That time the little guy deserved the beat-down

There are these two kids in my class- who are let's say "lively." Neither on of them does enough work to pass, they are both loud, problematic, disrespectul boogers. I make an effort to keep them seperated for the most part because they love to antagonize one another. One of them, I'll call him Rafael, is a big kid. He's nearly 6 feet tall, he works out and likes to show it. He's a big guy and he likes to try to intimidate the other students. Sometimes he just messes with them like a little kid would- He is very physical with the other kids, and mostly they don't like him. I don't think he's a bad kid- but he has too much energy and not enough strategies to deal with it. He's not interested in school or academic success at this time. The other one, I'll call him Donatello- is a little wirey kid. He looks like he might way 100 pounds and he's about as tall as my 12 year old daughter. He's loud and obnoxious, and although he is capable, refuses to do enough work to pass the class. Some of the other kids think he's funny because although he is rude and annoying they seem to think his antics are entertaining. Also, because he is small he is generally nonthreatening. Earlier this week Rafael left the room for some nefarious quest (I know this becase the associate principal called to let me know he had foiled Rafael's plans and was sending him back to my room.) While Rafael was out I saw Donatello messing with a backpack. I said, "Hey, is that your backpack?" He said, "Yes!" I didn't really believe him, but I also didn't know- so I didn't press the matter. A little later I saw Donatello pull a blue-tooth speaker out of the backpack. I knew that speaker belonged to Rafael, and I also felt confident that Rafael did not give Donatello permission to mess with it. I thought, 'This is going to cause a fight.' Then I thought, 'That kid (the little one, Donatello) deserves a beat-down.' Then I went on living my life. Later Rafael came back to the room. Things were quiet, until Rafael discovered that the speaker was missing from his backpack. The two boys started getting in each others faces, and not yelling, but making quiet threats to one another. I said, "Hey! You two! Don't fight in my room! Get out of here! Go somewhere else if you are going to fight!" They both looked at me like I was kind of crazy. Teachers are supposed to tell you to fight (somewhere else.) But I knew they were going to do it anyway, so it was no use telling them not to fight. So they backed away from each other and I went back to my work, but when I looked up again there they were back in each other's faces, quietly making threats. I said, "Hey! Back away! Sit down!" Just then the Donatello drops to the floor holding his stomach and groaning. Now this was interesting. I was looking at them, but I never saw the punch. I didn't see any movement at all until the drop. It was like a perfect shiv in the prison yard- some of the skills these kids have are frightening. So Donatello- he's a drama-wolf- that's like a boy who crys wolf and a drama queen at the same time. So he laying on the floor groaning and I'm thinking, 'Did Rafael really punch him?' So I start walking over to check it out when suddenly Donatello jumps up off the floor, picks up a chair and throws it at Rafael! It's a regular TV talk show up in here! I say, "That's it! Get out of my room! Get out right now!" Rafael just stands there looking at the chair on the floor. Donatello starts packing up his bag, but then he says, "No." I said, "What do you mean, 'No?'" I was thinking he better get out of there before Rafael took his head off. But he said, "No." and sat down. Rafael told me Donatello had his speaker in his bag. I had completely forgotten about the speaker. I knew Rafael was right. I said, "Give it to him." To my surprise Donatello takes the speaker out of his bag and throws it on the table. I felt sure he would deny having it. I told them I was calling security. They both insisted the other one started it. I told them they needed to tell their associate principles their stories. Then they told me they were fine and the fight was over. I told them it was too late for that- they had to go. Only one security officer came, so he had to escort them out one at a time. He took the big on first, and the little one said, "Ha-Ha he has to go first!" I said, "He's comeing back for you!" So- I had a few quiet days while they were both suspended- but they'll be back this week- ready to steal and punch and throw chairs and be vulger. Who's counting down the days until school is out for the summer? That's me!

Chrystal from 7th grade

There are some names, which even as an adolescent, I thought sounded flagitious. Just kidding.  I only learned that word today, and truthfully, it is not exactly the word that I want to use.  Flagitious means criminal or villainous.  It is a synonym for nefarious. I want a word that means, "Your name sounds like your mom expected you to grow up to be a pole dancer."  I found the words "unchaste" and "licentious" but those are about sexually driven behaviors. I mean- maybe a pole dancer is unchaste and licentious, but let's give them the benefit of the doubt.  (Are there male pole dancers?!)

In my search for the best word to start this blog, I found a phrase- "not cricket."  The definition is "something contrary to traditional standards of fairness or rectitude." So then I had to look up rectitude.  That means "morally correct behavior or thinking; righteousness". So- now we are getting somewhere in this story-

I begin:

Yesterday a memory about Chrystal from 7th grade came into my head.  Thinking about Chrystal made me think about Desiree, which made me think about Amber.  These are all girls I knew in 7th grade.  All girls who I thought, because of their names (only) were " not cricket."  It's terrible to judge people based on their names alone- they didn't even choose their names- but the fact was I was a pretty judge-y kid.  

I was also "not cricket" in the ways that I treated Chrystal.  Poor soul. Sorry Chrystal, wherever you are.

One day my friend and I were in the locker room talking about our mothers' ages. Who knows why? I was 12, so I said, "My mom is 39.  My friend said, "My mom is 37."  Chystal, who was not involved in the conversation chimed in and said, "Your moms are so old!"  

I said, "What? No, they're not!  Those are normal ages for moms!" (like moms have normal ages)

She said, "My mother is 28."

I said, "That's not true, do you mean your mom was 28 when you were born?"

She said, "No, she's 28 right now."

I said, "Your mom's 28, and you're 12?"

"Yeah."

"So, your mom was 16 when you were born?"

"Yeah."

"Wow."

She goes on, "My grandmother is 44."

Me: "Are you sure?"

Her: "Yeah!"

Me: "You probably shouldn't tell people that."

Her: "Why not?"

Me: "Because it's a pattern."

Her: "What are you talking about?"

Me: "Your mom had you when she was 16."

Her: "Yeah."

Me: "Your grandmother had your mom when she was 15."

Her: "Yeah."

Me: "Are you going to have a baby when you are 15 too?"

Her: "Of course not.  I'm going to college."

And here's where things go off the rails.

Me: "No, you're not."

Her: "Yes, I am.  I have a plan."

Me: "They won't let you in college if you get caught fighting in school."

Her: "I never fight in school!"

Me: "You just fought with me."

Her: "No, I didn't."

I look at my friend, "Did you just see her start a fight with me?"

My friend: "Yeah."

Me: "See?"

Her: "You can't do that!  You'll get in trouble for fighting too!"

Me: "So what, I'm not going to college."

She starts crying, "I want to go to college! I can't go to college if I get in trouble for fighting!  Don't fight with me!"

I felt bad.  I say, "Crystal, I'm just kidding.  I'm not going to fight you. Anyway, you can still go to college even if you do get in trouble for fighting.  We are in 7th grade!"

She's all hysterical now, "No!  If I get a bad report on my school record I can never go to college!"

I say, "Chrystal, calm down- everything is fine- let's go.  I'm not going to fight you."

Every day after that Chrystal looked at me like a scared rabbit.  Like I was the ruination of the dreams of generations.  

If she was annoying me I'd hold up my fist and she'd leave.

I bet she was super happy when I moved away at the end of 7th grade.

Lost in the chaos

I can't find the paddle that kneads the bread in my bread machine.  I felt compelled to let someone know this was my dilemma. Inshallah that is my only problem right?

It is not my only problem.  The big picture is that there are a lot of things in my house that I need to get rid of.  The detail in that picture is that everyone in my family is a saver.  We want to save everything- 

"I can use this!"

"I can make something out of that!" 

"Can I have that?" 

"Why?!"

"I like it."

"Why did you bring that home?"

"It was free."

"I found it".

"It's still good!"

"What's it good for?"

"I don't know.  Yet!"

"PUT THAT BACK IN THE TRASH!!"

It's my own fault.  I say, "Hey, look at the cool rock!"  They say, "I want it!"  Now I have approximately 537 rocks in my house.

Perhaps my bread machine kneading paddle is in with the rocks.

My third grade teacher was right

 When I was in third grade my favorite teacher, Mrs. Richmond, told us that even though we had to learn the imperial measuring system, we also had to learn the metric system.  She was sure that by the time we grew up the whole USA would use the metric system exclusively.  

Here's me now-

I got a call from the doctor after the ultrasound.  The doctor said, "The ultrasound shows that you have a large ovarian cyst on the left measuring 13 centimeters and several small ones on the right measuring 3-5 centimeters each.  We have scheduled you for an MRI."  Then she said the thing that no woman wants to hear- "And someone ate all the tacos."  

No- that's not what she said.  She said, "I've recommended you to a gynecological oncologist."

So I said, "Okay."

And that was the end of the conversation.

Next, I had to think about how big 13 centimeters is.  Mrs. Richmond would be disappointed.  I pulled out my ruler.  I looked at the metric side and measured to 13.  I looked at it and thought- 'Is this big for an ovarian cyst?  seems pretty small to me.'  Then I realized that I had measured 13mm, not 13cm.

Then I measured 13cm and found it was about 5 inches.  I still don't know what that means.  13cm long?  13cm diameter?  I don't know.  

I got the MRI- that was an event I'd rather not experience.

I had made an appointment with my gynecologist a month before when I had experienced the pain the last time.  (It took that long to get in.)  So I told her all my issues and showed her all my test results, and she told me what she thought it was and suggested that I "get rid of everything."  She said, "you're almost 50, you don't need it!"  

That sounded good to me.  

When I went to talk to my surgeon, he said, "So- if we are going by the book I'd leave an ovary in if it isn't damaged."

I said, "Why?"

He said, "For hormones. Research suggests that women who start menopause surgically are at higher risks for several illnesses."

I said, "But I'm 50."  When does menopause start for most women?

He said, "Between 52-54."  

I said, "My gynecologist recommended that you take it all, and I'm okay with that."

He said, "Who is your gynecologist?"

I said, "Dr. Udell."

He said, "Kim Udell?"

I said, "Yeah."

He said, "She would say that." 

He said, "You can decide, but going by the book, I'd leave one."

I said, "Okay- take it all."

In the end, the surgeon decided that although he was  "pretty sure" that the cysts were not cancer, he didn't want to rupture them just in case.  Since the cyst was so large he said he couldn't do the surgery laparoscopically, nor could he do it vaginally.  He also said he would normally do the surgery in the same manner as a C-section, but since I have had 4 C-sections already, he thought there was too much scar tissue.  

So ... I have 9-10 inch scar from my belly button all the way down to my C-section scar.

The doctor said the recovery would be similar to a C-section.  

I disagree.

It was terrible.

It still hurts more than 6 weeks later.

But- I'm mostly healed and optimistic for the new year- just a few organs lighter.