It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, Parts 1 & 2

I love cell phones.

I don’t love them because they make life easier, even though they do.
I don’t love them because they can make travel safer, even though they can.
And I don’t love them because they are just so darn techy-awesome, even though they are.

I love cell phones because of their ringtones.

Ringtones make my heart sing!
They also make my phone sing…and rap and shout, and (on some special occasions) cluck like a chicken.

The first “personalized” ringtone I downloaded oh so many years ago was the witched witch music from The Wizard of Oz. It was awesome. And addictive. Very addictive.

As of this particular moment, there are 18 personalized ringtones on my phone, each assigned to a special person or group of people.

A few years back, I added the Law and Order Cha-Chang sound to my phone as a text message alert sound. As a fan of the original Law and Order (You’ll always have a special place in my heart, Detective Briscoe!), hearing that particular ringtone everyday made me happy. But then the original Law and Order was canceled, along with roughly 28 of its spin-offs .

Law and Order from Mindy Haws on Vimeo.

Currently, the only Law and Order still in production is the sex crimes version that I refuse to watch due to my long-held belief that sex crimes should not be considered entertainment (Yes, I realize that is a bit hypocritical since the majority of the shows I enjoy are crime-based, but my varying levels of hypocrisy are not the topic of this post, so we will have to revisit that another day). Since I didn’t want to give everyone with within earshot of my phone the impression that approve of that particular TV show, I decided I needed a new text alert sound.
And what better text alert sound could there be than Harry Potter shouting the all-important dementor-repelling spell at the top of his lungs?


Harry from Mindy Haws on Vimeo.

But as the title of this post implies, what seemed like a good idea while sitting in my parents' kitchen turned out to be a little embarrassing in other situations.


I know what you’re thinking.

You are thinking, “But Mindy… In what situations could Harry Potter shouting ‘Expecto Patronum!’ at high volume be embarrassing?”
Well, as it turns out, it is embarrassing in pretty much ANY situation where people other than junior high kidlets or my nephews are present.

But as embarrassing as it can be to have my phone shout spells in an emotionally charged voice while I sort books in the library, make copies at the institute building, or interview applicants for the two English positions at my school, I still haven't changed the text alert sound. I just can't do that to Harry. I mean, the poor guy has been through so much already. Banishing him from my phone becuase I happen to live in a muggle-rich envionment just seems selfish.

And while we are on the topic fictional characters to which I have developed an unhealthy attatchment...

I have become completly obsessed with the BBC's Sherlock, the best show in the history of television. Sure, there are far worse things to be obessed with (anything and on the E! network, for example) but my fascination with these modern-day retellings of the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle classics is wreaking havock on my summer. Buying the DVD's seemed like a good idea at the time, but now doing anything other than rewatching them seems like a colossal waste of time.
 
For example, my schedule last Wednesday looked like this...
5 a.m. Walk with Diane A.
6 a.m. Work on mission prep lesson
8 a.m. Water the Barker's garden
9 a.m. Aqua-Zumba!
11 a.m. Organize classroom file cabinet/rewrite lesson plans
1 p.m. Interview potential 8th grade English teachers
4 p.m. Sort books for library book sale
5 p.m. Finish mission prep lesson
7 p.m. Teach mission prep lesson
9 p.m. Download new ringtones
 
But what I wanted my schedule to look like was this...
Morning: Watch episodes of Sherlock
Mid-Morning: Watch episodes of Sherlock with commentary
Afternoon: Start e-mail campaign  to convice the BBC to make more than three episodes every 18-months.
Evening: Rewatch the end of episode #3 from season two over and over looking for more clues, while trying not to cry each time John begs his best friend to stop being dead.
Night: Download Sherlock ringtones (This, by the way, is the only item on this list that I actually accomplished that day)
 
You can see how that could be a problem, right?

I guess there is always the chance that I could injure myself setting up for the library book sale and have no choice but to recooperate on my couch while watching Sherlock over and over... But that would probably just result in another, "It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time" post.

An Open Letter To The Very Nice Young Man Who Teaches Swimming Lessons Next To My Aqua-Zumba Class

***Note to the Reader: The photos used in this swimming-pool/swim-lesson oriented post have been harvested from the Internet because 1)Cameras often develop issues after spending time in a splash-heavy environment and 2)My camera and I don't want to end up being discussed by Nancy Grace and her panel of "experts" on HLN.***

Dear Very Nice Young Man who teaches swimming lessons to a group of what appear to be nine-year-old boys in the part of the pool that is immediately adjacent to the part of the pool where my Aqua-Zumba class meets,

I would like to start out by congratulating you on a successful first week of swimming lessons with this particular group of Stetsons and Harleys (For those of you who don't spend much time at our local pool, it  appears that every boy in every swimming class, along with a significant number of the teachers, are all named either Stetson or Harley. FYI, the girls are all named Jacobi).  I believe that your lessons have qualified as "successful" for two main reasons.

First, only a minimum of nervous sobbing could be heard from your part of the deep-end (Truth be told, much more sobbing was taking place in the Aqua-Zumba section... especially during the body-roll part in that third song. That can be sooooooo upsetting).

Second, the only paramedics present were there to cheer on their own kids in the class and not to resuscitate anyone. And while we are on this particular topic I would like to point out that, while some of the older ladies in Aqua-Zumba find the presence of the ambulance in the pool parking lot to be a comforting thing, I personally have found it to be somewhat unsettling. Foreboding, even. But moving on...

Our actual town swimming pool where I have spent my summer mornings for the last three and a half years.

So, nice work on the limited crying and total lack of drownings. But since I have been spending a good amount of time kicking and splashing and (insert sound of sobbing here) body-rolling in close proximity to your Harleys and Stetsons, I couldn't help but notice that you have having a difficult time getting the boys to learn different swim strokes.

A visual approximation of the Aqua-Zumba class that I started attending this month with my friend and visiting teacher, Stephanie. I am still waiting for you to join us, Valerie and Elizabeth!)

Now, I am in no way claiming to be an expert in the teaching of swimming, but as a sister of four brothers and the aunt of five nephews, I do know a little bit about apparently-nine-year-old-boys.

I think your problem is the way you are presenting the choice of strokes to your students.

I know that you are getting frustrated with their insistence on choosing to practice the backstroke over and over and over and over and over and over and over.

But really, what do you expect them to choose when presented with the other two options  that you give them along with the backstroke: the butterfly and the breaststroke.

A visual approximation of Harley and/or Stetson.

Of course they are going to say, "Backstroke!" every time.

What self-respecting nine-year-old boy is going to request, in front of his peers, to learn the butterfly? These are boys named Harley and Stetson. Some of them have been driving tractors  and hay trucks for two years. Most own some sort of firearm and have in fact used said firearm to shoot and kill several furry and/or feathered critters. Do you really think one of them is going to raise his hand and say, "Please, Mr. Swim Instructor sir, I implore you to tutor us in the ways of the graceful butterfly stroke," ?

Sorry guy, it is never going to happen.

You can always tell them that is what they are going to learn, and they will do it. But if you give it to them as a choice along side the backstroke, they will chose the backstroke every time.

If you want them to chose that particular stoke, I suggest renaming it. Try something like, The Blood-thirsty Pterodactyl Super Swoop Stoke of Death.

"Good morning Stetson, Stetson, Harley, Harley, and Harley. Today you can pick between practicing the backstroke or The Blood-thirsty Pterodactyl Super Swoop Stoke of Death. Which shall it be?"

I think you know what the answer.

You have the same type of problem with the other choice that you offer: the breast stroke.

I can pretty much guarantee you that the phrase "breast stroke" is never going to be uttered by any of those nine-year-old boys. At least, not while they are in a public area where their older brothers, their parents, a few off-duty paramedics, and 18 little girls named Jacobi could possibly hear them.


"Stetson! Did you hear what the swimming teacher just said? Hurry! Somebody chose 'backstroke' before he says it again and I have to drown myself in embarrassment!"


One or two of them might get up the courage to whisper it at day camp when their den leader is out of earshot being treated for heat exhaustion, but then it will be out of a desire to get a bigger laugh than the kid who told the snot joke and not for educational purposes.

Of course, once those same boys hit the 8th grade, you won't be able to stop them from saying it. A creative few may even use that phrase as their chosen name for their new hunting dogs, but then they will no longer be your problem.

They will be my problem.

I can see the haiku and shape poems now...

So in closing, I would like to pass on this piece of advice: If you are going to give a group of nine-year-old boys a choice between practicing the backstroke, the butterfly, and the breaststroke, and you DON'T want them to chose the backstroke every single time, RENAME THE OTHER STROKES.

Seriously. These are the same kids who routinely put their swim trunks on backwards. I don't think they are going to figure out that you pulled a name switch-a-roo on them.

Sincerely,
Miss H

Wherein I Learn to Never Doubt Diane

You would think that, after seeing her work her magic in a giant singles ward, a tiny singles branch, a nice-sized institute program, three stake Relief Society meetings, and many other meetings, trainings, conferences, dinners, and family home evenings, I would know better than to doubt the Lovely and Talented Sister Diane.

And I usually do know better.

When Diane says we should serve doughnuts after a broadcast, I say: Glazed or sprinkles?

When Diane says the main shade for our meeting color scheme should be pink, I say: Blush or rose?

If Diane were to recommend quacking like a duck, I would say: Mallard or Bufflehead?

If Diane were to suggest toilet papering the Stake President's home, I would say: Regular 1-ply or quilted 2-ply?

But I have to admit that, when Diane gave me this cute little shirt (emphasis on the LITTLE) and told me that it was "one size fits all", I caught myself thinking that perhaps, just this once, she might not have all of her Mallards or Buffleheads in a row.

I mean, the shirt (while a lovely shade of sage green) is the size of the doggie sweaters that my mom keeps wanting to buy for Chloe the neurotic bat-eared rat dog.

How could  a shirt (despite having a delightfully silky texture) only slightly wider than a dollar bill really fit all? Sure, Diane was wearing the same shirt, but in pink, when she gifted me with the green one, and it did fit her really well, but still.

Since I was headed to IF (home of the many-sized H* women) for the Father's Day weekend, I decided I would put the one-size-fits-all claim to the test.

And guess what?

Diane was right.

We had such a great time trying the shirt on everyone in a two-ward radius, we couldn't resist picking up a few more in different colors. How could we not, considering they are only $5. 

I can't believe I ever doubted Diane.

It will never happen again.

Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to brush up on my duck calls and start pricing 2-ply quilted toilet paper, just in case.

iDrive

At the junior high, the last thing the teachers do before we leave for the summer is have a quick, informal "check out" meeting with our wonderful principal.

 

I felt pretty well prepared to check out this year, prepped for all of the regular questions.

Yes, my final grades have been verified.

No, I don't have any big plans for the summer.

Yes, I would like to keep my keys.

Yes, I am going to spend way too much time in my classroom during the break.

Yes, I am prepared for the custodians to tease me about that.

Yes, the walls of my classroom are poster-free.

No, there are not any unruly 8th graders locked in the costume cupboard.

Sure, a couple of unruly 8th graders could fit in the costume cupboard, but if we were to put them in the cupboard we would have to get the costumes fumigated because, by this point in the year, most 8th grades smell more than a bit ripe. Etc.

 

But there was one question I wasn't quite prepared for:

Uh, what was that? Do I want to go to Oregon next week? Ummmm... Sure. I hear Portland is very nice this time of year.

 

Actually, the destination was school district in a little area outside of Portland. I was asked to be part of a team (with two other teachers and our very cool assistant principal) to visit several schools in the district. My principal, the superintendent, our tech guy, and a couple of school board members had taken a school tour a few weeks earlier and had been very impressed with that district's use of technology in the classroom.

Impressive was a good word for it. Kids of all ages, and in all classes, used iPods and iPads to do all sorts of amazing things. We had only been observing in the first classroom for about six minutes before I had three lesson plans partway written in my head.

 

The trip could have been a nice way to start the summer break. I got to stay in a very nice hotel room and eat in restaurants that exist outside of my valley.

 

I also got to spend several hours in Powell's Books, an amazing bookstore that takes up a full city block. I can't even begin to tell you how amazing that place is. I thought I was going to hyperventilate when I walked in to floor (not a room, a whole floor!) that housed tens of thousands of kids books. That book store, in and of itself, could have been the highlight of my summer. Maybe the highlight of my year.

 

Did you notice the two could have been's up above?

Yeah, this experience was great, but could have been greater if not for...

The Rental Car.

 

Since I was the only member of our little observation team with a credit card, I got to help out by using said card to secure the rental car we desperately needed for our tour. I didn't mind the using of the credit card part at all. In fact, I was happy to put it to some sort of good, helpful use.

The problem was that, because my name was on the card that was used to secure the car, I had to drive the freaking car. In Portland. That is a problem for several reasons including, but not limited to...

• I am a very bad driver.
•  I am an even worse driver when there are more than three other cars on the road with me.
• There were a lot more than three cars on the road with me in Portland. A heck of a lot more than three.
• No one else in the car with me had any idea where we were supposed to go, so we had to trust the GPS.
•  I lost my ability to trust GPS devices over spring break when my brother's homicidal GPS kept trying to talk us into driving into the Niagara River. You know, the part ABOVE the falls. Recalculating indeed.
• The weather was stormy and I had to drive on very large, very confusing, very congested roadways in blinding, wretched rain.
• I am a very, very bad driver.

 

I mean, I worry about driving on these roads...

 

 So roads like this IN BAD WEATHER... forget about it!

 

 But luckily for me, and the three other folks in my car, and the tens of thousands of people in the cars around us, prayers are answered and we all survived. And I did get to see some awesome educators in action, sleep on fancy pillows, eat in nice restaurants, and buy a few out-of-print books that I have been hunting for. So I guess I should probably consider the trip a success.

 

And I probably will... after the rain-soaked-freeway-themed nightmares  stop, that is.

 

I wonder if therapists take credit cards?

Boise Engagements Bring Burley Showers

Thanks to a happy convergence of callings, circumstances, and events, I have been handed the opportunity to (legally) attend my dearest, most darlingest, singles branch for three Sundays in a row. Today was my second Sunday back and, as I listened to the many, many announcements (one for every night of the week!) I felt a wide range of emotions.

There was a little sadness because they were no longer MY activities.

There was some confusion because I couldn't figure out how those many, many activities use to fit into my schedule.

And then there was the numbness in my backside brought on by the hard, plastic chairs to which my bottom has become unaccustomed. Ouch.

I was also feeling pretty thankful for the little branch reunion we had the day before at Krystal's bridal shower. Sure, the shower itself was wonderful, as was spending time with Princess Smoothride-McSpeedster herself. Life around this cute little cowtown hasn't been the same since Krystal headed up to the big city.

Celebrating her upcoming nuptials gave us former branchers a chance to reconnect with each other and with some of the current branchers (we love you, Bonnie and the Lucas women! Even if we didn't get any photos of you!) .

Friends, food, laughter, lingerie: it was just like old times! Minus the lingerie,that is. The lingerie was new. At least, I am assuming it was new. I mean, I didn't go to every activity, but... you know.

Instead of playing the usual shower games (Thank you, shower-planners for not making us play shower games!) we gave Krystal advice, watched her open gifts, and listened to her answer questions about her soon-to-be-hubby. In that process, Krystal learned a few things about Reed, and we all learned a few things about Emily and Lisa and their familiarity with the products Victoria keeps secret at the back of the store.

But knowledge about Reed's dream car and Lisa and Emily's familiarity with products that made her blush for a full thirteen minutes, wasn't the only thing Krystal received. She also got a whole host of things that will make her future home smell and look beautiful, and enough cooking supplies to ensure that she will have no choice but to follow President Sager's counsel to cook her hubby breakfast every morning.

She also got some of those other kinds of shower gifts.

I was feeling pretty good about the cheerleader ensemble I put together for my good friend Krystal, but started second guessing myself when I saw all of the kitchen-related gifts she received. I thought that my first idea for a shower gift would have fit better with the theme of the day...

Oh well. I guess it could make a pretty nice wedding gift too.

The afternoon provided Krystal with many useful gifts, and a few fun gifts too.

Those of us who attended came away with wide smiles and satisfied sweet teeth.

But that wasn't all.

After getting to rub shoulders with some of our favorite branch folks, Timbri and I also came away with a plan for a branch reunion, complete with friends, food, fun... but probably not lingerie. We'll wait for the next shower to break that stuff out again.

But when we do, watch out. My sister sent me some cute ideas for lingerie-themed cupcakes and sugar cookies that I'm sure Lisa and Emily will approve of.

A Poetic Look Back on the Last Week of School

Yesterday marked the end of the most exhausting week of an unusually exhausting year. Even the DQ employees noted that my mid-honors-field-trip-whimpering was more pathetic this year than in the past. And they would know, because a few of them have made the yearly trek with me as students.

But now the year is over and, after a few days of meetings and one quick trip to collect ideas from a tech-savy district in Oregon, summer vacation will begin.

When I left the school yesterday, the whole "summer break" think hadn't sunk in. This morning, I decided to write a poem about the last week in an attempt to get some sort of feeling of closure.

Why write a poem, you may ask? Well, I am a teacher of literature and writing... and therefore I cannot afford the actual therapy of which I am in desperate need.

The Last Week of School: A Poem by Miss H

The sun shone down,

The flowers bloomed.

The kids were thrilled,

But we were doomed

“Oh no!”we cried

“It’s far too soon,

The warm weather

Should wait till June!”

And why, you ask,

Did we lament

The nice weather

That we were sent?

Some disbelieve

Others may scoff

But sunshine makes

Young brains turn off!

Smart kids forget

All they have learned

All they want

Is class adjourned

Some squirm and shout

Some kiss and hug

Some limply sit

Like lifeless slugs

I prayed for rain

Pleaded for cold

So fewer kids

I’d have to scold

Some wind came

Temperatures dropped

But that squirreliness

It didn’t stop

The only cure

For year-end-pains

Is dampened sprits

From May rains

But while bad choices

Did abound

Not one raincloud
Could scarce be found

When finals were done

Grades all turned in

And students gone

Did the rain begin.

“Traitorous Storm!”
I shouted to

“Where were you when

We needed you?”

The pouring rain

Seemed to reply

“It’s for the best

That late, came I”

“Had the kids not

Turned into loons,

You would have missed

Them all by June”

“Think of all

The heartache saved

Because the kids

Have misbehaved”

So “think”, I did

And it was true

I won’t miss them

Till summer’s through

It was nature’s way

to prepare my heart

to say goodbye

to the little farts.

When fall begins

And school resumes

My love for them

Again will bloom

But for right now

As the rain drops fall

I’m thankful not

To miss them at all

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

The second to last week of school has, for me, historically been a mixed bag of highs and lows and ups and downs.

For example, on my very first second to last week of school as a teacher, I was celebrating surviving that hardest of all years (up/high), found out I had a chance to make some extra money teaching summer school(up-high), and then promptly crashed my car (down/low) right in front of the school (waaaaay down/super low).

All of my other second to last weeks have followed the same pattern, and last week was no exception.

2011-2012 Second to Last Week of School

Ups and Downs

High: The weather has been strangely wonderful, allowing me to walk to and from school and visit with parents and students who live along the way.

Low: On Tuesday, I walked along this street, visited with parents, students, siblings, etc...

...and then sat at this desk visiting with students and staff members for a significant amount of time before one of my first hour kidlets finally pointed out that my shirt was on inside-out.

And the rest of the ups and downs of the week went on from there.

Valley: The kidlets have hit their pre-vacation, school-rule-amnesia, full-scale-Tasmanian-devilish, freak-out level.

Peak: Part way through the week I discovered that, if I walk around with a pen and a stack of referrals in hand, the order is restored without having to utter a single cranky or crabby syllable. Just wave those discipline forms in the air and WHAM! Instant angel children.

Base: After nine consecutive beautiful-weather days, we ended up with cooler temps and a pretty impressive wind for our annual honor's kidlet trek to Dairy Queen.

Pinnacle: Despite the less-than-perfect weather, this group of persipicacious was perfectly behaved. They looked both ways before crossing the street, didn't run off to chase rabbits or squirrels, ordered promptly, ate politely, thanked the DQ staffers, and didn't spill a blessed thing on me as we were walking back to school. I think I might have to flunk them all so that I can have them in class again next year.

Nadir: Attending a very boring, slightly soul-crushing all day district meeting on Wednesday.
Zenith: Attending a very awesome, belly-laugh-inducing silly string war between the staff and the kidlets. The next time I have to attend one of those meetings, I am soooooo bringing silly string with me. Watch out snarky administrators from outlying schools!

Posterior: Getting another (really promising) yearbook staff application from the intermediate school two weeks after I submitted the 20 "finalized" staffers for next year to the office.

Anterior: Getting the application delivered via intra-district mail from the intermediate school assistant principal who, five years after working at my school, still addresses me as "Her Royal Highness."

Socks: Hauling a four-inch stack of creative writing final projects home to read and grade on Saturday.

Crown: Spending Friday night with Valerie (while her menfolk were at the Priesthood commemoration camp out) having dinner at Stevo's, watching the season finale of NCIS, and exploring the first season of Downton Abby.

All things considered, I think the week was a success.

Now I just have to make it though finals week... and two days of Common Core training the week after... and then summer vacation can begin!

Lap swimming, Harry Potter re-reading, niblet-visiting, and the freedom to use the bathroom whenever the heck I want await!