful men and women who will change the face of this earth for the better.

Happy (belated) Birthday!!

I missed The Middle Ground's first birthday.

I didn't mean to.

I knew it was coming.

It scratched at the back of my mind like a dog who is desperate to come inside from the cold.

I ignored it.

I thought, "I'll deal with that later."

I never did.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I missed it because I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE birthdays of any kind.

So, The Middle Ground didn't get the fantastically wonderful first birthday blog post she (yes, my blog is female; what else did you expect?) deserved.

Oh, well.

Sometimes things like this happen.

That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.

I hope I'm better at remember my children's birthdays.

When I have children, that is.

When I have children a very long time from now, that is.

Surely I'll remember the birthday of my kids.

Although, one could argue that I created and gave birth to The Middle Ground.

Oh, dear.

At least The Middle Ground is just a blog, so she shouldn't suffer any major psychological trauma.

Right? Right?

Let's hope so.

So, here's to The Middle Ground and her first full year and one month as a blog.

Happy birthday. Here's to another year and one month together.

P.S. Next year, I'll do my best to remember your birthday on time. Besides, 2 is better than 1, right? I thought so, too.

P.P.S. I had to skip Sunday Snippets this week in honor of The Middle Ground's forgotten birthday. Sunday Snippets will resume next week. I know you were all on pins and needles about that one. :) ha.

Moving is for the Birds.

I am not a mover.

My first recollection of moving? College.

My parents built the house I grew up in when I was three years old, so I wasn't really involved in the whole pack-it-up-and-move situation. Moving forty-five minutes away to begin my college career was my first moving experience, but moving to college for the first time is different than moving-moving.

When I moved to college, most of my things were still in their bright and pretty packages. I bought or received things I needed (or just wanted), put them in the formal living room just as they were, and when it was time to move, everything was ready to go. My clothes went on a hanging bar in the back of my mom's Yukon. I had luggage for toiletries and other things. It was no big deal (except for the whole "I CANNOT BELIEVE I AM MOVING TO COLLEGE" part).

The second and third years were harder, but not too bad. After all, home was only forty-five minutes away. I could run home and pick something up anytime I needed to. These moves didn't require real packing, just creative situating within rubbermaid boxes, suitcases, and the backseat of my car. When no foam wrap is required, it's not a real move.

This time? We're eightish hours away from (old) home Arkansas, and this isn't a college dorm room. It's our house (apartment). We need our stuff. And, boy, let me tell you. We have discovered that we have a lot of stuff. So far, we've thrown away about a bajillion pieces of foam wrap and around two million cardboard boxes, but we've got our stuff.

All of our precious stuff is in the apartment, most of it is in the general area in which it will stay, and a little of it is right where it needs to be.

Our goal is to finish putting everything together and get completely settled by the time my school starts. Monday, August 23rd. As the day we need to really be able to live here approaches, I am a little nervous, but still confident, that we can get it done.

I think it's safe to say we won't be moving for a while. Moving doesn't suit Hub's personality much either. So, I'll say it:

WE DEFINITELY WON'T BE MOVING FOR A WHILE. (make that a LONG while).

Back to Blogging.

I took a blogging break so that I could live a little.

My agenda?

-Go to Florida.

-Get married.

-Go on a cruise.

-Go to Atlanta.

-Go to Arkansas.

-Pack to move.

-Move to Louisville.

-Unpack.

-I think you get the drift....

So, now that all the traveling and craziness has settled down (has it?), I'm back to blogging again. I'm glad to be back. It's a routine, and right now, Hub and I are both craving some routine. We moved one week ago tomorrow, and our days have consisted of Target runs, unpacking boxes, trips to the dumpster, arranging furniture, Kroger runs, etc, etc. There is no real method to the madness, but things are starting to come together.

I promise to blog about the wedding and cruise and fun festivities, and I promise to blog about moving and post pictures of our cute new place at the Crescent. (Eventually).

It's good to be back. :)

One to Go

Exactly one month from today, Hub and I will be married. We'll go back to visit the beautiful chapel, but I'll be in a gorgeous white dress instead of a pretty white coat and he'll be in a handsome tuxedo instead of a cute button up. Then, before we even know it, it'll all be over and just beginning all at the same time.

Wow.

Md. Teacher Marks 75 Years In Classroom

Miller, 93, Has Taught For An Estimated 27,000 School Days

When Franklin D. Roosevelt was president and a loaf of bread cost about 8 cents, Paul Miller began teaching.

That was 1934, and the 93-year-old Miller has been teaching math ever since.

Miller currently teaches calculus at Baltimore's Ner Israel High School and has been instructing students in private and public schools, from elementary to college, for 75 consecutive years, WBAL-TV's Deborah Weiner reported.

That covers a span of an estimated 27,000 school days.

"I think if I stop, I'd rust apart," Miller said.

He has taught for 51 years at Ner Israel and has taught thousands of Maryland students with his trademark stress-free, mellow style.

"He just keeps going and going, learning more new tricks and new things to teach his kids," said the school's principal, Jacob Schuchman.

Students at the school have fathers and grandfathers who were taught by Miller.

"Mr. Miller has remained steady through the years," said student Gavi Guttman, 16. "Not one generation, not two generations, but three."

Miller is the son of Lithuanian immigrants, Weiner reported. His mother was illiterate, and his father was an indentured servant and self-taught math expert.

When Miller first started teaching, he made copies with a jellygraph, which involved the transfer of an original to a pan of gelatin or a gelatin pad. He recalled the Reynolds ballpoint pen as an invention that helped him.

Family members said Miller has never been officially recognized for his decades of work.

"It's not going to affect our lives one way or another, but it would be really nice for his grandchildren to appreciate a grandfather who had this remarkable achievement," said his daughter, Lisa Miller.

Weiner reported that Paul Miller's children have made a case with Guinness World Records that he has the longest career as an accredited teacher.

Guinness currently recognizes a Brazilian woman who started teaching at age 12 and taught 96 years, Weiner reported.

Miller said he's OK with that.

"I'm already in a book of records," he said. "I'm in the telephone book. Who needs it?"

His son, Jeffrey Miller, said, "He feels like he is the wealthiest man in the world. He's always taught us, 'A wealthy man is happy with his lot in life.'"

Paul Miller said he believes deeply that a man who loves his job will never work a day in his life.

He has taught at Southern High School, the former City High School, Hopkins, Loyola, Essex, Catonsville Community College and others, Weiner reported.

"I'd like to go on for a long time," he said. "Who knows?

WBALTV.com

The Big Move

Finally, after much debate, prayer, and discussion, Hub and I have decided that after our wedding, we will be moving to Louisville, Kentucky.

I think neither one of us is sure how to feel about moving away from the Arkansas, but when we put the uncertainty aside, we are super-duper excited.

It'll be an adventure; that's for sure.

G-Wording.

Remember way back when I talked about the g-word for the first time? I do.

Well, the inevitable has come, and I'll be g-wording tomorrow. That's right, tomorrow is Graduation Day.

Finally, I can use the word "graduation" without fear and trembling; I can speak it freely without coding it into some nickname like g-word.

Here is how I'm feeling:

(Hand #1): I'm excited; I'm thrilled; I'm proud of my accomplishments.

(Hand #2): I'm scared; I don't know how to be here; I'm not sure I'm ready for this.

I remember feeling all of these same things when I graduated from high school, so I'm a little more comfortable being in this place again.

It's funny how these past three years have moved slower than the speed of smell, yet they've soared by so quickly I'm not exactly sure where the time went. Paradoxical, I know, but that's just how life is, my friends.

My time at HU has been fantastic. I've made friends; I've made family. I've learned. I've grown. It's been exciting. It's been boring. It's been everything I thought it would be. It's been completely different than I anticipated. It's been all sorts of things, mostly good things.

I know this post has just been a hodgepodge of my thoughts, but, at least for now, that's all I've got.

Getting it Together.

Dear Self,

Get with the program; you can do this! Fill out the applications, make the phone calls, read the books, do the assignments, plan the lessons, take care of the relationships, send the emails, say the prayers, sing the songs, smile the smiles, laugh the laughs, and do your best (at ALL of it)!

Sincerely,

Yourself

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to my daily inner dialogue. I'm at a place right now, and it's a place I've never been before. Since I don't like change all too much, new places don't always suit me too well. Rather, I don't always allow myself to be suited. So, my goal for the week is to get my act together because I really, really need to. It is time that I make decisions, stop being afraid of failure, and do what I need to do.

I'll let you know how it goes. Also, I haven't forgotten about the last time I said, "I'll let you know how it goes," so don't think I have.

It is my wish for all of you this week that you can get it together. If you have it together, then it is my wish for you that you'll pray for all of us who are still working on it. :)

Farwell, Emily (for now)

Well, it's over (my Senior Symposium, that is).

I presented my paper at 3:00 today along with Tabitha and Sadie (some of my dearest friends) who are also English majors. My presentation went rather smoothly, and thanks to an amazing second reader, I was asked questions that were coherent and answerable.

Overall, I count this day as a success! I feel as though an enormous burden has been lifted off of my shoulders. Throughout this process, I learned so many things, and I am quite grateful to have had this experience.

I am surprised to find that I still love Emily Dickinson's poetry, for I was afraid that I would grow tired of hearing her voice and trying to delve into the inner workings of her mind. Perhaps I tired of this a little, but not as much as I thought I would. Granted, I do not want to talk about her poems on death or anything about negative capability for the next several days, but I am not completely burned out on the discussion ;).

Mostly, I am just glad to be finished. Senior Symposium is a milestone, another rite of passage for the undergrad, and I completed it. Thank goodness.