How a 6th Grader Apologizes

I've been subbing now for over a month and, surprisingly, I love it. I was always so afraid to be a sub, but it's not nearly as bad as I expected and it's a great chance to sharpen my classroom management skills. Also, I'm trying to befriend every secretary at every high school so she can keep me posted on any job openings (because this district doesn't actually advertise open positions). Overall, it's a pretty great job and I am much happier than I ever was at my previous employer.

I only sub for high school and middle school, which seems like I'd have plenty of horror stories to share. Honestly, though, the students have all been pretty good, and as long as they're not loud enough for the teacher next door to come over, I'm okay. So far, I've only had to leave two negative notes for the teacher. To me, that's awesome.

Last week, I subbed for a middle school art class. Most of the classes were respectful and easy-going. But there was one class of 6th graders that was unbelievably terrible. I exhausted all levels of punishment left by the teacher and still they continued being awful human beings. By the end of the period, I hated who I was: a cold, mean bitch. I just wanted them gone. And after they left, I wrote a letter to the teacher.

This morning, I checked the mail and received a package from the middle school. I opened it and found 30 handwritten letters of apology to me. Here's some of the best:

"Ms. W always says, "Do they lock you up and make you stay absolutely silent all day long?" The answer is no, we just are apparently disrespectful of subs and teachers during this part of the day."

"I conclude that I am sorry for our bad behaviour and hope that you don't end up quit teaching because of us."

"I would like to apologize on behalf of my classmates. I know it must have been very tiring for you... p.s. I feel I was on task most of the time."

"I'm sorry for my classmates about their rude behavior. I hope that they will be more respectful next time you sub. I was sitting in the front left table. I was the one with blond hair and helped you with the class. Hopefully my classmates will apologize with respect."

"I know that I was talking a little bit and I am very sorry. It's just because I knew all that stuff on clay."

"I'm not sorry for not talking. I am sorry for all my classmates. I was on task."

Now that's awesome.

How I Spent My Fall Break

Or, that week in which I decided to take off work (yes! I'm employed again!) and school.

Last week, Matt and I went down to Arkansas for a family visit. I spent all day Saturday with one of my old roommates, Mel, a lovely new mama. We took her baby, Callie, for a stroll around JBU and introduced her to the buildings and our memories. Walking through the old halls of our dorm with a baby was an interesting experience. Basically, Callie owes her life to JBU because without it Mel wouldn't have met her husband Nate and thus Callie would not have been created. Here, Callie is just bursting with gratitude:

Later, when Matt and Nate returned from the football game, Matt kindly read to Callie the book that he bought her. She really seemed to enjoy it.

Yep, that's a children's book about scabs. We found it at a book outlet, and it's translated from Japan. It says things like, "Can I eat my scabs?" and "This tastes like poop!" For all of you out there looking for that perfect Christmas gift, look no further. You're welcome.

On Monday, I went and stayed with our good friends Seth and Amber. Amber is one of my best friends, and together they're about as awesome and real as it gets. They have been a huge blessing to me over the many years we've been friends. Amber also just had her third kid, bringing the grand total to 3 boys ages 3 and under. So I thought I'd join in on the fun for a week. It was FANTASTIC.

L to R: Isaac, Ian, and Jude. Oh how I miss them crawling all over me. Seriously. When I got married, my sister said in her toast, "This is the happiest day of my life. Until I get married." And to say something similar, I love these kids the most. Until I have my own. Just look at them!

One of my favorite moments with the boys actually involved changing a dirty diaper. After his nap, Jude had one hell of a stinky mess in his pants. I wanted to be tough and not bother Amber with it, so I committed to changing it on my own. Isaac was sitting by me when I undid the diaper, and half-jokingly I said to him, "Woooo-wee, Isaac, I'm going to need some strength from the Lord for this one." And in my best southern voice, I smiled and said, "Help me, Jesus!" which Isaac continued to repeat. After it was over, Isaac and I high-fived and said, "Thank you, Jesus!" The next day, I was again changing Jude's diaper with Ike nearby. It wasn't a bad one, but Isaac ran up to me and leaned on my shoulder and said, "Did Jesus help you again?"

And that's how I spent my most awesome fall break.

Setting Theology Aside for a Second

The other night Matt, Gurley, and I went to a show and saw a Christian band. I can’t say that I’m super fond of these sorts of shows, but Matt really wanted to go and I really do enjoy this band’s music. So we went, and it actually was a pretty good concert. Except for one thing: In the middle of one of the songs, the singer asked everyone to raise their hands. (I felt skeptical so I did not participate, which was a good choice on my part.) He then asked everyone to start clapping. A couple thousand people were clapping above their heads when the singer happily said, “This is what we’ll be doing in heaven forever and ever and ever and ever and ever!” And the crowd DIDN’T SEEM BOTHERED.

Damn it! I hate clapping! Oh sweet Jesus, tell me I won’t have to clap in heaven forever. I only enjoy clapping to Deep in the Heart of Texas. And that song’s only like 30 seconds long.

After the singer said that, and after I momentarily panicked, and after I remembered that singer-man doesn’t really know, I started thinking about how I would want to spend my time in heaven, assuming there’s a choice in the matter. I imagine Jesus and me floating in a pool alternating between watching Friends on a floating screen and chatting about life and literature while eating all the foods that we crave, mainly ice cream and gorgonzola fries.

But I won’t have to clap. Right??

Being Well-Dressed Should Start on Day 1

All weekend long, Matt talked about how much he needed a neck pillow for his upcoming trips. By Sunday evening, he was still neck pillow-less, and MYGOD I was sick of hearing those words. I told Matt that if he would please just stop talking about it, I would go on a hunt for one on Monday.

My hunt failed. Where the hell can one obtain a stupid neck pillow?!!!

I went to Target on my search, and while I was there I thought I’d pick up some baby clothes for our friends who have had babies in the past two weeks. (Three new babies!) And next week, Matt and I will be in Arkansas and get to meet two of the babies, so naturally I want to bring gifts. But why must all baby clothes have some sort of creature sewed on? Every time I found a really cute looking pattern or color, I’d pull it off the rack to find a squirrel in the middle doing a dance or a bear waving while flying a plane. Is it just because I’m not a mom that I don’t find these sorts of things especially cute? Why does a lovely striped onesie have to be ruined with a choo-choo train? The print doesn't really bother me; I don't mind a shirt with something like ducks on the fabric nearly as much as I mind a huge duck sewed to the center of the shirt. You know, like a patch or a huge fuzzy sticker. It’s like the poor babies of the world are forced to go out of the house wearing one too many accessories. And that just doesn’t seem fair.

But good news: Matt bought himself a pillow this morning. We can all breathe a sigh of relief. Now if only I could solve the baby clothes crisis…

(Also, I want to personally apologize to Nikki and a certain Sunday School teacher. I did not realize I was frustrating you with my absence. I will work on it. And I do believe this is kind of a lame post, so I am also sorry for that. But I am afraid if I wait much longer for an exciting event to post, someone will tell Jesus and I’ll get kicked out of heaven because my Sunday School teacher filed a complaint against me. And that would make me immeasurably sad. And Nikki, please don’t send me any more hate mail and computer viruses. You used to be such a good friend.)

The Apprentice: Season Who Cares Anymore

Life has been a bit hectic around the Tatum house for the past week or so. It’s like all our meetings, volunteer activities, work projects, school work, and laundry joined forces and created an epic battle over our time and energy. And oh did we come out sore losers. Quite literally.

Matt recruited me to help him out on a project for some ugly Nike boot that will soon be seen in stores near you. If you’re in the ghetto. The project has become a beast of sorts, and Matt’s office got stuck with the task of packing and shipping a million displays, which meant that Matt, Bryan & Laura (such kind friends and lovely co-workers), and I got stuck with the task of packing and shipping a million displays. This is to say that none of us can walk straight or feel our legs or feet or properly use our brains anymore. We have become a delirious group of people, pulling saws out of our purses at Chili’s, shouting to the chickens that are running around the warehouse, and truly believing that one of us is going to get fired by Trump when we have to go to the boardroom tomorrow.

We are all exhausted and sore. I am so tired that last night I woke Matt while screaming and wiggling in bed. I had a dream that there was a spider, who also happened to be an illegal immigrant from Mexico, on my neck and I couldn't’t get it off. I hate having things on my neck. As Matt woke me up, I went from screaming to laughing because I just realized what was really going on. I also had a dream that The View had a new cast: an old bald man, Joy (the red head), and a 5 year old Asian girl. It was not very good.

So today, I am tired. And I know the others are as well. But I have to admit, it has been fun watching Matt in action. He’s a pretty awesome project manager, and when we go into the boardroom tomorrow, you know who I’m going to throw under the bus? The damn chicken that crapped all over our car.

Fine. Goodbye, Summer. Whatever.

So yes, summer is over. And this has put my mood into such mourning. I always feel like a little piece of me dies at the end of each summer. And I wish after that statement, someone could roll their eyes at me and say, “GAWD, you’re so dramatic.” But no one can. BECAUSE IT’S THE TRUTH. Overall, I think I’m a much better human being in the summer than any other time of year. I smile more, I’m nicer to strangers, and for the love – I’m tan.

So here’s my list of reasons Why the Summer Should Return and Give Global Warming One Redeeming Factor.

1. I prefer summer clothes. Please let me wear dresses and skirts every single day. I hate sweaters oh so much. I am a petite girl who feels swallowed and scared of sweaters. Remember on Friends when Phoebe is trying to put on a sweater but she’s really struggling to get it on? Her head gets caught and she shouts out “Monica, I’m scared!” This is exactly how I feel every time I put on a stupid sweater. Is this going to be the time I get caught and no one is around to save me?
2. I hate wet jeans. This isn’t a problem for the majority of the country, but I live in a little corner in which there’s a slight drizzle 90% of the day. Which means the ground is always wet. Which means my jeans always get wet. And oh this angers me. I end up walking on my tippy-toes while tugging my jeans up; it’s not a flattering look.
3. I’d rather pick berries than go snow-skiing. Berry picking is actually better for your health: you don’t have to feel claustrophobic in clothes, berries provide antioxidants, and it is extremely rare for someone to plow into you from behind or for you to lose your balance and plummet down the mountain.
4. I have more lazy Saturdays when it’s not summer. I sleep more, and Matt and I spend the day watching movies and eating junk food in our pajamas. Which sounds nice occasionally, but we do this EVERY SATURDAY that the sun is not out.
5. I can’t handle all the football. It’s loud and obnoxious and, frankly, it doesn’t look that hard. I could do it. So football? BIG WHOOP.
6. I’m happier when I’m warm. Nothing puts me in a bad mood faster than being cold. I can’t get comfortable, I don’t feel like talking, and I definitely don’t feel like moving around outside. This makes it difficult to go out since Portland doesn’t believe in parking lots and every restaurant you want to go to requires a 7 block walk. Thank goodness for a husband who doesn’t mind dropping me off while he circles the entire city looking for a parking spot.
7. Matt and I have a recurring fight in the winter. He says, “You can’t wear that.” I say, “Why not?” He says, “It’s 40 degrees outside and a silk strapless top won’t keep you warm.” I say, “I don’t care! I refuse to let this stupid cold weather dictate how I dress!” He rolls his eyes and walks away. Later I say, “I’m freeeeeeezing! Can I wear your jacket?” He says, “BITCH I warned you! Get your own jacket!” (So Matt is actually quite kind to me and will usually offer his jacket before I ask. But I bet that’s what he’s thinking in his head since we really do have this discussion every single time we go out. He even has nightmares about it in the summer. True story. Ask him.)
8. Our car’s leather seats are awfully uncomfortable when they are cold. And I love the idea of starting the car 5 minutes before I leave, but I feel a bit guilty letting the car run when it’s not in use. I’m torn on this.
9. It gets dark at 4:30!!! I strongly believe Oprah should not be watched in the dark. Nor should I go to work before the sun gets up and leave after it’s already down. Which is why I have given up working.
10. I fall in the winter. I like to think I’m a fairly graceful person, as in I can at least walk straight without looking like a total goon. But since living in Portland, I have fallen while crossing streets, walking into a store, and leaving my own house. I think it’s a combination of walking on my tippy-toes to avoid wet jeans and walking in heels on slippery and icy steps. And each one of my falls has left bruises on my body and rips in my clothes. So I guess I’m not that graceful.

So, fine. Summer I can’t keep you from leaving me, but know I will always welcome you back with open arms and a bbq.

3 Year Olds

For a year now, I've worked with the 2 year olds at our church, but recently I moved to the 3s room. The 2s were fun, but the 3 year olds? They know how to tell some kick-ass stories and do some hilarious things. Yesterday was my time to be with the kids, and it was so refreshing to remove myself from the stupid adult world that's been making me all mopey and weepy. Instead, I played with the legos and drew a picture of my mom and ate some animal crackers while making monkey noises. My only complaint is that I couldn't get in the moon walk (or bounce house, whatever you called it as a kiddo) -- apparently I'm too big or something.

During circle time, we discussed that God made today to which a child shouted out: "God also made the alligators!" God made today and alligators. Got it?

After our very brief discussion, we sang This is the day, this is the day, that the Lord has made, that the Lord has made... When we were done, we asked the kids if there were any other songs they'd like to sing. Well, one little boy clearly must have all the right answers so he suggested Jesus Loves Me. After singing that song, we asked if there were any other songs they'd like to sing.

"Jingle Bells!"
"Yeah, Jingle Bells!"

The other teachers and I looked at each other and didn't really have a good reason not to sing. So in a very hot gym on a very hot day, ten little children and 3 big people sang Jingle Bells.