Made in Richmond

I have seen pictures of Bitty Baby B and I will tell you that the cuteness is astounding.  Possibly even more astounding is the cuteness of how in love Mr. B is with Bitty Baby B.  Seriously, this kid looks to be SO SMOOSHABLE.

but I think Kathy Griffin is effing hilarious.

My co-worker’s wife (the co-worker is Mr. B and his wife is Mrs. B) gave birth to a little boy this morning!  Isn’t strange how it’s called “giving birth.”  It’s not like you say, “Here, have your birth.”  Anyway, this is all very exciting because the baby wasn’t suppose to come until the beginning of July.  So, it’s Baby Boy B.  He only weighed just over 5lbs. so I think we should all call him Bitty Baby Boy B.  I would post pictures if I had any, but he’s not my child and I would be TOed if someone else posted pictures of my offspring on the Internets.

Yay for more smooshable babies in the world!

We had our graduation ceremony for the kids today.  We have this little girl whose father is on his second tour in Iraq.  Apparently he had recently been talking to his wife about how he has missed so much in the lives of his girls.  Well, her teacher (my mentor) was having none of that.

As this little girl was about to walk up to the podium to receive her certificate, a cell phone rang.  Her teacher said into the microphone, “Hold on.  I need to get this.”  She picked up the phone and said, “Who would you like to talk to?  Oh yes, she’s right here.”  She then handed the phone over to the little girl whose face had crumbled into sobs (along with everyone else in the gym).  She knew exactly who it was: her dad calling from Baghdad.  Her teacher had arranged it for this girl’s mother to text message the father when her name was about to be called.  By the grace of God, that phone rang just as she stood in the center of that room, ready to walk up.  She held the phone so her dad could hear her name called and the room exploded into applause.  All of the teachers were crying (not just tearing-there was ugly crying going on, at least on my part) and all of the kids were so excited.

It was a perfect, perfect moment and one she and her family deserved.  I will never, ever forget it.  What an incredible way to finish out the year.

The feline friend has been removed. It turns out that it was under the porch, curled up on the board connecting the porch to the house. I discovered it by pulling the lattice work off of the porch (it turns out that it was just kind of stuck there, not really nailed, as is typical of our house). I peeked my head in and saw a little kitty face looking back at me. After much patience and a can of tuna, I finally got the little meowing creature into a box. See, the thing is, animal control won’t pick up a stray kitten unless it’s contained. They, the professionals, won’t pick up the kitten. But, they will let *me* pick up the kitten. Awesome.

So, the furry, CONSTANTLY MEOWING little bastard is waiting in our bathroom for the authorities to arrive. They said they would be here “as soon as possible” which in the City of Richmond means “Congratulations! You now have a new kitten!”

Seriously. The meowing. Seriously.

*UPDATE*

A very scary-looking representative of animal control just showed up at our door.  Honestly, he was huge and smelled of many cigarettes.  Anyway, he came in, picked up the kitten, started rubbing her belly, and she immediately stopped meowing and started purring.  He then proceeded to talk to her in a baby voice, asking, “Are you hungwy?  Where’s your mama?”  Seriously, one of the most ridiculous/awesome things I’ve ever seen.

(major bonus points to anyone who knows where that is from)

I came home from the gym tonight to find the living room in disarray and the large flashlight set in the middle of the dining room table. Such signs indicate that Ross was looking for something, didn’t find it, and then wandered off to watch Star Trek: Voyager on his MacBook.

After a fabulously un-annoying conversation consisting of me yelling at/asking Ross so nicely why the living room was jacked up and then us both screaming that we couldn’t hear what the other was saying, I heard a teeny tiny sound that answered my question. The sound, my friends, was the tiniest, most pitiful meow you have ever heard.

We live in the city. Stray cats LOVE the city and they especially LOVE to have their stray kittens in, on, or under various parts of the Catrow estate. During our first month here one of the local strays decided to deposit her young under our back semi-porch. That was cute for about 2 seconds because every time Shooter would go outside he felt he needed to sound the alarm, alerting me that RUFF RUFF SOMETHING NON-CATROW WAS IN THE VICINITY RUFF RUFF RUFF, A THOUSAND TIMES RUFF!!!!! Anyway, the kittens eventually went on their way, terrorizing the city, getting into things, and depositing their own litters in various nooks and crannies.

After hearing this pitiful meow, I grabbed the flashlight and headed out to the front porch. I needed to find out for sure that it was a kitten, because kittens are cute. In the case the it was, say, a meowing rat trying to disguise itself as a kitten, I would need to prepare myself to be horrified and disgusted. I looked around and couldn’t really see anything. So, I did what anyone who has been in kindergarten would have done: I made the sound a kitty makes. Yes, friends. I knelt down in the wet grass, in the rain, in the dark, in my gym clothes, holding a flashlight pointing under my porch, meowing at an unconfirmed kitten. I’m sure it was amazing.

Well, my meow was immediately answered by another meow and I knew it was a kitten and not a rat. So then I went inside and came up to bed. Why didn’t I do anything to get the kitten out, you ask? Because I live in the city and I know that if you find a cat in the city you must assumed that pure, rabid evil runs through its cutie-pie veins. It’s just a means of self-preservation, not a display of cruelty. I mean, it’s cat. It’ll figure it out.

I walked into the office to see one of my well-behaved students looking red-faced and guilty.  It seems that at a school event last week he decided to damage school property.  This is the conversation that followed.  The names have been changed to protect the extremely guilty.

Me:  What happened?

Tom: Well, it seems that something came over me on Friday night and I decided to [insert specific vandalous act here] with Tim.

Me:  When is it EVER a good idea to do ANYTHING with Tim?

Tom: (now crying in that adorable and hilarious 10 year old boy way in which they don’t look at you and they sniff a lot)  Never.

Me:  Good.  At least I taught you SOMETHING this year.

There are only five more days of school. I will turn in my key on Friday afternoon and move on to a different career. These five days will be spent cleaning our drawers and purging the mountains of stuff I’ve managed to acquire in just four years of teaching. I’ll also watch my kids graduate and move on to middle school.

I thought I would describe this time as bittersweet, but it’s not. I’m not sad about leaving. I will miss my school and my co-workers, as well as certain parts of being a teacher. I will miss the things the kids say and do. I will miss playing such an important part in the lives of children. But, it’s time.

I admire teachers who stick with it year after year. We have teachers at my school who have been there longer than I have been alive. Most of them still approach it with the enthusiasm of newcomers. I just don’t have it in me. I’ve loved it while I’ve done it, but I’m ready to see what else is out there for me.

I’ve been trying to picture what it will be like to work in an office, only conversing with people over the age of eleven. Each time I think about it, I draw a blank. This is something totally new for me. I have absolutely no clue what it will be like. It will be very strange to work the same schedule as most of my friends. I’m actually going to have a lunch hour if I want. I can’t even imagine what it will be like to come home without stories of who did what during recess. I know Ross is thrilled that my work stories will involve people who are old enough to drive, vote, and even buy beer.

I’m prepared for the adjustment period. I imagine that it won’t feel real until September comes around and I’m not gearing up to go back to work. I’m sure it’ll be strange when the first day of school comes, but don’t worry. I’ve already got a lunch date set-up for that day.

Thursday:  Made our way to Ft. Lewis lodge with the in-laws, their friends (we’ll call them Roger and Gladys), and their friends’ daughter.  Ate lunch by the river.  Waded in the river a bit.  Got back in the car and arrived at Ft. Lewis in the early afternoon.  Floated in the river for a while.  Played some badminton.  Went to dinner.  Ate a ton.  Played Catch-Phrase and Guesstures.  The youths won.  Bed.

Friday: Ate a ton at breakfast.  Tubed down the freezing cold river FOR THREE HOURS but had lots of fun.  Back to the house for lunch and a nap.  Dinner to eat more.  Back to the house and went to bed early.

Saturday: Ate a bigger ton at breakfast.  Hiked up a blueberry covered mountain.  Back for a nap and puttering.  Reading.  More dinner eating.  Played Apples to Apples.  Played dominoes and laughed at drunk Roger.  Bed.

Sunday: Ate a slightly smaller ton at breakfast.  Said goodbye to Ft. Lewis.  Almost threw up while traveling on the longest, curviest, most mountainous road on the face of the Earth.  Praised the Lord when we finally reached the highway.  Stopped for a snack.  Home by 1.  Puttering until it’s time for church.  Looking forward to bed.

There will be no updating until Sunday at least because the hubs and I will be gone, gone, gone.  We are celebrating our fourth anniversary out of town and there will be much eating, drinking, and sleeping.  I’m sure to come back fat, so look forward to lots of moping and whining!