Ebay! What fun!

I've really only had one experience with Ebay in my life, and it wasn't a good one. I bought some tickets as a surprise to Jim for our anniversary one year. I was tickled to be the "winner" of the auction. I won in the final seconds with quick bidding fingers, and it felt great. But then, the high was completely ruined when the seller ended up giving me the runaround, and in order to actually receive the tickets that I had purchased, I had threaten the guy just short of his life. He finally responded after receiving my sternly written letter (which "appeared" to have been copied to one local lawyer... thaaaat I'd plunked out of the phone book) via certified mail. I slung him some bad feedback and began the process of reporting him to whatever Ebay authorities existed at the time.

But finally just a couple of days before the event, tickets arrived in my mailbox. I don't say "my tickets" arrived... just tickets. These were evidently replacements for the ones he said I was buying. (Different seats. Different section. But at least the same venue.) I called off the dogs, and Jim and I attended the event. A fun time was had although I'd pretty much sworn off any further use of Ebay. Well, that is... until now.

This time, I was the seller. And I must say that being a seller is MUCH more fun than being a buyer. We, ironically, have some extra tickets to see a concert. Jim purchased these in an auction format, and in doing his best to get me as close to the stage as possible, he purchased extra. Good guy, and very sweet, but an expensive venture, of course. So now, we had extra tickets. None of our acquaintances wanted them, so with a sinking feeling, we knew we'd have to return to Ebay. Argh.

I posted two sets of tickets to our event on Ebay just days ago. Since then, I have been logging on and evaluating my competition, checking to see how many hits my posts are receiving, and getting excited to see the number of "watchers" of my items grow. This is a fun game. Although no bidding is going on, you can "see" people taking interest in your item. They want it, but they pretend not to. It's somewhat like playing with a cat. Your cat sits on the floor at the edge of the couch with only her big eyes peeking over. You wiggle your fingertip at the edge of the couch, but not too much... just enough to make her pupils get bigger, her head lower, and her ears flatten. Then, you don't move.... If you wait, the pounce will come. If you get anxious, the cat will lose interest and perhaps give you a yawn, at best.

Anyway, I celebrated my official "pounce" today. One set of tickets sold. Hooray! What fun!
Now.... to see who's looking at the other pair. I've wiggled my finger. We'll see.

New Sweatbands

I saw a funny sight out of the corner of my eye last week when I picked up Jack from great grandma's house. Grandpa had lowered the old basketball goal down as far as it could go, and there was Jack, shootin' hoops. He was shooting in a way that my own father, once upon a time, referred to as "granny style". Just like Jack, as a little, little kid, I also found that bending over and shooting from in between spread eagle legs produced a much more frequent rate of accuracy. My father also called this the "sissy panties" way... but whatever, Dad. It worked. It didn't really matter anyway as I grew older and became officially short, and therefore, not cut out for basketball.

I've gotten sidetracked. On with the story. As I pulled up to the drive, I did notice his preference for granny style shooting and even saw him make a basket. Good job, Jack! But what was really funny was that he was all decked out on the court with sweatbands. They were white ones, emblazoned with orange embroidered NBA insignia. This was obviously a serious basketball practice. I got out of the car with my hand across my mouth, hiding my laughter at his Globetrotter-like appearance. He immediately began to inform me of the advantages of wearing such gear. "I can't feel my sweat, Mom! I'm wearing my sweatbands." He modeled the one on each wrist, and then finished with a swirling hand motion across his forehead to draw my attention there. Of course he had to wear these on the ride home. I wouldn't have even thought of asking him to remove them. He was proud.

Later in the evening, he was still wearing them. He wore them to ride on his battery powered John Deere tractor for quite some time. Neighbors who walked by commented and complimented his new look. "Oh, look at his sweatbands!" they exclaimed. (You can tell people don't wear these things anymore by the reactions they provoke. "Sweatbands! Look, he's wearing sweatbands." I imagine it would be the equivalent of me wearing leg warmers around the mall one day. Purple ones, maybe.)

And then, we cooked dinner. Jack has never been one to help cook dinner. The stove gets turned on, the pot begins to steam, and he's out of there! He's not a fan of "hot." But, remember TODAY he had on his NBA sweatbands. He stirred the noodles quite helpfully and said, "Mom, I don't even feel the hot on my head today." He did one more swirling motion across the forehead with his hand and flashed me a grin. I sure do love this kid.

Spring School Picture

At Jack's school there is the standard yearbook photograph that is taken in the fall. I was pretty pleased with his first set. A good natural smile and a confirmation that blue looks great on the kid. When spring comes around, a weird thing happens though... yet another picture package is sent home with folks. It caught me off guard the first year that I taught in the district. And now that I have a school aged child, myself, it caught me off guard in a whole new kind of way. (As did the placement of his mug in the very same yearbook that my always-crappy-teacher-photo appears every year... weird.)

Anyway, I'm still not entirely used to this idea of a "spring picture." I never had such a thing as a child. You said "cheese" once a year... period. To top it off, this particular round of photographing comes with a pseudo background, full body poses, and yes.... props. One year, I remember the boys snickering in line as the girls held a terrible bouquet of fake flowers next to their thoughtfully tilted chins. I took pity on their mothers and ripped the flowers out of their hands when it was their turn to pose and take advantage of a bad joke. Secretly, I appreciated their senses of humor, but really.... come on, boys.

Jack's spring picture arrived at home about a week ago. I'll let you take a look. My judgement? I think I'll avoid the plaid next time, but thank goodness there are no fake flowers in sight. Phew.

The Westminster Alumni Triathlon

This past weekend was "Alumni Weekend" at Westminster College where Jim went to school in Fulton, Missouri. He was very excited to find out, some months ago, that a triathlon for students, faculty, and alumni would be hosted on campus during this particular weekend. It would be a low-key and fun practice event for the upcoming, and more competitive triathlons in which he has planned to participate later this season.

We were so pleased that our usual crew of observers were able to attend the event. Jim's mom and dad, his sister and her kids, and Chris were all there and cheering. Even some new spectators were in attendance! These included Josh and Mark, two of Jim's close college friends. It was beautiful weather for the event, and although Jim got off to a rocky start with some pre-race tire troubles, it was a great day. (It is safe to say that the air pump will never be forgotten back in the hotel room again.)

What is the most fun to report is that Jim was announced as the overall winner of the event with a finishing time of 1 hour, 11 minutes! We were all so proud of him. On a side note, these triathlons are famous for dishing out the heavy duty and expensive prizes, and this one was no exception. His winnings included a towel, a sports water bottle, and a gift certificate. These prizes clearly beat out any previous tokens he's collected in the past as a participant, including all the coffee cups and pairs of socks. We were raking it in. The real prize, of course, is the joy of competing, but that lessens the impact of my sarcasm, doesn't it?

Congrats to a speedy Jim. "Go Daddy, Go!" indeed.

Above, Jim rounds the corner on the bike, preparing to dismount and head to the transition area prior to his running portion of the race.

Nearing the end of the run, Jim is still looking strong. How annoying is this black speck at right that's apparently deep inside my camera lens? Let's name the speck, "Walter."

Jim looks triumphant after the finish. Walter looks smug.

Jack particularly enjoys the triathlon experience, as it provides the occasional opportunity to make playmates of his cousins. Below, Jack, Maria (left), and Cecilia (right) play around sections of the Berlin Wall as they are on permanent display at the Westminster campus where Winston Churchill once delivered a well known speech.

Back From Traveling

This past weekend, Jim and I flew to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I had never been there, so I was quite excited in looking at the pictures of palm trees, blue skies, and ocean scenes before the trip. We finally arrived after descending through a thunderstorm and experiencing the kind of turbulence that makes me clammy and green. Once Jim took me up in a little two seater airplane, and I can remember the only thing that prevented my throwing up was the picturing of being closed in a gray metal room. I know that's weird, but it was all that halted the ruining of a good blouse. I haven't really needed to conjure up the metal room image since then... that is, until this past weekend. It's not that I'm afraid. It's just that, for some reason, as I get older, I get more and more susceptible to motion sickness. I don't know why that is, and come to think of it, I don't know another person that can be DRIVING the car and be the only one getting car sick. But whatever.

Anyway, I had my focal point on the seat in front of me and was quietly breathing through the nausea when we at last landed in Florida. The weather was just like the pictures, and it was gorgeous. I enjoyed the 85 degree weather while my hair instinctively assumed its Florida frizz position. Keeping in mind that the folks back home had April snowflakes, the frizzy hair was worth it.

While vacationing we had the bright idea to drive down to Key Largo so that we could say we'd been to the Florida Keys. The drive turned out to be MUCH longer than expected. This was partly because of a lot of bathroom stops for so many people, but it was also because we learned that Key Largo has virtually nothing to see. You are basically forced to continue driving on to Key West just so that you can say you didn't waste your day. What makes traveling to Key West by 12-passenger van with a bunch of virtual strangers bearable? Key Deer, of course! Now, I've never been to Key West, but as we were driving along the causeways, I surely did not expect to see "Deer Crossing" signs. Crocodile crossing, sure... but really? Deer?

What are deer doing on the keys (and HOW did they get there) was a real bonding conversation in the vehicle. We laughed about the animals trotting along the seven mile bridge. Surely that's not how it happened. Wikipedia offers a nice picture and reveals that the deer are a tiny version of what we're used to seeing in Missouri. The deer were apparently trapped on the islands after the most recent Ice Age when a glacier melted, causing the sea level to rise.

This explanation seems ordinary and definitely not as funny as the ponderings by van that day. We looked and looked for the elusive little creatures, but I finally lost it when someone in the back whispered, "I bet they have webbed feet."

The Critical Meaning of "Sometimes"

Jack has not been at school all week due to complications from severe seasonal allergies. Anyway, I think we're past the breathing treatments at the Urgent Care facility, but he is still congested. We're giving school a "go" tomorrow, and we'll see what happens.

Last Friday my classroom phone rang, and when I answered it, the school nurse over in Jack's building described his puffy eyes -- I was not especially surprised at this outcome of an outside recess. However, if you've not witnessed this instant springtime eye-puffing with Jack, it's quite a scene. She was audibly relieved that Great Grandma/Pa were able to come and pick him up. I can see why she was nervous. After all, he was clawing at his face.

This morning, while driving to work with Jack in the back, I told him that he was going to go back to school tomorrow. I mentioned that tomorrow was the class "Spring Party" in my best excited Mommy voice. He replied, "Sometimes I don't like parties." At this I was surprised and raised at eyebrow via the rearview. "Whaaat?!? You don't want to go to the party at school tomorrow, Jack?"

Dramatic and exasperated pause...

"Mom, I said sometimes. Sometimes I don't like parties, but tomorrow I want to go. You didn't listen."

Pink Eye is the Pits

I've never had pink eye in my entire childhood life. I've never had pink eye through eight years of being a teacher. I never had pink eye through year one, two, or three of Jack's existence. But now, I've had pink eye, and you can say that again! To be more specific, I've had three bouts of pink eye in the last two months. No one else around me has it at the moment. WHAT is going on?!

Anyway, this is the worst episode yet. Both of my poor little eyes are shrunken and blood red. The kids say, "You look different." Or they say, "Mrs. Hoodenpyle, are you tired?" When I explain the actual cause for my altered appearance, they get this look on their faces... It's the heebie-jeebie look. Yeah, I'm right there with ya, kids. This isn't any fun.

Last night, I must've gotten up five times just to wipe away the eye-gunk. This is disgusting. And it makes for a crotchety feeling on a Monday.