I Suppose I'd Better... Catch 'Em All...

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As I learn them, I like to share The Secrets to Marriage that accumulate in my marriage arsenal. Most recently I have discovered that whenever Spouse A comes up with a crazy idea, Spouse B's job is to enthusiastically validate said "crazy idea" while secretly hoping that Spouse A will forget about it in time.

Jeremy does it to me too. Several weeks ago I told him I wanted to be an animal trainer for the movies. I know he was secretly hoping I'd forget that dream and move on. Either that, or he came up with a different solution for me to train "animals," and his newest crazy idea has all been part of a plot to secretly and inadvertantly make my dreams come true.

Jeremy's latest dream?

When he mentioned this to me, I'm not sure I followed through with the "enthusiastic validation" part, but I definitely hoped he'd forget about this ambition.

Jeremy's desire to "Catch 'em all" laid dormant for two weeks, but come finals season and the immense procrastination that comes with, his fervor was reignited like the flame on Charmander's tail. Jeremy carted me to Best Buy to seek vintage Gameboys to fuel his fire, and when that was fruitless, we investigated Game Stop and Mario's as well.

Gameboy-less by the end of the night, Jeremy turned his full and undivided attention to Ebay. I fall asleep in the middle of an epic auction for a pair of backlit gameboys and the Pokemon games in various colors (colors? Is that right?).

At 1:40 AM precisely, a sound literally loud enough to crawl from the bottom of the ocean and wake everyone on land, overtook our apartment. Apparently, panting like a dehydrated dog, I sat bolt upright in bed. Jeremy's eyes casually meandered open.

"Jeremy!? Jeremy!" I gasped, trying to sort through the haze of midnight confusion. "What's going on?"

Without turning off his EPICLY LOUD submarine alarm, Jeremy (jolted alert by a realization, not by the commotion) pounced on his computer, threw open the screen, and consulted Ebay.

"We lost," he moaned morosely and went back to sleep. While I can't remember precisely, I would not be surprised if I turned off the alarm clock.

In the morning, when I was more calm and collected, I woke Jeremy explain the experience. He said not to worry, there were too more auctions at 8:05 and 9:05 AM. And in my calm and collected state, I knew exactly how to react.

I grabbed my pillow. And hit him repeatedly.

And then I grabbed the Nerf Gun we keep next to our bed (from protection from intruders, you know), and shot him copiously with yellow darts.

I shall let the rest of the story explain itself with photographs...

When Jeremy texted this picture out, he wrote, "Christmas!"

And so, perhaps shamefully and yet somehow willingly, Jeremy and I begin our rapid descent into Lame-Lameness. But you know what?

The Script for the Bachelor: Episode 1

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It's no secret. I have a love/hate relationship with The Bachelor. This is my fifth season now, and it's "finally" starting to sink in that there's something rather...scripted about this version of "reality." I now present to you my satiric script of another exciting season of The Bachelor.

Episode 1

(An overblown and highly edited promo, wherein the villains, front-runners, and locations are suggestively revealed.Villains are painted to be ten times worse than they really are. Love stories are dramaticized and overblown. " ________________________ is always the perfect place to fall in love". Somehow we've seen 85 million shots of roses in the first 2 minutes of the episodes, and one shot of a sad, symbolic neglected rose)

VOICE OVER: Welcome to another exciting season of The Bachelor. I'm your host, Chris Harrison (READ: Sleeze bucket of the universe, profit off your tears, Captain Obvious, Mister Ingenuine, Botox Advocate and Recipient). This season promises to be one of the most exciting/dramatic/romantic (read: undescript, unmeasurable adjective) seasons of the Bachelor/ette yet. 

ENTER THE BACHELOR/ETTE: Share your sob story with America. Flashback to the final rose ceremony last season. "I got my heart broken last season, I really did. But I believe in this process, and I know it can work. I really do believe my future wife/husband will be in the room tonight." Find a way to work in an unnecessary swimsuit shot of the Bachelor/ette during the opening credits, so America can see the prize to be won. 

ENTER THE WO/MEN:

"Hello I'm [beautiful, shallow, rich, boring. I will probably make it to a two-on-one date where you will realize that "we just didn't have the connection you were hoping for." I will make it to episode four]."

"Hey. (giggles) How are you? It's so good to finally meet you. I'm [nice, normal, good-looking and down-to-earth. All my attractive, smart, funny qualities will be edited out and replaced with all of our boring conversations about past relationships]. I can't wait to talk to you tonight."

(Comes in with a cringe worthy prop or costume and explains how it relates to some ridiculous metaphor for love. READ: Makes fool of self. Will forever be branded as: Guy with the egg, girl who tried to do a back handspring and flopped over instead/ guy with the slipper/girl with tie in her bra and a 50 Shades of Grey fetish/ guy in the grandma costume. Leaves a cringe-worthy impression. Either exits on the first night, or is given a rose to keep viewers intrigued.)


LATER THAT EVENING: Men appear to bond. At least one woman ends up crying in a bathroom.Usually two drunk people go home.

CUT TO THE ROSE CEREMONY: All the slightly non beautiful people go home. We see the EXACT SAME PROMO as the beginning of the episode. 

...And for some reason...we come back for more.  Because the episode where every single girl admits that she is "falling in love with you" is somehow thrilling every time.

Why I Am Going To Die of a Heart Attack.

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Excuse me, I know this is sooo Utah of me, but if I could dip the world in Ranch dressing, I would. I love Ranch Dressing. 

I wasn't raised on the stuff. Ranch, like Lucky Charms or Hamburger Helper, never made it into our family grocery cart when I was growing up. In fact, I grew up snubbing Ranch.

Nose upturned, I would order at restaurants in my "Daughters of the American Revolution" voice. "I'll have It-ah-lian, please."

It wasn't until college when my roommates and I decided (for some completely unknowable reason) to go to TGIFridays. We ordered an appetizer--fried green beans. Our server tried to entice us into a big tip by making fun of other customers' Utan tendency to smother and suffocate their entrees with a healthy dose of Hidden Valley. And the whole time he was making fun of Ranch eaters,  I was thinking how MIND BLOWING "Ryancth" (this was how he said Ranch in his mock Utah Valley accent) sounded right about then.

Me (after his bit had gone on for a while): "Um, excuse me?" I asked, nose turned downward since I was appropriately shamed. "But could I please have some ranch to dip these in?"

Him: "Are you serious?"

Me: (barely audible) "... yes."

Since then, I have developed a reverent adoration for the dressing, and I don't think twice about drowning, dipping, slathering, and spreading Ryantch on everything. Salad is just the tip of the iceberg (pun not intended, but still appreciated)!

And speaking of socially unacceptable eating habits, I've recently realized--to my utmost shame and horror--that cheeseburgers are my favorite food of all time. And a ranch smothered cheeseburger... Oh heavens.

Either that, or it's the time of the month.

But seriously, doesn't this look AMAZING right about now?

The Schlemiel and Schlamazel

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Artless Foreshadowing: I have a vertical second degree burn--currently blistering--in an unspeakable location.

My sister and I? We're spillers. We spill things. We spill a lot of things.

The list of things we spill includes (but is not limited to):

-Nail polish
-Milk (no matter how far down in the gallon you go)
-Oil
-Corn (Did you know corn could be spilled? It can. We don't discriminate solids)

Anyways, this list is getting tired, but you get the idea. After the dinner plates are cleared from the table, you can often tell where Bethany or I sat because of the debris--crumb casualties-- left behind on the placemat.

Several of my students have a tally in their notebook: How many times will water dribble out from the sides of Penrod's lips while she drinks from her waterbottle with the overlarge opening? The count is up to 27--that's just one class period.

I'm a spiller. 

So today, I was on the couch having something of a moan session because a girl needs a moan session every now and then. Sensitive husband Jeremy brought me tomato soup--extra hot because we'd had a debate about water or milk in the soup while the soup was on the burner. He slid it to me sweetly and I continued to moan at a slumped-over angle, because you can't have a real moan in an upright position. To moan properly, there needs to be a healthy amount of slumping. 

Before I knew it, the soup was spilling--because that's what I do--over the rim of our plastic blue bowls and down the rim of my shirt and into a... sensitive area that doesn't get a lot of exposure to the cruel realities of the world. My bra. The soup spilled down my bra, ok!? You get to decide where my vertical burn is currently taking place.

And so here I am, howling, sobbing and screaming, "Ow! Ow! Ow!" and Jeremy looks confused but I can't get up and get myself a wet paper towel because there's a hot bowl of soup in my hands and Hufflepuff has camped out in my PJ pants because sometimes she likes it there, and so I'm bawling loudly, tears streaming without restraint and strangely-ironically--I am also laughing because that's when it it hit me:



...I am both Schlemiel and Schlamazel.

...And my boobs hurt.

Blog of Disparagement

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Believe it or not, my job doesn't consist of a bunch of students standing on our desks and yawping barbarically all the time--like I wish it did (and if you don't get the reference, repent immediately by renting Dead Poets Society). My job doesn't consist of every student waiving their Hermione Hands all around until I call them so they can express some longwinded thought. Believe it or not, my classroom is not all love notes all the time.

Sometimes kids fall asleep in my class. And I'm not a thick-skinned enough veteran enough to say it happens to the best of us, even though I remember falling asleep in Mr. Klinger's class in high school even though he was awesome.

Sometimes (ok, a lot of the time) students don't turn in their homework.

And sometimes (ok, a lot of the time) I feel like a just plain crap teacher with a mountain to climb and no shoes to climb it with. 

Today, for no particular reason I suppose, I feel discouraged. Sometimes, teaching is like that. Today there will be no yawping for me. 

12-12-12: Feeling Blessed this Birthday

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I feel so blessed this birthday. Honestly one of the best.

Recently I watched a television show (Save Emily Owens MD!) that poked a little bit of fun at "birthday people." They mentioned that having a birthday was not an accomplishment, so why celebrate?

To which I respond, because I like to! I like birthdays. I like your birthday and my birthday. Do I feel a little embarrassed that I not so tactfully hinted to my students that my birthday was coming up? Probably less embarrassed than I should, because my students were unbelievably kind to me on my birthday... and I won't lie, that felt wonderful.

I realized that I remember very little about last year's birthday, so allow me to record mine this year for posterity's sake since my physical journal has become an obsolete joke this year.

The week started a little early with the Penrod's in town. We had so much fun (the family had a lot to celebrate!) and my in-laws gave me some AMAZING speakers for my classroom (rocking my educational world right there) and some adorable hedgehog magnets. I've been feeling especially grateful for my Penrod family lately. They have really helped me feel welcome into their lives, and are such generous, good people.

Chloe Noelle and I celebrated both of our birthdays on Monday by going to see a chick flick that we would not feel comfortable dragging our men too. Chloe has long taken objection with my socks, and so sometime this year (she can't remember when) she wrote in her planner to buy me socks on December 12. She found me hedgehog socks.








Kristy, my gorgeous, perfect sister-in-law made me one of the coolest presents I've ever received, in addition to the most perfect cupcakes known to man. Ladies and gentlemen, my Mark Twain shirt! I love it so much. I immediately recognized this man who I've grown a close bond to since I started teaching high school English.

.  

I have a bad sense of "delayed gratification." I like to peek at my presents and open them as soon as I know that a present exists. Thus, my mom made me promise not to open my presents until 12-12-12 this year. Obviously, I waited, but opened my present at 5:00 AM. And it was so cute--a complete 12-12-12 care package! 12 cups of hot cocoa, twelve beauty treatments, twelve gorgeous shades of eyeshadow and a few other trinkets.  My night concluded with my mom and dad "counting the years away," an important Robinson family tradition. It's not a birthday without someone counting the years away.

My students spoiled me ALLLL day long. One period sang the worst rendition of Happy Birthday that has ever been sung. It was delightful. Other students dropped by for a quick hello, wrote on my board,  and all my students first hour got together and signed a birthday card for me (I can't post it because there are too many names on it, and that violates privacy laws). Other students made cards, brought in homemade goodies, cupcakes from the Sweet Tooth Fairy, and sparkling cider. Penrod's Army brought in Krispy Kremes and notes, and even made shirts. It was... maybe the most loved I've ever felt by non-family in my entire life.

I had to edit her face for privacy reasons, but I just got such a kick out of this shirt and I had to show it. 

That night, I knew I had a puppy coming through a new service called Rent-A-Puppy. Jeremy was trying to surprise me with it, but I weaseled it out of him. I was giddy about it all day long. When Jeremy got home from a long day of taking finals, we first went out to dinner at my favorite restaurant in Provo, La Jolla Groves. Then came Charlie, our springer spaniel mix, and boy was that an educational experience. Charlie was as wild as a puppy could be. She chewed on everything in sight, piddled in several choice locations, nipped at my toes, and ate Hufflepuff's food. I loved it! Jeremy was... relieved when the rental hour was over.

Charlie seeks a friend in Hufflepuff and goes away unrewarded.  

Afterwards, Jeremy bunkered down to get some studying done and I celebrated with Hufflepuff. Because what photo dump isn't complete without a picture of my hedgehog?

She was hiding under my birthday notes because Charlie made her nervous. 

The next night, me and my closest friends celebrated four December birthdays! Alysse, Sean, Preston and I all have birthdays in December so we did what was only natural... returned to the place where it all began. We went to Tucanos, and even though I definitely had my share of horror stories from working there, that place was such an answer to prayers at the time, and I am so grateful I worked there because I met some of the closest friends I've ever had.

We missed you Michelle, Creighton, Dana and Dallan!

This is Brooke and Alysse in front of their legendary Employee of the Month pictures. Unless I am much mistaken, none in our clan was ever actually named Employee of the Month. We toyed around with the idea of pulling out our old uniforms and name tags and sliding a few of our own pictures in the frame... I'm not opposed to it.

The night concluded with, what I believe is my final birthday present. This glorious piece of wonderful is from Tiffany. It is my first snuggie and I love it dearly. Currently Jeremy has kidnapped it while he studies for finals... and he also is wearing one of those face masks from my mom, but don't tell him I told you that. 

All in all, an epicly good birthday.

To My Students at Christmas time, Because there are at least twelve of you creepy kids who have (confessed that you) googled my name, found my blog, my twitter, my instagram, and my facebook, and at least six of you who are probably reading this now. Weirdos.

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To my students at Christmastime: What do I want you to know most? About English? About High School? About Life?

I want you to know that Mark Twain was a social critic and that satire is funny, and that it's ok to use a strategic fragment every now-and-again. I want you to know that reading is exercise and writing is playtime, but either way, they're both good for your soul. I want you to know that it's ok to think deep, to think different, to think long, and to think hard. And that you don't have to like Nathaniel Hawthorne, but you DO have to appreciate the way the man can turn a phrase.

I want you to know that it's true what they say: it only get's better after High School. And no one will care if you were "cool" in high school; in fact, it's a little cool-lame that you were "cool" in high school, if you know what I mean. But I want you to know, as good as it is going to get after high school, some of your best and favorite memories will come from the time you skipped class to help a friend, that late night hot chocolate run to Will's Pit Stop with the person you swore you'd love forever but post-high school become mere acquaintances. You will always remember the time you rushed the field and cried because your team won state. You will look back with fondness and the trials you cringe to think about now because these defining moments helped you Come of Age. You'll remember. You'll be glad they happened.

I want you to know that in life, what's most important is not Facebook, or your brand new car, or your lack of car, or even the grades that I desperately want you to care about. What's important about life is not you. Other people are most important. You don't see them yet. It is the student in the lunch room with no friends. It is your mom after she does your laundry. It is your future spouse and your one-day children. It is someone you don't know yet, but that you have the power to bless infinitely.

You, students, are my "other people." YOU are one of the most important reasons for my life right now.

Merry Christmas, dear students. I am feeling awfully grateful for you today.

...I'm way too sappy about my job. But seriously, everyone should be an English teacher.