This evening, I would like to talk about breasts.

For some reason, I have a hard time saying the word. It's hardly a sexy word to me...not when I think of Tyson chicken whenever the word is uttered. However, what are my other choices? Hooters. Boobs. Jugs. Tits. Knockers. Dirtypillows. Ewwwwww...

For now, breasts it is.

I was probably in the fifth or sixth grade when I really became worried about a bra. I had no reason to, because I was so flat the walls were jealous (or so my brother told me). I can remember trying on my friend's bra during one sleepover and feeling completely LIBERATED...which is rather ironic considering that bras are meant to BIND. Looking back, how I bitterly long for those mosquito bite days.

For the next five or so years, my breasts seemed to be a non-enTITy. I certainly do not remember what they looked like, if they were perky, or if I even *liked* them. However, they received their first action during my sophomore year of high school. I was dating a senior, who was pretty serious into the Church of the Nazarene. Or at least, his family was...the senior in question liked kissing and basketball. So here we were, one night, at my house (where the hell were my parents?) and I sit up, take off my shirt, and he begins to fondle the girls. I have my back to him, so he does not see them in all their glory. One of us must have gotten scared, because nothing happened beyond that night. In fact, the girls saw no other action until three years later when I finally lost my virginity during my first year of college.

It's during these years that I begin to realize something is wrong with my breasts. They don't look like NORMAL breasts. They look like old lady breasts. They look like my mom's, but I can't use the "I've had kids" excuse yet. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.

Breast reduction is not even part of my vocabulary yet, so we begin to live our lives separately. They do their thing, and I do mine. I avoid eye contact with them when I take a shower. I display no tenderness when I cram them into their undergarment every morning. However, I do discover they rather like being kissed and whatnot, so occasionally, I allow them to participate in my nocturnal activities. To me, at this point, breasts are still sexual things. And mine certainly do not look like sexy organs. So I avoid as much contact as possible...from myself and others.

Well, then, I start having kids. I certainly cannot lament the loss of my lovely, perky breasts...because how can you mourn something you never had? I did not breastfeed my first two very long, maybe a month. I never really enjoyed it very much and I think it caused my breasts to be even less sexual to me than before. So, why in child nutrition hell did I breastfeed my third one until he was eight months old? Probably because I was staying home with the kids at that time.

I think about reduction surgery often, but I don't actually know if I could go through with it. Since I've lost weight, my breasts have become somewhat manageable, I mean, I can wear button-down shirts and sweaters without feeling like I'm popping out all over the place. I even saw a advertisement the other day for breast reduction pills. I don't know if it's a farce or what, and heck, I may never know.

So...tonight I found out one of my aunts has breast cancer. This is the second one out of four sisters. You can probably naturally guess where my thoughts bend next...genetics and myself. I'm probably taking a real good look at where I'm going to be in about twenty years. You know, I've spent almost my whole life hating my breasts, especially the way they looked. I've wished for so many years I had a different pair. I guess you have to be careful what you wish for...you may get it in a way you'd never expect or want.

One thing I do know, though, if I ever have to make the choice between lump removal or full mastectomy - I will part with my breasts. I wouldn't think twice about it.

Farewell to the FunBags.

My experiences with high school students has led me to the conclusion that a great number of high school-age students are not content unless they have some issue to brood over and protest about. Not all, naturally, but a significant number...enough to make me blog about it, anyway.

Most of the time, I let them rant and not really interject much as they go about the business. But, the other day, some of my newspaper kids were going on about a subject that I thought was rather interesting. The age-old issue: Sports vs. The Arts

I have two students in the class who are very vocal drama students, and their complaint was that too much attention at our school is given to athletics and none to the arts (band, choir, and drama). Case in point was all this volleyball hoopla. Our volleyball team made it to the State playoffs recently, and it was a very big deal (pep rally, field trip, etc.). These students in my class argued that no such fanfare is made for the drama kids who went to Festival this weekend and who got a student placed on the State Board. The argument degenerated into "the school doesn't care about us. All the school cares about is sports." Etc. Etc. Etc.

Two things occurred to me as I mulled it over later that night. First of all, GET OVER IT! Yes, this town's about sports. It's always been that way, and probably always will. I'm not saying I agree with it, but the tradition isn't going to change when all people do is gripe about it. Also, one of the reasons why this volleyball stuff got so big is because the coaches made it so. They put up posters, made announcements, and scheduled the pep rally. They created their own thunder, so to speak, and I think if the drama kids are looking for the same, they may have to make it themselves. Nothing good ever gets done when you just rag about it.

Second, band, choir, drama - they all win plenty of awards. They bring home the trophies and are very respected within the groups of people they come into contact with. It's not like they *never* get any respect. However, if there's one thing at our school that gets absolutely no play, it's academics! Really, there are no academic clubs or organizations at our school. Wait, I take that back, there is a Math Club starting this month...but that's it. We have an academic awards presentation at the end of the year, but it certainly isn't jam-packed with fans. Naturally, we have our valedictorian and salutatorian - but those aren't accolades lots of students are jockeying for. The athletic letter is more prized than the academic one. It's the whole reason why we go to school, and it's the least appreciated.

This was an interesting topic for me to listen in on, because part of me agrees...there is too much emphasis on sports here. On the other hand, though, sports is a huge juggernaut (always has been), and what's the point of lamenting it? Do what you do and make your own noise. If you feel you need all the applause, recognition, and pats on the back, you're probably not doing for the right reasons in the first place.

I am currently on this quest of "perfect wifeness." I know I will never achieve it, but I am striving to become better for him (husband), anyway.

The last two weeks had been nice - you'll all remember that things around here improved greatly after our little interlude a couple of Thursdays ago (see "Hmm...well, well" and "X-Rated Shakespeare"). However, we've experienced a little bit of a setback. Last night we all went to Ames (home of our alma mater) to hang out, visit some of the old haunts and stay in a hotel with a pool (namely for the kids). Of course, we wanted to eat at one of our favorites in town, go shopping at the mall, BOTH of which are activities that are not exactly kid-friendly. Dining out with a two-year-old is a recipe for disaster, honestly, because the kid can hardly sit still. But, dine out we did. By the end of the meal, I was only a little stressed out. So, off to the mall, where I was hoping to do a little clothes-shopping. Those dreams were dashed upon the rocks rather quickly. Small children and clothes-shopping just do not mix. And you know what? This is no new news to us. So why did we put ourselves in those two above social situations that we knew would cause stress?

I attribute it to youthful stupidity. :)

We check in to our hotel about seven. The kids want to go swimming and they are so excited! And I cool off a bit, remembering that they are what this is all about. After swimming, drying off, getting into pjs, watching TV, trying to wind down enough to sleep...Brent and I finally are able to crawl into bed next to each other.

Keep in mind that we've just had a kind of exhausting last few hours, but still, it's Friday night and we're together. Not that I'm expecting to go at it right there, you know...but it's a great chance to spend some time together.

Anyway, he gets into bed, rolls away from me, and begins the process of heading off into the land of Nod. I don't know why, but this pisses me off. Me being the snot I can be, I tell him that I'm a bit disappointed that he's not acknowledging my presence!

That leads to his saying "I thought you'd be tired and I didn't want to bother you, etc." I'm sure you all understand the cleverness of this reply. How do I respond without coming off as completely childish and selfish? We eventually fell off to sleep, me feeling resentful because it seems like we do fine when I initiate all the advances, the hugs, the kisses, the loving emails, the sex...but when I have a bad day - he loses the crutch!

Of course, where this leads me next is OK - we get along great when life is good, now we must work on getting along when life is not so good.

Which brings me to my point and my plea to MB, a friend who has been guiding me through this reconciliation process. I'm supposed to draft a list of 25 things that could possibly ruin my marriage. One would think, after last night's fiasco, I would have no problem with this list. But - I'm having trouble!!!

Yes! Yes! Yes!

I want to send out a big thank you to my trusty Purple and Green Essay-Grading Pens, who never ran out or exploded on me these last couple of weeks. You guys worked so hard and I really am grateful.

Also, wrist and finger muscles. I get tears in my eyes just thinking about all you've done for me. You never complained, even during that last stretch of essays, when I was writing the same criticisms over and over again. Goddess Bless.

Of course, you freshmen who did my writing assignments. If it weren't for your essays, I'd be some idle ignoramus who would be experiencing brain atrophy due to watching cable TV. I'll see some of you on Monday.

Lastly, I'd like to thank my husband and children. Without them, none of this would be possible. Thanks to Spencer, Kirby, and Elliot, who were OK with just ONE game of Candyland or ONE book right before bed. Also, Brent. I love you, sweetie. Thanks for not trying to get me in the sack these last two weeks - you knew I'd be exhausted. I'll be ready for the Yard O' Beef soon.

Let me just send out a bit 'WHOOHOO' to all those educators out there who make it happen for our youth every day. We're one-third of the way through the year! YES!

After nearly coming to fisticuffs with a ninth-grader yesterday over this very issue (OK, not really), I thought I would find out the true answer for myself once and for all. I mean, OK, I am an English teacher - but those little grammatical bits have gotten fuzzy on me in the past few decades. I've mostly been going on how it sounds...anyway, here's the sample sentence.

"General Zaroff now hunts people, mostly sailors, who he keeps as prisoners until he needs them."

I had the students correct this sentence in class, and when I said WHO should be WHOM, one student became as irate. Since I didn't have the technical reason, my lame reason was "because it sounds better." But I did tell the student I would get back to him, and so I shall.

The American Heritage Book of English Usage says, "Who is used for a grammatical subject, where a nominative pronoun such as I or he would be appropriate, and whom is used as the object of a verb or preposition."

That is fancytalk.

Use who: when you are referring to the subject of the sentence (Who is going to the store? or "My mom, who is 54, is beautiful.)

Use whom: when you are referring to the direct object (the thing being acted upon) or if it's in a preposition. (Whom did you call? or He is the person FOR whom I would die.)

So, in the above sentence, whom is the correct usage, because it is referring to SAILORS, which act as a direct object in that sentence, because they are on the receiving end of General Zaroff's action (hunting).

So. Mrs. Nelson - 1 Punk Freshman - 0