The Sunflower Diaries

A Day with Moi

2012-01-17T10:18:00.000-08:00

I'm a new fan of several teaching blogs. Farley over at ohboy3rdgrade.blogspot.com did this "A Day in My Shoes" McLinky, and I have to say, I loved reading about another teacher's day. This profession is isolating sometimes...even with the catch phrase, "We are a PLC (Professional Learning Community) model." Oh, yeeeeeeah, well. Let me open the door to a day in my life.

4:30 am Alarm slowly rises. I am one lucky girl to own a Boze alarm clock. So, I actually love being awakened in the morning by the silent hum of my favorite rap station growing ever so loud until I begin to rhyme with it. Tru Dat.

4:45 am I get out of bed. I stumble to the bathroom scale. This is my motivator in the mornings. The scale. And me. And I need to make sure there's a haha -- "friendly number" on that thing.

4:47 am Take shower and put my face on and etc. etc. etc.

5:30 am Go downstairs and drink a cup of coffee while putting my lunch together. Pour another cup in a travel mug and grab a handful of almonds or pecans. Bust a rhyme while I drink my coffee and drive the hour commute into the down and dirty city.

6:45 am Arrive at school. Drop my lunch box off in the teacher's lounge. Make coffee for the staff as the President of the Coffee Club. HEELLLLLO! And drink another cup. I need a wake up burst. Psh. Today on the radio there was a new study mentioned that linked four cups of coffee a day to a decrease in likelihood of getting Type II Diabetes. I do my part, people.

7:00 am Walk to the back of the building, second floor, GUAM, where my classroom is located. Set my Dooney and Bourke purse under the desk, power on my techno-crazed classroom, check my email, and run through the day's lesson plans. Ensure I have copies and materials. If not, head down to the teacher's lounge to corral said supplies whilst getting a coffee refill.

8:15 am Write my morning message on the board, move the overhead so that it's in GO! position, pass out take-home fliers from the office upon students' desks, and make sure pencils are sharpened.

8:35 am Gather the troops from the black top with a smile, assuredly. Walk my class upstairs. Students take three deep breaths and shake my hand before entering the room.

8:35 - 9 am Students begin their morning math work after they empty backpacks and hang them up in the class. We correct those as a class and then do a morning reading comprehension quiz and DOL.

9 am Announcements and the Pledge of Allegiance.

9:10 am Math Investigations: Students conceptualize fractions through the inquiry method: that means you give the problems socratically without demonstrating how to arrive at an answer. It's not a widely loved philosophy amongst my coworkers, so later on, we have Math Stars...a math period for kids who want to be, uh, yep, *STARS!*

10:35 Science: Currently - geology. I <3 geology...it's soooo much fun to teach and students get to explore haha, mock rocks. Made from flour, salt, water, and alum.

11:15 Clean Up for Lunch

11:20 Walk my students down to the cafeteria, and then get a 30 minute break for lunch. Talk. Eat. Talk more. Eat. Stop talking. Pick up students.

11:55 Read aloud class chapter book. Teach reading curriculum. Students do graphic organizer study of Social Studies text this week and vocabulary work while I work while guided reading leveled groups.

1:40 Math STARS starts. Yeah. A whole new math period. To reteach basic skills because that fantastic math curriculum in the morning doesn't hit that hard, instead focusing on structure and logic. (Great. But kind of hard to justify your answers with exceptional, multifacted strategies when you don't know what 5 x 8 is.)

2:40 Kiddos pack and stack! Walk the class to specials. Annddd...break!

3:40-5:05 Tutoring. Pull up work from data testing and drill harder than mean dentists!

6:00ish. Make it home. One of three options: A) go to yoga on Tuesdays and Thursdays. B) Run and take a looooong bath. Favs option. C) Eat. Read. Put on stretchy pants. For you know, those oye! days. Haha

TGIFE (Thank Goodness It's Friday Eve!)

2012-01-12T07:03:00.000-08:00

Thankful Thursdays is brought to you by Rebecca at The Road Home. I think I'll join in....!!!!

So, I'm thankful for the job. Yea, yeah...I'll complain about it, but teaching in the 'hood really brings out the inner Salt n' Peppa rapper in me. It doesn't get ugly, it gets realllll, y'all. But, this morning, it's something for which I truly am grateful.

I'm also thankful, as scary as it is to admit, that Plan LMNOP is not working. Ugh, how many times does it take to get this right, Lord? I'll be moving, sooner than later. I'm shaking things up again because, well, life is one giant kalidescope that's ever turning, never to revert to its previous design. Or something like that. I really am sounding a little Forest Gump here. BUT IT'S A BLESSING. I'll freak out when Plan XYZ is not working.

I'm thankful that Santa Monica is only a 6 hour drive away, and that my California sisters and I don't take that for granted.

I'm thankful that my body is conditioned well enough to be able to run the whole PF Chang's Half Marathon this year. Last year, although 9 lbs. lighter, I didn't have the strength to even attempt to run it. So, while I've gained, it's mostly been much needed muscle. Thankful for my mus-cles. :)

My roommate thinks it's valient that I'm not constantly pining for a boyfriend. The truth is, I'd rather not date a bottom-feeder. So when "In His Dreams" started texting me the other day, roommate was baffled, "You're not even going to respond to his texts?" "Um, no. He can try harder than that." Or as we all know they do, wait for the table scraps from someone else. SO, you know, THANKFUL that something called self-respect is MINE and that I don't let anyone take that away.

Also, I'm thankful for my wonderful family. This morning, my sister Heather, who is four months along in her pregnancy, finds out if she is having a boy or a girl! In the last few days of my grandmother's life, she kept insisting that Heather was pregnant. My mom told Grandma, "Don't ask her that!" Because nobody likes the pregnancy question when there is no baby. So, after my grandmother passed my sister smirked, "WHAT??? NO! How DID she know??" I like to think that my grandma and her great-grandchild met in passing. :)

Hop on over to The Road Home to find the original Thankful Thursdays Link Up!

Happy Friday Eve!

Resolutions are Tr-Tr-Tricky, Tricky, Tricky

2012-01-09T01:34:00.000-08:00

I rarely watch television anymore, because it's death to get sucked into shows like Real Housewives. But, given the chance to chillax, I will. So, I'll throw on the only sweatshirt I own, (because sweatshirts are a mentality and owning more that one is dangerous), and put my hair up with a clip and twelve bobby-pins, wiggle my feet into shea-butter infused socks from Bath and Body Works, and fall into the couch. I typically peruse television shows on the T.V. Guide channel as if I'm reading recipes out of Julia Child's cookbook. "Hmm. Can't do that." "Don't have time for that." "Wait, was that chocolate??? Meh. Hershey commercial." I usually land on something that causes comatose within a half an hour. Which is usually something typifying reality T.V. drama: Real Housewives, DC Cupcakes, or ... my favorite, Cops.

Do you ever remember Cops episodes in detail simply because you don't want that scenario to ever happen to you? Nope, me neither. (Guilty.) I was watching Cops a looong time ago. I can't remember all of it, but I do know that some guy somewhere along the lines was shot over not being able to rap. YES. You heard me: HE DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO RAP. So, he was KILLED. Gang activity, apparently.

I reiterated this episode, over Christmas no less, to my family...out of care and concern, of course! (Bahaha.) If they were ever cornered and could save themselves with a simple rap song, I would want them to be prepared. So they know, if I was ever cornered with a gun to my face, and had the social faux pas of not knowing how to rap a rhyme? I would start rapping Run DMC's "It's Tricky." FOR REALS: "It's trick to rock a rhyme to rock a rhyme on time, alright, it's tricky, tricky, tricky, tricky."

The running joke over Christmas became that I'd need to rock rhymes in pretty much every context over the holiday season. To prepare myself, of course, for D-day. So, I would bring the salt and pepper to the table, and present, ever so eloquently, "Salt and Peppa's here, and we're in your face." I like a good rap song, especially one that saves a life. You're welcome for this PSA, Internet. You could be killed if you don't know how to rap. So, always have a back-up verse or two, you know?

However, the cursing that accompanies typical rap songs of EMINEM, JayZ, and Snoop Dogg lyrics HAS GOT TO GO. Mostly because, confessional: I have a really bad habit of swearing. (Grimace!) As of January 1: I have dropped this habit. (My wise father always said that swearing was a sign of ignorance, as intelligent people could find more accurate words to use instead of relying on four letter words. Aren't dads the best?) It's tricky! Tricky! Tricky! Tricky! But, anything good in life typically is, yes?

So, this post was my recital, I think it's very vital
To rock (a rhyme), and have some time
to resolve my life completely!!!

Well, my resolutions may be tricky this year, but...

It's like that y'all (y'all), but I don't quit
I keep on (rock!) shock! Cuz this is it...

Other resolutions on the docket include:
*Stop hanging out with "woo-girls."
*Live through the P.F. Chang's Half Marathon 2012.
*Don't be so obsessed with weight but lose 7 lbs. (Paha).
*Move. Where? I don't know...in June though.
*Pray the Rosary daily.
*Stop being a gypsy after this move. Bloom where you're planted.
*Road trip with L. to Texas.
*Trust God; trust your heart.
*Follow your intuition.
*Do yoga 3x a week.

Happy New Year!!!

True

2012-01-04T18:45:00.001-08:00

“ There are many times that I wish I had heard that ‘just who you are at this moment, with the way that you’re feeling, is fine. You don’t have to be anything more than who you are right now.’ I’d like to think it’s also something that’s happened to me through the years, that I’m more able to accept myself as I happen to be, rather than as somebody thought I should be. ”

-Fred Rogers, in Life’s Journeys According to Mister Rogers

For my sole blog commenter who left me an anonymous comment ascertaining that I took Fred Rogers out of context, and furthermore, (gasp!) presented a "pretty ambiguous" quote, I dare say you are right! Come on down, and win your prize!!

Oops.

I'm not Wayne Brady, and this blog is not CBS' Let's Make a Deal. But if it were...let's make a deal, shall we?

Let's agree that the quote simply expresses self-acceptance.

Let's agree that my personal blog exists with the singular purpose to find self-acceptance, implicitly presented in the tagline, "Though tomorrow may rain, I'll follow the sun."

Let's also agree, that while the quote can be interpreted to be ambiguous in the latter half, you ironically contradict its seemingly apparent point in the former: "Just who you are, AT THIS MOMENT, with the way you're feeling, (so for you that would be: COMPLACENCY AND ANNOYANCE), is fine." It's okay...I understand. Well, I guess...you would, too, if only if you'd agree with Mr. Rogers' quote.

1:11am Make a Wish!

2011-12-12T00:11:00.000-08:00

I'm starting this post at a little past one in the morning.

This night surely will not get sleep, but maybe I can update this blog about this girl who's about to punt to finish a week that is laden with expectation (Christmas lesson plans, gifts for students to give to their families that are actually from the teacher-(who knew?), Secret Santa, oh-let's schedule a dental appointment in there, Holiday work party + hangover recovery -- just being honest, packing for a week and a half in Washington, and classroom holiday party,)...and then, after that, maybe I'll find peace for the rest of this Advent. Maybe.

I'm in a National Board Pre-Candidacy Teacher Certification class right now. If you're familiar with the field of education, you know that is a pretty big deal. It's a Saturday class, but it's taken a good portion of my time. I don't think I'll be forking over the $2,500 to take the National Board test this time around. (I'm just fine being a state certified teacher at this point.)

The weight of teaching in a Title 1 school has caught up with me this year. I press on, but there is a hint of change in my vocation, an expectation that this fifth year will be my last at my current school. On my first day in my classroom five years ago, I sat at my big, all-important teacher's desk, and as Mary Poppins-esque as I could, I announced pragmatically, "I'll stay until the wind changes." I smile with a Robert Frost induced sigh, now. Hmm. I feel a shift in the air. There is no implicit message tangled in that affirmation. I'm moving into a Maria VonTrapp persona, you know, when she's singing through town after leaving the convent. "I wonder..." But yes, there's hope enwrapped with the expectation of change.

How much I wish for God's wisdom right now, but the peace of the season reminds me: God is in us, God is for us, God is with us -- Emmanuel.

Love to all. Happy Advent and Christmastide, Friends.

It's a Wonderful Life November Edition

2011-10-19T15:05:00.000-07:00

"Because if we the storytellers don't do this, then the bad people will win."
Christiane Amanpour

The bad people - car salesmen, car dealers, auto repair shops, and the dealer repair shops.

The good people - What? Me, of course. We're good people.

Scene 1: Three weeks ago. I get my brakes done at a AAA certified mechanic. First time I don't use the dealer repair shop. Saving money. I feel smart and frugal.

Scene 2: Outside of teaching store, 3 days after brake job. My car won't start. I panic, but finally it gives. I assume no relationship to brake job.

Scene 3: My roommate is waiting for me at the airport. I am trying furiously to start my car. Twenty tries later, we're in action. I call the brake job mechanic and erupt in my mama bear alterego. (See: Roar.).

Scene 3, take 2: I drive my car back to the brake job place, smile and talk in a Mr. Rogers' calming demeaner, and explain the issue. "Can you please fix it?" Mechanic calls later that day explaining it has nothing to do with his brake job; it's the computer system. (!!!!!) And in the most tactless way possible, drawls, "Stranger thin's have happened." (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Scene 4: I go crazy. (...) It's best you not here about my tyraid, Internet. I take it to another reputable AAA mechanic. He loosens the brake, and now the car can again start.

Scene 5: My car won't start outside of school on Tuesday. Again. Tow truck driver fixes the problem. (Not the battery.)

Sunday night: CAR AGAIN WON'T START. Call Triple A again. Wait for 2 hours for tow. Get cat-called while waiting, although cat-callers don't ask if I need help. Tow truck driver is scariest creeper I've ever seen. I feel exactly like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone 2, when he's lost in Central Park at night. Fortunately, one of my friends took pity, refused to let me ride in the tow truck driver's car, and even bought me ice cream.

I own an upside down LEMON. It's not like upside down pineapple cake. However, there is promise...

There is nothing more wonderful than realizing at the end of the day...

...that there is NO SUCH THING as a RELIABLE car, but there are such things as reliable family and friends...and I am lucky to have the better half.

Cut out Jimmy Stewart's face, replace with mine, and...yep, that's about right.

***I've been away from the blogosphere recently, after having the privilege of visiting my grandmother, Mary Jean, not once but fortunately twice before she passed away, Oct. 9, 2011. I am so grateful for your prayers.

You have a blog.

2011-09-26T21:03:00.000-07:00

UPDATES!

I have long hair -- still! We did not cut the locks on Sunday, although we were tempted.

I have 18 students this year! The district leveled! We got a new teacher! My class size = 18. Whoa. (That's a whoa like a kid dunking an oreo, not Joey from Blossom.)

So, I'm taking graduate level courses once more. Hard. Really hard. Expensive, too. But, I am growing as a professional. Bam.

So, we're fortunate that as soon as we got well, we snuck off to Washington to see my grandma. So, she was really hit and miss, and now has miraculously started to do better. It's like the end scene of the movie The Proposal, when Betty White fakes her death. Funny. No, it's not funny. But she's got a strong spirit. Your prayers are appreciated.

Hello, yoga? Well, so we stopped running when the Influenza turned Bronchitis hit. There's still a cough. My roommate swears I'm a sloth. But THERE'S A COUGH. So, I'm not running. Ha. I'm not walking either. No, haven't done a crunch or leg curl. So, I'm thinking this new season is going to be my next yoga phase. Tank tops? LOVES IT. Stretchy yoga pants? Hello, comfort. Excuse for a constant pedicure? SOLD.

BTW:

Where can you find random pictures of Macchu Picchu??

Or funny impersonations??

Or, shocking news stories??

It's on PINTEREST! And if you aren't following me, it's time to start. We'll pin. We'll do hand clap games. We'll eat chocolate chip cookie dough. I even found MASH on the site. It's like a slumber party for when your day's slow and you need to thumb through new decorating ideas for your bedroom. I've already redecorated my bedroom. It's inspiring!!! See you over there!

How to say goodbye...

2011-09-06T18:01:00.001-07:00

There's no gentle way of putting this.

At least, not for me.

My grandma is dying. And that's why I've been silent Internet, because it's a heavy load, and I'm a little murky.

I'll have you know, Internet, that besides my own mother, there isn't any other person in the world that I hold in higher esteem than my grandmother. So, this whole experience is very perplexing.

I'm driving home, sweating in the Phoenix heat. The radio is emitting my favorite afternoon mix, and I'm bawling and hiccuping and smudging my eyes, and I don't want to lose you, Grandma.

Let me give you some background:

My family? Eh? We're good people. We're nice, kind people. We're good ahead! I'll take the next boat people.

And then, there's my grandma. She's hot Irish blood, with a hint of Cherokee Heritage...evidence of a love story between a poor Irish boy who walked the railroad tracks from New York to Ohio in the early-1800s with nothing but the shoes on his feet, an immigrant starting fresh in the new world. He met and fell in love with a Cherokee princess in Ohio, a forbidden love that became the pursuit of his life, and he eloped with his princess, applying for a Nebraska Land Grant where they could live together without discrimination. The story is true, although fabricated I'm sure with "shoes on his feet" -- I mean, he probably had a dime or two. Nonetheless, his great, great granddaughter is the heroine now of my story...holding fast to her stubborn bone...just like her ancestors.

My grandma is a fighter. Hot tempered? Sure. Knows her piece? Of course. Will give it to you even if you don't ask for it. Even try to smell like a Democrat? Watch out! Bring home a date to meet her who isn't Catholic? Fear for your life.

She fought for her college degree, working two part time jobs to put herself through school, during the early 1950's, when most women didn't earn an advanced education. In college, she accepted a blind date with a man named Roger. My sister wondered upon hearing this story, "Why would you accept a blind date, Grandma?" "It was a Friday night, and I wanted a free beer!" Well, showing up at the bar, another man named Roger sat down beside my grandmother, Mary Jean. He had his way with the women. "How are you tonight, Mary Jean?" "Oh you must be Roger?" And thus, what was supposed to be a free beer with another man named Roger became the first date of my grandma and grandpa. Divine intervention? I think so.

She's tough on the exterior, but sweet and caring once she knows you to your core. It's about standards with her. When I was four, she would babysit for my mother. Instead of entertaining us, she taught us to clean, and to be thorough. "No, try again, Katie. Fluff the pillows like this. THERE!" Brushing off her hands. Teaching her granddaughter pride. Scrubbing floors on her knees at 63. Beige shoulder strap purses scented with menthol cigarettes, rosaries, and Extra peppermint gum..."of course you can have a piece, but just a half stick." Don't touch her billfold. It's called pop, not soda, and "KATIE! Shoulders straight... Say excuse me! ...It DOESN'T matter if you say excuse me if you cut someone off! ...If you put your hands in your pocket, make sure your thumbs stay out. Otherwise you look like a man! ...You've lost weight! You're quite the looker!" She's early-mornings, off to work, with NPR on the radio softly while praying the Guardian Angel prayer, in which she substitutes EVERYONE'S NAME in our extended family for the part of the prayer that verses, "be at my Laura, Cindy, Tim, Roger, Julie....Allie the dog....etc. etc. etc. side..."

Smart as a tack. Always teaching. A teacher to everyone. My grandma's first adventure with me was teaching me to ride the bus. At four years old, she taught me how to pay fare, sit on the bus, and get off at my stop if I were to ever get lost...I would know my way home. This adventure, of course, included a special trip to see Sleeping Beauty, and afterwards, holding me, passed out on Grandma's lap on the ride home. When we stepped off at our stop, she continued to carry me...as the sun was setting, and the Santa Clara willows shaded the walk, and she sang to me on the two block walk back to her house. I had awakened at that point, but I didn't want her to stop, so I pretended to be dozing as she gently lulled me back home.

And now, as she is in the hospital, lulling in and out of consciousness, I desperately want to be able to go back home and sing to her...and to be able to say goodbye.

So, I'm sick with the flu and I'm not in a condition to be able to return right now...and next weekend I have classes...and my parents are telling me to wait...and I just don't want to lose my chance to be able to say goodbye. And even if I don't...I have no idea how I will try...to say goodbye.

A Midsummer Night

2011-08-16T20:59:00.000-07:00

The heat rises from the pavement in the Phoenix summers like the sizzle of a hot Denny's frying pan. Gulping a glass of ice water greedily will only get you partial refreshment.

Evening turns the boiler down in this hot, tortured town. The shade of the black sky silences the noise of the day. A quiet that you crave. A warm chocolate chip cookie that has cooled enough for you to take the first bite. Delicious dusk.

My nights are spent poolside. Sometimes they're the culmination of a long six mile run in the heat. Sometimes they're the treat to the stress of the workday.

I take a slow sip of my Chardonnay, a long drag of my cigarette. Seldom do I drink. It's even more rare that my lapse in reason lights a cigarette. But I know my vices will disappear with summertime. It's not just a season that I'm watching fade as black as the day. It's a season of my life.

My feet dangle over my lounge chair into the pool water, a hot spring.

I exhale.

I lose all the worry in the comfort of my night under the stars. There's only a few more weeks of this...

...some people call the heat torture, but it is my nightly bliss.

Debunking the Deserted Island Theory.

2011-08-09T19:19:00.000-07:00

Have you ever stopped and asked yourself, "What would I do if I were on a deserted island and this problem arose? How would I handle it?"

So, you run through the scenario of your given problem, say a bad haircut, and you reason,

"Meh? No one's on the island but me."

Then, you counter that point with something more plausible...

"But, it's highly likely that some Navy sailors may happen to rescue me from said island. Which would make the hair situation a little more concerning."

Worries abound. Then the third little voice in your head offers,

"However, you probably wouldn't be shaving your legs on an island too, which would divert the attention from the bad haircut."

And finally the James Earl Jones voice of reason inside concludes,

"This desserted island theory is pure crap. The world does not revolve around you."

End scene.

And so, while the Lord of the Flies posse, Gilligan's Island's crew, and Wilson in Castaway had a lesson to teach us all...

...it's mostly that this far-fetched scenario is NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN, MY FRIEND.

It's a good thing, too. You know. In The Lord of the Flies: it's one for all, and all for one, unless you're the fat kid on the island. I think the moral of the story went something like that. So stay home, eat some cake, and stop worrying about your life. Your problems? Not that big if you were on a desserted island. Not that big if you, you know, aren't.

And in the end, if the haircut really is that bad...get yourself a hat like Gilligan's.

And the winner is...

2011-08-08T05:21:00.000-07:00

Hello, Blogland!

Thank you for your participation in my first blog giveaway. This was fun for me to do, so it will easily be the first of many!

I have been working like CARAZY now that I'm teaching my first week of school, so this reveal is brief.

THE WINNER IS...
From True Random Number Generator ... #10...which is commenter LEANN!

Leann, send me your email at sunflowerdiaries@gmail.com, and I'll put you in touch with Kelsey who's ready to create your lovely new blog!

Cheers! Thank you to everyone who stopped by my blog! Love reading your new blogs, and can't wait to spoil you again! :)

Sunflower Diaries Giveaway!!

2011-07-31T10:52:00.000-07:00

What do you love most about The Sunflower Diaries??

THE GIVEAWAYS!

(What giveaways? I've been reading her blog the ENTIRE time and haven't gotten one single thing...cheap!)

Friends, here's the deal.

Kelsey at Kreated by Kelsey Blog Design is a talented blog designer with a knack for personal touches! She's responsible for my recent blog lift. If you would like to receive a free blog makeover, all you need to do is post a comment below telling me what you like about The Sunflower Diaries...(the posts about faith, the posts about friends, the posts about falling down the stairs, the posts about my lack of love life, or my love of cheese ~~and wine.~~...or maybe it's the days I don't post! LOL). Anywhoodles...let me know what you like or want to see more of...and you'll be entered to win. (You're welcome to play even if it's your first time commenting!)

I'll use Random.org to fairly pick a winner from the commenters. You're welcome to comment as many times as you like. For each comment you post, you'll be entered that many times (but you'll need to say something new!) ...so get crackin' on that new blog design. :)

Giveaway closes Sunday, August 7, 2011!

Prevention.

2011-07-30T03:19:00.000-07:00

I didn't catch the story when it first broke, however, one of my teacher friends pointed this article out...

A teacher in Pennsylvania, Ms. M, wrote about her students in her personal blog last winter: a blog that only had her first name and picture as sources for identification. She wrote of her frustration with teaching in a poorly-worded, heated post...and low and behold, her students found her blog...

(...)

THAT was a moment of silence for her unfortunate career suicide, may Career-Number-Uno rest in peace. She was suspended with pay last year, and is still allowed to return to teaching, however, GOOD LUCK with your students Ms. M. Really. Godspeed.

Dead man walking.

Having written about teaching publicly on this blog before...I have to wonder about my online presence...

Now, granted, what Ms. M. lacked was discretion, something I have always held quite serious since the inception of my blog. As bloggers, we all know of the infamous Heather Armstrong, author of Dooce.com, who lost her job from her online tyraid now ten years ago. The Ghost of Jobs Past haunted me with the reality that the Internet is here to stay, and you can't use white out. Anything that goes up, even if it's deleted later on, has been released into the great unknown. So, the point? Discretion.

Furthermore, in specific regards to my posts on education, I have always approached any "issue" I've had with education from a general bureaucratic approach. I defend that stance as acceptable on this blog. BUT, day in and day out, I am in the classroom for my students. They are my kiddos for a year, and I work to build them up. I don't want any of them to ever misconstrue my desire for education reform as something it's not.

There are teachers out there who are great bloggers and great teachers. Take for instance, Lori Graham, over at Superfantastic.blogs.com. Or Kelsey, the blog designer who's creativity is responsible for my blog make-over. (See her link at the bottom.) I just never, ever want to sabotage this gig, because it's not a gig, it's a pretty big deal.

Sooooooo.....

I could ~

1. Delete all education related posts. (Done)

2. I could change my blog name to my Twitter username. (I don't like that idea).

3. I could chalk it up, and delete the pictures...all 2. I like to read blogs with pictures on them...it makes them more human to me. But I don't want my students to ever find this blog...where I write about deeply personal, grown-up stuff. Not for you, kiddos. I know they found me on Facebook and I'm sure it's only a matter of time before they find me on the blogosphere, unless, I blend in more.

We are now anonymous...but pretty, thanks to Kreated by Kelsey Blog Design.

I got it from my mama bakergirl.

2011-07-24T18:42:00.000-07:00

Him: To lady at the gym: can I recommend yoga pants to fix that?

Her: What does she have to fix?

Him: Well, remember when you were a child you were told to color inside the lines? Apply that principle to a body and workout shorts.

A real life conversation from Facebook, brought to you by me. I was tempted to join the thread at that point with,

Me: You saw me at the gym??? Look away! LOOK AWAY!

I didn't though. Because we're trying to be classy right now. I want to be more Natasha Richardson (amazing actress) and less crass-lady-on-da-subway. I don't ride the subway. But stereotyping is FUN! ;)

So, I'm losing the weight I complained about here by training for a half-marathon. Tangent: I just have to say that muscle memory is amazing. I haven't been a runner for a good 8 months, and then, I was able to just jump back in two weeks ago. It's magical, really. Whoa, my legs are moving? Quickly at that? Sure, downloading Will.i.am onto itunes helps. "I got it from my mama." Not really. Mostly from eating so much.

If I didn't need to cut back, can I just inform you of a deliciously wonderful, makes-Willy-Wonka-look-chinsy blog of the baking variety?

The blog is buddingbaketress.blogspot.com. The girl can write and entertain. The food looks positively amazing. If I were to indulge now, my new song would be, "I got it from my bakergirl. Check it out." But, I will wait until the jeans are loose...and then, I will get in on the amazing recipes just in time for the holidays: you know, Labor Day.

Also, she's trustworthy. Not like the skinny girl who writes the blog, "The Girl Who Ate Everything." Um, liar. I would become HUGE just thinking about eating everything. Although, she's cute and bakes a mean dish, too. Ok, so I'm her fan, too.

Staking Claim.

2011-07-24T10:19:00.001-07:00

I imagine Christopher Columbus, Ferdinand Magellan, and Hernando Cortez somehow sailed through life.

(That's funny.)

As a 27-year-old Bridget Jones, I'm finding that life and exploration are, you know, the same.

It's occurred to me lately that I've lived life from a totally warped perspective. I worry. I plan. I save. I work...all in an attempt to "get there." Ubiquitous, ugly, elusive "there." And while I've been worrying about getting there, I've ignored the life I have in front of me.

Yeah, somethings aren't finished. Meh? So what.

Yeah, I'm single. And that's not going to change anytime soon because:

1. I take things slow.
2. I'm looking for something real.
3. I've dated four guys throughout the past year who all fed me the typical douchey lines that players use, and I fell for them, one of whom was even married. I found out when he showed me a picture of himself...and noticed a ring.

Me: "What's that ring doing on your left hand?"
Him: "Oh, that's just my purity ring."
Me: "You wear a purity ring on your LEFT ring finger...at 36?"
Him: "It's that important."

(At least this guy advertises it.)

I've tried to believe their lies so much that I almost believed that one. I asked my sister and mom about it, "HELLO, KATIE. He's DEFINITELY married." It's hurt because I feel stupid, used, betrayed, and tired. Angry that they wasted my time, but more so that the older they get, maturity evades them, and the deception just worsens. I only date Christian guys. It stings because they just use it as an excuse.

I'm not going through that waste of time again. So there's a blinding, polarizing truth arising in my life: you either "get there," or you pull away from that notion completely and "live here," in the moment, for once.

I was going to tackle the 36 Things Every Single Girl Must Do, but I realize it's plagued with the notion of "getting there." Do this before you finally reach your married-ness royalty status.

I'll use some of them, of course, because they rock. But from here on out, I'm leading the way. I'm sailing the seas. I'm conquering this land as my own, because I've only been given one life, and SPECTACULAR doesn't wait around to "get there." SPECTACULAR seizes the day, stakes a claim, tackles rough waters, and comes out boldly proclaiming victory. No more "getting there."

I see land. I have arrived.

(This post partly explains my new blog title. Song of a Sunflower was too passive. It made me feel like that hippy song, "Blowing in the Wind." From here on out, we hold this blog to be assertive evident: holding fast to life, liberty, and the happy pursuit. I can't say pursuit of happiness. That's passive.)

FYI: My new blog address is sunflowerdiaries.com; but songofasunflower.blogspot.com will still get you here.

NOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2011-07-23T19:06:00.001-07:00

...

.......

............

BLOGGER!!!!

YEAH!! I'M MAD AT YOU! AND ALL OF GOOGLE, TOO!

So, I changed my web address...

...there was going to be this SURPRISE! Big reveal...

...but, Blogger went ahead and zapped my blog list and other widgets while reverting my blog address.

I am trying to rebuild the golden list right now. I hope I remember all of them. If you saw your blog on my sidebar at one point, and don't see it now, it's not because I got my panties in a knot and unfriended your blog. It's because Blogger SUCKS!

Off to rebuild the list....

BLOGGER!

Topically Speaking

2011-07-21T10:29:00.000-07:00

I guess this blog design will have to do.

I'm in need of an update! When my next paycheck comes, I might invest (blow money) on a custom bloglift. Shera at Sweet and Simple Designs did a beautiful job on the header...I'm just thinking I'd like something more funny and real this time around: looking for a fresh face for my easy, breezy, beautiful blog.

I don't know why I worry about looks so much. My favorite blogs are typically branded in the generic templates of WordPress and Blogger, and breathe of great writing, not pretty clipart.

I wonder if that's my biggest blindspot. I try to do the same thing with make-up, clothes, even with classroom decorations. I worry about making the external reality presentable and lovely, which, although important, isn't the substance of me, or my teaching, or my blog.

Wondering as I prepare to return to the classroom in...

5...4....3...2...1...days!

5 months of not working...now down to 5 days before my imminent return.

Stand with Me in Heels, or Stand Against Me.

2011-07-20T12:54:00.000-07:00

News this morning broke regarding Congresswoman Michelle Bachmann's health issues with migraines. The congresswoman is contending that, although she gets migraines, she is able to effectively run for President...she's just fine.

She claims that her migraine headaches correlate to her use of high-heeled shoes. Medical correspondent for Good Morning America, Dr. Richard Besser, has disspelled the congresswoman's claim, stating that high-heeled shoes don't cause migraines. Rather stressful life events may just happen when a woman is coincidentally wearing high-heeled shoes.

I realize Dr. Besser practices medicine. I do. I get that. But as far as I can surmize, he does not practice BEING A WOMAN. Therefore, although he reached a plausible explanation for Michelle Bachmann's migraines, one can conclude that until he's walked a mile in a woman's heels, he will never understand the correlation between heels and hell.

Stress? Yeah, that's bad.

High-heels? EXCRUCIATINGLY DEBILITATING.

Waterboarding would be a vacation in comparison to spending all day standing in heels, as any female politician, TEACHER, salesperson, etc. has to do on a regular basis.

Dr. Besser, would you please humor us all? Wear heels. And stand in them. All day long. For at least one full day. And then, take your medical background, couple that with your newly, deathly-crippled feet that shoot pain throughout your body, wracking your brain with torture known regularly to women...and then give us your professional opinion.

Nope, no aspirin for you.

You know there's no connection between headaches and heels.

Don't be ridiculous.

20 Days of Truth, Day 20

2011-07-19T07:43:00.000-07:00

Heather, my sister, sent me a text message a few days ago,

"Uh, you totally defaulted on your 30 Days of Truth."

I have a reason.

I wasn't feeling the love. I'm a good judge of character. I can tell when someone is disinterested, or bored, or overstimulated by 30 Days of T.M.I. (too much information). In the end, 30 Days of Truth was a bad game of Truth or Dare, where I said "truth" without thinking...I should have said "dare." You don't need to know every detail of my life...then there would be no mystery to my blog, right?

***It's not cheating, but it's consolidating. The 30 Days of Truth are a little redundant, so I'm closing shop today with Day 30, which will from here on out be referred to as Day 20.***

In closing the Freudian psychobabble of my "truth," here I get to babble on for one last time...

Day 20 – A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself.

Dear Katie,

I love your heart. You always expect the best in people, and the best out of yourself. You have a fighting spirit... in the same sentiment as Princess Diana, you contend, 'I'm not giving up. I'll fight until the end because I feel I have a role to fulfill.'

I love that you've learned to love life.

You laugh. You have a knack for getting yourself out of tricky situations with the funny. Your sense of humor rises when tensions do, and you embrace a Lucille Ball slapstick persona with your wit. You find situations that could be discouraging, embarrassing, or boring and get people to laugh. You only started to do this recently as January 2010 found you depressed and crying on the bathroom floor. That will never ever happen to you again...because you've learned to laugh, and laugh hard.

You are an unapologetic girlie girl. You live in sundresses in the summer, and prefer skirts over pants. Why? Because your hips don't lie...and I love that you embrace it. You've found that dresses and skirts just work better because, "Helllooooo...you are a woman." "You look good!"

Your strong legs are your lifeline. You're training for two half-marathons!! (Psh! Why not just run one whole marathon??) "WHAT? ARE YOU INSANE??" Still, you are ambitious and strong, and your determination glows.

I love that you embrace the klutz you are. I love that you tripped on your dress while reading at your sister's wedding, and blew it off with your motto, "Psh! How would I be me if I was always smooth?"

I love that you now embrace Jesus as your savior. Religion is no longer a piece of the puzzle, it's allowing Jesus into every part of the puzzle.

I love the hard knocks you've had, the heartbreak, and the disappointment. It's made you stronger. It's made you turn your heels, flip your hair, and retort back, "Honey, I'm better than that. Thank you." You know your value, now.

I love that you know that your happiness is not dependent upon material possessions...

"I draw from my family and my friends and I feel like that small-town person. The achievements, the materialistic possessions have really come to mean less. They mean nothing." - Sheryl Crow

I love that you give yourself permission to draw the line when something is not working, like for instance, 30 Days of Truth. ;)

XOXO,
Katie

Wordless Wedding Recap

2011-07-16T10:00:00.000-07:00

I Love the Way You Lie

2011-07-14T13:33:00.000-07:00

Hemingway. He tells me he reads Hemingway…

...and I can’t believe his beautiful blue eyes are fixed on me.

I look around the bar. Clearly, there are more attractive women here: women who are trying to invite the attention of my handsome date. He doesn’t SEEM to notice them at all.

He asks me what kind of trouble I get myself into…

Oh great. Now I have to admit I’m a boring Miss Goody Two Shoes. Gulp. I knew it seemed too good to be true. I want to pretend that under some clause in the universe, Mr. Handsome could be right for me. I play into his trap, “You mean have I ever been handcuffed?” Oh, I can’t pull that off… I immediately answer my own question, “No, never. I don’t get into trouble.” I sip my drink to ignore the foot I shoved into my mouth.

He laughs at my innocent persona. I laugh at his smug, yet forgiving presence.

I ask him about his faith. BAD MOVE… he tells me everything I want to hear. Read a book called Christian Atheist. It changed him forever. He wants to meet someone who puts Jesus first.

Smug liar.

I shouldn’t have looked into his eyes. I shouldn’t have laughed at all. I shouldn’t have played into his game. For some reason, he knows Hemingway works. He knows that the first date gaze will make me not only fall but JUMP for him without a parachute. He knows he only has to pretend to be CONSUMED with me for a little while. He’s a cobra: his stare isn’t sincere, it’s venomous and self-interested.

On the second date, I ask him how his work event went. He asks if I want to see a picture of his ‘70’s costume.

“Of course, Silly!”

He shows me a picture of himself with his arm around another woman.

WHAT THE?? My body language turns away from him. I lift my glass of wine. He’s just ordered the most expensive bottle on the wine list, trying to impress, or more accurately, lure me in just like the cobra he is. When he ordered, I choked on the inside, You’re spending THAT on ME? It made Cristal look cheap. Now, I take a mocking gulp. It doesn’t matter how pricy your wine is, if you show a picture of yourself with another woman around your arm? I’m the one who feels cheap.

Dating is a game, and I play along. I just called him silly? I honestly don’t think he’s silly at this point…except for his ridiculous posture. I want to actually tell him that I hate that he chose to sit next to me, rather than across from me. It’s the second date. I want to tell him that he’s not cool enough to pull off the word, “Chill,” to describe his favorite bars, and that continually pressing his knee into the side of my thigh is about as annoying as having a student repeatedly tap me on the arm. “Miss P! Miss P!”

I ignore all of that, though.

He can tell that as soon as he has tried too hard, and made his game a little too obvious…all he has to do is mention Hemingway, or that he works with Big Brothers Big Sisters, or that he is planning on hitting up a concert next weekend, and would I like to go?

I love the way he lies.

I swoon. You mentor a teenager? How sweet.

Did I ask him what the kid’s name was? No, I won’t pry. He’ll tell me more about it later. Dumb, Katie. Dumb. I love the lies so much that I let him get away with them…even when they’re PAINFULLY CONSPICUOUS…

Third date…my phone rings 20 minutes before he’s supposed to pick me up. “Hey, my car battery died or something. Can you come by and pick me up from work?” Crap. He’s not picking me up? Great. Like this is going to be romantic. I hate driving on a date. I turn the ignition and deal with the scenario, imagining that my grandchildren will find it hysterical at a Thanksgiving dinner 40 years down the road. “AND THEN, I HAD TO PICK UP YOUR GRANDFATHER, AND HE WAS SWEATY AND GRUMPY, BUT HE MADE THE DATE SWEET ANYWAY…and that’s when I knew.”

As I turn the drive to his work, I’m lost. I’ve never been to the corporate building…and it could be one of many…

I send a text…expecting a phone call right back. “Kinda here, kinda lost.” Seven minutes pass…nothing. My blood starts to boil. “IS HE TRYING TO BLOW ME OFF? CHEAP LOSER!!!” I call him. No answer.

He calls me back after about ten minutes. “Hey. I was tryin’ to call you…”

Really? I didn’t get a missed call on my cell phone.

I want to believe his lies. I want him to be Mr. Wonderful and Mr. Handsome and Mr. WHY WOULD I LIE TO YOU?

So, I shake it off… “Yeah…anyway, where are you?” My voice is deflated. If there was a parachute when I jumped for him, it was just ripped to shreds.

I find him, and he gets into my car. I try to make the most of it, as I hear my mom, my sisters, and my friends’ voices all chiming together in unison, “Give him a chance. Don’t be such a cynic.”

He got us tickets to a ball game, and walks ahead of me all the way into the ballpark. That’s a pretty long time to be in front of your date. Dejected, I want to leave him there. I want to just turn around and walk out of the ballpark…he’s a grown man; he can find a way home. Arrogant. He's ahead of me...wonder how long it would take him to notice I'd been gone if I walked out on him right now?

I stay optimistic. He’s probably just had a bad day. I try to catch up, so that the rest of the ballpark knows, “Hey! I’m with hottie,” and so that I can prove to my friends, “I GAVE IT A CHANCE!”

As we watch the game, he brings out his own game once more: same stories about Jason Aldean, Hemingway, and his strong Christian faith. He repeats everything he's said on the first and second date. He doesn’t ask me anything new. Doesn’t want to get to know me. I make and initiate most of the talk. I LOVE BASEBALL GAMES...and I hated this one.

If I was still 21, I would still be falling. But I’m too old for this crap. I realize it’s all a game… I wish the lies were truth…it’s already gone too far…

Why?

…I love the way he lies.

The Single Girl Bucket List - Check These Off Before Your Single Life Dies

2011-07-13T10:20:00.001-07:00

I'm going to be completing a single girl bucket list. WHAT is THAT? It's a list of things you want to do before your single life DIES. FOREVER. (I love that my blog seems to draw a mostly married audience: "What is she talking about?" It explains the lack of comments.) That's okay, people. The blog is more of an online diary, and I'm flattered when it gets any attention at all. Oh, I have blog stats. I know you've been here, and you're lurking. Please...de-lurk. Reveal yourselves while I quote Bridesmaids,

A: You read my DIARY?

B: I didn't know it was your diary at first. I thought it was a very sad, handwritten book.

On to the bucket list, for single girls...

This brain child is not my own. I found it on Glamour's website. Out of the suggested, "36 Things Every Single Girl Should Do," there are only two that I don't want to do:

# 25. Sit at a bar by yourself and drink a martini. Cool.

Cool? No. Lame. (I actually have done this, but don't do this.) If you have the lack of foresight to do this, you'll end up...

a) Inviting the creeeeeeepiest guys in the bar to smile at you weirdly. You know what I'm talking about, Blogland. That stomach-churning, cheshire-cat, closed mouth creeper smile. They don't have any confidence to approach you, so you look away, knowing their nasty smile is still there.

b) Inviting old-man hollers. Shameless, married jerks and overweight divorcees who crack cheap jokes at the bartender and think that because you're alone, you want the attention of men twice your age.

c) Inviting...oh, you knew it was coming...Stupidpants #12,435.

See a pattern here? Bars ARE A GREAT PLACE for meeting douche bags...and if you go alone, you're a T-Bone steak in a lion's den.

The other one gets better...

#9. Fly to a foreign country by yourself.

Really? That sound horribly lonely! Just because I'm single doesn't mean that I have to do things alone. I've done San Diego by myself before, but to be someplace where no one else even speaks English? No thanks. Being single is a great time for friends, not a time to fold yourself into a putrid, dark closet of nobody-loves-me-and-therefore-I-must-vacation-alone. Furthermore, I, for one, never want to live through my own experience of Brokedown Palace...a lone girl is a pretty easy target.

The rest of the single-gal to-do list will be coming to the Sunflower Diaries...I'm planning on doing them WITH PHOTOS! Look for them as soon as 30 Days of Truth wraps up!

20 Days of Truth, Day 19

2011-07-12T18:02:00.000-07:00

Day 19 → Your views on drugs and alcohol.

I was walking out to my car in a shopping mall parking lot where I noticed a homeless man trying to throw something into a dumpster. He approached the dumpster but then held back, because a pigeon was jaunting toward him. I stopped, realizing after a moment that the man was most likely dealing with some form of mental illness. He was shouting indecipherable nothings at the pigeon. I let him be. I wondered how he coped with, what appeared to be, schizophrenia.
The scenario reminded me of another instance where someone mentioned the homeless...

I was on a first date with a police officer who overtly criticized the majority of homeless as drunks and addicts...

Copper: "C'mon Katie, think about it. If you got knocked off of your feet with a job loss, you'd have people who'd take you in. The people on the streets have no one because they're a menace to society."

Katie: "Uh...yeah..."

I didn't defend my opposing viewpoint, but "yeah" wasn't what I was thinking, at all, except, "Uh, yeah...there's not going to be a second date."

I think that, as a young woman who has been privileged to never be homeless, to never work the streets, to never have to sell to keep going...I'll never be able to comment on this topic.

I'm not defending the prevalent use of drugs and alcohol...I think most of the tragedies my students experience could be OBLITERATED instantly if drugs and alcohol didn't exist. Bam! No more abuse, no more neglect, no more evictions because the rent money went to a habit. Obliterated: like that...tragedy solved.

I just know that some people on the streets use to keep the pigeons away...use to keep the haunting memories of abuse away...use to keep warm on a night without blankets or hotel rooms...and I know when I think about my position on drugs and alcohol, I can't ignore that underlying reality.

20 Days of Truth, Day 18

2011-07-12T07:58:00.000-07:00

Day 18 → What do you think of religion?

The billboards have all but vanished since I first noticed them in Phoenix. There must have been some legislation, or at least some common complaint, that propelled the owners to take then down.

I seldom notice billboards, really. However, the haunting images of these particular billboards popped out at me:

The Twin Towers, engulfed in flames. Posted in the background skyline image were the words, "Imagine no religion. The Freedom. From. Religion. Organization."

The insensitive nature of the campaign made my stomach lurch upon first seeing it.

I assume the billboards were taken down because the horrific nature of the terror attacks weren't fair ground for arguing about religion.

It's not accurate to blame "religion" for 9/11. It's also ignorant to forget the way our nation coped in the wake of the 9/11 tragedy...through prayer. I remember back then, that even those people who dubbed themselves politically non-religious were, in the wake of 9/11, dropping to their knees, singing Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." Something inside of all of us knew that word "Hallelujah" had the power to breathe peace into the pandemonium.

There's evidence, everyday, of these faint moments...where something inside of all of us beckons us to worship God...

So what do I personally think of religion?

Religion is a vehicle. It is a means through which we worship and honor God -- and it is there for all of us, whether you claim to know God personally, or whether there are few moments throughout your life that bring you to your knees and evoke in you a desire to echo the word, Hallelujah.

I've learned throughout life experience that God speaks most fully through silent moments like that...the ones that quietly leave you echoing Hallelujah. Yet, those moments aren't enough.

Catholicism is the religion that helps me to most fully worship and honor God, because it demands that I work beyond a resonating feeling of holiness. It requires me to submit all of my life to God. It most fully allows me to live in communion with God, especially through Mass and receiving the Eucharist, and therefore brings me to a more loving, more giving, more beautiful life.

To imagine no religion, would mean to imagine life without the greatest gift of all...communion with God.

20 Days of Truth, Day 16

2011-07-09T10:14:00.000-07:00

Day 16 – Someone or something you definitely could live without.

I've been volunteering on and off at a soup kitchen downtown over the past few weeks...

I started chatting with a man in his late forties in a wheelchair this past visit. He asked me if I had kids, and whenever anyone asks that, my response is, "Psh. Like I WOULD have kids." But, no, I was polite and responded, "No, do you?" I could tell he was fishing for a line...

He asks me to sit down. Let me tell you: He has a daughter. Hasn't seen her since she ran off with some dude. Was incarcerated for 20, TWENTY YEARS! And when he got out, the first thing he was gonna do was pardy. PAR-DY. So he drank himself crazy for 5, FIVE days, and then fell asleep at the train tracks. When he woke up, still drunk, a train was charging over him, and he was caught underneath. So he said to himself,

"Man, I better get outta here."

So he stuck his leg out from under the train, and saw it fly off into the distance. BLOOD EVERYWHERE.

"That's how I lost my leg, you see."

Most people woulda panicked, but he stayed cool, STAYED COOL, and when the train had passed, he crawled out to some other guys down at the tracks who had a cell phone, and they called the paramedics. Now, he has no leg, no livelihood, no money, but he's good. Man, is he good. He just enjoyed some hot food. He's got a comfortable wheelchair. He's got his people he loves, but he depends on no one but himself.

I continued to chat with him as he finished his meal. Name's Bobby, by the way. It was real nice meeting you.

The conversations at the soup kitchen make me realize that there's a lot of junk in my life that I could definitely live without...stupid things...television noise, THE SCALE, gym memberships, half of the teaching supplies I buy but never use, the miscellaneous junk that alway accumulates in my purse and... "Where did I get THAT?" Useless junk that when I get rid of...I realize...

I'm good. Man, am I good.