Patience Is A Virtue

pa·tience

  [pey-shuh ns]

noun

1.

the quality of being patient, as the bearing of provocation,annoyance, misfortune, or pain, without complaint, loss of temper, irritation, or the like.

2.

an ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay: to have patience with a slow learner.

3.

quiet, steady perseverance; even-tempered care; diligence: to work with patience.

I may not be able to ribbon dance, do a cartwheel, or bedazzle a pair of jeans, but I can show patience.  When people are blocking me in the bread aisle at Target, I don't see it as a battle zone.  I simply wait as they make a crucial life decision: white or wheat.  When I ask my students if there are any questions and one of them raises their hand with a story I chose to listen because chances are I'm going to need him or her to erase my board at some point.  No body wants a disgruntled board eraser.  They leave streaks.  However today, I found myself feeling insecure about my personality's pride and joy: patience.  

• I realized that if I try to cook soup in a pot or in the microwave I never wait long enough for it to get past warm.  Yet, I don't complain about the fact I'm eating cold soup three bites in.  So, in fact, I didn't actually show annoyance or irritation. Frankly, I'm pleased my lip and tongue aren't singed and I'm still able to taste in case a dessert situation presents itself. 
• I blow-dry my hair in segments.  I get bored after a couple minutes, turn it off and do something else.  Usually it takes me about 5 spurts to get my hair 90% dry.  The remaining moisture is sucked out as I straighten it.  How can I be sure?  I hear a sizzle sizzle sizzle.  Although it takes me much longer because I'm not willing to do it in one sitting, I'd like to silver line it and say that I am in fact showing patience here.  I'm showing steady perseverance through the heat and loud noises. 
• I stopped at Target after the gym.  As I was going through the checkout the cashier was a curious cat.  My nail polish purchase sparked a conversation on how it's her "one girly allowance to self."  Although, I wasn't really sure what that meant I told her that I totally understood and I was the same way.  Somehow this lead into a conversation about how I hope I have little girls some day that can play with a barbie and bounce a ball.  I think I was trying to show her I was an athlete and not high maintenance, but it came off more like I was attempting to solicit a new friend.  She confronted me with delay, but instead of presenting her with an attitude, I found myself engaging her in a verbal exchange that felt more like a Dear Abby letter than casual conversation.

Yet, upon closer examination I realize I'm even more patient than I thought.  Talk about peacocking.  I fear my feathers are so ruffled I won't be able to comfortably rest in my bed tonight...

Bret Michaels??? Right Here, Right Now...

An impromptu lunch date with Stephanie turned awkward due to her lack of self awareness in terms of voice levels and facial expressions.  My curiousity got the best of me when she told me to look behind me because "it's worth it."  First off, I should have refused to look because she failed to use her inside voice, but I'm a people pleaser. 

 

This face should have given it all away, Lauren.  Honestly, does that look say "Hey, turn around, you're about to gain something from this." or "Hey, turn around, I'm about to involve you in something socially inappropriate".  Right. That's what I thought.

Once I realized she was overwhelmed by the Bret Michaels version of a Barry Manilow fanilow, I had already made eye contact with the hungry gentleman.  Literally, the ensemble and swagger this man was rockin was Brett Michaels circa 1993.  I feared making this already awkward situation further uncomfortable so I decided to commit to it.  I stared at that door for about 30 seconds with a perplexed look on my face.  I was trying to appear as though I were doing a high level calucation in my head rather than propositioning him with a stare down like I suspect Steph was trying to facilitate.  The combination of church giggles, and Stephanie trying to turn around and take a picture of him painted the wrong picture for my new friend.  Knowing that I'm more discreet and that my sister won't back away from capturing something she finds funny, I told her I'd take a picture.  Trying to be sneaky I turned my sound off so he wouldn't hear the "shuchtsh" sound.  As my flash went off and commanded his attention I realized there was no possible way to make this situation better.  I guess the real Brett Michaels was really on to something with that song.  Eating lunch with my sister was beautiful, but a little prickly..."Every Rose Has It's Thorn...."

But, honestly, who turns to that degree?  What she calls really committing would have spooked anyone.  A simple twist or an "oops, I dropped by napkin" move would have sufficed.   Also, if you take a close look over my should, hiding casually just behind the chips (see below), you'll see that he more than appreciated her longing stare, and he reciprocated nicely.
The only thing I'll apologize for is how obvious I'm being in this last picture because pointing my head was unnecessary, and I'm not sure that pretending to be on my phone was sneaky either.  Regardless,  you can see him in all his glory.  You didn't need me. 

 

 

New Employee at Caribou: His 1st & Last Day?

For most people, the first day of work can be intimidating.  Usually one would any extra flair in conversation and focus on efficiency in front of their new boss.  Yet, there are such rarities in life as 4 leave clovers.   Just moments ago at the Caribou Coffee drive thru, I had the privilege of encountering one of them first hand.  He came in the form of an overly peppy preppy who decided to shun social norms with an unnecessarily lengthy interaction. 

New Guy: "Hi.  Can you hold up for just a sec?"

Me: "Absolutely!" (I chose to ignore the fact that I looked up to see no cars ahead of me in the drive thru)

New Guy: "Ok, hey there, how's it going.  Can I start you off with a breakfast sandwich, oooo I mean what can I get for you?"

Me: "I'm great, how are you? (I'll admit I failed to pause to hear how he was, but I rationalized he was getting paid to ask how I was and probably could care less about my current emotional state) Can I get a small light roast coffee, and a diet coke?

New Guy: "Wow, hmmmm, that's a weird combination.  I wasn't expecting that.  A little hot and cold."

Me: "Oh, haha, I know, I'm fun like that."

New Guy: I guess we don't have light roast right now, I just asked, but luckily we do have a reindeer dark roast blend. 

Me: (I'm pretty sure his microphone never clicked off and I failed to hear him ask, but as a tip of the hat to Rudolph and this "Reindeer Blend" he spoke of I told him that it sounded like the best and that I'd take it.)

As I drove up to the window I saw my super happy helper being shamed by his superior.  The manager was asking him how long the guy behind me was waiting.  The manager also told my new little buddy that he needs to take orders as fast as he can and to do his best not to forget about the guy in the drive thru this time.  I sensed some hositility in the delivery of that gentle reminder.  It was at this moment I had time to notice the new guy's nametag.  I'd love to have you invest in my experience further by sharing with you his name, but I was too distracted by the "day changer or day maker" that he had hand written underneath.  I can't remember which one because the next few moments were so overwhelmingly magical.

New Guy: (completely rebelling against the urgency in his manager's voice) "Hey there!  So.....what's the answer to the trivia? " Go ahead take a peek (pointing to the window.)

TRIVIA: What president had a pet bear while in office?

Me: (My biggest fears are conflict and seeing people in uncomfortable situations.  Even though this guy appeared to be oblivious I still felt I shouldn't get him deeper into trouble by thinking through it, but trivia is trivia and winning is winning.  So I took a minute before responding.  I all of the sudden had a flash of Teddy Roosevelt holding a gun and went with it.)   "Ahhh, Roosevelt?"

New Guy: Bingo Bango!!!!! (He could not have looked more excited for me)

Me: Sweet! I'm a teacher and totally plan on peacocking this at snack tomorrow!

He factored in my trivia answer discount after taking my money, which then required him to give me change back.  He had to open a new roll of coins.  Which added more time to our transaction, which then provoked apologizing on my part for not just giving him my credit card to save time.  He said "you stop it.  Didn't ruin my day." As I prepared to drive off he proudly shouted at me:

 "You go tell your teachers you just rocked it! Woooooo!"

He obviously stopped listening.  I'm going to tell my students I rocked it, new guy,  not my teachers.  At this point correcting him wasn't an option, he had won me over with his Barney-esque approach to life.   All I could do is "wooooo" back at him while doing a mini fist pump. 

Tomorrow I plan to adopt his way of life.  When my kids are doing the potty dance, I will take my time addressing his or her bathroom request.  I'll refuse to band-aid a paper cut in record time.  And when a student shows me he or she has appropriately identified supplementary angles, I'll simply reply "bingo, bango, you just rocked that."

***My choice in color with the text tonight was intentional.  I have a tendency to appreciate the 55+ crowd.  It's a mixture of their good looks and winning personalities transending the years that gets me.  Sometimes I'm more shallow, as in the case of our former president, George Bush.  He had a great jaw, and strong looking hands. No one can deny tha. However, some members of the AARP crowd maintain both good looks and personalities with a swagger.  People such as John Gagliardi.  Hearing he retired from coaching Johnnie football today provoked the same sadness I felt when hearing Marbury was traded from the Timberwolves.  I'll hold my autographed football helmet a little tighter as I fall asleep tonight...

Keep It Competitive, Keep 'Em Around"

I date on Skype/Facetime for about 87% of the time.  Sadly, that's an actual calculated percentage.  Although we aren't dating under normal conditions, we do have some parrallels to typical couples.

• He'll ask me: In our relationship that means he'll call me first.
• If one of needs to use the restroom we still excuse ourselves from the room as the other person patiently waits.   
• I sometimes shower and get ready twice in a day before I talk to him. I've been informed that the iPhone's resolution is "mind blowing" which means any eyeliner smudge or snarl in my hair could be easily detected.
• Matt is really good at complimenting, but unlike most couples he may ask me to move away or come closer to the screen so that he can appropraitely make commentary.  I sense at these moments Siri is rolling her eyes.

Today, was no different.  On this date, I did not wear a little black dress.  We did not go to dinner and a movie.  Instead we continued the tradition of running our relationship in an athetlic way.  The secret to a successful relationship is: "keep it competitive, keep 'em around." 

Matt wanted to walk around the Axman store, which quickly turned in to a competition.  We decided we could buy whatever random mix for the other person, and they were allowed to add 6 items pf their choosing at the end.   Our current goal is to create something out of a bunch of junk, or "functional material" depending on if you're talking to me or Matt.  As we were checking out we explained to the guy our project and it's purpose.  He looked less than impressed, and shamingly asked me if I wanted another bowl because I had grabbed two lids.  I confidently told him that was intentional.  The fact that it became intentional only after he brought this mistake to my attention isn't something I needed to give Matt or Cashier Rob the satisfaction of explaining.  Cashier Rob, suggested we use facebook to declare a winner. We'll post the final products when we finsih them sometime this week.  Before voting begins, if anyone needs a free babysitter, compliment, or maid please let me know. 

 

(Matt with the supplies I bought for him to use)

 

 

(Me with the supplies Matt bought for me to use.  The nervous look on my face is strategy....I'm trying to falesly build his confidence)

She strikes . . . again

It's a dangerous thing to be a teacher.  You have very limited windows to go to the bathroom, and when you do, it is such precious alone time that you'd rather people didn't try to interact with you.  But maybe I'm unreasonable. 

A few weeks ago, I was doing what you are meant to do in a bathroom, trying to race the clock with a three minute window to go and get back to my room to teach.  It was a magical moment when I suddenly heard "Wow, you're fast.  You must be young".  As I exited the stall, my complimenter had gone into hers, and she continued to compliment me on my youth and ability to go potty.  Weird.

Yesterday, she took a different tone.  I was still racin' that clock when I heard the bathroom door open, a huge sigh and the demand: "UGH! Hurry up!"  I have NEVER!!!!  So, when I exited the stall, my complimenter was there with the following conversation to which I did not want to participate:

Weird lady: Sorry

Me: What?

WL: Sorry, I just told you to hurry up, but when you're  60, your bladder feels much different than when you are your age.

Me: Hmmm...

WL: But you're young, so you're fast.

Me: (Backing out and calculating how much less I will have to drink during 3rd hour to make sure I can change my bathroom schedule.)

Like A Hair In Your Cookie...

Being a teacher, I'm fully aware kids don't embrace change.  Any shift in routine needs warning and explanation. Knowing this, I should have realized that showing up today with a different hair color would provoke unsolicited opinions from the kids.  I left feeling the same way I do when I'm in the midst of a really tasty cookie and I stumble upon a hair.  You appreciate the cookie, and you think you're on the receiving end of a good situation, but then you get slapped with a slight "screw you."

Allow me to summarize:

Example A: Picking my kids up from music

Mr. Sather: "I've heard Katy Perry comparisons, so congratulations." 
Me: "ooo, that's better than the you look scary I've been getting." 
Mr. Sather: "well a few said witch, but ehhh"

 

Ok....they may be on to something...

 

     

 

 

Situation B: Passing time comments

 

-Ahh, you look like my mom now! 

 *Could be a compliment depending on how old and funky mom is.  I chose to think she was a trophy wife who was a former homecoming queen nominee.  Then again this could have been a classic mom jean comparison....hair in the cookie.

 

-Ohhhh, Ms. Hicks!  This has made you prettier!

*Glad I upped my game.  Now I pass, but before I was difficult to look at??? Hair in the cookie.

 

-Is this an all year type of thing?

*Would have seemed positive until I turned around to see the kid making a poop face.  Hair in the cookie.

 

-Whoa!  What did you do, Ms. Hicks?!?!  You look like a teenager!

*Could be sweet that I look younger, unless he's insinuating I look like the teenager who's in the prime of their awkward stage where showers are rare.  Hair in the cookie.

 

-Ms. Hicks.  (Swirling motions with his hand above his head) what happened here?

*Again, this kid looked like a parent whose kid had missed curfew.  They're trying to allow you the independce to realize you've made a bad choice with body language.  Hair in the cookie.

 

Situation C: Calling mom

 

-I sent my mom a picture to see what she thought.  Her response "I really like it!  Now you'll just have to make sure you always wear makeup.  Otherwise you'll look pale.  You know it makes you kinda look smarter." 

*I fear washing my face before bed now. The worst. What if I freak people in my dreams right out?  Hair in the cookie.  

To those of you who fear my self esteem has taken a knock, no worries, most adults were very loving.  Plus, I've got a plan for shifting the attention from my hair.  I'm taking a cue from Tyson.  You almost forget how gentle his voice is with his sweet tat...

Sometimes Nice Gets Awkward

If you see someone you haven't seen in awhile, or maybe just since last night, and you say "good to see you, my friend" four times in the space of 2 minutes, does it cancel out the good tiding?

An inadvertent participant

I visited a social justice school today, and it was filled with a super great group of kids in grades K-8.  As I was walking through the halls admiring this group of scholars, I passed a small group on their way out to recess.  Just as I was about to croon about how amazing they were, one of the taller ones tapped me quite firmly on the shoulder as he ran by and yelled, "You're it!"
This left me in a quandary.  Run after him?  Tag the principal showing me around and pass on the "tag"?  What to do? What to do?  I just saved the tag until I got home and tapped Lauren.

Baptism by Fire

So, I'm new to Facebook, but I have now seen it all.  I was just defriended for the first time.  By my brother.  (I'll pause for sad applause)

Voting: A Throwback to Elementary School

Do you sit up late at night asking yourself, "what was that Lauren like in elementary school?"  Lose sleep no more.  Unlike Victoria, I'm going to share my secret.  I revert back to my precious little self every 4 years on Election Day (that's straight from the mouth of Mary Hicks.  I was precious.  That's just fact.) 

I woke up this morning in search of that metaphorical "sticker on my chart."  Whatever school you attended there was something you earned that signified your worth.  Your approval.  Your belonging.  Your superiority above others who didn't make the efforts you did.  Growing up in the Catholic school system of Mankato these awards began with stickers, and transitioned into the "O.K. Kid Award," and later "Peacemaker Award."  It was a way to "beat" the others, and show you had showed some effort.  As an adult, on Election Day, this comes in the form of the "I Voted" sticker.  Since I'm a teacher, I can't vote until after work.  The shame, and embarrassment brought on by being stickerless until 4:30pm is close to unbearable.  I had to do a few affirmations in the bathroom mirror at lunch just to make it through. 

 

(Before voting)

After work, I headed back to one of St. Louis Park's finest elementary schools.  As I walked up to the table, I quickly ran through the alphabet to make sure I was in the right line. It wasn't until my second run through that I felt secure enough with my suspicion that H is in fact between G-K, and not L-M.  This was the same techinique I used back at Holy Rosary Elementary School when they'd ask us to line up alphabetically.  Thanks, Seasame Street.

Some of my former classmates, if asked, may share the opinion I was somewhat of a "brown noser, suck up, or teacher's pet."  I'll proudly own these titles with the clarification: I was a GENUINE brown noser, suck up, or teacher's pet.  Every compliment I gave.  Every paper I passed out.  Every chalkboard eraser I clapped was out of love and respect for that person.  I never did those things to merely manipulate.  Mary and Jerry Hicks raised me better than that.  This is a skill and approach to others I let sneak out every so often.  How did I attempt to suck up to the registration lady?  I proudly handed her my license and the voter registration card that I received in the mail.  In the time it took her to look annoyed and tell me my identification was unnecessary, I snuck in a little conversation: "busy night, aren't you the best volunteering your time."  All these voter ID ads have spooked me into giving her all the proof I could. I was willing to provide my library card, and teacher badge if necessary.  Unlike most, she wasn't having my conversation and simply handed me my ballot.  It was at this moment I was reminded of my test taking days.

Tests in elementary school, more specifically in the younger grades, didn't feel secure unless you were allowed to use your "privacy folders."  If you went to a school where this term wasn't frequently used, then you are probably a criminal.  I'm kidding, but I fear you may be a victim or perpatrator of answer theft.  Privacy folder use is when you prop up two of your sturdiest 2-pocket folders so that your test sheet isn't visible to your classmates.  Election poll booths are classy privacy folders in my opinion.  They help minimize the stealing of answers, but can't completely eliminate the possibility.  No matter how old I get, I fear cheating.  I don't want someone stealing my answers, and I don't like seeing others peek. I felt uneasy as I watched parents allow their children behind their privacy folders, but my heart really started racing when a woman snuck up to an elderly man and said "Hey, dad can you see the questions ok."  I wanted to raise my hand and ask the woman handing out the stickers for a little security enforcement, but I lost all faith in her as I saw her lack of discretion with sticker distribution.  She willingly gave stickers to two children who did not earn them.  Sticker lady was an enabler.  This badge of honor I so yearned had not only been given to mini cheaters who didn't even vote, but she showed no remorse.  As she handed it to the little girls she said, "ooh everyone deserves a sticker."  No! No, they do not sticker woman!  I waited 18 years before my first sticker.  I knew the names of the candidates!  I looked stuff up! Sadly, all this frustration, and disappointment in humanity was forgotten when I was handed my sticker.  It was an immediate symbol of honor and achievement.  I was part of something, and I had a sticker to prove it.

 

Know when

I sitting in a grad class right now where, on three different occasions, this one guy had announced why he is eating Funyuns. Apparently this is a huge treat for him because he thinks he is wowing people.

Also, in a recent (by this I mean 2 minutes ago) discussion of our presidential election policies, Lauren gave me this little piece of gold: "So, I seem to remember this was earlier last year.  Like, didn't they sweared them in before we went to bed".  Um, I don't anyone has ever done that.  Mostly because it's not used correctly.  They may have been sworn in, but even that didn't come until January.  So, no, Lauren, go back to civics class.  Grab a privacy folder, and retake that test.

On being at a coffee shop and taking a break

1. Is there a point when sitting with an empty coke bottle and the crumbs of the breakfast you had three hours ago is staying too long???

2. When your roommate texts to tell you how much she had cleaned but you just saw her passed out on the couch for hours, should you believe it?
And what's more, should you praise her?

New names

I have officially renamed Lauren Siesta Twists which is both funny and apt. she sleep a lot (siesta), but I cannot take all the credit. My auto correct on my cell phone decided to turn Sista Twista into her new nickname. Who am I to resist fate?!

I Came. I Judged. I Feared Karma.

Braylen, my nephew, has recently entered the world of organized sports.  My little David Beckam has decided to give soccer a try. Today I stepped on to the court as a spectator rather than a player.  I quickly realized my inner intensity to this experience was much different than those around me, and perhaps inappropriate for the "just have fun" mentality of most. 

Differences in Spectating:

 

 

Moms: neglectfully socializing as their child takes his or her first steps to a life of letterman jackets, groupies, preferential treatment, and scholarships.  They miss the crucial moments of scoring a goal or blocking a shot.  However, they do it up big every few minutes with a "woot, woot" or an over eager clapping sequence.  Even if their kid isn't in the midst of the action they are validated by mom.

 

 

He's simply hydrating, but even that apparently "wows" mom.  Maybe she was in the right.  He did get the straw in the juice box without spilling.

 

Dads: tend to be more active in their kid's athletic journey.  Males like to encourage through "constructive criticism." Sure they're under 5, but a dad realizes that's an athlete's prime.  Over praise could hinder their motivation to kick harder or push more discretely. 

 

 

 

 

I realize that through the years I've developed some high standards for the men I associate with. An example, would be my need for "below the ankle workout socks." These are highly encouraged for family, friends, and other.  Meulemans, Zimmermann, Lazzari, Lori, Cheri, and Lisa, friends from work, have been very therapeutic in allowing me to discuss this need pretty regularly at lunch.  Through the boys' random sock checks, I'm slowly becoming more comfortable with the idea that I cannot conform everyone and that's ok.  This may no longer be a deal breaker in who I decide to let into my circle of trust.  However, today as I watched the dads I found a dealbreaker in regards to who will father my future children.  A man who allows a child to score on him is one of two things.  Either extremely unathletic or withholding which in effect builds a kid's athletic arrogance prematurely.  I blame Stephon Marbury's father for his untimely exit from the NBA.  Let it be known, I would not have a child with this man...

 

 

Judging An Athlete By His Attire:
I was so proud of Braylen because he not only looked the part, but he scored a goal (I puffed up and silently peacocked a little in the bleachers)!  As I scanned the court I found myself picking out what kid I'd be ok claiming as my own based on their outfit choice.

The Jock/Cool Kid (take note of the fact he's sporting shin guards)...

 Then we have the kid whose parents can't let go of the glory days...

I believe tying the shirt with a rubber band or hair tie was the standard when rocking a scrunchii was also seen as the social norm.  This little boy's parents need to stop partying like it's 1999, and let go of the 90s. 

Although I can't help these thoughts, I fear God will try to teach me a lesson someday by having my son be a musical prodigy and my girl be a ballerina.  Don't get me wrong.  I COMPLETELY value, respect, and am impressed by kids that take these avenues rather than sports, but as someone who lacks these talents completely I fear I'd limit my child's opportunities.  I can't find rhythm.  I've been looking for years.  Even worse, I'm completely incapable of teaching the proper tapping sequence on a cowbell.  My kid's talents would peak at 3 with at home support like that.  This is a vicious world, and reflecting on my thoughts today I realize, I'm perpetuating the problem.  Some say Karma's a witch, and that scares me. :(