reality, age three

In one of my education classes, the teacher likes to go off-topic and go on and on about how tv is bad for little kids because they need to experience the real, 3-d world in order for their little brains to develop, which, of course, reminded me of being three.

Remember the old 1970 tootsie pop commercial? When I was a very small being, I didn't realize that commercials repeat. So I thought that the dumb kid kept giving his candy to that meanie bird with a funny hat who never counted the licks properly, the cheating scumbag. I tried yelling at the kid to warn him that the owl was a conniving candy thief. When that didn't work, I nailed the owl on the head with a toy. To this day I still get miffed at that blasted owl.

(If you can't get the youtube, here are the storyboards to the original commercial)

stress and nausea

Without a doubt, this last weekend was one of the most miserable I have ever had in my life.

There is nothing more disheartening than staying up until 2 am, waking up at 6:30 and working all day until 12:30 am on the next day to finish a huge, sixty-one page long, quarter-of-your-final-grade assignment. Unless, of course, you spend most of that interminably long time dry-heaving into a mixing bowl. Then it's like dying over and over and over again.

I made it. Barely. I still feel shaky all over and I'm super behind on everything else, so if I kind of hide out this month it isn't because I don't love you. I do.

Did I mention that all the crocuses bloomed?

you ain't foolin' me

You ain't foolin me, February.

You think you're all that,
with your sunshine
warm breeze
and muddy puddlin' sidewalks.

But you ain't foolin' me.

You might be foolin' the birds, February.

They're singing thier hearts out
with lighthearted chirpin',
crazy tunes
and high-falutin' lyrics.

But you ain't fooling me.

You might be foolin' the grass, February.

It's trying to grow green
with muddy snow,
squishy earth
and springtime determination.

But you ain't foolin' me.

You might be fooling my friends, February.
They're acting crazy
with summer clothes
no coats
and joyful winter-dead cries.

But you ain't foolin' me.

I know you, February.
I know you are still winter.
Leave the guesswork up to March.

Still, it was nice of you to try.

living for crocuses

One of my profs calls me a "super student." I wish I got to wear a cape and fly, too. Stress is my sunshine and worry my kryptonite, and academia is a sickening balance of the two. A blank white poster board reclines on the floor next to King Bidgood's in the Bathtub, a lesson plan gapes unfinished from the monitor on my desktop, and a glossy mountain thirty picture books tall graces my bed. There is a quiz waiting in the wings, biding its time on my thumb drive, as well as a journal entry that hasn't crept out from the recesses of my mind quite yet.

All due early next week.

I am living for the crocuses. I know enough about the leonine madness some dare to call spring in Chicago to not worship spring break, but I am ready to see the bold green fingers laugh at the snow and the cold and come up, quietly smiling at the world, not audacious like the fanfare of daffodils or loud like sirens of tulips. They are the first, the brave, and the beautiful.

I am living for the crocuses because I want to be one. Despite the mounds of suffocating snow pressing against me, I feel the warm sunlight above. It urges me on through the malicious elements and blustery days into a world of sunlight and hope of a verdant summer.

My petals are purple.

winter

I like flying along the satin sheen of wind-buffed snow on a sunny morning.

I like hearing nothing but the rythmic tramping crunch of snowboots on salty concrete.

I like inhaling the sharp bitterness of frozen air.

I like dancing like black branches abandoning themselves to a deeper velvet blue sky.

I like listening to the whispered downy quietness of moonlight on drifting snow.

I like snuggling into the softness of a fuzzy-thick scarf.

I like identifying with the violent angry rattle of the storm windows.

I like tasting the sweet, crystal-clear coldness that sticks to my face.

I like breathing big white clouds.

writers block

Nothing terribly interesting has happened lately.

I need to read things that don't include methodology sections, I think. My brain is toast.

Nothing a little 'Bou won't cure...

post-homework muddling

I can only stuff so much homework into one afternoon before I start including words like quantitiative and correlational into my basic vocabulary. I actually began analyzing the behavior of the children playing behind me (at 'Bou). If you care to know, they're engaged in associative play, just a step below cooperative, and they are fairly adept at ascertaining each other's point of view, which means they're probably reaching the tail end of Piaget's pre-operational stage...

Good lord, I'm going to write a flipping paper and all I want to do is drink my tea.

*sigh* There was more, but it isn't coming out of my head right now. Stay tuned...

it's very cold and rainy

I've realized that I talk about the weather a lot when I write in my blog. Not exactly scintillating reading, I'm sure. I guess it is because the weather frequently reflects my mood. Oh well.

Today I played hide and seek in the dark with my nameless charges (not the anonymous siblings) and it is worth mentioning that two year olds do not understand hide and seek in the dark. Don't get me wrong--the nameless toddler is a bright little guy, who understands that hiding is more than standing with his face in the corner. He actually gets behind things.

But, being the careful nanny that I am, I don't believe in letting two year olds wander around in dark basements. So I hid with him. We found a good spot behind some boxes that was actually rather comfortable because there were some soft sleeping bags next to us. I explained to toddler that we were hiding and that we had to be very quiet. He got a serious look on his face and sat very still, eyes wide, not making a peep.

Until the lights went out. In case you were skimming the above, notice that we played hide-and-seek in the dark. Which meant that before the oldest nameless child, who is thirteen, came downstairs, he flipped the switch. And this was too fascinating for toddler. It was so fascinating that he felt the need to explain it to me in great detail and proceeded to inform me, in very emphatic toddlerese, "Dark! Light! Dark! Light! Hide!"

Given that oldest isn't deaf in any way, shape or form, you can guess who he found first.