The education basketball challenge.

This school year has been awesome. In many ways, I have the gift of time. At least, it seems that way while the school year slowly begins. There is a community day middle school program on the campus of the elementary school where I work in SoCal. Due to this gift of time, I am co-teaching every Wednesday morning with the resource specialist. The counselor only works four days a week, so we take over her rotation on her day off. Today has been week 2. I really enjoy it. It is challenging and tiring and amazing to work with such incredible students. They are smart and funny. Figuring themselves out and testing their boundaries. They're still young enough to humor me and share their super hero name and power.

Today the RSP and I performed a play that supplemented the curriculum the counselor is using. It was a play on trustworthiness. One of the characters in the play, Holly, wanted to steal a shirt. Her friend, Megan, convinced her to split the cost and share the shirt. Words like 'integrity, trustworthiness, principles' were used. My co-worker and I challenged some of our students to write their own play with their own scenario.

We quickly learned that some students had stolen before and would do it again. We learned that some students want to but won't. One student had already shared how he worked over the weekend to earn money to buy a game in November. I work in low-income area. The gang in the neighborhood is on the rise, so I hear. Some stories I've heard throughout the years include: jail, hunger, neglect. Their stories are beyond what I can imagine as a white, middle-class woman who grew up in a rural town with very little diversity.

Two of the students decided their scenario would be seeing an autographed Kobe Bryant basketball at the Laker stadium. They insisted upon stealing it for the first half of the time allotted to complete the assignment. Finally, they wrote an ending with so many cops it would be impossible to steal it. Perhaps they were being sarcastic the entire time. Perhaps they were serious.

This incident made me think about several difficult things. Race and class are at play. There are ways in which I cannot relate to my students. There are elements in their environment I will likely never understand. I did not grow up in an area with gangs. Neither of my parents went to jail. I was well-fed and cared for by my parents, even today as an adult this is true.

But I had a great idea while driving back to work for Back To School Night. Given the gift of time in not being able to sleep, I have written a rough draft of a letter to Kobe Bryant. How powerful would it be for those two students to receive a signed basketball from Kobe? How powerful is the gift of grace? Well, it contains the power to transform a person, a life.

30 isn't all that scary

30 can be a daunting number.

I certainly dreaded turning 30 last year. Knowing Jesus began His ministry at age 30 was encouraging. I had a party the day before my birthday to say good-bye to my 20s. I had a doble-quincinera on my actual birthday. I celebrated well and included God in my celebration, so my birthday parties didn't become an idol (like on my 28th birthday).

But still, on my birthday eve the dread kicked in full force. I was terrified. I was about to be 30, and I was still single. I have a job I love, wonderful family and friends, a church community, and a cat. I was afraid 30 would solidify my status as a crazy cat lady for the rest of my life. It felt like I would officially be old.

Here's the secret, young readers. The dread of 30 is much worse than turning 30. Being 30 has been great. God has worked on my heart and helped me face some truths that I've avoided my entire life. He's provided a dance troupe to indulge me in one of my favorite hobbies. He's been teaching me about listening prayer and strengthening our relationship.

Yes, there are days I feel, but that feeling passes.

I think the secret to aging is that no one actually feels old. It's a progression. I learned so much in my 20s, but I wouldn't go back. Sure, one day I will notice the wear and tear on my body and grieve that loss. One day, I will have gray hair. Yes, I've already found a few, but I thank God for my blonde hair! There will be things I do not like, but there will also be pearls of wisdom or other experiences I have yet to discover but will treasure.

So as it turns out, I actually like this new decade. I never would have guessed it, but there you have it. May numbers go back to being just numbers and not saddled with expectations. 30 is not the new 20. 30 is 30. And I think it rocks.

2 truths and a lie

One of my favorite ice breakers is Two Truths and a Lie. Mostly because I have quite a few random stories that I don't ever think to share.

For example, can you identify which factoid is the lie?

1. I met Trent Lott, then a Senator, in 2000 as a tag-along with a friend during a Law and Advocacy conference in Washington, D.C. In 2002, he made a controversial statement about Strom Thurmond's presidential candidacy.

2. I wrote an essay in high school that prompted my dad to set up a meeting with the principal. I ultimately received an apology from the principal for his dismissive behavior toward me.

3. In seventh grade, I was hit in the head with a softball at a Red Sox vs. Indians baseball game. I still remember the player who threw it into the stands; and I'm still slightly bitter about it.


It's not easy to sift through truth and lies. Sometimes I don't like the truth. Other times, I've internalized the lie as true. Or, lies can tweak the truth, like I did with the lie above.

Because it's trending, I made a list of various lies I tend to believe. I present to you...

5 ways of saying the same lie:

1. If you stop that bad habit, you'll finally be happy.
2. If you learn a new habit, you won't be sad anymore.
3. If you win that person's approval, then you'll like yourself more.
4. Happiness can be a permanent feeling if you work hard enough.
5. If you want something enough, then it will happen.

I may be able to identify the lie in a blog post, but it's not necessarily easily discovered in my thought process day to day.

I'm working toward internalizing this truth: "I am fearfully and wonderfully made" (Psalm 139: 14).

I did not create myself. I did not do anything to exist. Why do I keep telling myself that I have to do certain things to be wonderful? Why do I see my value as something that needs to be earned? Because I've believed a lie.

In fact, I actually think God has revealed to me the source. It is both exciting and scary. It means a lot of work. It means no longer accepting lies as comfort. The comfort never lasts, anyway. It means trusting God. It means seeing Him show up. It means my mourning will be turned into dancing (Psalm 30: 11).

It means I will learn to call a lie a lie. No matter how twisted and sparkly it looks.

Community is a verb

Grammar lies aside, I learned something about community on Tuesday. My church encourages people to join 'community groups.' A gathering of people who live life together. Typically these groups discuss the sermon or a book and do fun things like bonfires at Ocean Beach, potlucks, or a weekend trip to Mexico.

In the past year, I've had a hard time sharing my deep down prayer requests. Sure there would be some depth, but I was too scared to dive in and splash everyone with my neediness. Definitely a pride issue. I hate asking for help. Must be why I'm prone to cry. Tears are like flare guns.

So on Tuesday, I knew I needed to ask my community group for help. I was terrified, but I knew it was the one thing I needed to do. Their response was overwhelmingly amazing. I knew they'd be cool, but their love and support filled me with warm fuzzies. In asking for help, I received it. That mean, judge-y voice only exists in my head, and it's a lie. Choose who ask carefully.

Whatever you do, don't be a noun about it. Participate!

Final bucket list item

After 6 years and 11 months in San Diego, I finally went surfing. Keep in mind, I had wanted to go surfing when I first moved out here in 2006.

The waves pushed me around, and I ate salt many, many times, but this did not keep me from loving every minute of it! I almost stood up, but I was content to ride the waves on my knees.

I aspire to continue surfing now that I'm back in San Diego, though it will likely have to wait until after I return from NY.



P.S. the picture is of me on the zipline, because I don't have a picture of me surfing, but the zipline was really fun, too. And after having to be pushed off the zipline the first time, this is a picture of me after having pushed myself off of the second line. So the spirit of accomplishment is represented.

Bucket List #1

So, this is my last full weekend in my 20s. How does one commemorate the end of a decade?

Well, I can say I ended my 20s with a bang. Literally. I rear-ended a parked car last week. It was my first real accident, so I suppose I cannot complain. Diction is very important. When someone says "just back up" that implies there is nothing at all behind you. Minor accidents in the past include love-tapping a parked car (I was a teenager, though), knocking off my side view mirror (I think I backed into a garbage can), and a deer hit my car. Yes, the deer ran into my car. I think the lesson here is that I need to look behind me in my 30s when I am in a moving vehicle. This is how wisdom is made.

There were, however, fun things I have accomplished this month. I went to Ostrich Land and touched ostriches and emus.

I also walked into a drive-in movie theatre. It was epic. (pun intended, since I saw the movie 'Epic')

I only start to feel old when I compare myself to younger people, so I've stopped doing that. My 20s were fun, but I don't want to go back. And if I do say so myself, I look much cuter now than I did in my early 20s. This trajectory will eventually end as I climb the upward hill of age, but I will always be beautiful in Christ ("it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight." 1 Peter 3:4).

As for my non-completed bucket list items, I will most likely have surfing lessons at the end of June during the Urban Life summer camp. Regarding reading my poetry at an open mic night, well...maybe I'll make everyone at my birthday party listen to my poem that will be published in June and call it good. 

Perhaps turning 30 will hit me as I start telling people I am 30 years old. Maybe 31 will be hard, as 30 seems to have more bragging rights than 31. Or maybe once I'm settled into my 30s, like 35. Or maybe, just maybe, I will embrace every new year with a smile and a celebration with cherished friends and family. 

Bucket List #2

April was an exciting month!

#missionweek2013, #weouthere, #urbanlife kicked off the month with a week long retreat at a church in La Jolla. High school students (from City Heights, mostly) served the community in City Heights. It was rowdy, exhausting, and fun. You know, how youth ministry is every day.

During Mission Week, I learned a beat. The week after that, I wrote some lyrics to go with the beat. I haven't "performed" it for anyone, but it exists. I created something to a beat. My first step toward spoken word? Maybe, if I actually speak it to people. Thanks, #bestfriend.

I also found out that I will have a poem published in June (most likely). A childhood dream come true. Ok, my dream was to publish a novel but a poem will do. Another first step? Perhaps. Maybe, if I'd actually make some time to write.

Oh, and I ran a half marathon two days ago. Actually, 13.5 miles. I ran more than a half marathon. Well, I jogged...the entire time...#praiseJesus.

Suggestions for bucket list items in May are welcome. Surfing scares me, actually. So does an open mic night.

Anyone want to help me plan a flash mob on June 2? Even if we gather a bunch of people and perform the Wobble. I can teach you, if you don't know.

Bucket list #3

With much trepidation, I completed a bucket-list item on Thursday. I went to Ocean Beach (the most hippie-friendly beach in San Diego) to play my djembe drum on loan. I remember 3 different beats from the drum circle workshop in Big Bear through Urban Life. (Does anyone remember any other sayings? I remember "pass the popcorn," "Mississippi-yuh," and "strawberry ice cream.")

Regardless, I felt high self-conscious as I walked to find a scarcely populated spot. I enjoyed drumming the different beats and practicing transitioning between two different ones.

I have a special bucket-list shout out. My cousin, Louis, taught me how to get all of the white cubes on one side of the Rubik's cube.

And now to tackle my avoided 20s bucket-list items: surfing and reading my poetry.

Question

I am looking for constructive feedback. Please remember that I value honesty, but I am a sensitive soul. Lies always hurt more than the truth.

Anyway, caveat completed. Am I unclear when I communicate via e-mail or in person? Is there something I need to work on to ensure clear communication? I feel like teachers are not understanding what I say, or they do understand and then jump to incorrect conclusions about what I am saying. As in, they apply my statement in a way I did not intend.

I am at a loss, and almost out of tears. Almost. And just to clarify a pet peeve of mine, tears are no indication of weakness. Better out than in, Shrek always says. It's more profound than the context of the movie.

Anyway, send me a message, carrier pigeon, or post comments on the blog.

Bucket list #5 and #4

So my burst of energy fizzled for my 20s bucket list, but I managed to scrape some items from the bucket of my life.

In January, I wrote a song. By "wrote a song," I mean I edited a poem to match a 4 count beat I played on a drum. It's not quality, but I'm proud that I attempted to combine my words and music and play with rhythm.

In February, I went to my second cheer competition in 2 months. Oh yes, in January I went to a cheer competition as well as in February. I now know what hurdle kicks are. Bring it on.

In March, I am looking forward to potentially publishing a poem, seeing my cousin in Santa Barbara, celebrating Easter AND said cousin's birthday, and a Bollywood dance performance. Perhaps my "bucket list" item will be driving up the 101 to Santa Barbara, or perhaps back to San Diego on a Sunday.

Either way, I am thankful for a March filled with fun things to look forward to. Last year, March was a very difficult month. On the 5th, I will be eating peanut butter cups and remember my uncle Peter. Rest in peace.

Thus continues my march toward turning 30.

Bucket list #6

In December, I quietly decided to start a bucket list for my last 6 months in my 20s.

My list for December was short and manageable, much like myself.

I finished my short story and submitted it to the New Yorker. Perhaps one day they will publish something I submit.

I also started a book about Listening Prayer. I'm trying to be more in tune with God's presence. We had a little bit of a conversation through my thoughts and Scripture. The bucket list for December was accomplished.

This month, I am considering an open mic night (yikes!).

Regardless of my bucket list, I plan to audition for a hip hop dance group January 19. I've auditioned before. It's, at the very least, a free cardio hip hop class!

In February, I'd like to purchase a djembe drum.

The timing is not so much important as long as I complete at least one task each month.

Future endeavors included surfing, so if any of my surfing friends want to help me make that happen, I'd appreciate it!

I'm also open to suggestions.

The culmination of this will be twofold, my 30th birthday on June 2 and the World Famous Mud Run at Camp Pendleton on June 8. I was serious about 30 being dirty.

Remembering 2012

2012 began like any other year. Wait, that's a lie. My parents were in town. I had spent the night at Erin and Ivan's house after a combination of drinks and Michael Jackson Experience on the Wii. In 2011, I rang in the new year on a rooftop in Haiti, so no one year ever begins the same. Aside from those details, 2012 seemed like it would be just like any other year.

In February, I reclaimed Valentine's day. Some friends and I celebrated Palentine's day. I booked a massage on February 14. It was not the day of despair as in 2011. In many ways, I thought 2012 would exceed previous years. In some ways, it did, but in one way it did not.

For some reason, 2012 was plagued with news of suicide.

It began March 5, 2012. My energetic, mischievous uncle Peter left us. I still have to pinch myself--did that really happen? Time seems to have stopped then, but time does not stop. Only my perception of time. While I was the saddest I have ever felt, for the first time in difficult circumstances I still believed God was good. I'm thankful for how He carried me through the wake and the funeral, and well, even now He's carrying me. God, in His goodness, has used this tragedy for some redemptive moments in my life. Sometimes, I am angry that God brought any good from this event, but, truthfully, they were really good events. I guess I just wish there had been some other way. So what were those good events? Well, I realized how much I really do love my family. I had definitely taken them for granted and focused on the negative. I was able to see the love and strength between my family members. This even also impacted my personal growth. It was the missing puzzle piece that completed me. I learned how grief has played a role in my life as an idealist. I had a name for the feeling I have had all my life for the anger and sadness in a world that is not how it was intended to be. A world where we all have pain and injustice.

There are other stories of suicide throughout the year that affected my friends, but I will not discuss that here. For said friends who are reading this, I'm sorry for your loss and for your pain. I rejoice with those who have a positive outcome.

This year I dove into retreats with Urban Life. As any other youth retreat I attend as a leader, I am stretched and twisted until I cry "uncle;" well, until I cry to Jesus...It's always a blessing, and it's always an honor to get to know those teenagers. Always lots of fun memories. I even learned some new dance steps--the wobble, the cupid shuffle, and the bernie.

In June, I celebrated my 29th birthday. I declared 29 as divine, and it has lived up to its reputation. I had such a sweet celebration in Dallas, Texas with my 2 cousins, my 2 uncles, my aunt, and her mom and sister. Museums, red velvet cake, presents, and a mechanical bull. What more does one need? Oh yes, an honorary reeses peanut butter cup in memory of my uncle. The celebration continued in San Diego with some wonderful friends.

At the end of June through the middle of July, I visited friends and family in upstate NY. I went to Montreal to visit the same aunt and uncle from Dallas. There was a jazz festival that was fantastic. My cousin had her bridal shower and bachelorette party all in the same day. I saw my bestest friend in the universe. I hung out with my parents by the river. Good times were had by all.

Work began again in August. It's been quite the busy school year, but all is well. I enjoy what I do, and I enjoy seeing  my students grow. Some of whom are now taller than me.

In September, my cousin got married but, regrettably, I could not attend. My friend Lauren got married in September. I stood as a bridesmaid for my friend Mary's wedding in October. I flew to Alabama for that wedding and enjoyed the food and the southern drawls.

Also, I started attending an informal writing group. My awesome co-worker organized it. Some fellow writers and I gather twice a month to peer edit our work. The creativity is energizing.

Thanksgiving was spent with my church family. I enjoyed having a week off from work. I used it to write my Christmas cards and buy presents for all of the good people on my list.

Christmas with my parents in Florida was a delight. One of the highlights was seeing an alligator on Christmas day on the golf course. Playing cards and hanging out with my parents is always fun. There's something special about being able to just rest in each other's company.

So, I welcome 2013 with open arms. 2012 was quite the adventure. I'm hoping for less drama, lots of laughter, and plenty of fun activities with family and friends. May God bless you and keep you.

The limitations of an educator

One of my students is heavy on my heart. I have known him for 4 years. I met him when he was in first grade. Now, he is in fifth grade (obviously, for those of you who can add in your add). I remember him as a quiet kid. He had difficulty answering yes/no questions. A different student in his group received a lot of my attention, since he was 30% intelligible. I remember trying to make up for that when the student was in third grade by working with him one-on-one for a while to help him make progress and, well, it would only encourage him to participate.
As a first grade student, this kid would just sit there in class. Some attention deficit disorder but also no motivation. This remains a concern. He doesn't like anything and doesn't care about anything, either. Yes, he likes video games, but if it means he has to do homework, he's fine just sitting in his room and staring at the wall.
He has been participating in his speech group this year. Participation was never a huge issue, but it has definitely improved. I have been surprised by his right answers and proud of him for seeing him make connections with acquired knowledge.
Today, I yelled at him. Well, I spoke louder than usual. I by no means yelled, but I was angry. Angry, because I care so damn much. So angry I didn't even know what to say. My student may not care about his future, but I do, and I will care for him, if I can.
He had told the paraprofessional who leads his resource (specialized academic instruction) group that he didn't want to do his work today; he'd do during recess on Monday. That is not the kid who participates in my speech group. It's not out of his character, but his indifference is rapidly increasing.
So, I (loudly) asked him why he wasn't working. He shrugged his shoulders. I responded, if you don't have a reason, then you're going to do the work. I told him he was smart and how I enjoyed working with him in my group. When I left the room, he was walking over to tell the resource specialist that he was going to complete his work on Monday.
My plan is to observe his group on Monday and to pray to God that during this child's life, he will start to care and want to learn. God may or may not use me, but I trust He has a plan for this child.

Crackety Crackety Wiggity Wiggity

Clearly the title of this post describes the chiropractor. I apologize for stating the obvious.

This week God showed up in the details of my life. He showed up in such a way, it reminded me of Psalm 37: 4 "Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart" (NIV).

On Tuesday my school district hosted a wellness fair for employees. I only went to earn points for a free entrance for the Coronado Bay bridge run in May of next year. For once there was a short line to get a back screening. Tension in the back showed up on a computer screen while the metal electrodes slide along my back. The goal is to see the color white. Mild is green. Blue and red are moderate. Black is high. The guy before was older and it seemed like his job was physically active. He had red and blue. Surely my back would be green or white. When I turned to see my results, it was 95% black. I was shocked, but then it started to make sense. My neck has been bothering me for a while. The end of last week I was trying to crack my lower back, because it did not feel quite right. My shoulders are always tense. I figured I just needed to get a massage for some relief. Or perhaps stretch more. (I still think both of those things are good ideas but not the solution).

I agreed to purchase their coupon and go get my back examined by an actual chiropractor. The guy at the booth was just drumming up business. I was concerned it would turn out to be shady but the next day the receptionist for the chiropractor called to confirm my appointment.

The exam consisted of X-rays, more electrode type scans to measure tension and the temperature of my nerves. Turns out by measuring temperature you can see whether they are straight or not. There was a hands on portion of the exam and another scan that measured inflammation (maybe?). During that portion, the chiropractor hit a sore spot in my lower back. It hurt when he touched it. He was not putting a lot of pressure on it, either. Clearly, something was not right.

I learned a new word. Subluxation. I like to think of it as misaligned. It's not a complete dislocation but that shit ain't right, either. It was used in context of the vertebrae that protect the spinal cord.

Friday, I returned for my results.

The spine has natural curves. One of those curves is in the neck. The vertebrae in my neck are straight. Straight! The bottom part of my spine (sacrum) is also in the wrong spot, which has made my pelvic bones uneven. I also have a few vertebrae that are subluxated. The curve along the bottom of my spine is normal but as it gets into my thoracic vertebrae and neck it's misshapen. One of my lower vertebrae may even be fractured. He talked about surgery but ONLY if it starts to affect the function of inner organs. So no need for surgery. I may have been born with the vertebrae that way; there is a genetic component. The chiropractor said he will not touch that vertebrae when he adjusts my spine.

Hence, crackety crackety wiggity wiggity. That is what it's like to have the spine adjusted. Perhaps wiggity wiggity should be first. I had to lie down on my side. He bent my leg so my knee was perpendicular to my body. He stretched one of my arms and put it by my side. He then used his body as a brace to prevent me from moving and crackety crackety. A quick jerking motion and releases tension, hence the noise. He started with my neck. He was rocking it back and forth. All was calm and peaceful and then crackety crackety. I was a little tense as he went to the other side, because it's just weird. Not painful but unusual. I convinced myself to relax so the crackety crackety didn't become snappity snappity.

You may be wondering how God showed up in all of this. Well, when I was little I remember seeing the elderly in church. They were hunched over. Their back had become rounded instead of straight. I always thought, I don't want to look like that when I'm older. The concern never went away, but it lived in the back of my mind.

Now God is providing a way for me to correct my spine. He knows the desire of my heart.

I will confess I feel really fancy about going to a chiropractor. It feels like a luxury, but then I remind myself it's corrective and preventative care. In 2 weeks, I will have exercises to do to get my curve back. So Stella got her groove back, and I'm working on getting my curve back. I mean, really, I'll never lose my groove. After all, God knows the desires of my heart.

Sicker than a dog...

Within 10 days after adopting Moses, I was eligible for a free check-up with a veterinarian on a list from the animal shelter. I chose the closest one to my house, Kensington Veterinarian Hospital. I have jogged past it several times, so I was familiar with the location. Granted, I jog so quickly that I only had a vague idea of its location.

On Tuesday August 14, I made an appointment for Friday the 17th. At that point, I was mildly concerned with Moses' excessive sneezing.

On Wednesday, a friend described Moses as having "kennel cough." I was less worried.

On Thursday, however, Moses began coughing violently and vomiting. (It was a clear, foamy liquid).

By Friday, Moses just sat there, pathetically, because he'd start to cough if he laid down. I was so happy to go to the vet's office.

While Moses was getting weighed and all of the basic check-up procedures before the doctor came into the room, he puked. Secretly, I was glad, because what better place for my cat to get sick than the vet's office? Also, it was the first time I had seen anything red when he vomited. The tech cleaned up and brought it to the vet, who confirmed it was blood, most likely the result of an irritated esophagus.

The vet examined Moses. She then gave me a laundry list of things she wanted to do. She had the receptionist print a list of the projected cost. What choice did I have but to say yes? Besides, my guestimate was slightly over the estimate given to me, so I knew I could pay for it.

So Moses had x-rays and blood drawn and a saline injection to hydrate him. I prepaid for a stool sample (I echo your "yuck") and bought 3 different prescriptions.

The results? Moses had a severe upper respiratory infection and unexplainable vomiting. He had a pill for nausea, an antibiotic, and something else. He was a borderline case for the pet hospital, which would have easily cost as much as I had already spent. I could NOT afford that, so the vet told me to call the next morning at 8:30 to give her an update.

(Side note, one of the techs brought me a cup of tea, which I really appreciated. If I had left the examining room, I was not allowed to pet the animals waiting for their appointment, because of Moses' respiratory infection. A huge thank you to Andi and KD for responding to my despondent text messages while I was quarantined.)

The last thing I wanted to do was administer pills to a cat. Before going to the animal shelter, I had a plan. I'd adopt a cat and when he became old, sick, and needing pills, I'd put him down. I did not expect pills in the honeymoon phase of adoption.

I managed to give Moses the anti-nausea pill and the antibiotic. Now, the antibiotic had a side effect of an upset stomach. I questioned this pill choice, but hoped it wouldn't be an issue. The vet also sold me wet cat food with a strong odor, so Moses would smell food and have an appetite. I gave him food when we first got home. He puked before he ate and a just a smidgen after he took his first bite. Three hours later, while sitting in the bathroom with him running hot water to help loosen his mucous (yes, that was an order from the vet), he puked. He puked twice more that night; one of which narrowly missed me. It was his only projectile vomit.

I cried most of the night, because I wasn't sure if I could afford to keep Moses if he did not start getting better. I had already loved him too much to bring him back to the shelter. Plus, I was concerned they'd euthanize him.

I called the vet in the morning to report that he seemed to be breathing better, but he was still puking. They asked me to come in 45 minutes later for a 9:30 appointment.

He was given another injection to hydrate him. I was shown how to administer the injections by lifting his scruff and inserting the needle into his skin. This was a 5-handed job, and I only have 3. The vet switched his medications. I now had to pick up a prescription at Rite Aid, buy over the counter Priolsec, in addition to the original anti-nausea pill and an appetite stimulant. I was really overwhelmed. Here are two pictures of my pharmacy:

The pill pockets did not help. I had to cut the pills, so that is why there are two tupperware containers.

I had to hang the bag of saline solution as high as I could, so the liquid would drip faster.





The new pills were a winning combination. Moses has not puked since that Saturday appointment at the vet. I called two days later on Monday to update the vet. Moses was feeling better. So much so that by Tuesday, he'd only sit still long enough for me to inject 50ml of liquid. I was instructed to give him 150ml. I called the vet on Tuesday and was given permission to discontinue the injections. Moses had started drinking water again, so I was not worried.

Thanks to a lot of support from my friends, I successfully administered most of the pills to Moses. I was always successful with his antibiotics, which were the most important.

While this process was miserable and reinforced my qualms about bearing children, I surprised myself. I had kept telling myself I wouldn't be able to do it, but I did; and I have Moses as proof.

Why I bang my head against the table

Already, I have lied to you, dear reader. I do not actually bang my head against a table. Although, I had to tell a student not to bang his head against the table today.

This post is a follow-up from my "Do you have a starfish?" post from yesterday. See, I felt like banging my head against the table, because the interaction seemed ineffective.

Today, I met with the same group of students.

I chose to play Go Fish again, after practicing past tense verbs, because it is a socially appropriate skill to work on.

Halfway through the game, I ask the other student for a card the girl has. She, once again, announces she has that card. I tell her to ask me when it is her turn. As I'm saying this, I pick a card from the pile, and it's a starfish; I love seeing God's hand in this. When it is her turn, she chooses a different card to ask the other student. I prompt her to ask me for the specific card. And she does!!!!! She said, "Do you have this card?"

I was pleasantly surprised. That's when I was reminded why I figuratively bang my head against the table. There, I only lied if you interpreted the title literally.

Do you have a starfish?

There are some moments at work when I realize the limitations of teaching social skills without a colleague. Today, I had such a moment. I heard myself and thought, seriously? Stop talking, Erin. Stop talking.

I had a group of two first grade students (the third student was unavailable). They listened to a story and answered questions plus they practiced describing pictures with past tense verbs. There was 5 minutes left, so I decided to reward them with a game of Go Fish.

One of the students (a girl) meets the educational criteria for Autism. I saw that she had a starfish in her hand. I asked the other student if he had a starfish. I try to teach strategy when I play games with students. He said no. The girl said that she had a starfish. Great. I told her to ask me. She then asks while looking at the other student. I told her it was not her turn and asked her to wait. She asked again but then listened the second time.

When it was her turn, she asked the male student.

Teaching moment! (or so I thought)

me: Who asked for a starfish?

girl: student A.

me: No. Who asked for a starfish?

girl: student A.

me: No. If student A did not ask for the starfish, then who did?

girl: No one.

me: I asked for the starfish. Ask me for the starfish.

girl: I have a starfish.

me: Say "Do you have a starfish?"

girl: yes.

me: No, I want you to say "Do you have a starfish?"

girl: yes.

me: Say "do you have"

girl: I have

me: Do

girl: Do

me: you

girl: you

me: have

girl: have

me: a

girl: a

me: starfish

girl: starfish

me: Miss Desautels?

girl: Yes.

I finally gave her the starfish.

I am a legal guardian

Color me dumbfounded. (It's a shade of purple, for those of you who don't know.)

Upon becoming a pet owner, I am both fascinated and disturbed that I have been referred to as a "cat mommy." Not only have my friends referred to me as a parent, but so has the veterinarian. She of all people should understand that I am NOT a parent.

I admit, I think of animals as people to a certain extent. But as a child-parent relationship?

I can see how it's easy to consider oneself a caregiver, but I refuse to consider myself a mother to Moses. I won't do it. I will only concede that I am his legal guardian.

Perhaps it's because upon adopting him, I realized having children (you know, the human variety) is way scarier than I originally thought.

Can someone explain this pet/parent phenomenon (preferably by starting each word of the explanation with the letter "p.")? Truly, I do not understand it.

Meet my cat Moses

On August 11, 2012 I adopted a cat from the San Diego County animal shelter. They had named him Moe. A one syllable pet name is not effective.

The shelter was technically closed by the time I chose to adopt Moses. Upon meeting him, he licked my face. How could I say no?

He is 1 year 6 months old. Upon the recommendation of the employees at the shelter, I set up Moses in the bathroom at my cottage. This way, he could not hide from me under the bed.

So, we hung out in the bathroom. I sat on the floor. He walked around. He'd come near me, so I could pet him. I told him how I couldn't believe I had a cat. I had become a pet owner. The employees at the shelter had commented how the cat chooses the person as much as the person chooses the cat. I decided it was only appropriate to ask Moses if he wanted to be my cat. He responded by licking my face. It was settled.

Written during church

When we live hidden in Christ,
We...
  see the sunset every day,
  sing and dance,
  apologize for tears we caused,
  forgive those who made us cry,
  spend grace and mercy as our currency,
  give generously,
  communicate honestly.

When we live hidden in Christ,
  The world sees Heaven on earth.