March 05, 2005
Read the story of the birth of this movie. Incredible...
MORE TO GROK:
Please read Tim's words here in the comment section. And read the whole story at Mudville.
So the countdown for Return of the Husband is small enough to be counted on one hand. Hmm.
In a way, I feel a tiny bit nervous, to be honest. I can't quite put my finger on why. It will be a big change for both of us to be living together again after 13 months apart. He's gotten used to an enormous amount of sharing; I have shared virtually nothing for a year. He's been sleeping on a cot; I've been taking up the whole bed. He's been eating sub-standard food; I've been eating water chestnuts and carrot cake and all the delicious things that make him yak. My life has been so easy, and his has not.
I talked to The Girl the other night, and she told me how sorry she was that I had to wait so much longer than everyone else to get my husband home. I said that the real pity lies with the soldiers, that they have not done a single thing since 18 February and that I feel just awful that they're stuck so far from home. She laughed and said it was nice that I was thinking of the soldiers and not of myself, but how on earth can I complain about my feelings in comparison? Though I have complained this year about grading too many papers and getting paid too little, my life is a walk in the park. I know this. I couldn't possibly live with myself if I didn't acknowledge and respect how difficult my husband's life has been this year.
My husband is my favorite person in the whole world, so I can't figure out where the nerves are coming from. Perhaps I'm worried about wifeing him to death. Perhaps it just seems to good to be true that he'll be home in a few days. I don't know what it is that is making me so freaked out that this week has finally come.
Actually, I know what it is. It's the thought that I will have to leave him the day after he gets home and go wrestle with a bunch of 12 year olds. That's enough to make me sick to my stomach.
Our cousins abroad cannot figure out why a crass nation of former European rejects, led by a cowboy from Texas, is wealthier, stronger, and more willing to sacrifice for principle than a more venerated, cultured, and aristocratic civilization.
I've not been sleeping well lately. My dreams are a mess of 7th graders and welcome home ceremonies. I have been told an arrival day for my husband next week, and I keep fretting about whether he's going to arrive during the school day. I managed to put myself in an extremely stressful situation a week before my husband returns from war. What a stupid move.
March 04, 2005
March 03, 2005
I don't really hate them, but you know what I mean. I have a problem with wanting to be liked. I want my blog readers to like me. I want the students to like me. I want my husband's soldiers to like me. It's my character flaw that I want to be liked, because sometimes it's not good to be liked. Sometimes you have to be a jerk. My husband learned that lesson in Iraq, and I am learning it this week.
The students' grades are suffering too. They're talking instead of working, and therefore their work is sloppy and incomplete. Most of them got F's on their in-class assignment today. I don't know if the bad grades will force them to take notice, but I've certainly noticed when I look in the grade book.
Thank heavens their regular teacher is having twins: she is procreating double to make up for the child I'm rethinking wanting to have!
And I think I can finally report that my husband is in Kuwait. I don't have any firsthand knowledge of his whereabouts, but his commander says that he's in Kuwait. So we're gonna assume he's finally there.
Time to pack my lunch...
March 01, 2005
But really, other than that last class, it was fine. Except what is up with kids' names these days? The spellings are killing me: four girls named Kaitlyn, Caitlin, Katelynn, and Kaitland. My goodness. And how do you pronounce Mireya and Aryal? I thought I had it bad when most of my ESL students were Korean and Chinese!
I'm beat. Time for a little Simpsons with Red 6.
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