Can I say it again? Mmm! It's GOOD to be back!

No, seriously. Today was round two of the staff convocation meetings (I had this little ditty running through my head: "Second verse, same as the first, little bit longer, and now my butt hurts.").

The agenda began with Superintendent's Day, in which all FPSD employees gather together in this huge mega-church for the staff equivalent of a pep rally. I spent the first half hour a: feeling like I should be wearing a headcovering and b: indignantly thinking, "What kind of impressionable saps do they think we are? Feeding us all this sentimental rhetoric about changing the future and touching lives, love, inspiration, hope, blah, blah, blah."

But then I thought, "Hey! I actually like this stuff." I mean, really, how great is it that I get to work in a field that still aspires to service, integrity, community? The words love, hope, service and gratitude all featured largely in the various talks. I really knew I was a goner when the keynote speaker played a Mr. Rogers' videoclip and I teared up. (We're talking serious tear-duct action. I was honestly afraid that the psych's I was sitting with would notice. Who knows what they'd do with that kind of intel...)

But wait. There's more...

At a back-to-school BBQ I manned the free and reduced lunches and voter registration table. Here is the absolute best thing ever: an unprecedented number of families came for whom Spanish was their only language. Since I didn't have a classroom, I was free to run around, offering weak interpretations and warm introductions, muddling through bus routes and teacher assignments, and offering living proof that, however shy they might be of their English skills, they couldn't possibly sound more ridiculous than my Spanish.

I really felt God's faithfulness--even in the details. I had an outfit on this morning, and at the last minute changed (believe it or not, I almost never do that). So, there I was tonight, wearing an outfit purchased in Central America, speaking broken Spanish, and, hopefully, touching lives and living all that sentimental rhetoric that us impressionable saps love.

Mmm! It's GOOD to be back.

The First Day Back...

...Involved a lot of sitting. The most exciting (read: terrifying) thing I learned was that at my new school there is a new teacher with a new student with a new IEP due next week. For those not immersed in the world of SpEd, consider this context: with kids we know, a month is usually a good amount of prep time for an IEP. Kids don't even get back to their pre-summer status for about 6 weeks. Some people have a gift for hitting the ground running. My penchant seems to be hitting the ground flailing.

(Actually, that's just a dramatic bit of whining. I can't complain. The OT who worked with this kid last year offered to help/take care of it. This is great, because she wants to add a new evaluation to the list. Mmm! It's GOOD to be back!)

When I went grocery shopping, the subject of the-first-day-back came up with the checker. The conversation went like this:
Him: Did you have a good day?
Me: Yes. I work for the schools and it was my first day back.
Him: You look like you had a good day.
Me: It's great to see people again.
Him: I bet.
Me: The kids start Thursday.
Him: (looks at me and laughs)
Him: (shakes his head and keeps laughing at me)

I wasn't trying to be funny. Many of you are probably thinking, 'Don't worry. You weren't'. Nonetheless, this story illustrates nicely the perfect freedom that perfect strangers feel to laugh at me. That's a good thing, right?

And so it ends...

Today I kissed a golden summer goodbye. One last breakfast with the five of us. One more pot of tea. Meeting at Newcastle. Bethany heading back to Wally world, myself heading back to Tacoma (which, even if it's the best place on earth, lacks a few key family elements). Dad and I finished our summer project--a humunguous bookcase. I took a final summer afternoon nap. (Let the post-summer afternoon napping begin!) Mom and I said goodbye a gajillion times. (Yes, she lives 40 minutes away, and yes, I'll be seeing everybody next weekend. But, hey, this is my sappy moment. Just let me have it.) I went to a send-off for a good friend of mine and her husband. And, poetically, perfectly, it rained.

And so it begins...

I decided to commemorate turning old by starting a blog. The way I know I turned old is because my life flashed before my eyes and it looked like a first grade pie chart...shoot! quarter of a century!

Speaking of quarters, the one comforting association with turning 25 is the quarter collection of my youth. Unfortunately, my youth was so long ago that quarter collections weren't even interesting. They all look the same. But I had lots of them. Still do. (No, seriously, lots...like 50 dollars). Someone should probably talk to my parents.

The most depressing association is, in my optimistic youth, I decided that if I was single at 25 I'd go pseudo-bridal shopping. You know, buy a sparkly CZ ring, cut some pictures out of the Eddie Bauer catalog, try on pretty dresses, sample catering options. At the time it seemed like a good idea. I think it's the female equivalent to test-driving Porsches, but I can't help wondering if, despite the cake samples, there's more dignity in cars...

Maybe I'll just organize my quarters.