No real posting today...

Too busy! E is 30 years old tomorrow, and tonight we're gonna party! Kids are going to Gram's for a sleepover and we are going OUT. It's about time I had some dang fun.

Speaking of Pirates

I have a Disneyland story for you. Yesterday's post about E and his pirate dreams reminded me of this. Now just FYI, I lurve Disneyland. Love, love, love, love. Pretty much at every stage of life, and with anyone who I have ever gone with, it has rocked my socks. I come from a long line of Disney appreciators, so I am fulfilling my destiny and carrying on the family line.

It all started when I was small (four, maybe?) and we were driving down to Disneyland as a family. My dad likes to mess with people, so he made sure I knew that under no circumstances was I going to be admitted to Disneyland unless I was smiling (hello, it's the happiest place on earth?)... my little four-year-old self thought that meant I needed to start smiling in Sacramento, so I smiled for the duration of the ride...

That same trip, I was terrified of the Pirates of the Carribean ride. It was dark when we were waiting in line and so I let my fear get the best of me. Never fear, Dad to the rescue. He told me that if I got scared, all I needed to say was "yo ho ho and a bottle of rum, matey!" and the pirates would leave me alone because they would think I was a pirate too. I thought that sounded like a good story, so as we boarded the boats and took off past the Blue Bayou restaurant (you know, the calm part with the fireflies before you get to anything at all) and my dad said he heard a little voice next to him saying "yo ho ho..."

I still love that ride. (And it still freaks me out a every time I go down the first waterfall.)

More Disneyland stories... many more. To be continued.

Partington Cove, Big Sur

Image by Madison Guy

On a clear, bright day, when the blue of the sea rivals the blue of the sky, one sees the hawk, the eagle, the buzzard soaring above the still, hushed canyons. In summer, when the fogs roll in, one can look down upon a sea of clouds floating listlessly above the ocean; they have the appearance, at times, of huge iridescent soap bubbles, over which, now and then, may be seen a double rainbow. In January and February the hills are greenest, almost as green as the Emerald Isle. From November to February are the best months, the air fresh and invigorating, the skies clear, the sun still warm enough to take a sun bath.

From our perch, which is about a thousand feet above the sea, one can look up and down the coast a distance of twenty miles in either direction. The highway zigzags like the Grande Corniche. Unlike the Riviera, however, there are but few houses to be seen. The old-timers, those with huge landholdings, are not eager to see the country opened up. They are all for preserving its virginal aspect. How long will it hold out against the invader? That is the big question. -- Henry Miller, Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch

Ever Google yourself? (If you don't know what it means to Google yourself, Lord help you. Click here and then get back to me. Welcome to the nineties.) Well, I Googled "Partington" a few years ago and discovered there's a Partington Cove right here in my very own California. It's beeeeeuteeful. Henry Miller apparently used to live on Partington Ridge, directly above the cove. We took a hike there when the monkeys were small, and it was breathtaking.

Partington Cove is about a half mile hike past an unmarked gate and down several switchbacks which lead to the outlet of Partington Creek. (Look how little Addie is!)

Partington Creek, image by DH Lake

The creek opens up into the first of what is actually two coves. In this first one, hikers craft rock piles like these:

Image by rhubarbcrumble

You then cross a bridge and walk into a tunnel through the rock. This tunnel opens into the second cove, which was used for the delivery of tanbark (or if you hear E tell it--assorted Pirate booty.)

Image by Lone Cypress

The remains of shipping equipment is still bolted to the rock as a reminder that before the Highway was built, most of what was brought in was done by ship. The deep water has a teal green hue, and the small cove opens up into a breathtaking view of the coastline. It's gorgeous, and it still has the feeling that it is untouched. It humbles me to think that even in an overpopulated state like California, we have such natural beauty. We're so lucky to live here.

I want to go back sometime soon. I was pretty bummed that it was such an overcast day, so my pics are all a little grim. Hike on a gray day? Free. Discovering your pirate ancestry? Priceless.

Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum, matey!

My Life

My name………..............Partington

childhood ambition…………………to go to space camp

fondest memory….……time off work with my babies

soundtrack…..anything Sarah McLachlan

retreat……….family cabin on the American River

wildest dream……..being published

proudest moment…….dancing with a professional company

biggest challenge..….overcoming my own anxiety

alarm clock…………..cell phone

perfect day….Kapalua Bay, scuba, beach time, good book

first job…………………Dance Teacher

indulgence…………………haircuts and spa treatments

last purchase……………grande soy toffee nut latte

favorite movie…………………White Christmas

inspiration……………………other people who create

My life…………………is not what I thought it would be

My blog……………………………is bloggy

Mmm, Spaghetti.

Image found here

I am always the good girl. To the point of missing out on lots of opportunities for fun over the last 29 years, I am the responsible girl. I’ve always chosen safety and morality over freedom and chance. Don’t roll your eyes at me. I see you. I know what you’re thinking. It has never been about me trying to judge other people, it’s about how I perceive myself. (Perhaps it’s in my blood? My parents are both pretty “good” too.) I have always been afraid of how everything looks to other people. To this end, I stress and stress about making every decision—weighing pros and cons, making sure I do what’s right and rarely doing anything that could be misinterpreted, because I’ve already over-analyzed and picked apart every idea before anybody else could. Even my one rebellion in life—piercing my nose at 24—was so carefully planned and considered, it wasn’t a very brazen act. It’s not that I try to be a stick-in-the-mud, but it’s just in me to be good. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean it’s in me to be spontaneous, or appear understanding.

The problem is that other people do not work like this. The older I get, the more I become aware of my, um, dissimilarity from other people. Not in some cheerful, Mr. Rogers-y you are special putting on your sweater and tennies sunshiney rainbow way, but like I’m a weirdo. An overly-emotional and overly-cautious weirdo badeirdo. And as such, I often find myself face to face with people who don’t put their every thought on a microscope slide and examine it as a specimen. Hmmph.

I really struggle with this. How do you raise questions to someone else without completely raining all over their parade? How do you let those you love know that you are concerned for them without belittling their joie de vivre? How do you give food for thought, without looking like you just put someone else’s beautiful little idea in the garbage disposal? I bite my tongue, but then I feel like I should have said something. I think I will raise a carefully-composed question, and then I end up hurting someone’s feelings. It gives me angst.

Case in point: as E and I try to work through what our life will look like if/when we come back together, we are both making some weighty decisions about what we each want. We know we want each other, and because of all the recent relationship work and structure we’ve gotten from Retrouvaille, I trust this. However, going about melding our individual wishes is difficult. Complex. Mind-boggling. (Facepalming? Neh. ) It would be challenging to be two almost-thirty year old people with two kids facing opportunity and choices after law school if we had been married happily (or maybe easily is a better term) for the last ten years. In our current situation of separated-but-want-to-figure-out-how-to-get-back-togetherness, it feels like trying to drive a car to the store as you simultaneously change out the carburetor and redo the exhaust. How do you move forward when you’re still trying to reassemble?

So surprises me not that last night when E came over all excited about a new jobbortunity, it gave me pause. Ginormous pause. He’s a get excited and do kind of guy. I’m a plan carefully, reconsider, self-edit, plan again, pray about it, recheck everything and then maybe do girl—and that’s only if at the end of the whole process I feel confident enough to move forward and I think that doing so won’t result in a major guilt attack. So he came over full of excitement and enthusiasm and in my typically un-fun manner, I had questions. I had fears. I had things to consider. I had cons to his pros. Do you see where this is going? He felt shot down. He felt trampled by my negativity. It wasn’t my intention, but it just, well, happened.

I am writing about this not because I want you to see my dirty laundry (HELLO!), but because I just don’t know how to handle it. I guess that knowing this is a part of my makeup is good, (the more you know…*ding ding ding ding ding*) but it’s something I’m going to struggle with for a long time. It’s a source of conflict that lurks not too deeply beneath the surface of my interaction with E. Really, in my interaction with friends or students too. I just might not blow up at them (see above paragraph about being the good girl. Our motto is thou shalt avoid conflict at all costs.) I want the best for people, and that can often mean letting them make their own choices, or lovingly biting my tongue.

In this same vein, I really connected with this recent article from IAMHUSBAND.COM. Here’s an excerpt:

“In our first post we talked about how men live their lives in one box at a time, much like the squares of a waffle. Life is compartmentalized. There is a box for TV watching. There is a box for playing with the kids. There is a box for working in the garage… Women process life much like a plate of spaghetti. Every thought and feeling and is connected to every other thought and feeling in life… If you're married, you are well aware of how these differences can cause friction in your relationship. A husband can get very frustrated with his wife for "jumping boxes" too quickly and leaving him feeling lost. He can also feel tricked into an argument because his wife may have accidentally read too much into a straying comment he made earlier in the day.”

Complete article can be found here.

I am definitely one big plate of messy, tangled spaghetti. Everything is related to everything. You can see how this could make me a little crazy sometimes. Or maybe what I mean to say is make everyone around me a little crazy sometimes. Mmm, spaghetti.

This is what I taught today.

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

~John Donne

It was hard. But tomorrow I'm showing Wit, with Emma Thompson, which has direct ties to Donne's poetry. Have you seen it? It's intense. Not exactly popcorn-fare, but gripping. I rewatched it last night to prep before I show my seniors. Well done, but weighty.

So, I helped some teens muddle through a little Metaphysical poetry, finished my disco dance, griped about students with other teachers at lunch, taught a dance piece to a Journey song (don't stop... believin'...) and a Lady Gaga song, picked up Buddy, picked up Ad, and checked Facebook. Aren't you glad I listed all that out for you? Gee, I am sure interesting lately. I've been thinking of changing the name of this blog to "list of things I did today," or maybe "Heather's list of complaints." I'll do better tomorrow. I swear. I realize I need to bring my "A" game. I'm going give tomorrow's post some good thought beforehand. No more of this laundry list of what I did all day crap.

I think I just need a rest. The kids are screaming at each other since we got home. I can just tell it's going to be ugly all night. I need to go lock myself in a room before I explode. I never understood why my mom did that when we were bad. It suddenly seems to make a ton of sense.

Ugh. I seem to be having some kind of cortical node malfunction. If you need me, I'll be regenerating in my alcove.

PDawg: The Sountrack, Part deux

So I've been thinking about letting you a little closer to the insanity that is me--so here's another one of the songs I sing to myself all the time. This one is a toss up--equal play time for both of these songs. When I'm walking, say from the dance room to the main office and back at work, or when I'm doing some kind of mundane but pleasant task, it's one of these two tunes I've got going on:

"Walk, Don't Run" by the Ventures

or

"Green Onions" by Booker T & the MGs

It just doesn't get any better than music or cars from the 60s. Nope.

Too cool for... underwear?

Photo by Claudia Snell

I love my job. Yay school. Ehrm... Well, if I have to have a job, I think this is the best possible choice for me. I guess. I had such unreasonably high hopes for my glorious, life-changing, Dangerous Minds/Jaime Escalante-esque teaching career. Have you seen Dead Poet's Society? Or Freedom Writers? Yeah, it's just like that, only not at all. Poor, poor stupid dream.

I realize now that few people outside of public education "get it." This ain't yo mama's public school. Heck, I went to this exact high school, and something happened while I was away at college. Really. I swear, Britney Spears and Bill Clinton reprogrammed the little darlings sometime between '97 and '01. Or something. Suffice it to say, it's a trip teaching at Sodom and Gomorrah High.

I realize that my specific job puts me in situations where I have much more personal interaction with kids than the average teacher... and in a lot of my classes, my students are all girls. This completely changes the dynamic. Girls want, nay--need--to spill their guts all the time. It's just awkward. Not gonna lie though; I'd say I get almost as much weird info in English. I try as hard as I can to appear unsympathetic, judgy, and unreasonable, but inevitably I become privy to some information I truly wish I did not have. *sigh.*

Over the years, I have had quite a few awful/funny/random/weird things said to me. Here are just a few of them. Most of them are pretty cringe-worthy. The thing is, I can't imagine how kids say this stuff to adults. Again, *sigh.* But they do. Oh, how they do. Hang on to your hats. This promises to make your socks curl down. (How's that for mixing clothing-related figures of speech?)

Please to enjoy:

My first day of teaching: “Mrs. P, I think I’m pregnant.”

Frequently: “Ugh...What-ever...” *eye roll*

“Mrs. P, you’re being so gay right now.”

“You’re ruining my senior year!”

“Mrs. P, will you go to Junior Prom with me?”

“I can’t wear this costume. It makes my boobs look weird.”

HATE this one: “______ thinks you’re hot.” (Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew. Make it stop. You are children!)

“I can’t dance today. I just got my bellybutton pierced.”

“I need to take this Victoria’s Secret box to my teacher. He bought his girlfriend some lingerie and they were out of boxes, so I said I’d bring him one of mine. She’s really cool. She’s like almost my same age.”

“When you go tanning, you have to lift and separate your cheeks so you don’t get a white line under your butt.”

“Mrs. P, can I go outside? I have a major wedgie and I need to dig it out.”

"I can't be here for that rehearsal tomorrow. I have to get waxed before prom."

“I think I had sex. I’m not really sure. It was over pretty quick.”

“Hey PDawg! I named my pig after you.”

“Mrs. P! Want to see my new tattoo?” (never, ever, ever ends well.)

“I can’t dress today for dance. I didn’t wear any underwear to school.”
...
Of course not, my dear, of course not. When did people stop wearing underwear? Is that a thing? I'm too old for this mess.

Sonnet for Adele

She shines. Bright orb, on khaki cradle rests,
While flaxen waves crash on her templed shores.
The glow of words illumes her gentle chest,
She brushes webs away from learning stores.
Her gullied brow betrays absorption true:
The newfound shine of independent thought.
Noise—faded—as descends a silent dew;
She reads, and so becomes her lot.
She grasps: leftover toddler hands alight
On pages teeming, pictureless, for dreams;
And so becomes our legacy tonight--
She joins literate ranks: while peering, gleams.
Apple-skin lips at rest, the words inside,
The world is still, the weightless tome alive.

Hey, good lookin'! Whatcha got cookin'?

Oh man, I just had a flashback to my childhood. My aunt is a really talented singer and back when she was about 18, she gave Melissa and me a tape with some of her songs on it... one was the above title. Lis and I used to sing to it in Gram's backyard and we thought we were hot stuff.

Here's what E and the monkeys did while I was having coffee with Janine today. Easy Bake Oven time.

I want it noted that they get this washing the dishes in the bathroom thing from their father, who believes in using one sink if another is full of dirty dishes. Something about dishes and the bathroom makes me want to vom.

Gettin' things ready... At least they're cute, even if the bathroom dish washing is weird. I didn't promise we we were normal. Remind me some time to tell you about how once in the apartment, E hid all our dirty dishes in the shower because we had company coming over. Oh, I guess I just told you. How disgusting is that? Oh well... I have no secrets.

PJs... all day... the tongue of concentration (below)...

But here they are, cooking away. Mr. Henry loves to cook just as much as Ad.

They devoured the chocolate cake as soon as it was done. Success!

Flush with disappointment

My mood is decidedly negative this week. Maybe I am just showing my true colors. I hope you didn't really think I was really that nice. Who am I kidding. You didn't.

Today was disappointing. It wasn't a total loss and I'm not upset about it, but it didn't really live up to expectations. Overall, I am still a fan of this program. I'm just not a fan of the Sacramento post-sessions. We are seriously considering driving back to Santa Cruz just to see our old peeps. I know I am a snob about stuff, but I don't WANT to sit in a plastic chair for six hours and listen to someone read every page out of a workbook. Can I get an AMEN? Particularly if said person is hard of hearing and keeps asking people to repeat what they say. Or let's say this person is approximately 900 years old. That makes me want to pull out all my eyelashes, one by one, in complete anguish. I know, gross.

The other problem today was that it represented one of my worst nightmares: running into people from work in embarrassing and/or potentially awkward situations. So seeing an ex-coworker from my school at this thing just gave me a feeling of dread. This person didn't do anything to make it awkward, but it just gives me the ooks. Then I get all weird about how maybe I am making it weird for them to see me there...

I don't like people to see me outside of my normal habitat. And why, dear anonymous blog readership, does it only happen in the most personal of situations? It's like the time I wasted a sick day and then ran into the school secretary in my Ob/Gyn waiting room (so, what are you in for?), or the time finally worked up the courage to go see a psychiatrist at Kaiser for my anxiety, and the receptionist was a parent of one of my students (Mrs. P? I didn't know you were nuts?), or the time I was buying a pregnancy test at Albertsons and one of my students bagged it for me, adding "Hey, Mrs. P, hope it turns out alright!" ('nuff said.) I don't like running into people. Note to self: living in the same community where you teach? Bad idea.

But I digress. It was just a perfect storm of old people, a bad presentation, and mad awkwardness. Today sucked. But the program has a lot to offer. We're still doing our daily assignments, and what we got today was about moving forward--not just talking about feelings, which we've been primarily doing, but working toward decision making, compromise, planning, action, etc with the same structure and guidance. It's all good. I think we're just at the point in the journey where it's really up to us anyway to decide if we want to take the reins. We do. I do, he does. So that's all good, encouraging stuff. My squirmyness aside, we're doing better than we ever were. And I still think of this program as a gift.

I said this before, but the single greatest message we got out of this whole shebang so far is that love is a choice. And to hear that all the time now, that E loves me--that he's choosing to love me--is a really powerful thing. Feelings are so fleeting. To hear that someone chooses you implies a conscious decision on their part, a willingness to hang on even when, let's say, you're being a raving lunatic and completely unreasonable, or perhaps if you are a total slob with a rebellious streak when it comes to household chores, or maybe you just expect too much and wear your heart on your sleeve. And they choose you anyway--with your frizzy hair and your zits and your old sweatpants and that shirt you've had since you were 13 and all your bad habits.

There's a lot of security there. BECAUSE PEOPLE ARE NOT AWESOME 100% OF THE TIME. (I'm not. You're not either, get serious.) I never trusted that he loved me before, and in reality he wasn't comfortable saying it. Now it's much easier to accept it. Of course those words aren't the be all and end all, but when they're backed up with all the hard work we're doing it makes for a much more hopeful outlook. Particularly since I had completely written off the idea of an 'us' anymore.

{Oh man. Just when I started to get serious and all bloggy, there was a call from down the hall. Actually a scream. Toilet overflow, man down. He's okay, but his favorite monkey PJs didn't make it through unscathed. Soaking wet. He's so cute--tried to unclog the john using the scrub brush. I realize that this is only cute to a mother, because it made the whole thing worse and basically added disintegrated TP, et al to the waterfall. Oh, I love having kids. Reminds you that you are not cool, no matter how hard you try to act like it. Ad's reading on the couch now and he's got a new set of feetie PJs.}


I have given up on the idea that I can control any of this post or any of this life. You just don't know what's going to happen. Today, c'est bien, and I am riding this wave wherever it takes me, much like Hank's TP over the side of the potty. I'm excited to see what happens next. I'd like to go back and meet my 20 year old self, just so I could shock the H-E-double-hockey-sticks out of her. I like her, but I like almost-30 me too.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow we have Retrouvaille again. We've been doing pretty good with our assignment... well, until two days ago when this whole bad day/week started happening and then we abandoned ship pretty fast. I'm looking forward to getting back on track. Still really nervous about having to meet new people and nervous that we won't connect with the couples that are leading as well as we did at the Santa Cruz weekend. I guess it can't hurt, right? I am happy that this process seems to be working for us. I can tell the kids are happy to have us both around at the same time.

Yesterday, Addie was trying to explain homophones to Henry. Today she was asking E about BC, and what that meant. She also read to us tonight from Polka Bats and Octopus Slacks, my new favorite kids' poetry book.

Here's Addie's favorite poem. She can't read it without laughing, which is half the fun.

Funky Snowman

Funky Snowman loves to dance.
You'd think he wouldn't have much chance
without two legs
or even pants.
Does that stop Funky Snowman?
No!!

Turn up the music with the disco beat,
when you're in the groove, you don't need feet.
Crowds come out and fill the street.
Kick it, Funky Snowman!!
I love it. Reminds me of the Shel Silverstein poems I would read as a child... over and over and over...
Ooh! Dinner is finally ready. Gotta run.

I want some Tops Yogurt.

Tart strawberry with chocolate nonpareils and cookie dough, and a dash of Andes mints. Or maybe some fresh strawberries. WANT

PDawg: The Sountrack, Pt I

I sing this to myself on days like today, when I know I'm still stuck in my bad day from the day before. I feel like I have to pull myself out of it. Anyway, here's a peek into my brain. From "Good Day" by Jewel.

It's gonna be all right,
no matter what they say
It's gonna be a good day,
just wait and see
It's gonna be okay,
cause I'm okay with me

It's gonna be, it's gonna be

As long as we laugh out loud
Laugh like we're mad
Cause this crazy, mixed up beauty is all that we have
Because what's love but an itch we can't scratch, a joke we can't catch
God, but still we laugh

I know. I'm a nerd. I'm going to be singing this to myself a lot today.

Bad day

Today was too busy and too frustrating. Went from boring day yesterday to bad day today. Not going to write today because I'll probably say something I'd regret. See you tomorrow.

Boring post

I wish I had something really great to write about tonight, but I wasted all my brainpower today at work between trying to wrap up Existentialism in AP English 12, overseeing Disco choreography in Jazz I, filling out the paperwork for the Mock Trial State Championship field trip packet, teaching two new pieces of choreography, and being a mommy. Oh, and we're supposed to figure out this week how to intervene and stop kids from failing so many classes because when kids fail, kids leave and when kids leave, jobs leave, so we're going to be downsizing to the max next year unless we save the precious little snowflakes from themselves. Except probably even if we save a few of them, we're downsizing. Yay public education. Gag me with a spoon.


Miss Roo has her first really bad headache tonight. (Picture from last summer.) It's killing me. She doesn't really get what it is. "Mommy, my head hurts, and my eyes. It hurts me when I see the light." Poor little monkey monk. When we got home I made her take some Ibuprofen and go to bed, but she's bored in there so she keeps getting up.

Henry just gave me some really intricate detail about his Transformers, and something about all the Autobots transforming into something Mega something something. I don't remember now, except that it sounded like a Taco Supreme. Hmm. I will have to ask him. He is now like a database for trains and Transformers. His favorite thing is still to tell me I'm his girl. Usually it's like this: "Mom, did you know that when you were at school today, you were still my girl?" What a silly badilly.

Things are good around here. I like that they're not smooth, but they are working. E and I are doing well. We're using the tools we got at the Retrouvaille weekend we attended like we promised ourselves we would, and it's making a big difference. It's a lot. We have to spend 10 minutes every day writing to a specific question (different each time) using the format they gave us, then we have to switch letters and discuss for 10 minutes. 20 minutes doesn't seem like much, given how much time I devote to my beloved TV, but it's not always easy. So far we've been sticking to it. We have our first post-session this weekend in Sacratomato. I'm a bit nervous because I grew to like the couples who were leading our Santa Cruz session and now we're going to be meeting a whole new crew. I'm still glad we're going though.

I feel like I am hanging on to get to the end of this week--and I think more than any other year I really feel like I am hanging on until the end of the year, since I know it will bring change. I don't want to complain--I'm not unhappy, just worn. Missing a good friend who is really busy right now, but other than that life is looking up. I feel like I'm learning how to live my own life right now. I'm sorry. I know that kind of hippy-dippy crap is annoying, but that's how it feels. I feel like I'm standing right at the starting line for the grownup race.

Isn't this a nice picture of my cilantro that went to seed last summer? It was so pretty when it was technically ruined that I didn't take it out for a while. I miss my garden. I miss long-term sunshine. Right now I feel like I have to gobble it up before the sunshine buffet closes.

Boy, that was random tonight. :)

Peace out, nerds.

The Name Game

1.YOUR REAL NAME
Heather Marie Partington

2.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME:
(mother and father's middle names)
Adele Jeffrey

3.NASCAR NAME:
(first name of your mother's dad, father's dad)
Ed Don

4.STAR WARS NAME:
(the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name)
Parhe

5.DETECTIVE NAME:
(favorite color, favorite animal)
Purple Hyena

6.SOAP OPERA NAME:(middle name, town where you were born)
Marie Modesto

7.SUPERHERO NAME:
(2nd fav color, fav drink, add "THE" to the beginning)
The Blue Lemondrop

8.FLY NAME:
(first 2 letters of 1st name, last 2 letters of your last name)
Pa-er

9.ROCK STAR NAME:
(current pets name, current street name)
Cal Mandalay

10.YOUR GANGSTA NAME:
(first 3 letters of real name plus izzle)
Heathizzle (I improvised a bit)

11. YOUR GOTH NAME:(black, and the name of one of your pets)
Black Marmalade

Hope you're having a great evening!

Love you forever,
The Blue Lemondrop (AKA Black Marmalade)

Ten things I'm thinking about right now

1. I have two things I need to focus on and write. I hope I can get them done now that my house is de-cluttered.

2. I need to update my debt-reduction/ savings plan.

3. I wish I had remembered to bring home those essays. Grades are due on Friday so I'm going to be doing them all week instead of today when I have nothing to do.

4. I love the smell of a freshly scrubbed bathroom.

5. Henry is such a weirdo. He only wears PJs now, and most of the time it's those monkey PJs he is wearing in their music video. I had to hide them from him today so I could wash them. This meant he changed from last night's PJs into his Mario PJs as daywear. I give up.

6. Addie did all her homework for the week this morning. What a smartie. Not that I'm biased or anything. I can't believe she's learning antonyms, fractions, and how to write a paragraph. What's wrong with the dorks I am teaching in high school? They can't do half this stuff.

7. I think I need to get out my Monty Python's Final Rip Off CD. It's been too long.

8. Monday night TV just makes me wish for Tuesday night Fatties.

9. I'm almost 30. Things are looking up too.

10. I want to travel. Now.

What's in a name?

I love etymology. I'm such a word nerd. Thinking about a word being born amazes me. I suppose it makes sense, then, that I wanted my kids to have names that have meaning. I didn't want my kid to be the 4th kid named Alyssa in her Kindergarten class. No offense to any Alyssas--I just lived quite a few years at Markofer Elementary School as Heather S. I wanted my kids to just be able to go by their first names.

Here's the etymology of the monkeys' names:

Addie was going to be named Jillian. We had decided on it for sure. It had been between Sydney and Jillian for a long time, and in the end we decided that we liked Jillian the best and we were going to call her Jill. I have a tendency to morph names and nicknames (although I believe this part was E's contribution) so while she was in utero we started calling her Jilly Bean, and this became Bean and then just Beanie. We called her Beanie the entire time I was pregnant. I remember when we moved into our house the week before our due date, and the whole time we were painting her room and nesting, I was talking to her... Beanie, we're getting ready for you to come...Beanie, hurry up. This isn't funny anymore...

That all changed on a trip to the family cabin with E's folks (I don't know the exact date, but I know it was sometime close to when she came--which must have been after my due date). I was up early and the only other person up was his mom, and we sat out on the swing together looking out over the river. While we were talking, she asked if I had ever thought about using my mom's middle name, Adele. I said yeah, I loved Adele and we had previously considered it as a middle name, but it didn't really go with Jillian. Once upon a time we had loved the name Bethany Adele, but that was before one of my good friends had a child and named her Hannah Beth, so it was out. She also knew we really liked names with a nickname, so she said what about Addie? I was completely, totally in love. That was it. That was the name.

We started talking about middle names, and she suggested Marie. You couldn't find another name in both families more prevalent than Marie. Marie is my middle name, her (E's mom's) middle name, E's paternal grandmother's middle name... and then the variations: my mom's name is Mary, and my mom's paternal grandmother's name was Maria. We have the Marie thing covered. Giving her that middle name meant that there was one Marie in our family for four generations straight. I had been hoping for a family name, so this was the natural compliment to her first name.

We owe E's mom for her name. It's a wonderful gift. I'm glad she talked to me that day. The other awesome (and funny) part of this story is that 10 months later, when we were in Yosemite with the fam, E's mom let it slip that she was so glad we didn't use that ugly name, Jillian. Up until that point, that name was being saved for future Partingtons. I laughed so hard. No way we were going to use it after that.

Buddy Bear was a little bit different. I had major anxiety related to boys' names. I tend to like the more traditional, old-fashioned names, but I didn't want to just go with something bland. The other problem we were having is that between us, we have cousins named Max, Sam, Josh, and Zach. All of those were out. I was stuck. I didn't like any of E's names, and he didn't like any of mine. It felt so much harder to name a boy.

So since we're totally weird, we decided we didn't like calling my stomach "the baby" and "he". I especially couldn't stand "it". We knew he was a boy by that time, so on a trip to the bay area to look at a car part (oh yeah, that's romance!) I flipped through a name book and we convinced ourselves that calling my belly Hank as a place-holder until we found a real name was freaking hilarious.

So we called him Hank. Addie called him Hank. I distinctly remember her putting her hands on my belly and her mouth right up next to it and asking Hank? What are you doing in there? Are you playing and sleeping? Meantime, we were trying to find a real name. Once again, we decided on one together. We were going to name him William. I had major reservations about William because I know how our families are about nicknaming too, and I wasn't sure I was comfortable with Willie... but I decided that I liked Will Partington enough as a name that I'd let that go. We sat Addie down one day and told her we decided on a name. She asked what it was. I said William, honey. We're going to name the baby William. I could tell that she didn't understand what I was saying, so I asked, Addie, who is William? She smiled and answered: Mommy's Hank.

At this point, we had to ask ourselves a few questions. Could we actually name a kid Henry? I mean, I wasn't going to just name the kid Hank--he needed a real name so he could make something of himself, right? But Henry? Was I dooming him to getting beat up on the playground and a high school career spent talking about Dungeons and Dragons in the Library Quad? I just couldn't commit to it. I liked the name Hank, but I wasn't sure on Henry. E was on board. He liked it. I just couldn't do it. I kept putting it off by saying I needed to look at him.

Well, look at him I did. One glance and I was absolutely certain. The funny thing is that I was going with Henry just as a backup, so he'd have a formal name, and we probably both call him that more than Hank. Already at (almost) 4, he is comfortable with his many monikers. He told me a while ago that he has lots of names: Henry, Hank, Buddha, Buddy, and Grandpa calls me Hank-o. His middle name was a cinch. It was always going to be Scott, my maiden name. I like how it functions as a first name. It reminds me of my dad.

She gets called Roo most of the time, and he is most often Buddy. Roo comes from absolutely nowhere except my weird little mind--when she was a baby I called her Addie Roo, and Roo just kind of stuck. I'm really proud of their names. I think they both suit them well, and they were everything I wanted them to be--old fashioned, easy to spell, unique, formal enough for the corporate world, but casual enough for me to call affectionately down the hall. I love that with their names they each have a story. Man, I love those little monkeys.

Now, if I can just figure out how the heck I ended up with a name like Heather.

we like to

Are you kidding me?

Ugh. Tomorrow, You suck.

Pardon the gross-ness

but I thought this was too funny so I'm sharing it anyway.

Me (to Henry): Hey! Stop getting boogers out of your nose and wiping them on the couch, Hank. That's disgusting.

H: Mo-om! It's MY couch, not YOUR couch.

Um, gross. Yep, this is my life. Get a Kleenex, kid.

Cinquain for a cold day

Bite

Frost on

skin assails un-

feeling. Stirs me now with

searing burn. Abrasion, blue-red

sting: ache.