options

The end of my TFA term is drawing to close. At least that's what I'm telling myself from my bed. The bed that I'm laying in at present because I took an "If I have to come to work tomorrow someone's gonna get shot" Mental Health Day.  Yesterday I absolutely LOST it during seventh period when my students told me a kid in that class had been skipping two days in a row . . . because he didn't do his homework.

The whole day had been a giant, billowing snowball of disappointment, so that took the cake.  This happened just minutes after another student (who had come to school every day this week with no homework) told me it was, and I quote, because, "I'm just too lazy." And who said as much with the absent look of an 11-year-old who's obviously been told this for years, and has apparently adopted the belief (and justification?) for himself. 

It should be noted that, when my students tell me they're "too lazy" or they "forgot" to do their work, I reply with an equally helpful, "I think I'll just forget/be too lazy to pass you to seventh grade." What can I say? I'm the adult in the room, and it's my responsibility to keep the dialogue at a certain level of emotional maturity.

Daily, I call Stephen after work and tell him how much I hate it. And then, also daily, I say, "Stephen, I'm not sure if I mentioned this before, or if you really get it, but my job sucks and I hate it. Did you catch that at any point in our conversations?" To which he usually says, "No kidding?  I hadn't picked up on that. Tell me more about it." He's a good sport. He'd have to be considering that our conversations look something like this:

 

It'd be hard for him to miss certain undeniable facts under those conditions, I feel.

I figure, what with there being 105 days, 5 hours, and 45 minutes until I'm free and untethered by 135 pre-adolescents, I ought to start exploring other options. I'm doing this for the sake of mankind. First, so that you all don't have to read my rantings (as infrequent as they may be) about said situation; second, so that Stephen can have a normal wife, whose conversations align to a more representative framework:

 

He'll need to know what he's getting himself into, after all. 

*Also, my downstairs neighbor has been feeding a squirrel from the palm of her hand for the last four years. And that same squirrel literally stalked me to my apartment three days ago. I don't know how that relates to this conversation, only that it does . . . relate to every conversation I'm ever going to have, ever again.

oh, hey (and stephen)

I'm writing to you from the thoroughly unsupportive cushions of my free (and much appreciated) love seat. Today, I taught the crap out of my students, and I'd really forgotten what that's like: I'm exhausted.

A trip to a neighboring charter school last week (where students, get this, TURN IN HOMEWORK. Mindblowing.) really reminded me why I've been in Oak Cliff, Dallas teaching poor kids for the last year and a half. The things I saw in that classroom showed me that even my seemingly high standards could be higher, and the kids could perform at that level, too. Aren't I so precious and Freedom Writers-like all the sudden? I give it until Spring Break to come crashing down. Nbd.

In other news, the amazingly talented friend and photographer of mine Claire Buys did Stephen and my engagement shots over Christmas break. She graciously let me show a few of them here, but I'm saving the best for the invites. Let's be real 99.99% of you who are reading this will be getting one of those anyway. I mean, right?

Claire's amazing, right? We worked together at BYU Magazine, and were fast friends. When Stephen and I got engaged, I immediately thought of her, and I'm so happy I did.

But, let's not discuss how much anxiety the salmon pencil skirt choice gave me. For days after I figured no one would see anything in the shots but my "birthing hips" as they were so graciously termed the other day . . . by a stranger. Luckily, Claire worked her magic, and all is well.

Enjoy, folks. Stephen's not so bad. (I mean, right?) Purposeful downplaying so as not to feel weird.

memory lane

Because I have, apparently, unlimited amounts of spare time, my mind power has been taken up periodically with thoughts of the truly ridiculous decisions I've made in my 26 years. Wait. . . so, you don't do that? Weird.

Anyway, one of the instagram (that's the what the kids call it, right?) things I randomly saw included a random girl I worked with at one of those big box electronics stores randomly several years ago, who randomly had a friend who came into work on a day I was working, who I then randomly dated for approximately 30 seconds before I made lots of stupid decisions and was like: "HEYYYY!!! I'm CRRAAAAZZZZYYYYY!!! p.s. you should like me!" Then he did for about 15 seconds, and then didn't for the last 15, and it was weird. Except, in my head I was subconsciously sending him telepathic messages that said: "Dude, I totally get it. I mean, what the hell, right?"

I've been thinking about this lately, I guess, because getting married has always been, in my mind, one of those times when you take a kind of tally of Life Before Significant Life Event A and Life After Significant Life Event A, and if all the tally marks in Life Before come out to where they should, the whole getting married thing makes sense and Well Done, You. And if they don't . . . you're an idiot? Something like that. Like, did I really need to kiss that random dude whose name I can't remember, and who I never spoke to again? (Except, I totally never did that, OBVIOUSLY.) And, wow, Sarah, that was a lot of embarrassing situations crammed into a pseudo two-week relationship. Are there awards for these things?

But then again maybe all of that doesn't matter, right? because no matter the meandering (and misguided?) route you took, at least none of those douche bags ended up being your husband? and you stopped with the whole pseudo relationship thing lots of years ago? (Cue "God Bless the Broken Road." That one's for you, Emiley. *Dramatic Pause for Emphasis* You're welcome.)

And, not to spoil it or anything, but now's one of those times I'm going to tell you an "I-sat-next-to-a-random-person-on-an-airplane-and-we-changed-eachothers-lives-forever" stories. Or something? So, in talking to said random person on the plane, I found myself repeating the Sarah C. Adage of Birth - Present. "Yeah, everything's a lot more complicated then I ever thought it would be." (So typically existential for the aforementioned Airplane + Random Stranger + Missionary Experience or Otherwise Life-Altering Conversation.) Which is really true, and which could possibly explain the chasm between what I might perceive my Life Before should have been compared to what it Is.

And, I'm almost 30. And you can laugh at that because I'm well known as the person who calls themselves "almost 27" the day after their 26th birthday, but it's completely true. Like, I'm almost 30, and that's going to be a real thing that's going to happen, and there's not a lot to be done about it. And I'm getting married, to a man who will be my husband, and the choice is made, and it's him, and it's me, and that's what it is. And there's about 98% of my brain that's like: That's so cute that you finally got the neighbor boy to play house with you. Now let's go find the Water Baby and Strawberry Shortcake blanket to wrap it in until Mom makes you tuna for lunch.

So, I'm doing a lot of that tallying, I think, and remembering a lot of the decisions I've made that haven't been "flattering." I think that's a kind word for it.

It probably doesn't matter all that much. There certainly isn't anything to be done about it, that's for sure.

But these are the things I'm thinking about, and I'm assuming you're reading this because what I think about is of interest to you. The end.

wedding plans, general malaise

If you could hear through the interwebs (wait . . .) you'd definitely be hearing the sound of the hacking cough I've had for approximately 6 days now. I'm counting, of course, because when I started feeling quite curious about the amount of (how do I say this delicately?) snot my body was producing, wikipedia told me the common cold lasts anywhere from 5-7 days. I was like, "Nooooo way." The universe (or my cold) heard that and decided to make an example out of me. So, here we are.

I'm in Utah for Thanksgiving break. When the plane landed, I'm fairly certain an angel flew up next to my window seat and gave me a double thumbs up. Could've been the DayQuil, though. Hard to say. 

Basically from the second I got here wedding plans have been in full force. That's all happening April 12th, by the way. Reception venue is nearly booked, save the dates are designed and currently being printed (I'll post those forthwith), and last night I bought my wedding dress. 

We should all just take a pause here for a second and recognize that I just wrote, in all seriousness, and not in a "I saw this dress and I really liked it for, you know, maybe someday," I bought my wedding dress. That's a mind-blowing thing, and I don't know that my limited mental capacity can really handle that at present. Moving on.

Overarching feeling about weddings: ouch. They cost a shit ton of money. I mean, right? And mostly it's weird because the money you're spending isn't yours, which makes it even more awkward and startling how much everything costs. It's like, "Hey, Dad, yeah, this florist charges $2,000 for centerpieces, but those are super important, right?" Uhhh. Awkward laugh and generally feeling way weird about the whole thing.

Luckily, I have some pret-ty amazing friends who are being incredibly generous with their time/talents/ideas/etc. (Hi, Danielle and Michael!), so we're coming in under the gun pretty nicely, I think. In general, though, I totally get the whole justice of the peace idea now.

That's about it, really. Other than the fact that Saturday I move into the apartment Stephen and I will be living in. Just five months early. No big deal. You can thank my soon-to-be ex-roommate for that. And the idea of going back to school on Monday/ever elicits overwhelming nausea. 


Yeah, I think that about covers it! Cheers.

remember . . .

. . . that time I was getting married? Whoa, there it is.

I'm marrying the poet. The one that I broke up with like four months ago and fled to Utah about. The one that I also happened to get back together with shortly after returning from Utah to flee from.

This is the part where I post a picture of us looking deliriously happy. Except I don't have one? We have ZERO (literally) pictures of us together? We're both not picture-takers? Neither of us have Facebook, so we have no motivation? I don't know.

We'll be getting our engagements done soon, so I'll put some up then.

So, yeah. There you go.

I'm excited about it, but conveying that on a blog just feels weird. Just fyi.

things i'm in need of

1) Some sort of head de-fogging machine. You know. That feeling when you've a) eaten too much candy; b) watched too much TV; c) stayed indoors all day long; d) tried to take a nap for too long/actually taken a nap for too long; d) come to think of it, all of those things? One of those machines that gets rid of that sort of stuff.

2) A haircut/professional dye job. Something fierce.

3) A different theme song for Zooey Deschanel's new show. I like her (because aren't I, like, required to because I'm a twentysomething?), but her voice is a no. The show is good, though. I've even laughed out loud a few times. You know? LOL'd? Get it? It's, like, something the kids are saying these days. I don't know.

4) Lesson plans for this week. Okay. Judge me.

5) Someone else to pawn cheerleading off on. I mean, I'm not exactly sure, but it could be because I've been yelled at by parents multiple times already? or that I'm spending more of my brain power thinking about manang those girls than I am my own students? or that I'd really just rather do anything else?

6) A serious massage. Luckily for all of us, I have a year-long membership at Massage Envy here in Dallas. Gabe is my massage therapist and, a GENIUS. He wasn't working today, though, so this grapefruit-sized knot/kink in my neck will have to stay.

7) It to be November 17th. Because that's when I'm going home to Utah for Thanksgiving. And then the heavens will open and the angels will sing. And it will be several days before I'll have something new to complain about.

the updates

1. I always do better with lists when I haven't updated in 100 years, so that's how we're going to approach this.

2. Everyone consoled my first-year blues with, "The second year will be better." I think they actually meant, "The second year will be better as long as you don't get a new principal, don't completely overhaul your curriculum, and don't stupid things like agree to willingly kick it with teenaged females for hours and hours after school." Those bastards left some serious information out.

3. I was super cute last year when I thought spending 9-10 hours a day at school was difficult. Let's just say I'm the first in the parking and the last out.

4. Those cheerleaders have really turned out to be just as delightful as we all thought they'd be. Luckily, my principal wrangled three other teachers to help out, but since I'm the naturally (shall we say) bitchy one, I get to do all the dirty work. This includes, but is not limited to: getting yelled at by teachers and getting yelled at by parents; however, it does not include getting yelled at by the cheerleaders because they know things would get real, real quick if they did.

5. I called the cops on 10 students who broke into a building after school a few weeks ago. Students who, mind you, tried to break in again even as I was standing at the door trying to keep it shut. Things were yelled at me such as, "Call the cops! Call them! They can't touch us!" I have a lot of hope for America's future.

6. All I want to do is sleep. I've never consistently seen 5 a.m. so often in my entire life. I liked it that way.

7. I wish I had funny things to write about to follow up our last post. But mostly I wish it were Thanksgiving break, and by that I mean I wish it were May.

8. My apologies.