it's time to try

Last Friday most of the kids didn't come to the center and I was able to spend some quality time with Jaein, Brian, Jake, and Jason, all of whom were there for several hours beyond everyone else.

Jake and Brian are 10 and 12 year old rather ESL (remember the green card conversation?) brothers who constantly bicker with each other and everyone else.

For example, last Friday as they got out of the bus:

Brian: I have baseball practice today!

Me: Cool! What position do you play?

Brian: Third base.

Jake: Third base sucks ball! (yes – it sucks "ball")

Brian: Shut up! You play outfield retard!

Jake is the rotund goofy kid who gets a kick out of yelling "Hey Miss Stward!" before closing his eyes and spastically shaking his entire body while flailing his arms in an unearthly little dance. It is an indescribable sight and I have often pondered somehow secretly videoing it.

Jake is also intensely emotional and is given to sudden fits of rage and tears. Friday, though, his energy had a sort of manically joyous flavor. When he realized he was one of only a few kids left, he started suggesting games we could play instead of working. The kids always try to pull some variation of this – "Miss Stewart, can I go to sleep?" "Can we have an extra break if we're good?" etc. I don't know why they think I'm suddenly going to become fun teacher (Not like other teachers, FUN teacher!) (vague Mean Girls reference...), but I guess hope is good for the human soul.

So on Friday, he pipes up with:

"We should play Roll the Bottle!"

"Really? Roll the bottle, Jake?"

"Yeah! It's when you take a bottle and push it," he gestured wildly, "And if it points at you, you have to tell truth or take your clothes off! Hahahahahhaha!" he ended in a frenzied laughter.

And then, a bit later, Jason looked around the room at the remaining occupants.

"There's only one girl left and if she leaves, it will be all boys!" he shouted.

Miss Garcia laughed. "What's Miss Stewart? She's a girl!"

"That's female!" he yelled.

Everybody was laughing at this point.

"What, you mean 'woman'?"

"Yeah."

I felt vaguely objectified, being pointed at, and being called a "that" and "female" in the same sentence. They start young...

***

I started some lists, but stopped when I realized they could go on forever. So here are the beginnings:

stuff i like
-getting clothes out of the dryer
-restaurant leftovers for lunch
-the pioneer woman website
-Roald Dahl

-sand dunes

-kites

-african gray parrots

-silver toe rings

stuff i don't like:
-airport goodbyes
-dropping clothes on the floor as i transfer them from the washer to dryer
-corn dogs. I don't like corn dogs! And I have 15 of them in my freezer. Stupid stupid stupid.

I'll probably add to them later...

Maybe this time

Another Will in Morroco excerpt:

Right now, I am lesson planning for Spring camp. One of the activities will be to have the kids write a letter to Obama. I think It has a chance of getting answered since it will be from Morocco and Obama is probably real chuffed that his healthcare package bunged through.

Yup, I bet he is pretty chuffed.

Throw in a few Harry Potter pick up lines:

"I know I'm not wearing an invisibility cloak, but do you mind if I check out your restricted section?"

"My name isn't Luna, but I sure know how to Lovegood."

Add a touch of Basil:

"Don't touch me, I don't know where you've been!"
"Why do they call you 'sister'? Is it a term of endearment?"

And you end up with:
The birth of Lola. Don't click on the previous link unless you're prepared for a very detailed description of natural childbirth. It's possibly inappropriate for younger readers (I read it yesterday, and am only left with the feeling.) I find her writing to be very honest and touching.

and what a foolish young girl was I, to fall in love with an irish boy

I have recently taken up a fascination with creating foods that should be shunned by anyone hoping to avoid Type 2 Diabetes, Heart Failure, and possibly cancer. I've been told repeatedly by one of my roommates that she can't wait until she doesn't live with me anymore. Ouch.

Today's Life Lesson: Don't go grocery shopping when you're hungry. Maybe everybody else already naturally understands this, but I do it constantly (stupid Vons next door). Today I came home with 2 tomatoes, 2 apples, a package of Polish sausages, a ready made potato soup, and a giant (16) package of corn dogs. Usually it's worse. Luckily, my bad memory kicked into survival instinct, and I completely forgot to get the foot long raspberry pastry I wanted.

I have never bought corn dogs before.

________

The children's definitions and sentences have been pretty amusing lately. Mostly because they're finally using dictionary definitions (hurray!), but they still have no idea what the words mean. So, now the word is perfectly defined on one sentence, and completely butchered in the next.

Exhibit One:

Seon's notebook:

Definition: Phobia - a persistent, irrational fear of a specific object, activity, or situation that leads to a compelling desire to avoid it.
Sentence Example: His name was from a phobia, so everyone was scared of him.

I duly changed it to a sentence about clown phobias (everybody should know they exist.)

Dylan's notebook:

Definition: Groan - To voice a deep, inarticulate sound, as of pain, grief, or displeasure.

Sentence Example: I once had a groan at a hotel.

This was changed to "I groaned when my brother jumped on me." (I often enjoy reading the replacement sentences.)

A few of the younger kids have gotten sneaky, and every time they're supposed to write a sentence about a word that is a noun, they write "I have never seen a ----- before." I am under instructions to squash these attempts, but I do find them clever.
____

My favorite moment today was with Andrew, an adorably nerdy (his GPA is 4.15) 12-year-old who makes me smile (and who wished me happy pi day on the 14th. 3.14...) He had written a bunch of poems which he wanted me to examine. A line from one of the punny ones went something like:

"The zodiac of a friend of mine is crabs...
Or does he have a disease?"

That got to me:)

And then of course, there was Jake, my chubby 10-year-old with the large cheeks. I heard some noise and looked over to where he was spastically leaping into the air, shaking his head from side to side and giggling manically. In one hand, he had a sheet of paper which he waved about before he started ripping it apart and flinging the pieces to the floor. I couldn't help laughing before telling him to calm down and pick the pieces of paper up.

It turns out that before his little dance, he had grabbed the piece of paper, shouting "This is Brian's weenie!" Of course my laughter encouraged everybody, and soon after, Daniel (age 9?) grabbed a piece of paper and announced that it was someone else's weenie before destroying it.

I guess I just didn't see that coming.

_____

I have also discovered that I am a major sucker. The kids have discovered this too. They will be obnoxious for 30 minutes and then calm down right before the head of the center comes back. This is because she is crazy strict, yells at them in Korean, and knows their parents personally. (Not to make her sound evil – the kids are completely unruly when left alone.) Anyways, because they act up whenever she isn't around, she has told the other tutors and me to keep a "List" of naughty kids to give to her.

So basically all of 6-year-olds are on the list within five minutes of me arriving, and then I have no power over them, except allowing them to get off the list if they behave. The problem with this is that the list loses its power – they act up, calm down, and then act up again knowing that in the last few minutes they can be good and get off the list. How do they know this? Because it's me. The moment any kid calms down, acts fairly contrite, or – the worst – flashes me a charming smile (they are all adorable), I completely melt and forget all about their past deviant behavior (if I do remember a bit, I figure that surely they deserve another chance). And, in an instant, they slip off the list.

Yes, you are correct. I am the ideal candidate for an abusive relationship. My ability to forget, combined with my tendency to defend anything that breathes, will probably eventually produce the following conversation:

Concerned friend: You need to leave, Siobhan.
Me: Oh, but I'm sure he didn't mean to hit me with the hammer. And he's only violent when he's sober...
Concerned friend: Well okay. By the way, thanks for lending me that $3,000. I'm probably not going to be able to pay you back as soon as I thought.

Ah well, we will see. They really are cute kids.

This only serves to confirm my suspicion

A conversation in which (thankfully) I was not an active member. I've condensed it for your appreciation:

Brian: Miss Garcia, why do they ask you stupid questions when you're getting a green card?
Miss Garcia (laughing): Like questions about the United States and the Constitution?
Katie: What's the Constilution? (yes, "lution.")
Brian: No, like if I'm a terrorist or stole things and stuff. It's stupid.
Miss Garcia: Okay, imagine you owned a country. Would you want to let in a bunch of terrorists and thieves.
Brian: Oh...

I know what you're thinking: Siobhan, you've only ever quoted five students from your work. Is it actually a center with 30 kids? The truth is, I'm not sure how many kids there are. BUT, only about seven of them tend to be consistently loud and ridiculous. That's not hard to believe, right? (Believe me, I'm thankful.)

And I also was able to Skype with two of my sisters. Lex, the youngest, informed me that Amadeus, who was not there, actually enjoys reading my blog. Our conversation went something like this:

Lex: Yeah, Emma really likes your blog.
Llams: Really?
Lex: Yeah. I said, "I thought you didn't like Siobhan," and she said "Yeah, but she's funny."

So yes, charming. Hello to you too, Emma Catherine. The question of course, is would I rather be loved or found amusing. Difficult call. Here's a Dilbert to think about instead.




(click)



I have been corresponding with my older brother in Morocco (from yesterday's video), and his latest email cracked me up so much that I'm reposting a chunk instead of attempting to rephrase. By doing this, I have completely one-upped my parents, who tend to forward all of our emails to EVERYONE in our family/friend circle. Hellooo public.

"I am also using my pressure cooker for the first time. I am really scared. I have heard lots of stories about people getting their heads blown off. I am making vegetable soup. I am living dangerous. Another dangerous thing is all the gas that we use. I have two large green high pressure gas tanks under my sink. I got the large ones, because apparently the little ones have no safety valves and like the pressure cookers, tend to explode and destroy small neighborhoods etc...

Another hazard worthy of mention is that my Carbon Monoxide detector keeps going off after I take a shower. I have gas heated water and we were warned about how sometimes the gas comes through the shower hose with the water. I open doors and windows when I take showers now, but the damn alarm keeps going off.

I can't decide whether it is broken or not. It talks in a robot voice. "Evacuate kitchen!" "Carbon monoxide level at Nine. Hundred. PPM" And then beeps really shrilly. I don't like being ordered around by a plastic object. Sometimes I just turn it off. I guess that I should investigate, but my experience with plumbers here has been frustrating. Also if I've been hanging out in nine billion parts per million carbon monoxide filled air, shouldn't I die? But no, the only thing giving me a headache is the alarm. Not quite the "silent death" we were so direly warned about. "

Funny, eh?

and send it soaring

Thought this was pretty funny. (Okay, so I mostly just read the title.) I now feel compelled to mention a few new airplane stories/facts:

– A small plane recently took out a jogger which I found pretty disturbing. The line in the article "the plane – which could be built from a kit–" was also bothersome.

–Someone told me that you are 8 times more likely to die in a small jet than in a motorcycle accident. I just want a parachute, but they're pretty expensive.

I bumped into the beautiful Beth Cissel last night. She is one of my Chimesies who I love and adore. Check out her fantastic photography. Beth used to author the Chimes Gossip Blog which she used to refer to all the time "Oh, this is going into the Chimes Gossip Blog" and I always assumed was a joke until I finally saw it. Go figure.

And now, for your viewing enjoyment, a video that never gets old to me. Meet William, my brother who is currently saving the world in Morocco.







Also, I went on a hike with a pie:

when I was a boy...

And now, a memorable fight between Brian (12) and Josh (13).

Brian (to Josh): Do you have a green card?
Josh: No.
Brian: Why not?
Josh: Because I'm American.
Brian: No you aren't.
Josh: Yes I am. I was born in the United States. I'm American.
Brian: No! You're Asian!
Josh: What? I'm American you idiot.
Brian: You're Asian! You have small eyes!
Josh: I'm Asian American.
Me: Brian, if you're born in America, you're an American citizen.
Brian: Oh.

How does it feel to be one of the beautiful people?

The pic was the first result after I Google imaged my title.

Today I discovered BeautifulPeople.com, a social networking site which only allows beautiful people. To get in, you must be voted in (48 hour voting period) by members of the opposite sex. What an ideal way to make sense of the world.

___________


Two nights ago, I had a dream that I shot an old boss of mine several times with a rifle. (He didn't die). Yesterday I got a voicemail from him asking him to call me immediately. Freaky? I think so. I used to think it would be really cool to travel into other people's dreams, but now I think it might get too confusing. (It would be kind of neat to compare vividity and plots though.) Still, what if, every morning, a little number appeared on your finger identifying how many people had dreamt about you the night before. Might make you feel loved. (Or really weird.)

Quote of the day:
"True, we love life, not because we are used to living, but because we are used to loving. There is always some madness in love, but there is also always some reason in madness."
–Nietzsche

Yesss.

________

Thought of the day:

What if there were severe, natural physical repercussions to infidelity and divorce? What if, every time a married person cheated, both he/she and his/her spouse lost a finger? (naturally – not through the law) And if two people got a divorce, they did so knowing that each of them would lose a hand. (again, it would just disappear).

I bet our society would look a lot different. For starters, it would be against the law to cheat on or divorce a spouse – after all, either action would physically infringe upon the rights of the other person. (Who cares about emotional damage, right?) I bet people would be waaaay more choosy when picking a spouse if divorce wasn't a real option. People would probably think before drinking with attractive co-workers.

Maybe nobody would get married. Maybe the only children born would be to single parents, and our society would disintegrate. But I doubt it. The government would incentivise marriage beyond tax breaks, and everybody would be used to how things were.

Just a thought.

and they call it bella notte

This morning I was working with a new 10-year-old, correcting his sloppy multiplication sheet. I had just corrected three other ambiguously legible sheets, and I decided to speak up.
"Good job," I said, handing it back. "But it's a little messy."
"That's because I have a broken arm."
I looked at him. His right arm was indeed in a cast. Oops.

___________________


I had a fabulous night with the roommates tonight (reminiscent of 2009's great nights – shout out to Shawna). Bunking class, eating out, hot tubbing...and now being incredibly unhealthy and watching a chick flick. And not just any chick flick – a chick flick masquerading as some sort of realistic life portrayal. "He's just not that into you" pretends it's different, but the two main lovebirds end up together.

Ooh girl...

Me: Ooh, do you like Hannah Montana?
Katherine: No.
Me: Then why is she on your shirt?
Katherine: I don't know.
Me: Oh.
Jessica (to me): Are you Taylor Swift?
Me (rolling eyes): Yes. I've been sent here to teach you math.
Jessica: No, but really, are you Taylor Swift?
(I repressed any urges to ask if she was Lucy Liu.)

Today David came up with a new joke.
David (to me): You look 17..........THOUSAND. HAHAHAHAHAHA.
Me: Thanks.

two minutes later:
David: Miss Stewart, you look 20.........THOUSAND! HAHAHAHAHAHA
Me: Go away.

and on.


And for all you fitness freak readers (which is, oh, none of you), I've discovered a bomb site that calculates your calorie intake and gives you goals. And it's much less boring than I made it sound: check it out.

In the rain, the pavement shines like silver

Let's start off the morning with a depressing little message to any future/current graduate students. For all of you lazy/link phobic readers, the article basically says don't go to graduate school. (With a few exceptions – just go read it.) I was sent the link from my former editor-in-chief, the fabulous Michelle Rindels, and I thought I'd spread the joy. My natural instinct was to come up with a million reasons against it, so I'm going to sit on the idea longer.

The three main reasons I wanted to graduate school were:

1)I don't feel well-educated. Not that I'm completely ignorant, but there is SO much knowledge that I lack.
2)I don't have any other clear direction.
3)School is fun. Well, most of the time.

Since my goals aren't career/financial, maybe the article doesn't apply to me? Of course I could solve my issues much less expensively: self-education, try out another direction...and I'm not worried about "having fun."

Anyways, something to think about.
_______________________


In other news, a 41-year-old teacher (of high school sophomores) is in big trouble for sending a boy in her class nude photos (along with some suggestive ideas). He – naturally – emailed the pictures to a few friends and then told his dad (or his dad found out somehow.) I would not be sharing this, except I found the comments on the article quite interesting. The few that I read were (presumably) males, saying things like "I wish I had a teacher like that in high school," and "15 years old? Come on dad, you ruined the fun." "What's her email address?" "Best teacher in 2010 award!"

I was reminded of a comment about the movie "Notes on a Scandal" where either my brother or Ebert said something about how older women preying on high school boys in movies were always portrayed sympathetically, while older men preying on high school girls were condemned. This cinematic discrepancy toward the sexes seems to be a reflection of real life judgments: I can't imagine the same comments on an article about a male teacher sending a 15-year-old girl nude photos of himself.

As a society, we view the older woman in this situation as lonely/pitiable, and we view the man as lustful/despicable. This perspective is completely understandable,(given the undeniable differences between the genders) – but that doesn't excuse the action, and both genders should be prosecuted the same.

It feels so good when you start out

So I currently have a friend in the typical "We're really good friends and he likes me and I told him I'm confused even though I really meant 'no way' and now I have to tell him 'no' or he'll keep waiting for me and I just don't want to say 'no' because I'll feel really really bad and I honestly don't want to lose the friendship and I'm trying to make a decision with my head but I'm all emotionally compromised..." situation.

When she explained the dilemma to me (and really, it does not need explaining), I responded with what any good friend would say. I told her she needed to talk to him, and to make it easier I would write a script. She could print two copies of the script, hand him his lines, and they could have a friendly, contained conversation. No mess there.

After writing it for her, I decided that many of my readers could benefit from such a script (you're welcome, Llama). So here it is: (remember, no ad libbing.)

SETTING: Restaurant.

Collins: I’m really glad you agreed to come here with me, Liz. You are radiant. You are a jewel.

Liz: (blushes): Heh, heh. (more nervous laughter). Well actually, there’s been something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.

Collins: (eyes brighten up): You want to talk about us?

Liz: Actually, how convenient that you would say that. Yes. I want to talk about us.

Collins: Good. I can’t stop thinking about you. About how I could have and should have had you.

Liz: Um. Okay. Well pretty much I really respect you and don’t want to lose our friendship. But the thing is, I just really don’t see us having any sort of long-term future, and I don’t want to start down a path that leads nowhere. You have lots of great qualities, but I feel like some of our core values are just very different.

Collins: I totally get what you’re saying. It might be hard on me, but I’m going to stop thinking about you that way. Thanks for being so honest.

Liz: I’m glad you took it so well. I was scared that this meal would be ruined. Don’t have a lot money. Sorry about all the leading you on...

Collins: Dude, I’ll continue to take you out and buy you stuff. No problem.

Liz: …And you won’t get attached?

Collins: Nah. I’m a guy. Guys don’t have real feelings. We just pretend.

Liz: That’s kind of harsh on your gender.

Collins: I know. I just kind of dying inside right now and don’t know what I’m saying.

Liz: That was a lie?

Collins: Can we get a new scriptwriter.

Liz: No. She’s really cool.

Collins: I changed my life for you.

Liz: I don’t like your friends. They’re deadbeats.

Collins: I’ll get new ones.

Liz: That’s not what I’m trying to say.

Collins: What’s the real reason?

Liz: No. Just no. I’m sorry. No.

Collins: Okay. I totally respect you. We shall maintain a platonic, not too emotional friendship.

Liz: Okay cool.

They continue eating.

END SCENE.

Sorry about a couple of glitches in the middle. I was going to end it after the first 7 lines, but they just kept talking.

While I'm on the subject, here are a couple of my favorite rejection stories from friends'/siblings lives.

The Twilight Situation:

Boy at Party: So...what do you think of Twilight.

Llama: I think it personifies everything that's wrong with American girls. I have no idea why girls get so silly and infatuated over bad writing and some idiot vampire. People need to start living in reality...Why do you ask?

Boy at Party: Oh, I just wanted to see if you wanted to go to "New Moon" with me.

Summer Camp Drama:

Some guy at summer camp had a thing for my friend May. So (of course) he sent a friend of his to ask her out for him. While trying to ask May out, this friend was sitting on the ground ducking his head through the opening in the back of a chair. (see picture).

As he explained the ardency of his friend's feelings, his head got stuck in the chair's opening, and he couldn't get it out.

God told me to break up with you.

We'll just leave that one as a title. But oh, it happens.

Taxi Conundrum:

My brother's friend Tim was in the front seat of a taxi in Oman. The driver leaned over and patted his thigh.

"Show me."

"What?"

"Show me."

Tim looked it him in disgust. "No man, you have your own!" He hopped out of the cab.

Wait...how old are you? (Not a rejection story in itself, but influenced the outcome.)

My early twenties friend Anna was out on a blind date. They were laughing about some parental anecdote, when he asked her:

"So, how old are your parents?"

"Oh, early fifties."

"Wow, that's really young!"

"Not really...how old are yours?"

"Early sixties."

"Wow. Well I guess some people just have kids a little later."

"No, I think they were in their mid-twenties when they had me."

Anna (trying to do quick mental math): "Wait...how old are you?"

"Guess."

"Um 27?"

"Older."

"32?"

"Older." He was 34.

Pencil or Pensive?

My friend Tanya dumped a guy because he was too stupid. Before you judge her, check out a conversation sampling:

Tanya: Mo, you look pensive. What's up?

Mo: Tanya, the closest word I know to that is "pencil"!

and then later...

Tanya: Don't you have any aspirations?

Mo: Stop using words like that. This isn't a Harvard interview! (a school which she was, of course, interviewing for.)

Anyways I changed most of the names and omitted quite of a few of my favorite stories (yeah, social awareness kicking in:)).

I was going to illustrate this post with a great break up between Denise and Peter on Foxtrot. I couldn't find it online, but I found a couple of random ones that amused me instead:

(Sorry they're so blurry. I'll one day figure out how to fix it. Click on them to see clearly.)

and I can almost put it back together

"Miss Stewart! Dylan said I'm ugly!"

"Miss Stewart, Jessica keeps hitting my butt on purpose!"

"Miss Stewart, Katie called me a brat!"

"Miss Stewart is this the worst day of your life?"

"What's the holocaust?"

"Where's Mt. Figi?"

"Is 'sector' a word?"

"Do you know the "c" word?"

"What does "characteristics" mean?"

"I'm an escaped convict."

"Well I just thought you might be married because my friend's older brother is married and she looks just like you."

In lieu of a single conversation, I thought I'd share some of the most common comments that I field every day.

But Siobhan, your URL is a misnomer. All you talk about is what happens at your place of employment. I thought this was going to be a blog about your inspiration while having scads of free time. I expected literature, news analysis, book reviews, fun quotes, entertaining ideas.

Yeah, well, I didn't expect my homemade bleu cheese dressing to smell like death after a week in the fridge. You don't always get what you expect.

__________

I've been thinking about sexual harassment lately (okay, just today), and I have a fairly reasonable suggestion to help remedy the thousands of years women have been mistreated by men. (After all, Germany is making reparations to Israel, the U.S. is paying off the Japanese internment victims, affirmative action, etc...).

Basically, we (the States) should make it a legal offense to verbally harass women from cars. If a woman can somehow record the harassment, has reliable witnesses (or if the offender is caught by the police), the men in question should be charged a $200 fine, half of which goes to the female in question, and half of which goes to a fund for battered women's shelters. Brilliant, eh? That way we aren't asking men to pay for the crimes of their father's – just their personal crimes.

And to further even out the playing field, women should be encouraged to harass all attractive men. Any good looking guy who gets beeped at should be required by law to strike a pose and wink. (Shirt removal is optional. (Shout out to the prudes.))

Not only would this provide a nice compensation for women who are constantly objectified in other areas of life, but it would put a nice dent in the car hollering business. It's a problem, trust me. I'm not the shiniest marble in the set, but I've been the recipient my fair share of beeping/shouting/screeching (not counting the Middle East. Not quantifiable). Pretty much if you have hair and a purse you'll be bothered at least a couple times during a half hour walk. And I'm sick of providing free entertainment. I'm an American and I refuse to give a free service. (No, Emma Cole. No.)

That is all.

Everybody look left

"Miss Stewart, can you think of any other black cartoon characters?"
"What?"
"I don't want to use Franklin anymore. Can you think of any other ones?"
I groaned. He got the hint and left. And then I was struck by how few black cartoon characters I knew.

That's about all for today, except for this Craiglist personal ad. Why do I read them? People are interesting. Especially people on Craigslist.

Hey isn't this easy?

"Miss Stewart, what's your name? Is it Miss or Mrs.?" Andrew asked the question I've heard about 4 billion times since working at Bright Child.
"Do you know the difference?"
"Yes."
I held up my ringless left hand.
"What? Why are you showing me your hand?"
I pointed at my ring finger.
"What?"
"No ring."
"Oh. Do you have to wear a ring if you're married?"
Good question.

And then nine year old Jessica brought me her homework for help. She placed her math sheet in front of me and carefully laid a stained paper towel next to it. I did a double take – yes, the paper towel was splotched with reddish brown stains. Blood. She placed a small object on top of it.

"I pulled my tooth out today. Christian pulled his out too. We pulled them out at the same time!" I grimaced, feeling only a vague relief that I wouldn't have to watch her wiggle it anymore.

But for the most part, the germs were fairly well behaved today. Yes, that's what I'll be referring to them as from now on, because that's what they are: germs and carriers. We were basically an infirmary, sans nurses, today; the kids were sneezing, coughing, and touching anything and anyone that could possibly spread the germs faster. One of the older kids tied toilet paper around his forehead, claiming it was helping his feverish temperature. This seemed fairly strange at the time, but I didn't mention it, feeling too dull and sickly to care – yes, the plague finally struck me a couple days ago, and I have been berating my craven immune system ever since.

On the plus side, I did get to try out an internet home remedy for ear aches. The suggested cures ranged from warm socks, to blowing smoke rings into the ear, to pouring in a teaspoon of urine, to using a hairdryer, or if all else failed: mouthwash on the inflicted ear. I went with the warm olive oil and garlic suggestion, and it really did seem to work. I'm pretty sure part of the improvement was being glad that I wasn't in the excruciating pain that everyone on the chatboards seemed to be in. ("I've been crying all day"..."it's three in the morning and I'm going to the emergency room"...etc). Health is a gift.