A Very Clever Coworker

I am so lucky to teach with a lot of fun girls. One of my dearest pals, Marinda, is a literacy coach with me. One of our jobs is to order books for the classroom teachers to use with their students. We are always getting huge orders, and many orders of books come with strange things. One of our orders arrived in a giant, zip around portfolio-type thing. Once we unpacked the books, Marinda and I talked about what we should do with such an odd contraption. We decided we would leave it out in the hallway for a teacher to take. As I left yesterday, I casually mentioned that Sweet T would be visiting this weekend, and that wedding planning would be in full swing. When I arrived at school this morning, I saw that Marinda had "repurposed" the portfolio for my use. I'm thinking of bringing this to meet with a wedding coordinator. I think it would be a great way to let some poor soul know just how sarcastic I am.

An Engagement Story

This post will be a departure from my usual sassiness and sarcasm, as I am simply smitten, and gloriously happy. This weekend I got engaged to the most wonderful man I have ever met. I am so blessed that he came into my life, and I must say that it was after many years of praying and hoping that there was someone out there who would love me just for me, and with all of his heart. Thankfully, that person is Sweet T, and on Saturday, February 13th, he told me that he wanted me to be his wife.

He took me to the Opryland Hotel in Nashville, for a special Valentine's Day getaway. We checked into our lovely room, overlooking the Delta Atrium, and Sweet T promptly told me to take a nap, that I would not get my gift for bit. He brought out some champagne, and started to put it on ice. I was very thrilled, as I love champagne!

Here he is, preparing to ice a bit o' bubbly.

Here I am, enjoying the view, after surprisingly refusing to nap. I wanted to enjoy the view, and have 2-6 glasses of coconut rum and Diet Coke that we brought from home. I was completely oblivious to anything at this point.

Fast forward, this is the aftermath of the question. After begging for my gift, which was a big red box, I was told to put on the dress I brought for dinner and then got sit on the balcony. 5 minutes later, Sweet T arrived with that little glass of candy hearts. I went to snag one, and inside was a sterling silver heart with "Marry Me" engraved on it, and my fabulous ring tied to it with a ribbon. I would love to say that I listened as Sweet T poured out his heart. Actually, as he was bent down on one knee, I grabbed his face, squeezed it really hard, and then starting shaking and shrieking. I said "YES!!!!" and then shoved that ring on my finger. We were hugging, laughing, shaking, etc. and then he brought in the red box. It was actually a set of lovely champagne flutes from his parents, along with a handwritten toast from them. We got out the champagne, and sipped as we looked at this view.

Minutes of bliss passed before I jumped up and ran screaming into the room, "I have to call my mom and dad! I have to call Katie and Chip! I have to call Robby." Sweet T laughed as I ran inside to grab my cell phone.

My precious.

Here I am discussing the situation with my brother, who was thrilled. I couldn't reach my parents, since they were ironically at a wedding. I quickly learned that they already knew.

This is me talking to my brother in law, the one and only Chip Kenworthy. "I'm getting married!!!" I screamed. Chip, ever cool and collected quipped, "Bets, congratulations. I can honestly say that I never thought I would see this day." He is a hoot, you see.

First photos as an engaged couple taken with the self-timing camera.

We met Rusty and Mary Fran for cocktails, and MF was completely shocked, as her husband knows she can't keep a secret, so she was not informed. We are very similar in that regard.

We had a wonderful dinner at the Old Hickory Steakhouse and were treated to a lovely meal by Rusty and Mary Fran and Rusty's parents, Tom and Carol.

This is the next morning, the first of many phone calls from my mother, Jane. Let the planning commence!

Forever 21

I did something today that I have been thinking about for a long time. In lots of my magazines there are cute little tops and dresses, and those items are usually listed as "Budget Friendly" and come from stores like Forever 21, Charlotte Russe, and H &M. Where were this mystical places that sell trendy clothes for a fraction of what I would normally pay for duds? It turns out these stores reside in my city, so today I set out to try my hand at Forever 21.

I was a tad nervous walking into the store. The girl who greeted me appeared so youthful that she must have been dropped off for her Saturday job by her mom. She had a smug look on her face. I know this look because Jane used to drop me off at the Dairy Queen when I was 15, and I wore a similar expression that could easily be read as, "I'd totally rather be with my boyfriend right now, engaged in some heavy petting."

As I quietly skulked around the store, I tried to remain inconspicuous. Hopefully there were no scanners that could read age from a distance.

I found a cute striped top and went to reach for it. "Excuse me," said a little high pitched voice. I had not touched the hanger, but had instead brushed the hand of a CHEERLEADER. Yes, complete with a tight short skirt and a face painted with the initials of her high, possibly middle school. I was getting spooked.

I found a couple of tops and headed to the solace of the dressing room. There was no reprieve from the endless barrage of juvenile comments in that cubicle. To my left I heard, "Mom, when are we going to go shopping for prom?" To my right, "My roots are gross, I have to get them done before our composite pictures are taken next week." These girls were so busy. My life of paying my mortgage, combing my cat, and sipping soy chai tea lattes suddenly seemed so inadequate.

What should I do? I was left with only one option. I had to take dressing room pictures modeling the two tops, send them to Courtney, and wait for the verdict. Her response? "The tops are cool, but you look like a serial killer with that expression." Ah, at least my BFF is still in high school with her sassy attitude. I left with 2 tops, valued at $27.92. I can afford those on my DQ salary.

A Random Act of Cartwheeling

I was at work today, and had a funny little experience. I was sitting at my desk, which is right by the door and looks out into the 3rd grade hallway. The position of my desk leads to unavoidable greetings by children throughout the day, which can be annoying after about the 50th, "Hey Miss ..., what are you doing?" "Well, if you must know, child, I am shopping the mid day dash sale at Neiman Marcus.com, and hoping the school district isn't monitoring my computer usage."

But seriously, when I was working at my desk around 11 a.m, I witnessed a hoot of an incident. A very vivacious and free spirited 3rd grader named Rubi came bouncing down the hall. I watched as Rubi did a quick little scan of the hallway. She surmised that she was its only occupant. She did not see me perched behind my desk, sitting there just like a spider, ala Scarlett O'Hara. A smile spread across her little 8 year old face as her hands shot up by her ears. Drum roll.....CARTWHEEL!!!!! Oh, and a very poorly executed one at that. She rose back to her feet, looking quite triumphant until she locked eyes with me.

My first reaction was to roll out of my chair in laughter. No, no, that was my second thought, right after running out and challenging her with a round off backhand spring. I had to resist both urges and remember my role as a model of good choices. The disciplining went something like this:

Betsy: Rubi, come in here please.

(Rubi sheepishly enters my room.)

Betsy: Rubi, did you just do a carthwheel?

Rubi: Yes.

Betsy: Why on earth did you do that?

Rubi: I dunno, I guess I wanted to.

Betsy: What are our hallway expectations?

Rubi: (verbatim) To not do cartwheels in the hallway?

Betsy: Well, no, that is not one of our hallway expectations. We like to keep our rules simple, so our expectation is that you walk in the hallway. If you are walking, you can't possibly be cartwheeling. Save those for recess.

Oh, sweet, sweet Rubi. I don't often do cartwheels anymore, but sometimes my 29 year old brother plays with toys.

I do interpretive dances with hippies.

I also pretend to bird watch sometimes.
I also wear tutus.
I do not judge you, Rubi.

2007: The Year of The Cat

I have long been a cat lover. I have also suffered the stigma of living alone with a cat. My friends teasingly have called me "The Crazy Cat Lady" for a long time. I always thought that was an unfair stigma. If I had a dog, no one would comment. I also only had ONE cat, hardly warranting a label of "crazy." During the summer of 2007, I decided to take on that name with pride, if only temporarily. 2007 will forever be known as THE YEAR OF THE CAT. Here is my story.

One lovely afternoon in May my dear mother called me. "Oh, Bets. There is this wonderful kitty who is homeless that is hanging around the house. She is orange and white and has long fluffy hair. She's tiny and sweet as pie. You should totally take her." At this point in the conversation, I was pondering both how Kashmir would react, and also how my friends would react. Could I handle two cats in 1187 square feet of living space? I would have to meet the kitty cat to decide. I headed home that weekend. So despite years of personal development, I have still turned into my mother (this is on a magnet on my fridge). Jane was right. The cat was stinkin' precious. She was lovey dovey, a purrer, and loved to be held. She was the antithesis of aloof puss Kashmir. "This cat must be mine, " I proclaimed. I stuffed that kitty cat right into a pet taxi, and we headed home.

Now I wish I could say Kashmir welcomed her with open paws. Such was not the case. There was hissing, there was swatting and there was some serious catterwalling. Kashmir was pissed. Tufts of feline fur rolled like tumbleweeds along my hardwood floors as they romped and rolled through the house. At 3 a.m. Things were not fun. However, I was determined to keep Mimosa, as she had been named. They would be friends, dammit. I was certain of it. Weeks went by, and the brawls continued, interspersed with bouts of silence and stand offs. I kept thinking I had to get that cat to the vet, but it was summer and I had a lot going on, what with not working and having standing pilates appointments and dates with InStyle magazines. Let's just say I was busy.

Fast forward a few more weeks. Was Mimosa getting fat? Her hips look wider, I thought. She's like twice the size that she was when I brought her home. I see her up at night, eating things like pickles and ice cream, and damn, she seems a bit irritable. WHAT??????? Oh, dear lord, my cat is knocked up! The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. CRAP! I thought of "taking care of the problem." Perhaps Johnny knows a doctor who will be in town for just a few days, and he has a folding table and a dirty knife. NO, NO, NO. This wasn't Dirty Dancing, and being Catholic and all, kitten disposal was not really an option. No, we were going to have these kittens. Mimosa may be unemployed and unwed, but she does have the support of her mother (me). We can do this, we don't need no stinkin' men. That's what I told her, even though I was crying inside. I had to be strong for my cat, you see.

Mim's next few weeks were cake. Once I knew she was preggers, and I called her a loose skank a few times, proclaiming my disappointment in her lack of self-control, I started treating her like a queen. She got lots of meow treats and didn't have to do any heavy lifting. She slept about 23 hours a day, up from her usual 22. I looked up information via the interweb, and prepared a whelping box, for birthing. I had no idea how far along she was, so I just watched her each day, and waited. As I waited, my fears grew and grew. What if Mim is not having kittens? What if she was victimized by a band of mad raccoons? My fears became irrational, and my patience waned.

On the day of delivery, I was actually not home. My brother was staying at my house with his girlfriend, and he called me in a panic. "Betsy, my god, get home quick. Mim's in labor!!!!!" When I got home, Rob's account was simple: "Damn cat jumped up on the bed, made a horrible noise, bit me, then ran off." This clearly meant she was in labor, yet she was not in her perfectly Martha Stewart-prepared whelping box. Where the f was the cat? Rob and I split up and scoured my enormous home. We eventually located the cat UNDER THE KITCHEN SINK, WRITHING AND HISSING AMIDST BOTTLE OF CLOROX AND PALMOLIVE. We cleared out the toxic chemicals and made more room for the birthing queen. Now remember, neither one of us had any formal cat delivery training. I couldn't afford Lamaze for Mim, due to my InStyle subscription and love of Starbucks. Yes, we would have to do this on our own.

"Boil some water and tear up some sheets, "I commanded to Rob. "Put a knife under her, it cuts the pain in two." All my birthing knowledge came from Gone with the Wind and Little House on the Prairie. It turns out cats can give birth on their own. Humans don't really have to do anything. As soon as one popped out, she would lick it clean and then it would lay there like a dead rat. Rob and I would scoot it up next to her for warmth. The whole process took about 2 hours. 2 hours later, I was the owner of 6, count 'em, 6 cats. Mimosa was the proud mother of 4 kittens. It could have been worse. She could have had 12. I was actually a bit relieved.

The next 8 weeks were busy. Kashmir was even more annoyed. I became that weird woman asking random people if they wanted a free kitten. That was awkward. I'm proud to say that the Betsy Adoption Agency placed all 4 of those kittens in good homes. I knew everyone personally who adopted, so I knew they weren't going to be fed to snakes. By the time I returned to school that fall, I was back to 1 cat. Mimosa headed back to my parents' to be an outdoor kitty, since she really never adjusted to indoor life. Louie, Bella, Mulligan and Indy are all leading happy lives, and now I'm back to being the Crazy Cat Lady, with a great story to tell.

*this blog entry is endorsed by the Bob Barker Society for Spaying/Neutering your pets

Mim and her babies

Not a Good Day in the Neighborhood

My day has not been so fun. It all stems from home ownership and this most wonderful cold snap that we are currently experiencing with the weather. My day started out poorly when I simply tried to leave my house. I'm sure everyone wants to know what my house looks like, so I am posting this picture for your viewing pleasure. I've been told my house looks like something out of a children's book. See below:

Psyche! This is actually the groundskeeper's cottage from a park in London. This was taken when I visited there back in 2007. But how jealous would you be if this really was my house? Moving on...

This is more like it. This is the actual abode where I reside. I removed the heinous old-timey aluminum awnings 2 summers ago, but can't find an updated picture. When I pulled them off I placed them behind my garage so that I could take them to the aluminum man and get the $0.94 that I'm sure they were worth. When I awoke the next morning, someone had beaten me to it. That's right, I was robbed of my 1950's aluminum awnings by some heavy metal thieves. I felt violated. Anyway, along with those aluminum awnings comes ORIGINAL ALUMINUM WINDOWS. Yes, you heard me right.

I also have a slopey driveway that is damn near impossible for me to summit with my hot sassy B. Fraulein simply cannot traverse the driveway when it snows. As I tried to leave this morning, I found myself rolling backwards with the zeal and speed that my sister displayed when she used to rollerskate at the Wigwam as a 10 year old. I cried. I cursed. I was helpless. So I called this guy:

Meet Mark. He's married to Marinda, one of my dear BFFs. He is about 6'4'' and a firefighter. I know. Fabulous. He also can fix anything. He fixes my car, caulks my bathtub, paints my cabinets, etc. He's a jack of all trades. I love him. So, when Frau rolled back down, I called Mark in tears. Within 10 minutes he showed up to bail me out. He was like Paul Bunyan in my driveway this morning. Brute strength, I tell you. He dug me out and I journeyed on to school.

My weather woes continued when I got home. As you know from my previous posts, I recently got a new furnace. Francine is keeping me much warmer. However, I still have ORIGINAL ALUMINUM WINDOWS. They are a bit drafty. I give you a photo of my office as it looks normally ( please note the advanced degrees on the wall).

This is what my windows look like now! Witness me saran wrapping my windows! It involves tape, a piece of plastic, and my hairdryer! This is a fabulous, low cost alternative to replacing your old, drafty windows with new, energy-efficient windows. There are literally no drawbacks to this plan. My windows are covered with lovely sheets of plastic. I also can't open my blinds until April, since they are saran wrapped closed. It is way too difficult to try and get the plastic sealed UNDER the blinds. Geez! So a little bit warmer, but no natural sunlight until the spring. I can't wait!

New Year's Eve 2009

Sweet T and I headed to visit my crazy family for a couple of days, including New Year's Eve. We stayed Wednesday night and Thursday night, and both days were filled with lots of fun.

We celebrated Caroline's 3rd birthday two days late with some fun Target purchases. She got a sassy new dress and some fun wooden blocks. This photo was taken mere seconds after I threatened not to give her a gift if she didn't take that baby papi out of her mouth. I am learning more that my threats are worthless concerning Caroline. Her will is strong and her resolve amazing. Her negotiation skills are Churchhill-esque.

Oh, look, we just made up. No wait, I folded like a cheap stadium seat. Foiled again by the Tennessee Tyrant!

Here she strategizes about her home construction. Please note her position. She sits with her true love while Aunt Bee is solo.

Our day got busier and busier. Since my wits were no match, I decided I would defeat this child with my physical prowess, and exhaust her into a nap. Guess who else is no match for this child? That's right, Jillian Michaels. She did the ENTIRE video. The superman move was not a challenge. Her query: "What's next, Bee?"

"Sumo squats, Caroline." Again, no sign of fatigue. She is not of this earth, I tell you.

No sign of fatigue until she is coaxed into watching Strawberry Shortcake with Sweet T. Suddenly, she is very tired!

NYE started out tamely, with Caroline and Luke stacking cups like crazy children.

We also got to meet Lee Perry, child spawn of Sweet T's BFF, Craig. This baby was precious, and very easy going. He also is an exact replica of his father. Evidence pictured below:

See? Here is his daddy looking shocked as Sweet T loads a shot with pure grain alcohol. All 34 year old men do this, right?

Then one adds fire. Brilliance, I say! Baby Perry had been removed from the scene before these shenanigans started. These two fools were involved in making Flaming Doctor Pepper shots, a shot of Disarronno, a smidge of pure grain alcohol for very safe flammability, and then a small glass of beer to drop it in. I'm sure everyone is going to try to make these now.

I didn't take one of these, but I did eat about 1/2 of that pan of brownies pictured above. Jillian would have screamed in my face. Happy New Year!!!!