Happy Birthday to my Husband

Today, my husband is officially eight years older than I am. But that only lasts for two months.
This has been a big year of change for him, for our family. His job has changed, some parts better, some worse. He works eight hours and is finished but he has to work evenings. He doesn't bring work home with him, but he doesn't look forward to going very much.
Since he is home during the day, we have a lot more together time when I am not teaching. There are times when he expects me to have equal free time, but "not at work" does not equal "free time" for me. He has picked up the slack I left behind with the housework and laundry. When I have worked all day, I often come home to a clean house, piles of folded laundry waiting on the bed..
When we married nearly 20 years ago, I knew he was a nice guy, but I was too young to know how wisely I had chosen. I saw that when the waitress dropped a tray, he got up to help her. I saw that when he refused one of the many homeless people in Key West who asked for money then later saw the woman sleeping in a car, he knocked on the window of the car to give her money. He was obviously a decent person.
Over the years, if anything, he has come to love me more, and I don't know how I got so lucky. His first thought is what will make me happy, what will make things easier for me. And, although he ocassionally guesses wrong, or causes a flap with the kids, I know that his motives are true.
Sometimes we fight. Sometimes loudly. But underneath, I feel very blessed that I married a man who has grown with me instead of apart from me.
And this afternoon, when the romantic lunch we had planned fell through as the kids chose to skip this swim practice and stay home, he shrugged and drank the mellow glass of chardonnay. He knows that, although today is a special day, it won't be the last opportunity for us to share a romantic afternnon.
Happy birthday, Earl.

College Football

I know this is a strange confession to make, but I love college football. As a matter of fact, when Earl and I began talking about moving to France, one of the first things I wondered was whether I'll be able to watch college football on Saturday afternoons in France. I know! So stupid. Why would a person in France want to sit around and watch American boys hit each other and try to get the football to the end zone.
I grew up with two brothers and a dad who are sports fanatics. Football was always on during the weekends in the fall. When I went to college, first Eastern Kentucky then Wilmington, they both had good football teams and I went to the games on crisp afternoons to cheer on the teams.
Somewhere along the line, it became nearly an obsession. I root for Ohio State now. That's where Earl went and almost everyone in Ohio, including my two brothers, root for OSU. But I watch all the other games as well, calculating how a loss by the number five team could boost OSU's chance and move it up in the polls.
My boys love to watch too and Grace will come into the living room with a book so she can share the junk food snacks we munch. Inevitably, swim meets begin to interfere with college football Saturdays, and I'll find myself standing in an exercise room watching the game while my children swim in the nearby pool.
Then the season draws to a close much too soon and I have to wait another nine months before it comes around again.
Maybe it isn't just college football. Maybe it's the season. The fall is my favorite. The leaves start turning and the sky becomes the clearest blue ever. We walk through crunchy leaves and cook chili. We nestle under throw blankets on the couch and we all sit together rooting for our favorite team. Maybe I'm not obsessed with football but with those sights and sounds.
Even when I'm alone on a Saturday afternoon though, I turn on football, so I don't think I can claim it's merely family togetherness.
The first week of January brings the college football bowl games. After that, I look across the cold months of February and March then the entire spring and summer before football begins again.

Family Christmas Photo

Disclaimer: No teenagers were harmed in the making of these family photos; however, parents may have been verbally harangued.

As you can see, our mantle is nicely decorated for Christmas.

Once our family stands in front of it, all the Christmas cheer is blocked.

We can't get everyone to smile or look normal at the same time. We move in front of the Christmas tree,but some of us are forward and others are in the back. This looks more like an album cover and I'm obviously the lead singer.
Things start to fall apart then. Spencer, who is much more handsome than these pictures show, would have none of the silliness and he retreated. Meanwhile, the mayhem began.
Somewhere there has to be a picture I can use in our Christmas letter, and I've promised I'll finish it by tomorrow. Wish me luck.

Wrapping Paper

This morning before Mass I needed to wrap a Christmas present for my goddaughter. I rolled out the blue paper with white snowflakes on my bed and began cutting it. That's when I wondered if everyone wraps Christmas presents on their bed. I've seen House Hunters or the Home & Garden section of the newspaper talking about wrapping rooms. I wondered what kind of people could devote an entire room of their house to wrapping presents.
When I wait to wrap all of the presents on the night before Christmas, my back begins to hurt from leaning over the bed. It seems a small price to pay. Or, I could wrap a few every day so that I'm finished on Christmas Eve.
How about you, where do you wrap?

Complaints Again

Did I say that I was finished complaining about the "university" where I teach? Well, I've changed my mind. I just finished grading all of my papers and rather than doing a happy dance, I feel like crying.
The dean sent out a message on Wednesday that any adjuncts who wanted to be paid this year for the quarter we taught needed to submit grades and our invoice by noon on Friday. Those of us with Friday night courses were allowed to submit by noon on Saturday.
My class, my very difficult and needy class, met Friday from 6 to 9:30 p.m. My 26 students each diligently handed in final drafts of their 5 to 8 page research essays. I sat through their presentations, marking their grades. Then, I had until today at noon to grade them all, put the grades in the gradebook and send a copy along with the invoice to the Dean.
And I did it. I made it with about 13 minutes to spare. I sent the email with the attachments and went to talk to my husband who I had blown off, saying, "I've got to finish this."
Then, I went back to check my email and saw an "Out of the office" message from the dean. She wasn't in today.
That means I won't be paid this year for a class I've been teaching since the last week of October. I should probably get paid mid-January or at the end of January. It shouldn't be a big deal, but it irks me. I was looking forward to a full bank account, of being able to send off extra money for bills right after Christmas.
Sigh!!!
On the plus side, last night at the end of class, I had several students come up to me and thank me for the class. This was a class of complainers, so I was surprised. Even the student who I suspected might be packing heat because he was so hostile toward me, thanked me.
One student, who is originally from Africa, he's exuberant and happy and lively, came up and said, "It is we who should be thanking you. You made this class so good."
And I said, "No, M. The students really determine how entertaining the class is."
He shook his head, and said, "No, thank you."
That felt good.
I'm committed to one more class at this university and then I'll regroup. I feel that they don't treat their adjunct faculty very well, and they certainly don't compensate us for all the extras they expect.
I have at least a week before I have to start planning classes again. I think I'll enjoy Christmas and forget about teaching for awhile.