Turkey Talk and Other Ridiculous Things Muttered during Holiday Celebrations

When you gather with family and friends, ages in utero to 82, you're bound to hear a few doozies.
When you venture out at 3:30 p.m. on Black Friday to pick up necessities like toilet paper, you're fairly certain you're going to get a few dirty looks.

And when you force your husband to drive both ways when going to see your family for Turkey Fest 2009, you're guaranteed to get an interesting reaction.

But I'm pretty sure I'm all kinds of special because I got all of the above and more.

***

Let me bring you to Thursday night, post-carb-and-turkey-overload, when the paternal side of my family start discussing Christmas preparations, celebrations and reparations.

Amid the dull roar, the smallest person in the room - my teeny-tiny Italian grandmother - raises her hand.

Yes, the woman raised her hand as if in school, giving me serious job-flashbacks and a resulting twitch. But anyways...

When she finally has the attention of most of the family, she sing-songs, "I know what somebody can buy Grandpa this year!

My aunt and mother, who take all gift-buying suggestions as holy gospel, almost scream at her, "What??? WHAT???"

She replies, calmly and demurely, "Buy him a Snuggie. Because I am sick and tired of him stealing mine!"

Seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Apparently, my grandfather, who "couldn't be bothered to get up and get a sweater when my arms get cold" while napping on the couch, has been masquerading in my grand-mother's leopard-print Snuggie.

My friends, retirement has never looked so snazzy.

***

The next day, the women in my family seriously contemplated arising at 3 a.m., amid Florida's first cold snap, and snatching up some Black Friday sales.

We even went as far as to map out our store-to-store route around town, complete with small, mental lists of what we wanted to get at each place, before going to bed and soundly sleeping till 9:30 the next morning.

Who needs affordable gifts, anyways?

Not this girl, that's who.

That is, at least until I returned to my own home that afternoon and decided that maybe I didn't want to miss out on the Black Friday melee.

Plus, we needed toilet paper and well, COMPLETELY NECESSARY GIRL STUFF, if you catch my drift.

So off I went. At 3:30 in the afternoon

And in the beginning, I did well: I got the goods at Target, plus a few $2.99 movies that were downright steals (and dead giveaways to my husband and brother's incredibly poor taste in cinema.)

But then - and stupidly, in retrospect - I ventured over to Target's next-door neighbor, Old Navy, to check out the CRAZY GOOD DEALS their obnoxious signs were screaming about from their store window.

I was a bit taken aback, as chaos seemed to reign supreme in the place. Stacks of once-folded shirts were tossed pell-mell; piles of marked-down sweaters were falling off tables; babies were screaming in time with their mothers.

Finally, though, I found a sweater that I thought my own mother might enjoy. And I began a steady, but non-threatening, power walk in the direction of the cable-knitting.

And then, something stuck itself under my foot.

Or, more specifically, a woman slipped her shoe in front of my ankle, sending me reeling forward, then sideways, until I eventually hip-checked one of those stupid Super-Model-Quin-Thingies and torqued my knee and ankle.

I turned around to find a mother and teenager of no more than 14 staring - and pretty much smiling - cruelly at me.

Then, the teen uttered two words that make me want to tear the legs off every Super-Model-Quin-Thingie within sight.

"My bad."

The mother and child walked off, quite literally, cackling.

I then screamed after them, "MY BAD????? Seriously, honey, 'MY BAD' is not an apology or an excuse. In fact, it's rather insulting. So next time you cross my path, you both, with your poor grammar and mothering skills, respectively, better duck, because I will seriously chuck a Model-Quin leg at your behinds, sisters!"

OK, I really didn't say that. I walked - OK, skulked - away.

Because I'm chicken.

And obviously crazy since I went out on Black Friday to buy toilet paper.

***

When I returned home, my husband was there, as usual.

He kissed me when we walked in the door, as usual.

And then, he uttered a phrase that, at first, appeared to be gibberish.

"Would you like another flesh-to-flesh gift of love?"

Excuse me?

"My kisses. They're a 'flesh-to-flesh gift of love,'" he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I didn't point out that "flesh-to-flesh" didn't exactly connote "lip-to-lip," if you know what I mean.

Instead, I just laughed at him.

But my laughter didn't stop him from celebrating the season and giving out "gifts of love" whenever he could.

He'd walk into the kitchen, kiss me, and mutter, "There's another 'flesh-to-flesh' for ya," or he'd peck me good night and say, "Good 'flesh-to-flesh,' huh?"

He's taken such a liking to it I'm really hoping these little "gifts of love" don't replace an actual Christmas gift for his wife over here this year.

Because then someone is going to get a punch right in the flesh-t0-flesh-er.

***

So now that I ruined Snuggies, Old Navy, and Christmas kisses for you, tell me: How was your Thanksgiving?

Hope everyone had a great one! Here's to a wonderful week of the new Christmas season! Happy Monday!

For this I give thanks...

...For my husband, whom I laugh with, cry with, fight with and fight for. The man who loves me ceaselessly, even when I fall asleep wearing his XXL sweatshirt, lying the wrong way across the bed, on top of the comforter.

...For my family, who loves me and supports my decisions devotedly. My blood relatives who have invested more care and home-cooked food into me than most receive in a lifetime.

...For my friends, who might as well be family, with all the love they've poured on me in times of need, trial and celebration. These pieces of my heart who pop me a bowl of popcorn and proceed to bring out what is good in me even when there is very little of it left.

...For my blog community, who have shown me that faces, voices and bodies aren't required to make up a sisterhood. You all who give so generously of your unconditional hope, prayer and hilarious comments, without reservation.

...For my job, and for that of my husband, which have helped put food on my table, clothes on back, and a roof over my head. Luxuries which many Americans dream of and indebt themselves to receive.

...for "my kids," who have taught me that children need even more love when they are no longer small and cute. Teenagers who often make me want to jump out a window bring me such joy when I least expect it, simply by allowing me into their world and letting me watch them learn reading, writing, relating, and the impressive art of Super-Speed Texting.

...for my home, which is a respite in an otherwise dark world. The house which holds my new family, my dogs, my friends, my community, my sanity.

...for my body, which gives me the ability to move with abandon, to work and relieve stress through exercise, to experience little pain, and to bend over and pick up the countless amount of socks and undershirts my husband leaves scattered about the house. This body, the only one God gave me, and the one which I pray I will live a long, healthy life in.

...for the gift of life, my life, which is filled with blessings bestowed upon me by God and His community here on Earth. A life which I too often take for granted, but, at least for today, I'm trying to be thankful for.

To see the gifts and not the shortcomings; to see the blessings and not the burdens.

...for all this, I give thanks.

***

After work tonight, the hubs and I are heading out of town to celebrate Thanksgiving with my family.

Let me tell you, I am downright thankful for this break in the normal schedule. I'm very excited to see my family and to log a couple nights sleep, where I hope to get more than five hours.

So, I wanted to take this chance to wish you all a happy, happy Thanksgiving. I am so very thankful to have all of you in my life this holiday season. You all are such a blessing!

Until next week, have a wonderful Turkey Day everyone! See you next Monday!

Not Me! Monday: The "Mutually Beneficial Birthday Gift" Edition

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. Head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have NOT been doing this week.

***

On Saturday morning, Fed-Ex did NOT arrive bright and early, delivering three covert little packages for my birthday, which is NOT in a couple of weeks.

Within 15 minutes, I had NOT whined, begged and pleaded my way into my husband's good graces, so much so that he did NOT allow me to open said packages, but only after NOT warning me, "If you open them now, they aren't going to be wrapped, ya know."

No duh.

So, I did NOT tear into them, revealing a bottle of perfume, body lotion, and....

The Pioneer Woman's Cookbook!

Image courtesy of Books a Million

I did NOT then shriek and exclaim to my husband, "How did you KNOW? Seriously, how did you KNOW I wanted this? I haven't told anyone!"

He did NOT hem and haw for a while, going on about the fact that the Pioneer Woman is NOT a blogger, and that he did NOT know how I loved blogging and all, and that his amazing deductive reasoning skills did NOT tell him that this would be the perfect gift for me.

I was NOT impressed.

Until, finally, while I was dancing around the living room with my new treasure, his guilt did NOT get the best of him, causing him to mutter - under his breath, of course - the real secret behind his "amazing deductive reasoning skills."

"Actually, I saw something in there that I really want you to make for me," he said. "So I bought it. And that's why I let you open it now."

Oh, brother.

And just like that, the truth did NOT come out.

He and his friends, over Saturday's college football games, did NOT actually page through the book themselves, ooh-ing and aah-ing over stuff they wanted to eat.

Amid cheers for touchdowns and screams for fumbles, they did NOT exclaim, "Dude, look! Bacon-wrapped jalapenos stuffed with cheese! Hello! They have to make these for us! We need these!" and "Chicken-fried steak! Seriously, she has chicken-fried steak in here! I gotta have some of this! It looks amazing!"

The Pioneer Woman's Cookbook, apparently, has NOT joined the likes of flat-screen TVs, power drills, ShotVacs, and nail guns, purchased by husbands around the world, under the guise of gifts "for their wives" for the holidays.

Except now, we do NOT know who the book is really for: Hungry men everywhere who do NOT want to give their wives an excuse to try out a recipe for real, rancher-style fried chicken.

Still, I was NOT still surprised and thankful for my gift.

Because, hey, at least it wasn't a power drill.

***

If you have a free moment, could you offer up a pray for us today? I hate to be so vague and melodramatic in my prayer request, but it's about something I'm just not ready to blog about yet.

I hope I will be able to soon.

Until then, I appreciate any prayers you can spare for us.

Thank you for your blessing.

Have a wonderful (Not Me!) Monday!

Choose Your Own Adventure: Education-Style

It's 8 a.m. Kids are trickling into your classroom before the first bell.

And you're trying to savor these last few moments before you have to start bellowing, "Sit down! Please be quiet! No, you cannot go to the bathroom until after announcements! Please stop hitting your neighbors! We are no longer in kindergarten, ladies and gentlemen! Let's act like it! For the love of all things holy, STOP SMACKING YOUR NEIGHBOR! Let's get out our homework! What do you mean, 'What homework?' No, you cannot turn it in late! What do you mean, 'Why?' Do I ever accept late work? DO I? Sit down! The bell is going to ring! Settle down, please!" by chugging those last dregs of coffee billowing around at the bottom of the world's largest coffee cup, which was chipped just last year by a kid who thought he could use a lacrosse stick in the classroom while explaining to you that, he, "like, totally forgot school started at 8:30, and like, he's really sorry he's late, um, again, but, um, please don't send me to detention because, like, it's not my fault I forgot what time school started."

In essence, it's a normal morning. A truly normal morning in the day of the life of a high-school teacher.

That is, until some straight-A, perfectionist, goody-goody student has the audacity to hand her homework in a whole 15 minutes early.

Perish the thought.

Because now, it's on.

Now, the drama has started.

Now, all those students milling about your room pre-tardy-bell - who didn't do said homework, let alone do it early - are standing at attention.

And. they. are. not. happy.

And one of them - a student with known, documented issues but who rarely acts out because she has a healthy fear of the fact that you'll call her grandmother lickety-split and everyone knows what that means - decided to go for it.

In other words, this 15-year-old, low-achieving angel decided to speak up for her down-trodden, home-work-enslaved peers by slinging the ultimate missile.

She called you a nasty word, otherwise known as an obscenity normally used, in some circles - allegedly - to describe female puppy dogs.

Granted, she did mutter it under her breath and mix it in with other rageful phrases and insults, much like, "OhmygawIhatethisclassWhyistheresomuchworkWhatdoesshethinkweareSheissuchaBEEP!Ihateherandthisclass somuch!"

Sweet, no?

Except, our poor antagonist miscalculated.

Because you, as a teacher of many small delinquents - er, teenagers - have super-power-honed hearing. And her fellow classmates have that sixth sense that allows them to become quiet as mice at the worst moment possible, as far as their peers are concerned.

So you heard her.

And she knows it.

She stares.

You stare.

She sighs, maintaining eye contact.

You sigh, putting down your coffee cup, which is shaking, because now she's gone too far but you don't want her to know it yet, all while also maintaining eye contact.

What to do, what to do?

Just like that, my friend, you are in your very own version of the "Choose Your Own Adventure" Education series.

Except here, there's no treasure to be found or heroine to be rescued. You won't end up dead (hopefully) or filthy rich (in education? Certainly not.)

Here, you're deciding whether to kill a kid or play the merciful, benevolent, understanding teacher card.

Decisions, decisions.

So, let's weigh your options, shall we?

Adventure #1:
You keep in mind this child's insufficiencies; you try to remember how proud she was when she wrote her first newspaper article for you. You ponder how much hurt and abuse there are in her past that you may not be aware of. You think about who taught her it was OK to use a word like that. You even contemplate forcing her into a bear hug, so she can know that she's loved, even though she's kind of jerk and your hug would be much more of a death squeeze than a caring embrace, but still. She's loved, gosh darn it! Even if it kills you to love her.

You decide to turn the other cheek to her crass comment, and perhaps talk to her after class, hoping and praying her tough-girl facade will crack, and she'll cry, and you'll cry, and you'll finally have the breakthrough you've all been waiting for.

Adventure #2:
You realize your recently out-of-control hormones and generally bad attitude brought about by a pointless, cruel, early-morning faculty meeting and a colleague's wanton abuse of your time and disrespect for your job has left you in a place where you are not the best equipped to handle this situation on your own (because if you do, this 15-year-old little brat is going to get. it. See Adventure #3.)

You decide to ignore her and remain emotionless and stalwart, removing a pink detention slip from your folder and filling it out right under her nose, underlining the words "used disrespectful language and attitude when talking to an authority figure." You then send this letter with another student - who is known to be an enemy of the little potty-mouth-ers, therefore guaranteeing its fast and speedy delivery - to the principal's office with said letter in a sealed and signed envelope, where upon the principal will come and retrieve said little potty-mouth-er and take her to in-school suspension, where you will eventually visit to receive the customary apology she will be forced to give you by the end of the day. She will eye you warily for the rest of the year, however.

Adventure #3:
You've decided that this. is. it. That you've had enough of this generation's back-talk and general disrespect. That you're going to be the crusader who ends this kind of self-righteous teenage attitude once and for all. You debate lifting her out of her desk, but realize it's impossible, seeing as she's quite a bit larger than you. You note that childhood obesity is another problem plaguing this generation and wonder if there's any correlation between that and their general affinity for bad behavior. You realize you're off track, and get back to scheming about your maniacal plan...

You decide to call her out, in public, on her rapscallion-like behavior. You get out your city-girl attitude and warn her up, down and around that contrary to popular belief, "Your little teenage opinion of me really doesn't affect my life, but me failing your little behind for the rest of the year will affect yours. So next time you feel like using foul, disrespectful language in my presence, be prepared for your own little version of a 'Come to Jesus' moment, honey, because you, I, and the principal are going to have a talk. A talk about expelling your little behind. Because sweetheart, I'm done with you and all your little friends thinking this is some kind of back alley or seedy nightclub. And just so you know, if you were my child, I'd knock you into next weeek, my dear, for using that kind of language. Because I'm done with it. Done. With. It. You will respect your elders; you will do what you're told; you will reap what you sow. So sit down; shut up, or get out of my classroom."

(In this moment, you also realize how truly Southern you are, as only Southern women uses terms of endearment like "honey," "sweatheart," and "my dear" when chewing somebody out.)

The child either leaves in tears or decks you in the face, depending on what her own "Choose Your Adventure" is looking like that day.

Decisions, decisions.

***

So, what do you? What route would you take?

I'll be honest. I wanted to do #3.

I probably should have done #1.

I ended up doing #2, (an admittedly rare occurence for me as a teacher. I never, ever give detentions.)

It was really one of those weeks, those weeks where the kids were crazy; the teachers were crazy; I was a little crazy.

It was a rough, rough week.

I'm terribly glad it's the weekend, if for no other reason than I've got two days respite from work.

Two days respite where I hope I can rest, relax and rejuvenate so I don't kill a kid come Monday.

I don't know if you've heard, but that's frowned upon in my line of work.

Otherwise, my "Choose Your Own Adventure" series might have a fourth option.

I'm kidding.

Kind of.

***

Have a great weekend everyone!

Uh-oh. I'm at it again.

I'm back up on that never-ending soap-box I never truly take both my feet off of.

But this time, I'm over at my dear friend Brittany's blog, Notes From the Grove.

I'm guest-posting on being married to a newly enlisted member of the U.S. Navy.

And thank goodness, because I am currently staring at a mound of papers bigger than my Great Dane, which should have been graded yesterday.

Oh, and I'm also running a slight fever.

Lovely.

It's Cranky Town around these parts today.

So skedaddle on over to Notes From the Grove if you'd like to read a little bit more from this new military wife.

As for me and my newly acquired, unexplainable "How the West Was Won" vernacular - seriously, Brittany, "skedaddle" and "these parts?" Who do you think you are now? John Wayne? - we'll be here.

Grading papers.

Missing you all.

Taking shots of Theraflu.

Y'all come back now, ya here?

***

I'll be back to posting, sans the corny cowboys-and-Indians phrases, tomorrow. Hope everyone has a great Thursday!

Workout Wednesday: Don't Be "That Girl," Part 2

We've all been guilty of a little something I like to call "Over-Eaters' Exercise."

You know. You've had a rough week; you binged one too many times on the chocolate ice cream, and before you know it, every spoonful you insert into your stressed-out mouth is followed by echoes of your mother's voice, chanting, "A moment on the lips; forever on the hips!"

Ugh.

So, you do what any normal, red-blooded, over-worked woman would: You hit the gym a wee bit harder than you did the week before.

You take control; you rally behind yourself, and you burn some serious calories (and hope and pray that chocolate ice cream metabolizes faster than the three bags of potato chips you inhaled the week before.)

That, in essence, is normal. (Even we trainers do it from time to time.)

But around the holidays, a few of us take this kind of behavior to whole new level.

These women, stressed out by the holiday shopping, decorating and eating, are acting out in ways that men would never dream of.

They are all "That Girl," of the holiday variety, bombarding gyms and exercise video Web sites like there's no more tomorrow (except for the next month of holiday eating, revelry, and general mayhem, which seems to haunt - and motivate - their every step.)

So, I give you: Don't Be "That Girl" Part 2: The Holiday Edition. (Find Part 1 here.)

That girl is scared stiff of next week's turkey dinner, with all the trimmings. That girl is getting a tick just from the thought of the three sticks of butter required to make her grandmother's stuffing. That girl wonders how many calories are in one fried onion ring atop her favorite green bean casserole (and approximately how many minutes it will take to burn off said onion ring on the treadmill.) That girl is "Buys-A-Platinum-Membership-to-The-Gym-And-Attends-Every-Fitness-Class-for-the-Seven-Days-Prior-to-Thanksgiving" Girl.

Come on, you know you've seen her. She's there before you; she's there after you. She takes so many spinning classes - in a row - that the instructors have started to call her spot "That Girl's Bike." She's wearing the same outfit three days in a row, and you're pretty sure it's been unwashed, just like her, as she hasn't seen her washing machine or her shower because, thanks to your gym's 24-7 open-door policy, she hasn't been home.

When forced to go to work, that girl wears ankle and wrist weights over her Ann Taylor suit. She does butt clenches at her desk, noted by the fact that she's been steadily moving up and down in her seat for the past three hours, all while filing, typing, closing deals and pumping those wrist weights in a manic, bicep-curl-like fashion.

But fear not, after Thanksgiving, you won't see that girl for a while, at least until January. She's burned out and burned away so many calories that by the time she sits down to enjoy a turkey feast, she passes out in her plate. Promptly.

Still, not all women are obsessively hoping to pre-emptively burn calories before the Big Turkey Day. There's also women who maintain that Thanksgiving can, and should, be healthy - a day where regimented dieters load up on complex carbs and nutrients so that their bodies are prepped and ready for the quick grabs and elbow jabs required for the most serious of Black Friday shoppers.

Yep, it's that girl. She's buying cranberry sauce made with Splenda. She's cooking a Tofurkey the likes of which you've never seen. She's slipping bran instead of butter into the stuffing; she's coating green beans with heart-healthy skim milk instead of cream-of-mushroom soup and fried onions. She's "Determined-to-Make-Thanksgiving-a-Low-Fat-Healthy-Vegetarian-Meal" Girl.

She'll slip fiber supplements into your yams. She'll make a sugar, milk, and egg-free pumpkin pie. She'll maintain that all family members submit pre-approved nutritional facts for the dishes they've offered to bring to the Thanksgiving feast. She is, in essence, out of control.

She'll also eventually cave and eat an entire apple pie on Black Friday, instead of shopping, simply because her fiber-filled, low-calorie Thanksgiving left her so hungry and unsatisfied that shopping just no longer seems important.

***

Obviously, I'm kidding here. Most of us really aren't crazy enough to exercise our brains out and swear off all butter during the Thanksgiving feast.

But I do hear some people maintain that they're "going to workout extra hard this week, so they can eat a ton of turkey and the trimmings" when the time comes.

Or I better yet, I hear others swearing off all food made with dairy and animal products right before Turkey Day, simply because they're afraid of what it will do to their waistlines.

So, I'm here to tell you: Don't.

Don't do it.

You deserve a break; your body deserves a break (and some pumpkin pie.)

Moderation and the occasional splurge isn't going to kill you; in fact, in most cases it will make you stronger.

People who over-exercise before an event often quit the gym for months at a time after the fact, simply because they burn out hard and fast. And people who overly restrict their diets, especially when it comes to comforting, special-occasion food, will often end up binging - consuming more calories than they would have originally - if they just enjoyed their original Thanksgiving meal with family and friends.

So, yes, while it is important to eat a healthy, balanced, low-fat diet most of the time, Thanksgiving should be an exception. It's one day a year.

Don't be That Girl.

Drop the Tofurkey and live it up.

***

Happy (Workout) Wednesday!

Fabulous what?

Sure, I've been called fabulous. And maybe a few of my dear friends and older family members have used the word "doll" to describe me (when I'm being nice.)

But no one, I repeat, no. one., has called me a Fabulous Sugar Doll.

Until now.

In fact, several of you apparently think I'm one wonderful confectionary child's play toy.

Because my dear friends Gina, Mrs. Potts, Name Twin, and Kassie have all given me the Fabulous Sugar Doll Blogger Award!

Thank you, sweet friends! Or should I say, thank you, you Fabulous Sugar Dolls, you!

Either way, I love the ingenuity of this award. I've never heard of it.

And so, I'm going to muster up some serious ingenuity, follow the rules and pass it on.

Because I totally have to live up to my title of...
Now, as is customary for Fabulous Sugar Dolls (seriously, who thought this name up, because I am in love with it!), I must list 10 interesting things about myself (without giving away that - seeing as how hard it is to come up with 10 interesting things - I may actually be rather undeserving of this "fabulous" award. Shh. Don't tell anybody.)

So, I give you The Last 10 Things the Internet Probably Doesn't Know About Me (Yet.)

1. The only way I will eat baked beans is if they are mixed in with mashed potatoes. And by "mixed in," I totally mean stirred and mushed into the pile of buttery, smashed taters. Seriously. You have to try it. It will change your outlook on the "sweet" bean forever.

2. I was chatting on the dreaded Facebook with three of my blog friends at once this weekend. And it kind of blew my mind. Almost as much as the time I had a little text reparte' going on with one of them. I loved it, until my husband put a damper on my fun by reminding me that it would be easier to just call her if I was going to use the phone to communicate with her, to which I replied, "But what if we don't know how to talk to each other when there are voices involved?" Which made me realize I sounded exactly like my technology-reliant students. And I was shamed.

3. Some school supplies salesman sent me a stack of brightly colored Post-Its shaped like arrows, which say, in big, bold letters "COME SEE ME" on them. My students have decided they are the most intimidating Post-It ever, and so, I've taken to walking around my classroom while my students are working, threatening them with the old, "Don't make me use the 'COME SEE ME' Post-It. Don't make me do it!" The sad part? This totally works.

4. A woman wearing leg warmers, spandex undies, and nothing else on her lower half took my class at the gym yesterday, and I seriously thought I was involved in some kind of hidden-camera show. Especially after she insisted on standing no more than 3 inches away from me while performing all exercises. Except I totally wasn't on T.V. Although I'm sure my inability to control my facial expressions was priceless. If I wasn't so embarrased - for her, for me, for the whole class - I'd have filmed it.

5. I've decided that I can get a bit road-ragey at times. Seriously, people who are inconsiderate and don't follow basic traffic laws really make me mad. I get especially irked when people honk or make obscene gestures simply because I am following basic traffic laws. Because, people, if it says "No Right Turn on Red," I'm not turning right on red, no matter how much of hurry you're in. Sorry, but that's the just they way I roll, er, drive. Period. Yes, I'm one of those people. A rule follower. So sue me.

6. I'm going to be an aunt again! The hubs' sister is pregnant with her second, and the whole family is so thrilled. One of our current nephews, the soon-to-be big brother, has decided he wants to name the new baby "Transformer Dinosaur. Catchy, no? Then again, this is the same child, just last week, who asked his mother a real thinker, a question that has stumped scientists for generations: "What happens when I poop in your brain, Mom?"

7. Some of my favorite times in my classroom are Monday afternoons. I normally stay at the school and work till 6 p.m., long after all the students and most other teachers have left. I really, really love the quiet and the steady rhythm of grading stacks of papers and writing stacks of lesson plans. It's incredibly soothing and peaceful, while also being productive. It's the only time in the week I can really hear myself think.

8. My husband and I have set a rather strict (and low) spending limit on Christmas gifts for each other this year. And I have absolutely no idea what to get him. Then again, I don't really know what to get anybody. I have one gift purchased. Just one. And she was (and always is) incredibly easy to shop for. I don't know why, but Christmas shopping stresses me out like no other. I second-guess everything. Will they like this? Will it fit? Do they hate this color? What if this reminds them of some tragic past event? How will I ever keep this hidden in my house for more than a month? What if it's too expensive? What if it's too cheap? What if, what if, what it? AAAHHHH!!!

9. It's less than a month till my birthday, and my husband and I both forgot. When he finally remembered that little fact Sunday night, he said the following to bring it to my attention: "Wow. You're getting old. Just like that, you're aging. So what kind of gift do you want?" Ahh, true love.

10. I had to lecture my college-student, teaching intern about texting during class. A high-school class that she was supposed to be observing then critiquing. A class that she will eventually have to teach on her own, with me sitting in the back. Observing. Critiquing. And definitely not texting. Sweet heavens, I'm worried about the state of education in this country.

So now, as an honory Fabulous Sugar Doll, I get to pass this award on to 10 other sweet women out there!

And so, I'd like to pass the Fabulous Sugar Doll Blogger Award to:
Happy Dash at Happy Day World!
Lil' Woman at Little Woman, Little Home
Just Add Walter
Ashley at Pink-ture Perfect
Ashley at Joshley and Charles
Maegen at Classy and Fabulous
Tracy-Girl at Then I Got to Thinking
Taryn at Mr. Jones and Me
Kayla at Livin the Great Life!
Emily from Show me Your Way

Also, a special thanks goes out to Emily, Happy Dash and Maegan, who also gave me the Kreativ Blogger Award. Thank you, sweet friends! You are too kind! Go take their blogs for a spin, ladies. I promise you won't regret it.

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Come back tomorrow for another round of Workout Wednesday's "Don't Be 'That Girl.'" Until then, Happy Tuesday!