When it rains it pours.
Everything happens for a reason.
Have my cake and eat it too.
I love a good cliche. I can go on and on, but my life is turning into one giant cliche. I want to walk around quoting The Sound of Music, "When the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window."
My windows are stuck open.
I do this to myself. It makes Thomas completely nuts.
Four months ago, I was miserable at work. Long story, but the signs were there telling me it was time to move on (cliche #1). So, I look for a new job.
After a month, and four interviews (a panel, a demo lesson, two one-on-ones with the principal) I get the job at an AMAZING school. Fantastic! Awesome! I'm scared to death! Starting over in the world of educational theatre isn't like switching classrooms. After seven years, it really means starting over. I'm a fish out of water (cliche #2). It means long hours as I try to build my reputation and program. It means busting my ass to make sure that ALL productions are of the absolute highest quality on the planet. I got this!
Then, Thomas gets accepted to graduate school. Albeit distance learning, it means burning the midnight oil (cliche #3) on the computer, listening to lectures, writing papers, taking quizzes. Ok, well...we're known for doing lots of big things at the same time...changing jobs, moving, going back to school...that's how we roll. (cliche #4)
When I have downtime, I start to get creative. This either costs us a lot of money at Michaels for craft supplies, or a huge headache for the rest of the family. I decide to get the kids more involved in performing (as per their request after seeing Matilda in NYC). By using the Breakdown Services, in the last two days, the following has happened:
1. Dylan was cast in a three-episode web series.
2. Dylan got an audition for a non-union short film.
3. Sydney got an audition that has to be filmed and submitted.
4. Tomorrow, both kids are performing at Disneyland with their theatre school.
5. #2 happens tomorrow at 4:30, meaning we have to leave Disney, run to L.A., then go back to Disney.
6. #1 happens in L.A. on Sunday.
7. Both kids have an audition for Ragtime at Fullerton College on Wednesday.
Oh yeah....I start a new job on Monday!
AND...I'm teaching at the kid's theatre studio on Wednesday evenings (I'm actually REALLY excited about this)...AND...I just received a call from Orange Coast College asking about my availability this semester in the chance of classes coming up that may need a teacher. This is while I'm trying to finalize the rehearsal schedule for the SIX productions that I'm doing at my new school this year.
Did I mention that I start a new job this week?
Busy as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. (cliche #5)
Although I'm as happy a clam, counting my blessings, and reaping the benefits of my hard work, my intention was good, but I think I'm a few fries short of a Happy Meal. (cliches #.....whatever, who the hell cares?)
Friday, August 23, 2013
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Too Many Fish in the Sea
As summer comes to an end, the Castiglione family is trying to cram in as many summer activities as possible. Today, we went to the beach again, but this time, sans dogs, and WITH the Alcazar's, very good family friends.
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We arrive at the beach, the kids frolic into the ocean, the moms dig in to old People magazines, and the two dads do this:
It stayed like that for a while.
We left after four hours, disappointed in the gray skies that had inevitably burned us, regardless of sunscreen application, came home, showered, and went to get dinner.
Upon our return home, as I was liberally applying aloe to Sydney's crispy shoulders and back, Dylan came in the bathroom to inform me that there was a dead fish on his bedroom floor.
Let me back up JUST a touch. Dylan's life is ruled by food, which he actually uses as fuel (unlike me who merely uses it for fun). When the fuel runs out, so does Dylan, and often in an ugly way. By the time we left the beach, he was a crying puddle of mess. Once we got to our favorite Mexican joint for dinner, and he took a sip of his raspberry iced tea, he started talking...and didn't shut up for an hour.
So....when he told me there was a dead fish on his bedroom floor, I thought that maybe he had just lost his cotton-pickin' mind and was on a food high. Sydney and I went to investigate. I found this in his room:
Well, now I am freaked out, shut the door, command that the children stay out of the room, and hurry outside to find Thomas, who is walking the dogs. I explain what happened, and Thomas starts laughing, to the point of almost wetting himself. I explain, sternly, that it isn't funny, and what if someone has broken into our house and is leaving dead fish as a message.
Thomas, sanely, replied that more likely that not, Dylan brought the stowaway home in his bathing suit.
We went back upstairs to look, and we asked Dylan if he had felt anything in his shorts, to which he responded, "No," but it's good to know that the poor fish had a nice car ride home in order to get to his final resting place.
I then asked Dylan if he washed his butt really well when he showered, to which he responded, "YES!...well, I'm pretty sure."
Awesome.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
A Note From the Teacher
Back to School Shopping.
When you're a teacher, that often means more than new shoes, a lunch box, and a sweater. It means pimping out your classroom to blow students away on the first day of school. When I say "pimping," I'm not exaggerating. I believe that there is a significant amount of bandwidth on Pinterest devoted to storing the images of classroom ideas. (Try it, I dare you.)
Now granted, I teach high school, so the decor is very different from the awesome classrooms that are often created in an elementary school setting. If I could get away with it, don't think that my own classroom wouldn't be done up with owls, beanbag chair reading centers, and cubbies. However, being a high school teacher, I'd probably get shanked.
Regardless, I still decorate, organize, and plan for the school year, even though many teacher supply stores cater to the younger grades. This means supplies, bulletin board stuff, tape, pens, sharpies, etc. Most schools, well at least my school, don't have a kick ass craft room where you can go pick out butcher paper, grab some Expo markers, and maybe pick up a simple bulletin board border. In fact, at the school I just left, there was one cabinet in the teacher work room that held our supplies. It usually consisted of rubber bands, brown Expo markers, paper clips, and these weird behavior postcards that you could fill out and send to parents. I'm not sure those moved in the seven years I was there.
This means that I frequent the teacher store, Michaels, and office supply stores to spend my own money on supplies for my classroom.
With August comes the promise of "Teacher Appreciation Day" at some of the bigger chain office supply stores. For the past ten years, I have done my research on dates and times, carefully marked my calendar, and often showed up at the stores before the doors open, usually in a line of other teachers, anxiously clutching their faculty/staff ID, crossing their fingers that they won't run out of good stuff before it's their turn. The doors open, and it's like a designer sample sale, except for much poorer people who have not had an income for two months.
The first year I went to one of these events was 2004. I went with my mentor teacher in Orlando, and it was like opening day at a theme park. Every teacher received a big cardboard box, breakfast, raffle tickets, the works. Inside that box was a label maker, a hand-crank laminator, packages of folders, boxes of pens, pencils, sticky notes, expo markers, sharpies. It was like winning a teacher's lottery. Talk about feeling appreciated!!
Fast forward to 2013. Thomas is now a teacher, and today's date has been on the calendar for weeks. We got up early, ensconced the kids with a movie, threatened to kill them if they opened the door or answered the phone, and trotted off to Staples, hand-in-hand, excited about the goodies that we might find through the doors.
We walk in, and it seems like business as usual. We wander around the store for a few minutes, looking for the fanfare, and there was not a streamer, balloon, or banner in sight. We ask an associate about the teacher event, and he says, "You might want to check at the customer service desk." Back up to the front, we approach the desk that is covered in brown cardboard boxes. I get a little excited. This is it...this is what I've been waiting for! Thomas and I, school ID's in hand, anxious smiles on our faces, approach the girl at the counter. She brightly smiles and says, "Hi, fill this in for a drawing for a free calendar, and here's your gift." She handed us this:
This is a reusable shopping bag.
This is what was in it:
I'm not kidding. This was the ONLY thing that was in it. A useless calendar that no teacher would ever be able to use to actually do any planning in, and it was copied in their copy center with a blue paper back page.
Really?
Maybe there was something in the back of the store. We wandered around, thinking that the breakfast was in the back. No breakfast. We looked at some of the "great deals" that were touted on the website, only to wind up in a discussion about whether or not we should get the one-subject spiral notebooks that both Thomas and I use in our classrooms for journals at Staples, where they were .50 a piece (times 150-ish students) or go to Wal-Mart where they're less per piece. You people KNOW how much I hate Wal-Mart.
We left, purchasing only a pack of golf pencils (Thomas gives them to students who neglect to bring a writing utensil to class....AFTER he asked me if he was being a dick for giving them crappy pencils. To which I responded, "Not when these golf pencils are $8 a box! They're lucky you give them anything"), and five packages of notebook paper for the house.
I left sad, and a little deflated. I know, everyone likes free stuff, and I should be grateful for what I received, but I think this was more than that. I love what I do, and I don't mind spending my money for stuff for my job. I just felt like a big chain like Staples, that clearly makes LOTS of money off of teachers, could maybe help us out, throw us a bone, give us an incentive to shop there rather than other stores. It just reminded me that teachers today spend more time apologizing for things that are out of their control (testing, lack of desk, lack of materials, lack of funding for continuing education, blah, blah, blah) rather than what they want to be doing--working with kids.
You know what, I don't care what Staples thinks, or what some dude on Capitol Hill who has never taught a day in his life thinks. I care about being able to be a part of kids lives, and to hopefully make an impact on some of them, the way some of my own teachers did to me. With or without the big pretty pack of Sharpies.
When you're a teacher, that often means more than new shoes, a lunch box, and a sweater. It means pimping out your classroom to blow students away on the first day of school. When I say "pimping," I'm not exaggerating. I believe that there is a significant amount of bandwidth on Pinterest devoted to storing the images of classroom ideas. (Try it, I dare you.)
Now granted, I teach high school, so the decor is very different from the awesome classrooms that are often created in an elementary school setting. If I could get away with it, don't think that my own classroom wouldn't be done up with owls, beanbag chair reading centers, and cubbies. However, being a high school teacher, I'd probably get shanked.
Regardless, I still decorate, organize, and plan for the school year, even though many teacher supply stores cater to the younger grades. This means supplies, bulletin board stuff, tape, pens, sharpies, etc. Most schools, well at least my school, don't have a kick ass craft room where you can go pick out butcher paper, grab some Expo markers, and maybe pick up a simple bulletin board border. In fact, at the school I just left, there was one cabinet in the teacher work room that held our supplies. It usually consisted of rubber bands, brown Expo markers, paper clips, and these weird behavior postcards that you could fill out and send to parents. I'm not sure those moved in the seven years I was there.
This means that I frequent the teacher store, Michaels, and office supply stores to spend my own money on supplies for my classroom.
With August comes the promise of "Teacher Appreciation Day" at some of the bigger chain office supply stores. For the past ten years, I have done my research on dates and times, carefully marked my calendar, and often showed up at the stores before the doors open, usually in a line of other teachers, anxiously clutching their faculty/staff ID, crossing their fingers that they won't run out of good stuff before it's their turn. The doors open, and it's like a designer sample sale, except for much poorer people who have not had an income for two months.
The first year I went to one of these events was 2004. I went with my mentor teacher in Orlando, and it was like opening day at a theme park. Every teacher received a big cardboard box, breakfast, raffle tickets, the works. Inside that box was a label maker, a hand-crank laminator, packages of folders, boxes of pens, pencils, sticky notes, expo markers, sharpies. It was like winning a teacher's lottery. Talk about feeling appreciated!!
Fast forward to 2013. Thomas is now a teacher, and today's date has been on the calendar for weeks. We got up early, ensconced the kids with a movie, threatened to kill them if they opened the door or answered the phone, and trotted off to Staples, hand-in-hand, excited about the goodies that we might find through the doors.
We walk in, and it seems like business as usual. We wander around the store for a few minutes, looking for the fanfare, and there was not a streamer, balloon, or banner in sight. We ask an associate about the teacher event, and he says, "You might want to check at the customer service desk." Back up to the front, we approach the desk that is covered in brown cardboard boxes. I get a little excited. This is it...this is what I've been waiting for! Thomas and I, school ID's in hand, anxious smiles on our faces, approach the girl at the counter. She brightly smiles and says, "Hi, fill this in for a drawing for a free calendar, and here's your gift." She handed us this:
This is what was in it:
I'm not kidding. This was the ONLY thing that was in it. A useless calendar that no teacher would ever be able to use to actually do any planning in, and it was copied in their copy center with a blue paper back page.
Really?
Maybe there was something in the back of the store. We wandered around, thinking that the breakfast was in the back. No breakfast. We looked at some of the "great deals" that were touted on the website, only to wind up in a discussion about whether or not we should get the one-subject spiral notebooks that both Thomas and I use in our classrooms for journals at Staples, where they were .50 a piece (times 150-ish students) or go to Wal-Mart where they're less per piece. You people KNOW how much I hate Wal-Mart.
We left, purchasing only a pack of golf pencils (Thomas gives them to students who neglect to bring a writing utensil to class....AFTER he asked me if he was being a dick for giving them crappy pencils. To which I responded, "Not when these golf pencils are $8 a box! They're lucky you give them anything"), and five packages of notebook paper for the house.
I left sad, and a little deflated. I know, everyone likes free stuff, and I should be grateful for what I received, but I think this was more than that. I love what I do, and I don't mind spending my money for stuff for my job. I just felt like a big chain like Staples, that clearly makes LOTS of money off of teachers, could maybe help us out, throw us a bone, give us an incentive to shop there rather than other stores. It just reminded me that teachers today spend more time apologizing for things that are out of their control (testing, lack of desk, lack of materials, lack of funding for continuing education, blah, blah, blah) rather than what they want to be doing--working with kids.
You know what, I don't care what Staples thinks, or what some dude on Capitol Hill who has never taught a day in his life thinks. I care about being able to be a part of kids lives, and to hopefully make an impact on some of them, the way some of my own teachers did to me. With or without the big pretty pack of Sharpies.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Well it's been a long, been a long, been a long, been a lllooooonnnngggday.
We've all had those days. The days that make us cranky for no good reason what-so-ever.
I have a lot of those days. I don't like being in a bad mood, but it happens frequently. Thomas is an angel, or a martyr (whichever you want) for putting up with me the way he does, and he often has a series of basic questions that he asks when he notices that I'm a little off.
T: (hesitantly) Are you ok?
S: (hissing) yes
T: Are you hungry?
S: Why do you ALWAY ask if I'm hungry if you think that I'm in a bad mood!!!
T: When is your period supposed to start?
S: Not for two weeks, thank you very much...smart ass.
T: (to himself) hmmm.....that's too far away, that can't be it.
S: I can HEAR you, you know! I'm not deaf!!!
T: (with a wee smile) You know, you're kind of funny when you're upset.
S: fkjnsksjnekrjtnkdjvnscvjnerogjneofvjnoj!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We have that conversation on a regular basis, which is why I'm able to script it so elegantly.
Today was one of those days. Those days that you want to kick people as you pass and just want to be left alone. Regardless of the fact that I had a day filled with fun and relaxing activities, I was PISSY!
The kids are in tech for Hairspray, and I always volunteer backstage to help with hair and makeup. However, within thirty minutes of being in the green room, I had had my fill of the having the following conversation numerous times:
Kid: "Can you help me with my hair?"
Me: "Yes, where is your brush?"
Kid: "I don't have one."
Me: " Bobby pins?"
Kid: "I don't have any."
Me: "hairspray?"
Kid: "No"
Me: "You need more eyeliner."
Kid: "I don't have any."
It was time to take a walk.
I walked....slowly....down the street to Starbucks. I go to order a drink and perhaps a little snack. I reach for my wallet only to remember that the ID holder part is in my glove box. Don't ask. I stop the barista and say, "You know what? Just the drink. I'll pay cash."
Jose, the barista, says, "Ok, that'll be $3.45. I bought you the drink, so you just have to pay for the pastry."
I almost fell on the floor. I gushed embarrassingly over the poor boy, so I think he may have paid for my drink to get me the hell out of his store.
The kid made my day. He doesn't know me. He's never seen me before. He doesn't know that I was in a lousy mood. He was just being nice.
I went back to rehearsal a little lighter and a bit more relaxed.
Thanks, Jose, for restoring a little bit of my faith in human-kind, and saving my poor husband from the she-devil who may have come home tonight.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Me Against the...??
It's that time of year again. The time of year that I dread. Not school shopping, not family reunions, not car maintenance, not my yearly attempt to walk around the block in an attempt to exercise.
It's far worse than that....it's Thomas's out-of-town conference. This leaves me at home...alone...with this:
This is everyone...except Chompers, the bearded dragon. More on him later.
We are all VERY well aware that I would make the most abysmal single parent. I truly believe that Thomas coincidentally needs to go out of town, by himself, once a year to ensure his proper title of "President of Keeping Mommy's Shit Together."
Inevitably, like Murphy's Law (which I often humbly refer to ) some weird stuff will happen that is either out of the norm, or Thomas is just really good at dealing with on a regular basis (most likely the latter).
I am a terrible cook. I'm a REALLY good baker, but I cannot cook. If any of you compare this to my own mother's cooking, I'm going to shank you.
So, in preparation for Thomas being gone for four days, I loaded my fridge with ready-made wraps and salads from Trader Joe's. In my excitement on non-cooking, I guess I should have asked the kids if this is what they wanted, because apparently my selection resulted in the faces you see in the photo above. They immediately asked for cheeseburgers. The last time I microwaved the cheeseburgers from Costco, the bread turned into bricks. When I threatened that...they said it was better than some of the alternatives.
I'm deadening my children's tastebuds! CRAP! Now what? They'd rather have cardboard cheeseburgers than some of my other choices? They MUST be bad!
This is also the week that Dylan came down with his first cold in 9 months. Of course. He feels like poop, and has turned into a cranky mouth-breather.
This means no swimming, bike-riding, and all the other activities put into place so that my children do not tear each other limb from limb. Excellent. They are now movie-watching couch potatoes...in separate rooms, with me running interference. Mom of the year here!
The animals.
My normal duties do not include animal care. If you remember my article from last year, I swore that I would never ask for another animal again. Thomas is the animal guy, and while I usually deal with the children and lunch (I can make a mean peanut butter and jelly), Thomas is the animal and dinner dude.
So far, in two days:
-Lenox cleaned the cat litter box for me...with his mouth. Then came to me with a beard full of litter, smiling.
-I had to feed Chompers, the cranky bearded dragon. Envision this...10pm, after rehearsal, putting kids to bed when I realize that I haven't fed the prehistoric darling yet. Now picture me trying to swiftly open the enclosure door and flinging lettuce in and trying to shut the glass before he eats us.
-Isabel, the cat with dementia who is still howling all night long, eats her breakfast in peace, then climbs onto one of only four pieces of furniture in the house with fabric on it, and projectile pukes up said breakfast all over that chair AND the carpet.
-Joseph, the rat (Dylan's last birthday present) decided to chew on my finger rather than the pellet I was trying to hand him. Nice, rat, bite the hand that feeds you. To which Dylan responds, "Hmm, he doesn't do that to me. Maybe he likes me more."
-Holly likes to talk. By talk I mean sing. By sing, I mean howling at my head at 6:30 in the morning...in the summer.
-Plus, these animals are in such a routine, thanks to my tad-OCD husband, that ALL animals look at me like I have a mental deficiency...because I am CLEARLY not doing things "the way Daddy does."
WELL...DADDY'S NOT HERE, DAMMIT!
So, we're on day two. I'm behaving as if it's day 47. Day starts at 6:30, and since the kids are in rehearsals for Hairspray, we're not coming home until 9:30, at which point the whole animal process has to start again. After two walks, feeding, cleaning, whatever, it's now too late for even a glass of wine, which means I flop into bed, careful not to disturb Dylan, who has been planning a sleepover with me for weeks and watch a little Rizzoli & Isles. I don't normally sleep very well when Thomas is out of town, but that is exacerbated by a small human who manages to take up and entire king-sized bed. And...he coughs in his sleep...in my face.
On a brighter note, the guinea pigs haven't pissed me off yet.
Help me Obi-Wan Thomas, you're my only hope! Come home soon! We miss you!
It's far worse than that....it's Thomas's out-of-town conference. This leaves me at home...alone...with this:
We are all VERY well aware that I would make the most abysmal single parent. I truly believe that Thomas coincidentally needs to go out of town, by himself, once a year to ensure his proper title of "President of Keeping Mommy's Shit Together."
Inevitably, like Murphy's Law (which I often humbly refer to ) some weird stuff will happen that is either out of the norm, or Thomas is just really good at dealing with on a regular basis (most likely the latter).
I am a terrible cook. I'm a REALLY good baker, but I cannot cook. If any of you compare this to my own mother's cooking, I'm going to shank you.
So, in preparation for Thomas being gone for four days, I loaded my fridge with ready-made wraps and salads from Trader Joe's. In my excitement on non-cooking, I guess I should have asked the kids if this is what they wanted, because apparently my selection resulted in the faces you see in the photo above. They immediately asked for cheeseburgers. The last time I microwaved the cheeseburgers from Costco, the bread turned into bricks. When I threatened that...they said it was better than some of the alternatives.
I'm deadening my children's tastebuds! CRAP! Now what? They'd rather have cardboard cheeseburgers than some of my other choices? They MUST be bad!
This is also the week that Dylan came down with his first cold in 9 months. Of course. He feels like poop, and has turned into a cranky mouth-breather.
This means no swimming, bike-riding, and all the other activities put into place so that my children do not tear each other limb from limb. Excellent. They are now movie-watching couch potatoes...in separate rooms, with me running interference. Mom of the year here!
The animals.
My normal duties do not include animal care. If you remember my article from last year, I swore that I would never ask for another animal again. Thomas is the animal guy, and while I usually deal with the children and lunch (I can make a mean peanut butter and jelly), Thomas is the animal and dinner dude.
So far, in two days:
-Lenox cleaned the cat litter box for me...with his mouth. Then came to me with a beard full of litter, smiling.
-I had to feed Chompers, the cranky bearded dragon. Envision this...10pm, after rehearsal, putting kids to bed when I realize that I haven't fed the prehistoric darling yet. Now picture me trying to swiftly open the enclosure door and flinging lettuce in and trying to shut the glass before he eats us.
-Isabel, the cat with dementia who is still howling all night long, eats her breakfast in peace, then climbs onto one of only four pieces of furniture in the house with fabric on it, and projectile pukes up said breakfast all over that chair AND the carpet.
-Joseph, the rat (Dylan's last birthday present) decided to chew on my finger rather than the pellet I was trying to hand him. Nice, rat, bite the hand that feeds you. To which Dylan responds, "Hmm, he doesn't do that to me. Maybe he likes me more."
-Holly likes to talk. By talk I mean sing. By sing, I mean howling at my head at 6:30 in the morning...in the summer.
-Plus, these animals are in such a routine, thanks to my tad-OCD husband, that ALL animals look at me like I have a mental deficiency...because I am CLEARLY not doing things "the way Daddy does."
WELL...DADDY'S NOT HERE, DAMMIT!
So, we're on day two. I'm behaving as if it's day 47. Day starts at 6:30, and since the kids are in rehearsals for Hairspray, we're not coming home until 9:30, at which point the whole animal process has to start again. After two walks, feeding, cleaning, whatever, it's now too late for even a glass of wine, which means I flop into bed, careful not to disturb Dylan, who has been planning a sleepover with me for weeks and watch a little Rizzoli & Isles. I don't normally sleep very well when Thomas is out of town, but that is exacerbated by a small human who manages to take up and entire king-sized bed. And...he coughs in his sleep...in my face.
On a brighter note, the guinea pigs haven't pissed me off yet.
Help me Obi-Wan Thomas, you're my only hope! Come home soon! We miss you!
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