Lollipop or Sucker-You Decide

I can now confirm that they still make Sugar Daddy lollipops. I found out for sure this afternoon when I saw one dangling out of the mouth of the woman who almost crashed into me at the roundabout by Target. If you think that last sentence was a mouthful, you should have seen that stupid lollipop. It wasn’t really the lady’s fault that she almost sent me home in a neck brace-I blame evolution. Clearly, we human beings are not quite ready for the engineering genius of the roundabout (circle, rotary, call it what you will). It’s a simple theory really, but it seems a little challenging once you’re actually there. Here’s what you do:

 1. wait until no one is coming and then jump in. During high traffic times you might find yourself waiting for quite some time to get in. This provides a great opportunity to practice some of your more colorful vocabulary words.

2.  Remember people going around the circle have the right of way, ALWAYS.

 3. Never stop your car when you are in the roundabout. 

 4. Finally, when you get to your exit, sail on out with a smug smile on your face. You made it! You beat evolution!

In Massachusetts we call roundabouts, “rotaries”. There is this rotary in Revere, Mass. That has to be one of the scariest places on Earth. Unfortunately mere words can’t explain the craziness of this thing. I don’t know if it’s two lanes, three lanes or thirteen lanes. It really depends on the day. It’s hard to get in, but even harder to get out. Think Chevy Chase-European vacation, but instead of going around Big Ben you are going around a Chinese Restaurant, a Dunkin Donuts and a strip club again and again and again. The other difference between you and the Griswolds, is that hopefully, since you are in the USA, you are taking that rotary on counter-clockwise. But hey, no guarantees there.  A little driving advice if you’re ever in the neighborhood, it’s best to just drive into that baby with your eyes closed, your hand on the horn, and hope for the best.

Conversely, the little traffic circle in question today is like the bunny slope of roundabouts. Nonetheless, it’s still a puzzle for many people. Today, I had the right of way and was heading out of the circle when that woman started to come in. She was in the wrong. Luckily, no one got hurt, and most importantly, I was in the right. I understand as drivers, we all make mistakes. Let’s look at it this way. The only reason we have our licenses is because one day, one person from the department of motor vehicles happened to be with us on a decent drive. That person watched us back up and parallel park and then looked at our cute 16 year old faces and said “Eh, Why not?!” And off we went into the world of drivers. If DMV instructors had to take new drivers through roundabouts we’d all fail.

 I was a horrible driver in high school. In fact I wish this was an audio blog read by my Auntie Susie just so you could hear her say in her thick Boston accent, “Aimee was a HAW-RI-BULL drivah.” Of course it’s Auntie Susie so there would probably be a more descriptive adjective (beginning with the letter “F”) in front of the horrible.  I digress. That was then, this is now. Given years of driving practice I can hold my own. Still, I make mistakes, we all do. I wasn’t so much frustrated with the lady’s error as I was at her complete state of oblivion. Lollipop lady stared at me blankly while I threw my hands up, mouthed some fairly strong (for me) words, shook my head at her and then drove off. This wasn’t a quick oops. This was a full stop. I hit my brakes, she hit her brakes and the guy behind me hit his brakes, too (thank you!). This was the real deal and she just sat there cluelessly with that dumb pop sticking out of her mouth.

If it was me, and it has been in the past, I would apologize profusely. In these situations I tend to launch into a monologue. “Oh geez, I’m so sorry, I’m such an idiot. I didn’t see you there. Wow, what was I thinking? I’m so embarrassed. I’m actually a respectable driver; you can check my driving record. Well sure I have a couple speeding tickets on there, but…” by the time I’m done the sun has usually gone down. The driver has arrived home and posted something on their Facebook about the idiot who almost caused an accident.

As quick as I am to take responsibility when I’m in the wrong, I’m equally unafraid to dish it out, (especially since I’m behind a very thick sheet of glass and I plan to never see the person again). Like I mentioned, I did just that today, and nothing. No response. Not even a glimmer. I am not even sure if this registered as an event to her at all. I got a 900 word rant out of the deal and she might not have given it a second thought. It is possible, though, that she is still out there now driving around and around and around and around. She’s stuck in the engineering marvel we simply refer to as the roundabout. I wonder if she’s finished that Sugar Daddy, yet.

 

 

 

Devil Inside

The first thing she said when she heard I had to write an essay on positive self talk was “That’s ridiculous. You? What makes you an expert? You and your dime store psychology. Who wants to read that anyway?”  The next thing she said was “Don’t tell them too much about your negative thoughts, they’ll think you’re some insecure freak, which you totally aren’t. Are you?” I tried to remind her that I am a positive person with lots of friends, a family who loves me, a great job, and a love for life. I told her negative self-talk was just another part of being human. Everyone else will know just where I’m coming from because they do it, too. Plus, I reminded her, I’m generally peppy and I might have something helpful to say. I’m working on my positive self talk because I believe it will just make my already happy self, even happier. “Yeah,” she replied, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that whole peppy thing…it really annoys people, you know. And there are people out there who don’t want to hear how great your life is, times are tough. No one needs a bragger. Oh and before you tune me out, I just want to tell you this opening paragraph is corny and kind of sucks.” And so I shut her up, that ugly negative voice in my head, and tried to get some perspective.

 The other night Coach Alexa took us to a hill that my friend Mel, long ago, nicknamed Tibet. It’s one of those hills that seem steep just to walk, and unbearable to run.  I was running with a great group of ladies who let me join their gang even though I was usually a Saturday/Monday person and they were Wednesday people. According to the Wednesday ladies, Monday people have a reputation of being a little more hardcore than Wednesday people. I myself, thought these hill repeating ladies were pretty bad-ass, but before I could voice it, my mind started in loud and clear, “Oh my gosh, they are expecting someone I’m not. They think I’m a hardcore Monday gal, but I’m an imposter.” Things got worse when Alexa gave me a slightly more challenging hill assignment than the other ladies. Alexa is my coach, and a cool lady, and as such she is someone I really look up to and want to impress. My first thought at this hill assignment was “Wow, she has a lot of faith in me.” This was quickly followed by “Yikes, she has a lot of faith in me. She’s going to see how out of shape I really am. I’m about to be found out!” And so the negative rant began.

I am assured by several websites and a psychologist (or two) that self talk is perfectly normal. If you think I’m talkative on the outside, you should hear what goes on in this head of mine. My internal chatter rarely stops. When I was in college, there was this show called “Herman’s Head” on Fox. I don’t remember watching it with my dorm buddies, but I know that once in a while when I was home, my parents, my sister and I would laugh out loud to that show. It is very likely that we were the only four people on the planet watching, but still. The show was about a guy, Herman, who was in his twenties-he was working, dating, and so on-typical sitcom stuff. But the cool part was that they also showed what was going on in his head. There were these little people who each represented part of his psyche, living in his brain. There were four characters. I imagine in my brain there are more like 40, each trying to get a word in edgewise.  Therefore it’s hard for me to look at two categories of internal chatter-negative self talk and positive self talk- when I think there’s a whole range of things going on in there. I’ll do my best though.

 I’ve always been a fan of The Flintstones, in fact, I feel pretty sure that it was the first cartoon I ever saw with the conscience being represented by two mini versions of Fred on his shoulders- one the angelic Fred and the other a devilish Fred.  On my hill run the other night, I moved swiftly from berating myself about not being as good as the ladies imagined I was and entered right into the angel/devil self talk. “Psst,” the little devil began, “When we get to the bottom of the hill and the rest of the gang turns around to do hill repeats, why don’t we turn right and keep running. You know as in downhill and far away? We can run all the way back to the car, or better yet all the way to Suzanne’s bakery for a brownie.” (This may have been harder to resist if Suzanne’s hadn’t already closed for the day).  “No, not an option, we are going to head right up the hill with the rest of the group,” the angel announced firmly.  I overcame the temptation to flee and tried to focus on the task ahead. In doing so I engaged my positive self talk.  “What’s the big deal? I’ll just give it a try and when I feel like walking I’ll slow down, but not stop. I can do this. I’ve been running a lot, my pace is picking up, and my cardio is getting better. I’m just going to do my best. No one’s here to judge me.” Soon, I was off and running. It wasn’t easy and my mind was busy the whole way, but instead of criticizing myself for breathing too hard, or getting tired, I kept things positive. When my positive thoughts started to falter, I moved to distraction, which is a tried and true mood enhancer. I entertained myself with all kinds of silly thoughts that were not necessarily positive or negative, but definitely did the trick.

The funny thing about negative self talk is that I would never, NEVER, talk to other people the way that I can sometimes talk to myself. In fact, I wouldn’t even think the thoughts about others that I sometimes think about me.  I am actually quite empathetic, quite forgiving and a firm believer in loving people for who they are, not who I wish they would be. So when I am engaging in negative thinking, I try hard to remind myself that I am only human and that I need to cut myself the same slack I, so easily, cut others. That is usually enough to change my attitude. If it’s not enough then I will talk to a friend or my husband to get some perspective.  And if I really need a lift and an ego boost, my sister, my grandmother and my mother are only a phone call away; and boy those three ladies sure think the world of me.  

Negative thinking has the potential to be damaging to a person’s sense of self and can impact what they will do, say or try. For me, just putting it all down here, knowing that others will read it has been very challenging. I know I claimed to shrug off the negative talk in my first paragraph, but truly I have been fighting it this entire time. I have been frustrated with my ability to tie my thoughts together, to make it interesting and to get to a level of intimacy that I usually try to avoid in my writing. I’ve turned it around though and I feel proud of myself for getting through this. I hope my longer-than-I-planned-but definitely-not-long-enough-to-even-scratch-the-surface-essay has provided a bit of insight for some of you, as well.

Breathe in, Breathe Out

This week report cards are due, our school is hosting an open house on Saturday, my husband’s work hours have increased due to a big project and to top it off I have an essay due for my speed work class. I almost forgot to mention that I get to read said essay in front of my running group-public speaking-sweet! It’s all a bit overwhelming, but before I head into stress mode I need to just stop and breathe. Oh, right, breathing, that’s what got me in this essay writing predicament in the first place.

Breathing. It’s pretty simple really, oxygen in, carbon dioxide out. Oxygen in, carbon dioxide out. Repeat for let’s say 80-100 years and you’re good to go. This has always been enough for me. I do understand that there are many people from yogis to runners who think there’s more to this breathing thing than just inhaling and exhaling. I’ve known for years that my running might be a little better if I could take deeper breaths especially on hills, but I have never really mastered this. When workouts get tough, my breathing transforms from that of a sweet and mild school teacher to that of a B movie killer.  My breathing strikes terror in my running partners, they cautiously look over their shoulders expecting some psychopath in a hockey mask wielding a chainsaw. “Oh, it’s just Aimee climbing a hill. Of course.”

I’ve read some things here and there and half-heartedly listened to coaches explain the breathing process, but really the whole thing is foreign. First of all, there are rhythms that a good runner gets into. I’ve read about these. There are simple ratios that a focused breather needs to follow. Impressively, some runners are able to match their breathing to their foot strikes. For example on every exhale your left foot is hitting the pavement. I’m just barely coordinated enough  for my feet to hit the pavement at all (I’ve been known to kick myself while running on more than one occasion), I can’t imagine trying to synchronize it with my breath. Still, this seemed like a simple formula that I could master with a little concentration, so I decided to find out more. The first place my research took me recommended a rhythm of inhaling for two foot strikes then exhaling for the next two. This is called a 2:2 rhythm. Next, I went on to another site where a different expert encouraged a 3:3 rhythm. Another site and another expert, this one saying you could even go as far as a 4:4, especially if you are a beginner or doing a really steep hill. I am constantly doing math while I run- How many more miles do I have to go? How many minutes will it take me? How many calories am I burning? How many slices of pizza can I have when I’m finished with all this? So, adding more calculations, this time in the form of ratios shouldn’t be too overwhelming.

The experts may differ on the exact ratio of inhaling to foot strikes, but everyone agrees that during times of exertion you should be breathing from your belly and not your chest. This sounds strange to me as the last time I checked my lungs were in, of all the darnedest places, my chest!  Apparently though, the air sacs which contain carbon dioxide are in the lower parts of your lungs. You can’t get rid of the CO2 and let new oxygen in unless you are taking deep breaths. Belly breathing, involves inhaling deeply enough that you feel your abdomen filling like a balloon. Years of brownies, cookies and ice cream sandwiches have given me the constant feeling of a balloon belly. And frankly I spend most of my awake time holding that puppy in. Now, I’m supposed to purposely push out the tummy? I don’t think so.

The experts also debate whether you should be breathing through your nose, your mouth or a combination of both. I’ll be honest; I’ve seen some ugly things coming out of the noses of runners, especially at this time of year. The idea of me intentionally trying to push anything out of my nose, even if it’s air, is not appealing. Therefore, I decided I’d revisit the nose vs. mouth topic some other time.

I finally did find a blog where someone said runners should most often be taking shallow breaths.  I finally felt validated, until I read the many outraged comments debunking this theory. Apparently you can’t believe everything you read on the internet.

 Even though I know short, shallow breaths are not ideal, I’ve not managed to put breathing on the top of my priority list. My running priorities involve consistency, endurance and speed. According to my research, however, better breathing can actually help with all of my other goals. It’s not just the lungs that need oxygen. The muscles do, too. The more oxygen I take in, the more my lungs are willing to share with other parts of me. Better oxygenated muscles mean more speed, more endurance and more energy to stay consistent.

Another important body part that benefits from oxygen is the good old brain. I don’t know about you, but at my age, the more brain power, the better. For those who run endurance events the lack of oxygen to the brain is no joke. We don’t need to find ourselves hours in to a trail run feeling disoriented, confused and lightheaded.  I say save those feelings for the Pub, post-race. 

Breathing-it’s so simple, yet people spend a great deal of time reading about it, asking about it, worrying about it and writing about it. After all my time spent researching the topic I have decided to:

 1. Focus on my breathing the next time I do a solo run.

 2. Borrow Chi Running from the library.

 3. Share my info with you and

4. Audition for Friday the 13^th part 87. I think I’d make a fantastic Jason.

Don't Sell Yourself, Short(y)

On Saturday morning as I was pulling my car into the parking lot of the Antique Sandwich Company in Tacoma I felt a fluttering in my abdomen. I believe the medical term for what I was experiencing is butterflies in the stomach.  My first thought was “I am not going in,” quickly followed by the admonishing “You’re ridiculous.” Here I was after a twelve mile run invited, yes invited, to join the group for a hot drink and a snack and I was feeling apprehensive about going in. I had just run many, many miles with these very people, joking, whining, heavily breathing and now I was having second thoughts about sitting around a table with them. How could it possibly be that a seasoned friend-maker like myself was having the first day of school jitters?

It’s not that I’m bad at making friends or unlikable, in fact it might be the opposite, but the beginning is often, well, awkward.  Some people are suave and full of charisma. They can strike up a conversation with a lamp. Though I have had my moments, I usually can’t light up a room that easily (oooh I couldn’t resist the pun-sorry). I have had several people say that when they first met me that thought I was shy, conservative, quiet, etc. Then once they got to know me-watch out-here comes the fun. I know a few people who always come on a little strong when first making friends and it just doesn’t suit me. I’d rather make my move slowly and then let my fun, cool personality kind of sneak up on you.

Even though the sneak approach is usually my MO it doesn’t necessarily mean I’m totally comfortable with it. Let’s go back to Saturday. I walked in the Antique Sandwich Company and there were several members of the group sitting around a circular table toward the back. They meet there weekly after our run, but this was the first time I could join. I’m fairly new to the group; I’ve been running with them for just under three months and really have only gotten to know them a bit better just in the past few weeks. I am not sure how long the others have known each other, but there was a voice whispering in my head that they were all close buddies and I was the outsider. A few people politely asked me questions, and I eagerly answered, but everything that came out of my mouth seemed foreign. My attempt at wit & sarcasm (usually specialties of mine) sounded instead like I was being dull or possibly even rude. I was much more content to listen to their conversations and toss in a few comments rather than have the spotlight shining on me.

Still, I was glad I went. They are all really nice people and I liked being around them. I know my own minor discomfort was just part of the friend making process and didn’t really reflect on me, nor is it a predictor of whether or not I’ll be part of the gang some day. I saw a handful of the same people last night in a speed working class. We did the chatter and small talk thing and I was quite content talking and joking with them.

This is usually what happens when I am making my way into an already established group. When we first moved to Washington I had just two or three days to settle in before I had to work. I was pretty shell-shocked moving across the country leaving all friends and family behind. My kids were little and I had a harder than usual time getting to know people. Whether at school or at the countless birthday parties I attended, I remember feeling like I was always trying to sell myself. It was always, “I’m from Boston, My Masters Degree is in Education, I breastfed both kids until they were almost two, I love the Red Sox, my husband’s in the Coast Guard,  I have a dog and three cats, my hobbies are reading and writing,  no I don’t say 'Pahk the Cah in Hahvid Yahd'-ever,  yes I have always been short, yes, I am a sucker for chocolate, etc. etc..” Which I hoped would somehow translate into I’m smart, I’m fun, I’m sensitive, I’m thoughtful, I’m witty, I’m worldly, nice, but  edgy, I’m creative, yet serious. I’m the whole package. Sometimes it translated just right and sometimes it fell short.  But that’s life.

My dear friend Susan and I laugh about one of our earliest encounters. It was the first week of school and we were both attending a parent meeting. While we were both recent transplants to the area, I felt like I was always frazzled like I was in a constant state of jet lag, and I thought she was the picture of perfect. She was stylish, together, seemed to know everyone, she was confident and outgoing. She stopped me in the hall during a break during this parent meeting and started chatting with me.  When we were done gabbing I sauntered into the ladies room feeling excited that such a cool character had sought me out to try to get to know me. I then looked in the mirror and to my horror noticed that my shirt was on backwards! What’s worse is that because I was both a parent and a staff member I had already had to stand up and introduce myself to the 40 or so people in the room. They all probably noticed that my shirt was on backwards. Perhaps they thought that it was an East Coast trend?  I actually love telling this story with Susan because sometimes she’ll say she didn’t even notice my shirt was backwards and other times she’ll say she just didn’t know how to tell me and still other times she’ll say it really wasn’t that noticeable.  Any way you slice it, it was classic Aimee, which is fine in beloved company, but painful when trying to make an impression. I guess that’s my point, I’d rather get right down to the beloved company stage without having to do the self-conscious dance beforehand.

I truly enjoy people and have a “The More The Merrier” mentality.I love having a lot of interesting characters in my life and always feel like there's room for more. Being social, making conversation and being a good listener usually come easily to me. In the times like Saturday when some work needs to be put in, it’s a little disorienting. I feel like I have to balance the inner salesperson who wants everyone to know what a great deal they’re getting in a friend like me, and the voice that says here’s a group perfectly happy without you-what’s your purpose? I know this is all part of the human experience. And for the most part I’m very content with the whole thing.  I think it’s important to feel out of your element sometimes. And I think it’s a rare treat to feel challenged in an area that’s usually a strength.

 For me, the timing is a happy coincidence, or maybe a clear message from the Universe. As the mother of a shy twelve year old sometimes I need a reminder of how rough it is can be entering  a new social situation. While I often try to approach this as a cheerleader “Go Maddee, Go!” I think I could be more empathetic. If putting yourself out there is hard at 39, imagine how it is at 12! And while I want the whole world to know how amazing Madison is, the truth is not everyone she encounters will.  I know I can learn from her and hopefully she can learn from me, too. The fact that her shirt isn’t on backwards just goes to show that she’s already a step ahead of the game.

The Legend of The Christmas Letter

One of my favorite things to do this time of year is my Holiday letter. I love it, too, when people email me after receiving the letter to tell me how much they enjoy my humor. I think it’s great to go to an extended family event and be complimented on my humble little letter. It’s so fantastic. I’ve even had people ask me if they could be on my Christmas card list! But, I suppose I must come forward and tell you that I can’t really take sole credit. I mean I do have a small staff of tiny men and women working for me. Sure, I have the ideas, but they are the ones who put it altogether. It used to be that I would creep into houses via chimney or, even better, mail slot, but that’s when I was a lot slimmer and younger and without so much facial hair. Anyway now I am just too darn busy to be hand delivering mail. And the demand is so much greater. Now I have my little friends, the elves do it.  It used to be that my letters only traveled a short distance, but now I’m expected to get these things out and about all over the globe. Germany? Africa? Missouri? How am I supposed to get it all done and be back in time for Christmas morning?! I mean sure, I have a few feral reindeer in my neighborhood who could probably be bribed into pulling me around, but reindeer just don’t have the same work ethic that they used to. They’d probably charge me an inordinate amount of money, have me put it in Dasher’s paypal account and then ditch me anyway.  Now that marijuana’s legal in Washington I’d be hard pressed to find a couple of reindeer who weren’t clad in tie-dye ponchos, sitting on the couch making paper snowflakes and eating Cheetos, anyway.

Each year I look forward to writing the letter and each year parts of the letter wind up on the cutting room floor. I wish I did these letters on a typewriter because I’d love the drama of pulling out a piece of freshly typed Allen history, crumbling it into a ball and watching it pile up. That would be more satisfying than this backspace, delete thing I have going on. Where’s the pleasure in that? 

This year, I found it especially difficult to write the letter. To me, the letter is all about entertainment. Oh and I suppose it’s necessary to include some information about the family. I want to keep people interested and I want to avoid the possibility that someone might just skim the letter. Give them one or two boring lines and the next thing you know they are skipping whole paragraphs just to get to the end.  This year, I actually did five drafts before I finally came up with a winner. I made the mistake of not immediately printing 155 copies and now I am rethinking the letter again. In fact I was originally going to post all of the false starts here in this blog, but now that I am re-reading them, I might just weave them in to the letter. Don’t tell Mike or the kids I’m thinking of another re-write. That might be all the ammunition they need to take my laptop away and lock it up until next year.

I complained on Facebook about this whole process and people started advising me. People told me not to sweat it.  There were suggestions to let my kids do it. They told me this whole thing was no big deal. I was totally offended. Clearly these people didn’t recognize my writing prowess from years past. These are probably the people who set the letter aside to read later (sarcastic air quotes*) and never do. Or, more likely, they were Facebook novices and didn’t realize the whole point of Facebook was to complain and ask for advice and then get indignant when people actually tried to help you.

Every year as I am beginning this process I re-read the letters from years past. My favorite might be from 2006 when we first moved here and I was on the hunt for decent pizza. Pizza jokes go a long way my friends, a long way. As do toilet training jokes (see 2005), and the inevitable rain jokes-hey it is the Pacific Northwest.

I’m not sure how this year’s letter will compare to the letters of years past. I hope people enjoy it, even if it’s not my best. I will probably leave it out for the elves to put some finishing touches on it tonight. And if it still isn’t up to par by morning the reindeer can always make paper snowflakes out of it.  

 

*Yes, I realize I could have used real quotation marks here, but I really wanted you to be clear that sarcastic air quotes were indeed necessary

May the Best Amphibian Win

I wanted to do something about the elections with my students, but I didn’t want them to be voting based on what their parents were doing. I wanted them to consider the candidates and the issues and vote based on that. More than anything I wanted them to understand the process and the importance of picking a leader. Eight years ago, my friend Laurie did an election with her class based on the book Duck For President by Doreen Cronin. I vaguely remembered her mentioning this, of course in my memory it was both my friends Liz and Laurie doing it (at the time they had neighboring classrooms) and it was the Tortoise vs. The Hare. (I’ve never been known as detail oriented). Still, I had the gist of it and was excited to put my own spin on things. And so the Frog and Toad elections were born.

You probably know Frog and Toad, the delightful storybook characters who are the stars of several books by Arnold Lobel. I thought, and my co-teacher Alicia agreed, that these two likeable fellows would be the perfect candidates. I realized early on that I might have miscalculated, because when reading the book to my class, I noticed for the first time how lazy Toad is. The fact that he wouldn’t get out of bed from November-May didn’t bode well for his candidacy. Still, it was too late to find new candidates, so I moved forward. After reading the story to my class we generated a list of characteristics of both Frog and Toad. It was clear my initial worries about Toad were warranted, as children noted that he was lazy, too emotional, and quick to jump to conclusions. This was before they knew he was running for president!

On day two of our project we talked about the right to vote. We talked about how we listen to what the candidates have to say before we make our decisions. There were several children who had watched the Presidential debates on TV and had a good idea of what a debate might look like. It was my intention all along to have a debate, and was excited that the students were on board with the idea. The children were tasked with writing one debate question each for the candidates. The children could write their question any time and drop it in a basket. I peeked at some, but for the most part the questions were a surprise.The debate was scheduled for 11:15 the next day. Some of the children tried to translate this election to the Presidential election. We have a lot of Obama supporters in our class and a lot of Frog supporters, too. One child declared “A vote for Frog is a vote for Obama,” as he tried to sway some of the undecided classmates. Another child reminded her classmates not to make any decisions “until we hear from the candidates at the debate.”

On debate day, Alicia read the children’s questions to me; while I, using my homemade Frog and Toad puppets, answered. I tried to answer the questions in a way I thought was close to how Frog and Toad would,  though paying attention to the fact that Toad was already in hot water with the voters. When Alicia started reading the questions I was overwhelmed with pride. I shouldn’t have been surprised at how thoughtful their questions were, but  surprised I was.  What would you do for the poor? How would you support the military? Do you think recycling is important? What would you do about Hurricane Sandy? What would you do with criminals?  What would you do about trash? How would you help homeless people? What would you do about bullying? Every single question was interesting, thoughtful and, frankly, a challenge to answer. As great as the questions were, the discussion afterward was even better. Some children liked Toad’s strong stance on bullying, others liked that Frog would take the gentle approach with bullies. Some children thought it was enough that Toad would Skype military overseas from his bed. Most thought it was nobler that Frog was going to visit troops and see to it that they got to fly home more often to see their families. And so it went. The debate and discussion ended, posters were created and the upcoming elections continue to be a lunchtime topic in our classroom.

Today is Election Day. We have a private voting booth set up in the classroom, official looking ballots and even “I Voted” stickers with Frog and Toad pictured on them. I have a strong feeling that Frog will win, but we will let the people speak for themselves. After listening to their thoughtful debate questions, and their follow-up discussion, I trust those 6, 7, 8 and 9 year olds to pick a good president. Let’s hope the adults of our nation are as reflective and thoughtful when they cast their own ballots today.

Three

The Squeaky Voice is brought to you today by the number three.

Three- the number of times in my life I had a Popsicle stuck to my top lip. The first time was the worst, I was eight or nine years old and my lips were scabbed and bruised for weeks. The next time was more embarrassing than painful, as I stood at the bus stop on North Pleasant St. in Amherst, a slightly overweight twenty year old with a raspberry sorbet popsicle dangling from her upper lip. The third time was, well, tonight, I set my lips on a Coconut Fruit bar only to get them stuck there. One will never learn.

Three-the number of days my kids will be at the Olympic Park Institute on a classroom trip. I miss them already, but am selfishly enjoying some me time. Tonight blogging and reading. Tomorrow night pedicure, a glass of wine and a Mad Men marathon.

Three-the number of weeks Max and I will be on an elimination diet. He had allergy testing done and has twelve foods he is allergic to. We will eliminate them all for three weeks and then add them back in one by one (except for spinach, which is too severe to reintroduce).  I feel like he shouldn’t have to do it alone and so I am going to do it with him, wish us luck.

Three-the number of teachers checking kids’ heads for lice on a daily basis. Guess who is one of the lucky inspectors? Yes, the term nit-picking has new meaning in my life. My head itches just thinking about it. Oh dear, I hope that’s why it’s itching.

Three-the number of nightmares I had last night—two of them were about lice.

Three (times two)-the number of times Six snuck over to the neighbors’ house last week, went through their doggy door, tracked black muck through their house, got up on their couch and proceeded to take a nap.

Three-the number of pounds I have lost on the Flat Belly Diet. It feels good to get back into my jeans again.

Three-the amount of drafts I have written for my blog tonight, the first was a full essay on the dangers of popsicles, the second was about, well not about much really, the third is this one. I think I liked the popsicles best, but I deleted it.

Three-the number of weeks Mike has been in Baltimore. I miss him. Only nine days to go! (Note: Nine is a multiple of three).

Three-the number of coworkers I have in my classroom. A co-teacher, an intern and an assistant. They are all wicked awesome. I love my team!

Three (plus ten)-the number of miles I ran on Sunday as I completed my 14^th or 15^th Half Marathon!

Three-the number of weeks I am lobbying for in regards to our Europe trip next summer.  (A few days in Iceland, a week in Italy, a week in France and then wrap it up in Dublin on my 40^th birthday to run another half marathon).

Three-the number of household members who I miss like crazy right now.

Three- the number of times I’ve wanted to delete this entire blog entry for its total corniness, but I’ve got too much invested in it now.

Three slices-the average amount of pizza I can take down in one sitting (okay should rephrase it to say the average I will allow myself; truly I could probably take down 5).

Three- the number of times I have gotten up to look in the mirror at my lip. It looks better than it feels.

Three-the number of dumb endings I have come up with and scrapped.

One- the ending I’m decidedly going with. Good night.