french horns rule!

Rebekah recently had her Christmas band concert. She plays the french horn and LOVES it. The concert was pretty impressive. We're really proud that she's doing so well.

too late to blog

I need to get to bed, so I'll just post pictures I downloaded tonight. My mom wants picture ornaments for Christmas (thanks for letting me know the week before Christmas!), so I took some shots after church yesterday. Guess which one I used??

PS--Please remind me to tell Isaac that when taking pictures, it is a bad idea to put your hands behind your back. He looks like he has no arms!

first semester down...almost

Nearly every day my mom points out my lack of blogging. Honestly, I have been real busy, but more than that--I just don't know what to say anymore. The only thing on my mind is school...

Tomorrow is our first day off school for the Christmas break. We technically have two weeks left in this semester when we go back in January, but essentially all the teaching for this semester is done. All that's left is reviewing, more reviewing, and finals.

I get asked a lot if I like teaching. I never want to just answer, "Ya, I love it" because that's not the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Yes, I love it, but sometimes it's so hard. I teach two classes of Algebra 1 to advanced 8th graders, and those classes are perfect. I love teaching them. Love, love, love it.

But, I also teach three classes of math models at the high school. This class is consumer math--banking, investing, loans, interest, taxes, etc. These are the "not advanced" students. They are all juniors and seniors who do not like math. All of them say math is their worst subject. I try very hard to make the class interesting and relevant and fun, but sometimes they want no part of it. Sometimes I download cool video clips that go with our lesson and if the video is more than 10 minutes, they are all asleep when I turn on the lights. Honestly! I don't know how to teach someone who doesn't want to learn. I've been able to see a few students learn and grow and appreciate my effort, but the majority of the high schoolers test my limits daily.

I'm very glad that I have my husband to talk to. He spent four years teaching at a school much more difficult than mine, and he is full of advice and support. He lets me vent my frustrations and always has a kind word of encouragement for me. But, please don't worry. I do love it. I know 100 percent that I am doing what I am meant to do. So many people have told me that the first year will be the worst year, and if this is the worst it gets, I'm going to do just fine.

I really do love teaching. I'm finding my weaknesses and making them strengths. I'm being tested and tried, and I love it. My family is being blessed tremendously because of my job. My son, Paul, is in my 8th grade class, and it is a pleasure to teach him and his friends. My kids love coming to my classroom at the end of the day. They love that I am a teacher.

So there you go, Mom. I blogged. It's nothing you haven't heard before, but that's what's on my mind. Hopefully I'll be able to blog very soon about my new niece who is due to be born within the week! Hurry up, Tonya--I want to meet her.

quiet night

On Sunday nights, we have family dinner at my mom's. As we were driving home, the kids and I were singing Christmas songs. After singing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Emma yelled, "Let's sing, 'Quiet Night'!" Then she proceeded to sing "Quiet Night, holy night, all is calm..."

She's a hoot.

why use toothpicks?

Yesterday I threw Tonya a baby shower at my house. I was setting up the food table with Emma. I put a meat and cheese tray on the table and then got out my bottle of "party toothpicks". Emma looked at me and said, "Mom, why are you putting toothpicks on the table?" I didn't answer her right away, and after a couple of seconds she continued, "Is it so they can get food out of their teeth? Why don't they just use their fingernail?"

Hello. Remember me? I've been gone a while. I didn't go anywhere, but I just stopped writing.

I think it all started (or stopped) when I realized that my husband linked our blog to his facebook account. I don't have a facebook account (and don't want one), so I guess I feel a little weird about all his high school friends, mission buddies, and co-workers reading my posts. Sorry facebook friends...but I've never even met you. You understand, don't you?

Anyway, I started this blog as a way to keep a family history and to communicate with grandparents that live far away. For these reasons, I will make an attempt to blog more regularly.

Last night we ate dinner with some new friends from our ward. I know the wife, but was really meeting the husband for the first time. He looked at me and said, "so, you're a teacher?" It was really weird to answer, "yes." It felt just like the first time Paul introduced me as "his wife" after we got married. The fact is true, but it's just so new.

I've loved teaching these past 12 weeks. It hasn't been all rosy, and I've made some mistakes, but I know this is definitely what I'm supposed to be doing. I wasn't as prepared as I thought I was to handle classroom discipline, but I'm changing what I need to change, and things will get ironed out soon enough.

I've learned several valuable lessons. I will volunteer to teach any subject that involves "advanced" or "gifted" students. Right now I teach two classes of 8th grade Algebra I. Together they are the top 30 math students in the middle school. It's a dream job. They are so interested in learning and try so hard. They fight for every point on every assignment. No one is getting a C, and there are very few Bs. There are a few people with a 100 average.

On the other hand--I have three classes of Math Models. They are the 50 lowest math students in the 11th grade. They aren't the lowest by intellect, but the lowest in motivation and discipline. They are taking Math Models so they don't have to take precal their senior year. In Texas, students have to have four years of math credit to graduate. This causes some major problems for some students. Anyway, there are some students who are doing very well in my class and genuinely try hard to learn the material. But then there are the others. The ones who tell me, "all I need is a 70, so a 65 is close enough." I just don't understand that attitude. It's causing me some problems. I just keep telling myself--"You can't care more than the students do" and "You can't work harder than the students work." In the beginning, I was so stressed out when students wouldn't turn in an assignment, or when they failed my test. I've learned to just let it go. I measure my success on the success of my best students, not my worst.

I'm grateful that I have a great mentor assigned to me. She takes her job seriously and has given me some great advice. I'm also blessed to have a husband who taught for 4 years. He's been where I am and is very willing to give me advice. He's very supportive, often making dinner or doing laundry when I am busy. I love him for that.

Well, much more is going on, so I have plenty to write about later. Perhaps I'll explain to you the predicament I'm in since we decided to remodel our kitchen (yes--with demolition and everything) TWO WEEKS before I host my sister's baby shower at my house. What were we thinking???

How I helped a county official go national

One of the first calls I made Thursday at the onset of the Fort Hood tragedy was to a county official I knew had a lot of connections on post. He told me the shooter was wearing a military uniform. I attributed that information to him in the first breaking news story posted on our Web site.

Within minutes of that story posting, the official began receiving calls on his cell phone.

Apparently somebody from CNN saw that story and called the county offices asking for that official. In the past he has told secretaries and others that when people call for him they should give out his cell phone number. So, you can probably guess that somebody from CNN called and in just a short amount of time, the official was on the Wolf Blitzer show via cell phone sharing what little information he had.

Later, he said somebody from Larry King Live called to see if he would do a similar interview. The official declined because he had a prior commitment.

From there he received phone calls from reporters at USA Today, the Dallas Morning News and others.

Maybe next time I'll keep the officials name and title out of the breaking news story. Protecting sources helps save them time, and it can buy a local reporter a little time when he is competing with hundreds of national media professionals who are extremely aggressive when they smell blood.

Three Days Covering the Fort Hood Tragedy

I was sitting at my desk Thursday afternoon talking to our reporter who covers Fort Hood when he got a call about a potential mass casualty event on post. He left immediately. Although he was only about 20 minutes away, he ended up only making it to the front gate where most of the other local media was stationed while post was locked down. The national media wouldn't make it to Fort Hood for hours.

The only media to make it on post Thursday was the Killeen newspaper, which is literally a highway exit away from base. I spoke with a reporter who told me somebody from their office either heard what was happening from a police scanner or a phone call. A reporter and photographer left immediately and got onto post before it was locked down. Since that photographer was pretty much the only news photographer on the scene some of his pictures were circulated worldwide.

Within 20 minutes of hearing about the unfolding event, I walked into the office of a local attorney and watched some of the first broadcast reports. I saw the reporter that was in my office walking around in the background of the live shots of television reporters, talking on his cell phone and trying to get any information he could. In between his coverage of the event, he got emails and phone calls from people he knows all over the country. They had seen him on television and wanted him to know they were thinking about him as he worked to cover the tragedy.

Our reporters were immediately assigned areas of responsibility. We had reporters covering post, hospitals, schools and Killeen. I don't know how it happened but I was the odd man out. I wasn't given an area of responsibility. I was just told to find what I could.

I worked the phones, calling contacts I know who might have any shred of information. Early on I lucked out. I spoke with the aide of a U.S. Congressman, a man I did a feature story about last year.

He told me he was on the scene. I could hear sirens in the background. He said he got out of his car to attend a graduation ceremony when a soldier ran past him and said, "sir, somebody is shooting." As the soldier passed, the man said he noticed blood on the back of his uniform. The soldier was one of the wounded. That information was posted on our Web site as part of the first breaking news story we uploaded.

I kept calling people but the information I was gleaning wasn't as interesting. A few small local events were cancelled, cities were ready to help, schools were prepared -- it was all stuff that would be covered by other reporters.

At one point I heard someone say over the police scanner that "Hasan was the shooter. We have him and he is being transported to Scott & White Hospital. Secure his apartment."

I did Internet searches on his name and came up with nothing. I used the Internet to try and find his address and again found nothing. On a whim, I even tried to call a person with the last name Hasan that lived near post. I couldn't break through.

Later that evening, after I had lost hope I was actually going to find a story, my sister-in-law called me. I think she called to see if my wife was at my son's football game. Before I hung up with her, I asked her if her or any of her friends knew somebody on post that I could speak with.

A half hour later I had two names and phone numbers. I spoke briefly with an Army major who referred me to the post public information office. He was polite enough, but really not help at all. We had that covered.

Then I called an Army wife. As they say here in Texas, "bless her heart." She gave me a great interview. While she wasn't at the scene, she lived within a mile of the attack and there were some real moments of terror for women in that neighborhood wondering if other gunmen were on the loose and if their children were safe at school.

I took down her interview but didn't write a story that night. I knew it had potential for better play in the newspaper if I held it and developed it more.

My editor woke me up at 6 a.m. on Friday morning with a phone call. Our Fort Hood reporter had a doctor appointment in the morning and she wanted me to be at Fort Hood for a press conference at 8 a.m. I showered, my wife put the kids I usually bring to school on the bus and I headed out early to Fort Hood.

I arrived early at the main gate. There was an incredible amount of media there. Maybe thirty satellite trucks, I don't even want to estimate on reporters and other support personnel. I briefly parked on the grass, there were no available parking spaces, and walked over to a soldier logging in media. I saw that I was listed as number 186 on a yellow notepad full of names. I then got into a line of cars carrying members of the media and was escorted onto a location on base where even more media were located.

In a field within sight of Darnall Hospital, where many of the injured were treated, the Army made available several soldiers and nurses that were involved in some way with the tragedy the day before. Packs of media went from soldier to soldier, maybe ten in all, and recorded their stories.

I wrote down information given to me by MPs, doctors, nurses, and just regular soldiers, all who played a role in the incident and instinctively jumped into action. I spoke with one of the subjects alone, after he had told his story about 15 different times to different members of the media. I asked him if he volunteered or was ordered to attend the presser. He smirked and said, "I got the call at 4 a.m. this morning." It was the one thing we had in common, both being roused from our sleep to fulfill an assignment.

A more formal press conference with top level officials -- including Gen. George Casey Jr., Army chief of staff, and Defense Secretary John McHugh -- was pushed back and since our reporter was finished with his doctor appointment, I left base.

For the first time since I have been working at the paper, I went to our news bureau in Killeen, where I hammered out a story about what it was like at the Army hospital during the hours after the shooting.

Instead of heading back to my office, I took a few minutes to drive into Killeen to see the apartment complex where the alleged shooter lived. I met up with another one of our reporters, talked casually to a few residents but left after a few minutes. That was not my story. I was there just fulfilling some personal curiosity.

I started to drive back to my office when I realized that the office of a justice of the peace was just blocks away. I spoke with the man on the phone early Thursday. In Texas, the justices are the ones who legally pronounce death and based on my phone calls the day before, I knew that justice would have been the one called out to the scene.

His secretary tried to dissuade me with gruffness. She was rude and everything about her mannerisms said, "go away." I didn't. I had worked with her before. In minutes, I was in the official's office hearing his account of the crime scene. Much of what he told me formed the basis of a front page story on Saturday that described what the scene of the crime was like. That justice not only pronounced death upon the 13 victims but he also went on two unrelated death calls in Killeen. The next day he married at least three couples from Fort Hood.

On Friday, I wrote my last two stories from home. I was able to contact a second Army wife. She helped round out that story, which my editors held on Saturday but ran on the front page Sunday. The story ended with one of the women saying, “I’ve always felt safe on post, and I still do.”

While I was working on my last story Friday evening, I was invited by my editor to work on Saturday.

I was in charge of a volleyball tournament with church on Saturday. Thankfully, I contacted somebody who is more capable than me and he stepped in and took over the small tournament. I showed up to help get it started, then handed it off to him.

At 11 a.m. I went to a Temple hospital where I waited 45 minutes for the Texas governor to emerge for a press conference. While there I began to notice the international flavor of the assembled reporters. There was a crew from Australia. An Asain woman spoke on her cell phone

in a language I didn't recognize. Other reporters had European accents. Rest assured, there were also plenty of Americans.

After writing a story off the governor's comments, I went back to Fort Hood for a 7 p.m. press conference with the head of CID and a spokesman for Fort Hood. While waiting outside the gate, I had a fascinating conversation with a reporter from the Washington Post who normally covers Mexico. While on post I listened to a reporter from the New York Times whine to an Army official about access and let him know that her editor expected more from her.

I spoke with an NBC correspondent from Florida who shared with local television reporters how he rose in the business. It's all about hard work and being in the right place at the right time, he said.

After the press conference, I wrote my story and drove home.

My overall impression of how Fort Hood handled this incident: very, very well. They have acted with dignity and professionalism. The soldiers working with the media were remarkable. They obviously had a plan in place, and they have executed it over the past several days.

Of course, this story will continue forward. All I know is that after three days of work, I'm proud to be an American, and I can't wait to go to church this afternoon.

cheerleader

Emma really wants to be a cheerleader. When Grandma found out about a one-time cheer clinic, you can guess who was signed up.

Emma and Rebekah spent a Saturday afternoon with the LHS varsity cheerleaders, and then last Friday night, Emma cheered at the home football game. Rebekah could have cheered, but she was the oldest of all the girls who participated, so she decided to opt out. I don't blame her.

I am my grandpa

It took me a few days to adjust to it, but I'm okay with it now.

When I was growing up my grandparents would come over our house for birthdays or after they returned from a vacation. They would bring gifts, and we would all talk in the living room. My grandfather was always taking out his fake tooth or telling us to "not take any wooden nickles." He would let us place our feet on his, and he would walk us around the room.

What I remember most, however, is that he always loved our dog. He would bring it special treats. While we sat and visited, the dog would be next to him on the couch as he petted her and scratched her head. My grandparents didn't visit too regularly, maybe once every month or two, but he and that dog had a connection. They were always glad to see each other.

As an adult, I watched him forge the same relationship with my sister's dog.

One time, while our extended family was gathered together during a holiday, my brother Ethan walked by my grandfather, who was standing in front of a television. The movie Air Bud was playing. Ethan swore that he witnessed tears in my grandfather's eyes as he watched a part of the movie. We never let grandpa know it, but me and my brothers laughed about how Air Bud could bring tears out of grandpa. He may be the only man alive who cried during that movie -- that is, if Ethan was telling the truth.

So, are you ready for this?

I had a crown come off recently and before I got it fixed, I kept putting it back on my tooth and pulling it out of my mouth just to thrill my children.

When I come home from work, Emma likes to wrap herself around my leg while I walk her around the room.

In the past month, my family went to visit my brother Adam and his wife Misty. While I was there, I think I played with their dog more than I talked with them. It was so bad that a few days after our visit Adam, as a joke, sent me a picture of his dog because he knew I would miss him.

At first I felt a little guilty after leaving Adam's house, because I paid so much attention to his dog. Then I thought about my grandfather and those visits to our house when I was a boy. At first, all I could remember was that he loved our dog, but the more I thought about it the more details I remembered.

Hopefully the same thing will happen for Adam and Misty when they think back on my family's recent visit to their home. My brother Keith is planning on visiting Adam soon, and I've already asked him to bring Adam's dog a treat for me.

Two more things: I have never seen or been offered any wooden nickles, but I sure know what to do if that ever occurs. Also, I must admit that I have never actually watched the movie Air Bud.

I don't know if I want to watch it because recently I've done a lot of thinking and as strange as this sounds I think I AM MY GRANDPA.

splinters and bone fragments

I started reading a biography about Joseph Smith this weekend and was reminded of a September 11 story I wrote several years ago about a sheriff deputy.

I was reading about when Joseph was a boy and had a crude surgery to remove part of his shin bone, which had become infected. The family was basically faced with amputation or a different, unproven, surgical procedure. It's a story well known by most Mormons. I've heard it many times.

One detail that I had never heard before stood out to me this weekend. The author described how after the wound closed for several months bone fragments would work their way to the surface before exiting the skin.

I know, it sounds terrible.

Terrible but not altogether unfamiliar to me.

That's because a few years ago, when I interviewed the sheriff deputy, he told me about a similar experience that happened to him.

He was involved in a car accident where he was impaled under his left armpit by a 2x6 -- That's right a 2x6. Don't believe me? His story is here.

Anyway, after this man's side was fileted open and the beam was removed, he spent a time recovering in the hospital before he was allowed to continue his recovery at home. I remember being shocked when he told me that for months his wife would pull splinters out of his back as they worked their way out of his body.

If my memory is right, the deputy told me that this is how he recieved the nickname woody.

Quaky Voice

For the first time in a long time I had quaky voice, and I don't really know why.

It happened last Monday when I addressed our local school board during a public forum. I was not there to complain. I was there to praise a staff member for their work.

The athletic director of the middle school was instrumental in assisting my son with his Eagle Scout project. The man showed exemplary leadership, and I wanted to let the school board know how much my family appreciated his efforts.

I only spoke for about three minutes, but my voice trembled with emotion the whole time.

I can't remember the last time that happened. I wasn't intimidated. I was prepared. And I have lots of experience speaking to groups of people.

So, why did I have quaky voice?

I speak in church on a monthly basis. I have conducted church meetings. I taught school for four years. I've taught Priesthood and Sunday School lessons. At times I am vocal during meetings at work. For my job, I've interviewed lots of public officials and others of high standing.

I never get nervous and speak with the vibrato I spoke with last Monday.

After some reflection, I think I know why I stood resolute in front of the school board but spoke with teeming emotion.

I think it's because I love my son, and I was truly grateful for a man who saw beyond academics or football strategy and took the time to work with him on a project that I think is extremely valuable.

I will forever be a Life Scout. My son, however, will be an Eagle Scout, and for that accomplishment, we have a lot of people to thank. If I talk to you about it and you hear a hint of shakiness in my voice, just know that I am extremely proud and grateful.

How I found my son's cub scout shirt

I think it was about a month ago that my son left his cub scout shirt up at the church. He took it off and forgot about it. Different members of our family have looked for it at the lost and found. We've asked people if they have seen it around, but until today we weren't able to locate it.

I had just finished up another early morning seminary lesson, and I was walking around the building making sure the doors were locked.

I walked into the foyer and saw one of the students that was just in my class. He stuck out in class because it was nerd day at school and he was wearing pants that showed off half his calves and his sister's striped socks.

The boy is thin and tall. When I walked into the foyer, I noticed he had added something else to his outfit. He was wearing a scout shirt that was several sizes too small. I admit, it looked really funny. When I saw him wearing it, I said, "hey, that's my son's scout shirt."

He was shocked. At first he thought I was kidding, but when he realized I wasn't, he took it off and gave it to me.

Everybody in the family was surprised when I came home with the shirt this morning. I just chalked it up as a benefit I received for teaching early morning seminary.

The ironic thing about this whole situation is that Isaac had scouts tonight, and he couldn't find where he put his shirt that I had just brought home this morning.

It's Good to be Grandma

Grandma came home from Puerto Rico yesterday and her influence was felt immediately. I didn't think anything about it at the time but minutes after Grandma walked into our house, Emma, our 5-year-old daughter, went into our room and changed her clothes.

Now, there is nothing unusual about this. Emma sometimes wears up to four outfits a day, some even match.

Within an hour somebody pointed out to me that the reason Emma changed her clothes was to match grandma. I looked at Grandma and then at Emma and realized for the first time they were both wearing purple shirts with black pants.

Still doubting this was a plan, I asked Emma how she decided on her outfit she was wearing. She said, "That was easy. I just looked at Grandma."

If imitation really is the best form of flattery, Grandma has got to be feeling pretty good right now.

The Course is Complete

This is the first hole of the new disk golf course in Lorena. On Aug. 29 several boys from Troop 413 came out to Lorena, comprising a handful of the 26 volunteers on hand, and helped put the finishing touches on the course.

The school district provided the land and the Lorena Economic Development Corporation the funding for the project. Paul was heavily involved with the planning and construction phases.

As soon as he finishes up the paperwork for the project and completes a few more merit badge requirements, he will have a ceremony where he will forever be a welcome member of the Eagle's Nest.

We're proud of him and grateful for his scout leaders, school leaders and the young men in our ward who have gone before him and helped show him the way.

they were there

I Say Umbrellas are for Sissies

Today, I dropped my five-year-old daughter off at school and watched the music teacher laugh in her face.

We woke up this morning to a rainstorm. It has been REALLY dry here, so it was a welcome sight.

Just as I was getting ready to walk out the front door, Emma reminded me that I needed an umbrella. I told her "no I don't" before I walked to my car unprotected.

One of my weaknesses is that I really do believe I am much cooler than I actually am. A way that I have manifested this over the years is to never carry an umbrella and to walk in the rain when others run. It's pretty rebellious, I know.

Oh, I've used umbrellas, like when my wife bought me one several years ago for Christmas, but it was more out of love than necessity. I just wanted to show her I was grateful for the gift -- and I would do it again, if I had to.

So today I pull up at Emma's school and we're three cars from the front door. Each day the music teacher stands at the door and welcomes the students. Brandy would know this woman's name, but all I know is that she really does an exceptional job of making children feel welcome.

On sunny mornings sometimes Emma tries to stay in the car until we pull directly in front of the doors. We have had discussions before about how it's okay for her to get out and walk 20 feet, how it is the courteous thing to do for the cars behind us. I'm not sure if my words have ever registered.

I'm still not sure, because I think it was the rain that got her out of the car this morning. Three car lengths from the door, I see Emma glance down at her umbrella on the floorboard, the first hint that she takes after her mother. She then asked me if it was too early for her to get out of the car. I told her to use her umbrella and get walking to school.

She happily got out of the car and walked the remaining twenty feet or so under her pink Scooby Doo umbrella.

The music teacher loved it so much that by the time Emma made it to her she was laughing. I watched her bend down and say something to Emma. I'm not sure what she said but I'm confident it was something kind and encouraging.

For me this whole experience is notable only when you consider what happened when I dropped Isaac off minutes earlier. I knew he didn't have an umbrella, so I figured I would drive him up closer than usual to the front doors of the school. Before I could articulate my plan, he opened the door, got out of the car and walked unfazed through the rain at a distance three times as far as Emma.

Oh yeah, that's my boy, like father like son. He must know instinctively that umbrellas are for sissies.

See what I mean about me having an false sense of coolness? This umbrella aversion is not necessarily the best trait to pass on to future generations, yet I proudly do so. Thank goodness their mother is a saint, because without her, wet heads would be the least of their problems.

A new way to say "I love you"

My youngest daughter is a rebel, and, unfortunately, I think I sometimes encourage it.

Each day I drop my two youngest children off at school. It's at least the second year in a row I've done it full time.

I have this little thing I do that I think started with Rebekah, but I'm not sure. One day I dropped off her or another child and before they could get inside the school I rolled down my window and, along with everybody in the car, started yelling "We love you, Rebekah!"

I thought it was a fun way to show my love and embarrass the children at the same time. I think I've done it multiple times to every one of my kids. In fact, Emma and I did it to Isaac Monday morning.

This morning something a little different happened. I dropped Isaac off and quietly told him I loved him as he was getting out the rear door. After he was on the sidewalk and we had started driving away, Emma, my five-year-old daughter, unrolled the window.

It was with a hint of pride that I waited for her to loudly proclaim her love for her brother. This time, I would let her do it on her own. Once the window was down, she stuck her little head out and in a loud and clear voice said to Isaac, "Hey, you smell like pancakes!"

What went wrong? How could this happen to me?

I tried not to laugh because I don't really want to encourage such behavior. A few minutes later, I pulled up to Emma's school to drop her off. By then her comment was pretty much a distant memory, but I still couldn't help myself.

She had gotten out of the car and was about to shut the door. That is usually when I tell her "I love you" and wish her a good day, but this morning it seemed more appropriate to say, "Hey, YOU smell like pancakes!"

She got a wide grin on her face, shut the car door and I went into the building still smiling.

Even though I didn't say "I love you" to Emma this morning, I'm confident she knows I love her because sometimes the best way to say "I love you" is to not say it at all.

the first week

I could write a novel about my experiences this first week of school. In summary:

1. Everything everyone told me was true.

2. My feet ached at the end of days one and two.

3. I started losing my voice after 2nd period because I wasn't drinking water.

4. I am not capable of repeating the same lesson three times. Every period ended up being a different presentation of the same material. I think this is weird.

5. Each class has it's own personality. I think this is weird, too.

The Only One Not in School

Well, it's official. I'm the only one in my family not in school. I just dropped Emma and Isaac off. Brandy took Paul and Rebekah with her.
I've been saying for a while know that Emma, our kindergartner, is "socially advanced" for her age. Today I have more proof. She insisted I drop her off at the front doors of the school and not walk her to her classroom. She was on campus last year and knows where to go, she said. Plus she said it would be embarrassing for her to have me drop her off. Isaac is not even to that stage yet! And if Paul and Rebekah are there neither will admit it to my face.
I made Emma let me bring her to class and the whole ordeal didn't scar her -- at least I don't think it did. She was so confident and assertive that I forgot it was THE FIRST DAY for most of her scared looking classmates. When we walked in, the room was almost full and you could hear a pin drop it was so quiet. Poor kindergartners. Maybe some of Emma's confidence will rub off on them.
Last night I gave the family blessings to start the school year. Do you want to guess who started cracking up two sentences in their blessing? If you guessed Brandy, then you are right. I love that woman. I had to pause, however, to regain my own composure. It's her first day in the classroom as a teacher and her students are in unbelievably good hands.
At one point in Emma's blessing I told her she would have the opportunity to eat lunch with her grandmother during the school year. I didn't know that they had already scheduled a date for TODAY. After I said those words I felt Emma pat my hand with hers.
I don't know what it is about the first day of school but it is always filled with magic. It was nice to experience again. I guess I'll head off to work now.

my first business trip

The Math Team

S'mores and singing at 10pm

The iceberg (a rock wall on water)

The blob

On Wednesday, all the teachers from our district were taken to Riverbend Retreat Center in Glenrose for a two-day training event. I say "event" because it truly was a big deal. I had a wonderful time listening to the guest speakers and taking part in brainstorming sessions. I got to know more of the teachers and they got to know me a little. I'm so excited to be a part of this district. Lorena is dedicated to achieving excellence. I only hope I can do my part.

If you look at the pictures, you will understand why the whole time I was there I kept thinking of my kids. On Wednesday, we were given free time to explore the retreat center, and many teachers (sadly, not me) took advantage of the lake activities. My kids would have LOVED it.

When I got home Thursday night Emma greeted me with a hug, but a few minutes later she looked up at me and asked, "Mom, why did you go on vacation without us?" Ouch! I tried to explain that I wasn't on vacation, and that I had to go to training so that I could be a better teacher. I even mentioned that I was with her pre-K teacher and principal. She's right, though. I had a great time and the only thing that would have made it better was if I had my family with me.

Randy Johnson's Fake Brother

The Power of the Panda

Last Wednesday our family went to see the Giants play the Houston Astros. One of the great things about the game was third baseman Pablo Sandoval, who is nicknamed Kung-Fu Panda. The kids loved watching Panda, one of the Giants great players, in the field and at bat.

Sandoval was tagged with the nickname last year because of his portly build and his uncanny ability to do heroic things on the baseball field. I believe the nickname was created by Barry Zito after Sandoval did the unthinkable when he hurdled a catcher and scored a run.

I thought our Panda adventure was over when we left the ballpark, but I was wrong.

After checking into a hotel, we drove to a local shopping center where Brandy and I ate at Chipolte and the children and their grandmother ate at -- of all places -- Panda Express. I didn't think anything about "the power of the panda" until 4-year-old Emma had an accident in the restaurant.

She was sitting in a chair at a cafe table as high as a large bar stool. I don't know exactly what happened but I heard a noise and looked back in time to see Emma fall headfirst from her perch. Luckily, her ankle caught in the chair and suspended her briefly in the air before she rolled onto the floor.

The shock on the incident frightened her and she cried, although beyond wounded pride she was not hurt.

Because we are experienced parents and Emma is our fourth child, after a while we left her crying with her grandmother and went to Chipoltle, which was two doors down. Before we finished eating, Faye and the children finished and joined up with us again. Emma was holding a stuffed panda bear and smiling and laughing. A man who looked old enough to be a grandparent entered the store as she fell. He had compassion on her, so he purchased the bear for her.

I did not know until then that the panda had special healing properties.

The next day we were in the Galleria Mall in Houston. The girls went inside a girly store and Rebekah emerged with panda earrings. I wish I could say that the earrings made it so Rebekah wanted nothing else at the mall but the powers of the panda are limited.

I was reminded of this even today when I heard that Sandoval grounded into two double plays.

Skadoosh!

lemonade

About a month ago, my cousin had a series of posts on her facebook about making lemonade out of lemons. I'm not sure what she was going through, but I know she was trying to make the best out of it.

Here's my lemonade:

On Thursday morning after swimming at the hotel, we decided to tour the Galleria Mall in Houston before heading home. We spent a few hours there, including a great lunch at the Rainforest Cafe (thanks Grandma!).

We then headed home. We decided to go home a different way than we came. We usually use state Hwy 6 and go through a lot of small towns on our way home, but we decided to use Interstate 45. One big difference is that when you get off of I-45, there is an almost 100 mile drive directly west on Hwy 7. We got to our turnoff at about 8pm. We had just had a big dinner and were ready for the long drive home. Several miles onto Hwy 7, our van starts acting funny, then as we are going up a hill the transmission just goes out. Completely. My husband pulled off to the side and turned the car off. He tried several times to restart the car and get the van into gear. It wouldn't go. It just revved the engine as if it were in neutral. So, it's about 8:20 pm, and we are in the middle of nowhere. Literally. There is nothing behind us and nothing in front of us to tell us where we are.

As the song suggests, I'm going to count my blessings one-by-one:
1. We had cell phones and good cell service.
2. My mother is a card-carrying member of AAA.
3. AAA will tow you up to 100 miles for free.
4. According to the GPS on my mom's iPhone, we were 71 miles from home (so within the 100 mile zone!).
5. It was dusk and slightly breezy, so it was totally bearable heat.
6. The van stopped exactly in front of an old "historic" church that had steps and a bright light on the front. After we worked out the details with AAA for towing, we sat on the steps under the bright light. It felt very safe.
7. Although it was a 2-hour wait for the tow truck, the kids were in great spirits and we used the time to sing and tell stories.
8. When the tow truck and the extra SUV arrived (remember--there were seven of us on this trip), the men were very kind and understanding.
9. We got home safely a little after midnight. The kids enjoyed their ride in the nice SUV and watched Bolt on the built-in TV.
10. Did I mention that the 2 hour wait was after dark and therefore the blazing sun had gone down? Well, I'm counting that one twice!
11. Rebekah had the faith to suggest we have a family prayer and her prayer was answered.

So there you have it. There are so many "what-ifs" that could have made our car trouble so much worse. Of course, I wouldn't choose for our transmission to go out, but since it did, I'm glad it happened when and where it did. I know it could have been so much worse.

america's game

Paul is a lifelong, devoted fan of the San Francisco Giants baseball team. I've always said that there may be someone that knows as much as Paul about the Giants, but there is no one who knows more!

In late June he used his birthday money to purchase our whole family, including my mom, tickets to the Giants vs Houston Astros game. They were the cheap tickets, where you have to sit almost looking straight down on the field. I'm grateful Minute Maid Park is enclosed with air conditioning, but the physics principle "heat rises" sure affects your comfort when you're sitting at the top.

The game was fun to attend. The Giants won and one of the players hit his first major league home run--a grand slam! Paul enjoyed seeing that. Of course that was during the inning that I took the kids to the first level and let them play at the kids' playground. On my way back up to the nosebleeds, I took a few pictures from the first level. Man, it felt like I was right in the game. Those seats are worth their cost. One day, I'd love to attend a home game for the Giants. Of course, I'd only want to attend it with Paul, because nothing else would make him happier.