Whoohooo! Remember the water-in-the-basement fiasco from about two months ago? Well, we've just finally said our last goodbye to that whole mess. This weekend, we finally finished putting up the borders and moving furniture in the kids' room. Enjoy the fruits of our labor.

This is Kirby's room. She picked the border and the corresponding colors. You'll notice she has no bed. That was ruined by the water...that's why she's sleeping on mattresses on the floor. She's not complaining, though, so we'll go with it for awhile.





The boys' room is the typical "sports" theme. The second pic includes a doorway to the bathroom, and you'll see the piece de resistance on the left...a sweet metal school locker pair that I picked up cheap when the school district merged a couple of years ago and sold all the leftovers.

I just got home from the last home football game of the year. I'm sure you will all imagine how bittersweet it was. We won the game handily, but it was also the seniors' last game. Per tradition, the senior football players, managers, and cheerleaders all take hands and walk across the field, I suppose, as a last tribute to the season and community.

Even the radio broadcasters got a bit weepy. And all I could think was, "This is HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL, people. More to life than this."

The moment those thoughts popped into my brain, I mentally berated myself for having them. I have the advantage of experience and wisdom and I know what those kids don't...in the overall life picture, this night is just a drop in the bucket. For them, though, this is it. Right now. That's all they really know.

I should understand that. I did that same walk 14 years ago. Remember, I now live in my hometown and work at my old high school. I was a Varsity football cheerleader. I walked that very walk on Senior Night, too. And it was an emotional time. It was a chance to let go.

So maybe I can understand the kids making it a big thing. I just wish the adults wouldn't so much.

So, conferences were from 4-8 last night. It was pretty slow for me until about 4:30, then I was booked solid until the end. Mostly freshman parents, which is par for the course.

I always look forward to as well as dread this time of the year. I do enjoy speaking with parents; most of them have children who are doing well in my class, and so it is a positive conference, albeit not a terribly "helpful" one. Occasionally (though not as often as I'd like), a parent comes in who I really need to see, because their child is not doing well. We talk and sometimes times the parent is surprised at the kid's poor grade, or is completely resigned to the fact that their child is failing most of their classes and there's nothing they can do about it.

There's definitely a correlation between successful students and parents who attend parent-teacher conferences.

So, I do enjoy talking with parents, and usually wind up learning a few things along the way.

On the other hand, PT conferences always reminds me of my experiences with them as a child. Or, more accurately, my lack of experience. My parents (mom) went to my elementary ones because they were scheduled, but once I reached middle school, they were like the aftermath of Christmas morning - not present. When I've asked them about it, they reply, "Well, we didn't have any problems, so we didn't need to go." As if that's the only thing conferences are for.

However, on the bright side of things, I've added one more thing to my list, which I've titled, "Things That I Will Do For My Children That My Parents Never Did For Me, Thus Leaving Me a Deprived, Hollow Shell of a Youth"

4. Attend all parent conferences right up through Graduation.

Why is this Saturday a gloriously, contentment-filled one?

1. Kirby is at a birthday party (till about four o clock).

2. Spencer is downstairs, smitten with a new videogame freshly rented from the movie store.

3. Brent and Elliot are in Ames at an Iowa State football game.

4. It's sunny and 75 degrees outside.

5. Autumn foliage: trees are in brilliant form around here.

6. Having dinner with my parents around five.

7. Minimal papers to grade for school.

8. Found a cute pair of black dress shoes for Kirby on sale for $15.

9. Had a nice, leisurely lunch out with Spencer.

10. House is relatively clean.

11. Laundry is relatively caught up.

12. Basement is back in order after August's rainwater fiasco.

13. Short week at school coming up due to conferences.

*sigh*

So, I'm sitting here at a local coffeehouse with WiFi, trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to go back home.

Shall I start at the beginning?

Relatively ordinary weekend. We went camping, and had a miserable time trying to hook and up and pull out this morning, due to the torrential rain. However, life goes on...we survive - arrive home, put on dry clothes, and order pizza for lunch.

And then I begin the onerous chore of the laundry. There's mountains of it. I can never get caught up before another ten pounds comes my way. Camping multiplies the laundry amount by five...at least. On top of that is the list of regular housekeeping tasks, like feeding the cat, putting away folded laundry, picking up the floors, vacuuming floors sweeping floors...God, it is incredible the amount of time I spend on the floors.

Anyway. We all have our little tasks to do, but because I care the most, I do the most. I also have papers to grade, but that is besides the point. All I know is that this is Sunday, my last day before the driving back into the whirlwind that is my job. To my mind, I have done nothing but spend it servicing the people I live with.

But then - aha! I notice my newest Netflix arrival has come. "Out of Africa" with Meryl Streep and Robert Redford. It occurs to me that I will perhaps be able to relax tonight with aforementioned movie. Maybe it will change my life.

We sit down to a light-hearted dinner of roast beef sandwiches and Munchies (courtesy of Spencer Nelson's mind). The movie begins, and I am enthralled quickly. Brent seems to be so, and the kids, ehhh, they're not so much. Before too long, my youngest son is jumping on the couch and pretty soon, his feet connect with my head.

And we finally get to the climax of the story. I freak out. I completely went ballistic on my family. I was terrible. I was "fuck this, fuck that" all over the place. I screamed at each of my kids and my husband before grabbing my purse and leaving the house.

*sigh* I'm sure this will lower the fabulously high opinion my dear readers had of me. But I'm sitting here now, wondering what the hell I do now. I know I was wrong. I was wrong in like ten-hundred-thousand ways. And I know I should go home right now and grovel on hands and knees and tell my family that I am SO REALLY VERY SORRY.

But, truth of the matter is, I suck at that kind of thing. Most of the time I am able to ride my high horse with a fair amount of righteousness. I am able to shrug off most personal discomfort with a flippant, devil-may-care attitude. I don't beg, grovel, apologize unless it's life or death. And even then...

But my daughter was crying. Terrified. What the hell is my problem?? And in light of the events of this last week, there are some without certain members of their families...and what they wouldn't give to be in my shoes. To have one more night or day or hour, even.

I think I'll just leave off here, because I have no more words.