<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476</id><updated>2011-08-20T16:28:15.191-07:00</updated><category term='Here we go'/><title type='text'>The Decision</title><subtitle type='html'>This blog keeps changing. Here is the latest version: tick tock. I'm 36, happily married and have never in my life wanted children. I still don't. But at least once a week something comes up that reminds me of my age and the fact that I don't have kids. Will I ever REALLY want to have a baby? And if I don't, what does that mean? Or even worse, what if I do?</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>19</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-6010888909463111677</id><published>2011-07-18T11:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-18T12:21:37.775-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Because I Am Already 12 Inches From Crazy Part 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vdsxvbIVk_4/TiSGoOIps_I/AAAAAAAAAE0/5AnumbC_4mg/s1600/6a00d834525fff69e20120a85da540970b.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vdsxvbIVk_4/TiSGoOIps_I/AAAAAAAAAE0/5AnumbC_4mg/s400/6a00d834525fff69e20120a85da540970b.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630773459667235826" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently, I can’t get this idea of crazy out of my mind-eight months later. So here is round two-just for you Jessie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is crazy that, when given the choice to believe his/her five  (or ten or 15) year old over a grown-up, a parent chooses the five (or ten or 15) year old. As a teacher, I can assure you, this happens all the time. Teachers don’t like reporting “bad” behavior to parents. It feels like tattle tailing. So it is always shocking for me when I hear parents side with their child. “If Johnny said he didn’t do it, then, he didn’t do it.” It doesn’t matter if I saw Johnny take the money out of my desk. “He didn’t do it.” Given the statistics, I am just going to guess, children lie more than adults. Why would parents believe their five (or ten or 15) year old over an adult? Because they are crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is crazy to cook two or three different meals a night. I know several families in which the adults eat one meal for dinner (usually a plate filled with vegetables, or fish or something else equally disgusting like, oh I don’t know, brown rice) and the children eat a separate meal (usually a plate filled with white, plain pasta). When did this happen? When did moms or dads let children insist a special meal be made just for them.  Why do parents let themselves be jerked around like this ? Because they are crazy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is crazy to not see what is right in front of you. The writing on the wall, so to speak.Parents lose their rational part of the brain and the find the crazy brain.  Suddenly, their child is the most, the best and the exception. For example...  &lt;br /&gt;“…my child is extremely gifted.” &lt;br /&gt;Everybody has something special about them, but only 3-5% of the population are intellectually gifted. So, chances are, your child is bright, clever and intelligent. But not gifted. &lt;br /&gt;“…my child would never do that.”&lt;br /&gt;Really? I SAW HIM pull his pants down in front of the class. But again, why believe me-I’m just the adult? &lt;br /&gt;Why can’t parents be honest with themselves and see their children for what they really are (good and bad)? Because they are crazy.&lt;br /&gt;And because I am already 12 inches from crazy, I don't need to get any closer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reasons not to have a kid: 9&lt;br /&gt;Reason to have a kid:1&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-6010888909463111677?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/6010888909463111677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2011/07/because-i-am-already-12-inches-from.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/6010888909463111677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/6010888909463111677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2011/07/because-i-am-already-12-inches-from.html' title='Because I Am Already 12 Inches From Crazy Part 2'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vdsxvbIVk_4/TiSGoOIps_I/AAAAAAAAAE0/5AnumbC_4mg/s72-c/6a00d834525fff69e20120a85da540970b.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-7464986277925081482</id><published>2010-11-19T17:20:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-19T17:49:28.407-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/TOco6u-CntI/AAAAAAAAAEY/mzG8L0ZqnPo/s1600/parent%2Bteacher%2Bconferences.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 190px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/TOco6u-CntI/AAAAAAAAAEY/mzG8L0ZqnPo/s400/parent%2Bteacher%2Bconferences.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541442856008457938" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I haven't been thinking about this for a while. I have been preoccupied with taking care of other people's kids. It's called teaching kindergarten. It turns out teaching kindergarten is one part managing parents and one part teaching 5 year olds. I have come to the conclusion that parents of five years olds are completely insane. Of course, there are a few in the mix who, on occasion, exhibit normal behavior. But for the most part, they are insane. Here is a perfect example: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;The setting&lt;/span&gt;: parent-teacher conferences. Let me remind you that I am a giant and am forced to sit at teeny tiny chairs and tables. When I think about what I must look at sitting at those tables,it really is ridiculous.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;The characters&lt;/span&gt;: me, a parent and the translator&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Here's what happened&lt;/span&gt;: I tried really hard to talk with this parent about how her child cannot recognize any letters or numbers and desperately needs some extra help at home.  But she did not care. What she cared about (and proceeded to use up all of the 15 minutes allotted for the conference ranting about) was that another student has called her child stupid. Really? This is what she is using this precious time(with a translator!) to discuss? I understand that parents need to fight battles for their kids. But please, pick the battles. What I wanted to say, and didn't, was that MAYBE if she stopped fighting her child's battles, the girl might be able to stand up for herself and other kids will stop calling her names. But, I never had the chance. The time ran out.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Conclusion:&lt;/span&gt; If you are a parent, I am convinced that you are 90% insane. I say this even though I have dozens of friends with kids.&lt;br /&gt;But, I have enough problems. I don't need to add "insane parent" to my list of ailments.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-7464986277925081482?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/7464986277925081482/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/11/what.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/7464986277925081482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/7464986277925081482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/11/what.html' title='What?'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/TOco6u-CntI/AAAAAAAAAEY/mzG8L0ZqnPo/s72-c/parent%2Bteacher%2Bconferences.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-7162002084330904285</id><published>2010-07-05T15:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-05T16:01:35.915-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It Comes Down to Money-Doesn't it Always?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/TDJjMN0piWI/AAAAAAAAAEA/nWIuKHohPvw/s1600/moneyPile.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/TDJjMN0piWI/AAAAAAAAAEA/nWIuKHohPvw/s400/moneyPile.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490559957238122850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The government should give tax breaks to those who choose Not to have children. It really is much more logical. I mean, think about how much money we are saving the U.S. because we have chosen not to breed. Here are some numbers to consider:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*The U.S. government offers $1,000 for the child tax credit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*It costs approximately $11,000 per year to raise a child in the United States. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*School districts in the United States spent an average of $9,138 per student in fiscal year 2006, according to a U.S. Census Bureau report released today. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, if I don't have a baby, I am saving my government about $10,000 a year. Not to mention all the resources I am conserving by not adding another human to the already overpopulated planet. I am saving food for those that need it, conserving natural resources (less laundry, less gas, less water, etc.) and one less person to tap medicare, unemployment, food stamps, medicaid, etc. If I am saving the government so much money each year, shouldn't I get a cut?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-7162002084330904285?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/7162002084330904285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/07/it-comes-down-to-money-doesnt-it-always.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/7162002084330904285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/7162002084330904285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/07/it-comes-down-to-money-doesnt-it-always.html' title='It Comes Down to Money-Doesn&apos;t it Always?'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/TDJjMN0piWI/AAAAAAAAAEA/nWIuKHohPvw/s72-c/moneyPile.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-5677795332650953990</id><published>2010-05-09T14:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-09T15:05:05.802-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Dolphin and a Monk Walk into a Birthing Room</title><content type='html'>Because I would be the woman with the dolphin and the monk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(move forward to minute 81)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://prairiehome.publicradio.org/www_publicradio/tools/media_player/popup.php?name=phc/2010/05/08/phc_20100508_64&amp;starttime=00:00:00&amp;endtime=00:32:18&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reasons not to have a kid: 6&lt;br /&gt;Reason to have a kid:1&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href=http://prairiehome.publicradio.org/www_publicradio/tools/media_player/popup.php?name=phc/2010/05/08/phc_20100508_64&amp;starttime=00:00:00&amp;endtime=00:32:18"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://prairiehome.publicradio.org/www_publicradio/tools/media_player/popup.php?name=phc/2010/05/08/phc_20100508_64&amp;starttime=00:00:00&amp;endtime=00:32:18"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-5677795332650953990?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/5677795332650953990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/05/dolphin-and-monk-walk-into-birthing.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/5677795332650953990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/5677795332650953990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/05/dolphin-and-monk-walk-into-birthing.html' title='A Dolphin and a Monk Walk into a Birthing Room'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-4213130972466516708</id><published>2010-04-26T16:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-26T16:36:41.574-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Puppets</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.fotosearch.com/bthumb/WTD/WTD293/WESTF07255.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 113px; height: 170px;" src="http://www.fotosearch.com/bthumb/WTD/WTD293/WESTF07255.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every time my husband sees a newborn, he says, "That kid looks like a puppet." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reasons not to have a kid:5&lt;br /&gt;Reason to have a kid:1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-4213130972466516708?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/4213130972466516708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/04/puppets.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/4213130972466516708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/4213130972466516708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/04/puppets.html' title='Puppets'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-5244925550388734862</id><published>2010-03-15T14:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-15T15:00:18.589-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gross</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S56tBKNqFrI/AAAAAAAAAD4/6B9ROxWlXcA/s1600-h/MPj02622700000%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S56tBKNqFrI/AAAAAAAAAD4/6B9ROxWlXcA/s400/MPj02622700000%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448982834597992114" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Snot, wiping butts, getting peed on, having baby spit up on your clothes, dragging dog shit through the house, cleaning buttholes, rectal thermometers, measuring pee because of a bladder infection, why do babies smell like rotten milk?, ear wax, pink eye, having to clean out funk from under toe nails, pus, booger eaters, searching through vomit to find out what made the kid sick, collecting poo samples, lice, sinus infections,picking boogers off the wall, and scabs …ohhh…wait! and...scab eaters. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Reasons not to have a kid: too many to list, so I'll just call it 4&lt;br /&gt;Reason to have a kid:1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-5244925550388734862?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/5244925550388734862/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/03/gross.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/5244925550388734862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/5244925550388734862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/03/gross.html' title='Gross'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S56tBKNqFrI/AAAAAAAAAD4/6B9ROxWlXcA/s72-c/MPj02622700000%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-4165383593016869026</id><published>2010-03-09T06:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-09T07:24:36.026-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hearts</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S5Znoy-K4_I/AAAAAAAAADw/rI4gx79YhYM/s1600-h/kinder+assemblyjpeg057.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 269px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S5Znoy-K4_I/AAAAAAAAADw/rI4gx79YhYM/s400/kinder+assemblyjpeg057.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446654749926155250" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So…this is what kills me. The kindergarteners. Why are they so darn cute? Today I was in a kindergarten class that was singing along to obligatory morning playing of the Star Spangled Banner and my heart cracked. I mean, could they be any more darling? They don’t know the words and are just making things up but singing their little hearts out. &lt;br /&gt;And then there are the daddies. A few weeks back I was in a pre-K classroom and this father came in to drop his daughter off. No words were exchanged between them, but they hugged and kissed and the dad watched his 3 year old start her very important day of finger paints and imaginary play. There was something in the look on his face that struck me and, again, cracked my heart just a bit. Don’t know if I can name it...not sure if I should. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Reasons not to have a kid:3&lt;br /&gt;Reason to have a kid:1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*This is me and my kindergarten classmates singing our little hearts out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-4165383593016869026?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/4165383593016869026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/03/hearts.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/4165383593016869026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/4165383593016869026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/03/hearts.html' title='Hearts'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S5Znoy-K4_I/AAAAAAAAADw/rI4gx79YhYM/s72-c/kinder+assemblyjpeg057.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-2037425963547542282</id><published>2010-02-12T09:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-12T09:09:25.572-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Saturday Morning</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S3WKWCYshQI/AAAAAAAAADo/Jxf-LbnUCrA/s1600-h/DSCN2275.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S3WKWCYshQI/AAAAAAAAADo/Jxf-LbnUCrA/s400/DSCN2275.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437404236321948930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every time I entertain the idea that a baby would be a great idea, Saturday morning rolls around and my mind is changed in an instant. Saturday morning looks like this in our house (please remember that I am unemployed and my husband does not have to bring his work home):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me (to my husband, about 10 a.m.): So, what are your plans for the weekend?&lt;br /&gt;My Husband: Oh, well…..I need to go to the hardware store, I want to spend some time in the studio. That’s about it. &lt;br /&gt;Me:  I think I am going to hit up yoga and then go meet up with a friend. That’s about it. Want some pancakes?&lt;br /&gt;My Husband: Yes!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we slowly roll out of bed, pet the cat, make pancakes and go about our day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No kids jumping on our bed waking us up at 6 a.m.&lt;br /&gt;No shouting from the living room about whose toy is whose or what show to watch.&lt;br /&gt;No “Whose turn is it to change the baby?” &lt;br /&gt;No “Annika has a play date at 3 but Eric has soccer at 3. Can you call the Johnsons and see if they can take Eric to soccer?” &lt;br /&gt;No “I think Annika is getting an attitude problem. What are we going to do about it?” &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, Saturday morning, you save me every week. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Reasons not to have a kid: 3&lt;br /&gt;Reason to have a kid:0&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-2037425963547542282?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/2037425963547542282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/02/saturday-morning.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/2037425963547542282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/2037425963547542282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/02/saturday-morning.html' title='Saturday Morning'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S3WKWCYshQI/AAAAAAAAADo/Jxf-LbnUCrA/s72-c/DSCN2275.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-6105799817250556875</id><published>2010-02-10T10:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-10T10:12:35.932-08:00</updated><title type='text'>“They make you laugh everyday.”</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S3L26EsopnI/AAAAAAAAADg/gvm5vf0I4xY/s1600-h/IMG_1684.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S3L26EsopnI/AAAAAAAAADg/gvm5vf0I4xY/s400/IMG_1684.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436679177743410802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a very serious conversation with a friend of mine (who does not have kids) on this Kids vs. No Kids debate, she said, very seriously, "But they make you laugh everyday.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, my cat makes me laugh everyday. Do I really need a kid? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Reasons not to have a kid: 2&lt;br /&gt;Reason to have a kid:0&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-6105799817250556875?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/6105799817250556875/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/02/they-make-you-laugh-everyday.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/6105799817250556875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/6105799817250556875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/02/they-make-you-laugh-everyday.html' title='“They make you laugh everyday.”'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S3L26EsopnI/AAAAAAAAADg/gvm5vf0I4xY/s72-c/IMG_1684.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-1998978254734470304</id><published>2010-02-04T12:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-09T15:12:21.052-08:00</updated><title type='text'>“But You’d Be Such a Good Mom.”</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S3HruFdwNhI/AAAAAAAAADY/zMd3tju9f5I/s1600-h/stock-photo-baby-crying-3142264.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 100px; height: 80px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S3HruFdwNhI/AAAAAAAAADY/zMd3tju9f5I/s400/stock-photo-baby-crying-3142264.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436385402186380818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have heard this a few times- “But You’d Be Such a Good Mom.”&lt;br /&gt;No. &lt;br /&gt;No I wouldn’t. &lt;br /&gt;Here’s why: Because sometimes I think I would be a good mom. I know it sounds illogical, but hear me out. Anyone who has the audacity to think they’d be great at the most stupid, crazy-hard job in the world (as I do) is CLEARLY too self absorbed and naïve to be an affective parent. &lt;br /&gt;I watch parents make choices and think to myself a variety of things (usually negative) such as, “That was so stupid! They just taught their child that screaming in the store gets the child a stick of gum. I would never do that.” Who am I to make these judgments? And what makes me think I would do any better? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Reasons not to have a kid: 1&lt;br /&gt;Reason to have a kid:0&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-1998978254734470304?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/1998978254734470304/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/02/but-youd-be-such-good-mom.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/1998978254734470304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/1998978254734470304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2010/02/but-youd-be-such-good-mom.html' title='“But You’d Be Such a Good Mom.”'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/S3HruFdwNhI/AAAAAAAAADY/zMd3tju9f5I/s72-c/stock-photo-baby-crying-3142264.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-5768551970538302130</id><published>2009-05-06T18:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-02-04T12:30:38.906-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Positive</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SgI_9zm8OAI/AAAAAAAAACs/wPD1ExMHVHQ/s1600-h/2075+blocked.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SgI_9zm8OAI/AAAAAAAAACs/wPD1ExMHVHQ/s400/2075+blocked.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332895239818196994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SgI_9sNWS9I/AAAAAAAAACk/Ml4nwKXroKs/s1600-h/2072+blocked.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SgI_9sNWS9I/AAAAAAAAACk/Ml4nwKXroKs/s400/2072+blocked.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332895237831805906" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been trying to see the positive in things, so here is a recent list:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. My student from Kazakhstan called another student a bi#%h. I asked him if he knew what the word meant, he said no. I wanted to reward him because he used the word correctly (she kind of is one) but instead just scolded him and told him to not say that word at school.&lt;br /&gt;2. One of my kids from Pakistan has said two funny things recently (be sure to read these with a thick Pakistani accent). 1). "Sometimes when I am eating my cereal, I imagine that my cereal bowl is a portal to Pakistan. I dive in and I am there!" 2. While reading a book about dinosaurs, he asks, "I don't understand: If people did not live at the same time at dinosaurs, how did they get this picture of dinosaurs?" I did a really poor job at explaining the difference between a drawing and photograph. Poor kid. He probably still does not get it.&lt;br /&gt;3. We published the first (and last) edition of "The Fourth Grade News." I loved seeing all the kids really excited to receive their copy. I just had to stage this photo.&lt;br /&gt;4. My students are really starting to love books. I recently stopped reading &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Esperanza Rising&lt;/span&gt; right at the good part. There was an uproar.  "No!!! Keep reading! We have to find out what happens!" Very satisfying.&lt;br /&gt;5. There are only 5.5 weeks of school left.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-5768551970538302130?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/5768551970538302130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/05/positive.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/5768551970538302130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/5768551970538302130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/05/positive.html' title='The Positive'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SgI_9zm8OAI/AAAAAAAAACs/wPD1ExMHVHQ/s72-c/2075+blocked.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-7074294793276122949</id><published>2009-03-15T10:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-22T08:47:03.008-07:00</updated><title type='text'>nonscents</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/ScZdZc5YTtI/AAAAAAAAACM/yJE5THCP_qo/s1600-h/poo+card+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316039101992423122" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 235px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/ScZdZc5YTtI/AAAAAAAAACM/yJE5THCP_qo/s400/poo+card+1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/ScZdU9rYCMI/AAAAAAAAACE/rGrJ7sBPtAk/s1600-h/poo+card+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316039024892709058" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 349px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/ScZdU9rYCMI/AAAAAAAAACE/rGrJ7sBPtAk/s400/poo+card+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;About noon on Wednesday, I got whiff of an intolerable funk coming from the southwest corner of my classroom. After a while, when it did not go away, I confirmed the smell with the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;SPed&lt;/span&gt; teacher. We chalked it up to a student having bad gas (with 16 ten year old boys, these smells are not unusual) and figured it would go away at 3:30. But, after the students left, the smell lingered. I called a few other people into the room to make sure I was smelling what I thought I was smelling. They all confirmed that my classroom smelled like poo. But, nobody could find the source.&lt;br /&gt;At this point, I have become obsessive. Where is this smell coming from? I searched every chair, under all desks, my own shoes (did I step in poo?) but I could not find it. Finally, the cleaning person came in and she said, "Yeah, it really smells in here." She started moving tables and..there it was. A turd-about the size of a baseball-under a computer table. I gasped and ran out of the room. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Immediately&lt;/span&gt;, my mind fills with questions: How did the turd get there? Who put it there? Was it an unfortunate bathroom accident or a malicious act? If it was brought in to punk me, how did the student bring it to school? And, the biggest question of all, how did I not notice the turd being deposited in its current location?&lt;br /&gt;So, I found the principal and she tells us to just clean it up and we will talk to the students about it in the morning. We are all in disbelief and yet, find the whole thing pretty hilarious. So, the next step is to plan the strategy to talk to the students. After much discussion (Do we come down hard? Scream and yell? Pull the old, "nobody is going anywhere until we find out who did this" scene?) we decided to not say anything. If it was an accident, that child does not need to be singled out. If it was done as a prank, that child wants to get a rise out of me so it is better to just let it lay low. I came into school in the morning and a fellow teacher gave me a card with a big &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ol&lt;/span&gt;' pile of poo on the front of the card. I strategically placed it on the bookshelf behind my desk so if any students were paying attention, they would notice it. And this is what I said to my students in the morning:&lt;br /&gt;"I was here late last night dealing with the stinky thing somebody left in our classroom. If you did it and it was an accident, I am sorry that happened to you. If you did it on purpose, know this: you are a disgusting person. You know who you are and you are disgusting." So, of course the uproar starts: "what happened? who did what? What did you find?" I say nothing. About 30 minutes later, a student finds the poo card and says, "Who gave this to you?" I say, "Oh, Mrs. P. gave it to me this morning." When they ask why, I just shrug my shoulders and watch the chaos unfold. Somebody, somewhere, knows who did it and I will find out. Their little hearts can't keep this big of a secret forever.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-7074294793276122949?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/7074294793276122949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/03/nonscents.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/7074294793276122949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/7074294793276122949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/03/nonscents.html' title='nonscents'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/ScZdZc5YTtI/AAAAAAAAACM/yJE5THCP_qo/s72-c/poo+card+1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-1939283218827675</id><published>2009-03-07T15:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-07T16:07:00.279-08:00</updated><title type='text'>untitled</title><content type='html'>Every day I hear a story from one of my students that blows me away. Recently I heard that one of my students does not eat dinner because her mom puts her in her room (with her two siblings) and shuts the door at 7 p.m. and then parties all night with her friends. My student's words were, "there is really loud music and my mom has a lot of friends come over."  In the morning, she gets up with her two siblings and grandma drives them to school. She said, "it is too hard to wake mom up." She lives part time with mom and part time with grandma and it is no wonder she comes to school without her homework. Sometimes she doesn't even have her back pack-mom or grandma just drop her off with nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is the other heart wrencher for the week: One student (who never confides in me) asks if he can talk to me in private. This student lives with his grandmother, and his grandfather just died (not related to his grandmother guardian). He has been having a really tough time. Not the kind of hard time where you cry and are sad. He is having the kind of hard time where you punch kids and rip up other people's papers. &lt;br /&gt;We go outside the room and he says, out of the blue, "My auntie died in 2004. She was shot in the brains." I reply (as if I hear this every day), "Are you thinking about her because of your grandfather and the funeral that is coming up?" He replies yes and I say, "How does it make you feel?" He says, "sad." I asked him who shot his auntie and he says, "her boyfriend." I asked if they caught him and he said, "Yes. He is in jail for fifty years." And I am supposed to teach him long division.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-1939283218827675?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/1939283218827675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/03/untitled.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/1939283218827675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/1939283218827675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/03/untitled.html' title='untitled'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-2537931346584694390</id><published>2009-02-14T15:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-16T11:00:13.944-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Insults and Ignorance</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Insults&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;After lunch, my students are incredibly squirrely. I am convinced it has to do with the preservatives, high fructose corn syrup and trans fats that are in the school lunch. Every day it is a battle when I pick them up from the cafeteria. On this particular day, one of my students could not get himself together: spinning in circles, hopping up and down, throwing his sweatshirt around, you get the idea. So, at the classroom door, I stop the class and tell this student for the billionth time to calm down, get in line and get ready to go back to class. He responds, "Aarrgh! Woman!" You know, with the lip pop and all. I almost lost my mind. Luckily I filled up on patience that day (the previous day I broke a clipboard by slamming it down on a desk-low on patience) and just stared at him with giant eyes for about 45 seconds while the rest of the class just stood and watched. At first he said, "What?" But when I didn't budge, he eventually realized that what he had said was not OK with me and apologized.&lt;br /&gt;When I told my fellow teachers what had happened, they all said, "At least he didn't cuss at you." I am not so sure.&lt;br /&gt;The sad part is that he hears this type of thing at home and thinks it is OK.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ignorance&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have been practicing our state standard testing since we all get tested in March. The pressure is really intense as I am judged as a teacher on how well my students do on this test. One of the things that is tested is ability to respond in writing to a given text. So, we are reading a non-fiction story about elephants and how smart they are. The writing prompt says something like, "The author of this article thinks elephants are smart. Use examples from the text to support this idea." Well, it was written better than that, but you get the point. So, I am circling the room to see what my students are writing. The response should be at least two paragraphs in length and I notice one student has written four words-all of which I can't read. So I say to him, "Go back in the story and find a part that says something about elephants being smart." He responds, "But it doesn't say anything about that." I say, "Yes it does, go back and circle the sections that explain how elephants are smart." He says, "But in this story the elephants aren't talking." I then realize that he thinks elephants can talk. So, of course the elephants in this story aren't smart because they aren't talking. &lt;em&gt;Remember, I teach fourth grade, not pre-K.&lt;/em&gt;  I wanted to yell "Elephants can't talk!" But I didn't. I just walked away and watched my test scores go down the drain.&lt;br /&gt;The kid watches way too much of the cartoon channel. And needs to visit the zoo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-2537931346584694390?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/2537931346584694390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/02/insults-and-ignorance.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/2537931346584694390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/2537931346584694390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/02/insults-and-ignorance.html' title='Insults and Ignorance'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-6925292083244359812</id><published>2009-01-28T17:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-28T18:30:37.509-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Irony and Underoos</title><content type='html'>I had such a bad case of after school giggles today, I had to write them down. Here they are, in four acts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Act one-Irony&lt;br /&gt;It took my students 45 minutes to come up two flights of stairs. They were not following the school procedures for being quiet and keeping hands to themselves. With 16 boys, I know this is challenging but we keep working at it until we get it right. So after about 20 minutes of going up and down the stairs, I had lost the ability to speak and just watched them yell at each other. Here is a a typical interaction: "Shut Up! She's getting mad (meaning me)." "You shut up! Your the one that's talking!" "If you all would stop talking, we could go back to class!" And on and on.&lt;br /&gt;Oh the irony...if they would all stop talking, we wouldn't be standing there. They just don't get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Act two-The Kid From the Former Soviet Union&lt;br /&gt;After school, I asked the volunteer that is in my room how it went today with a student that I have from the former Soviet Union-I won't name the country. The school is just too small. He has very limited English. Her reply, "Not so good."&lt;br /&gt;I say, "Isn't he supposed to be cutting out pictures of articles of clothing from the newspaper and labeling them?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;"Yes, but he just took the scissors and stabbed the newspaper."&lt;br /&gt;Great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Act three-Super Pencil and Backwards Pants&lt;br /&gt;I pull a student out of my class to have a chat because he has had an especially hard day. At one point he had his "Super Pencil" (just a regular pencil that he has given super powers) duct taped to his forehead. In hind-sight, the duct tape had to come from my desk drawer. Interesting. How and when did he get it?&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I pull him into the hall to talk with him about the issues we have had today.&lt;br /&gt;"What do you think I am going to ask you?" I say.&lt;br /&gt;"If I took my medicine today," he replies. He is on ADHD medicine and I can tell as soon as he comes to school whether or not he has taken it.&lt;br /&gt;"Well, did you?"&lt;br /&gt;"Some of it," he lies. We have been through this before. Some of it means none of it.&lt;br /&gt;I say, "Well, I can tell and I need to tell your mom that you didn't take it."&lt;br /&gt;He thinks he's tricky and says, "Oh no. It's OK, I'll tell her."&lt;br /&gt;Yes, my students think I am a fool.&lt;br /&gt;Then I notice his pants look funny. I say, "&lt;em&gt;Student Name,&lt;/em&gt; do you have your pants on backwards?"&lt;br /&gt;Student replies, "Yes."&lt;br /&gt;I am so used to the craziness, I didn't even bother to ask why. I told him to go to the bathroom and change his pants around. He asks, "What if somebody sees me?"&lt;br /&gt;I respond, "Go into the stall." I can't help but wonder if his concern for being seen had anything to do with the underoos I noticed sticking out of is pants when I pulled up his shirt to see if my suspicions of backwards pants was correct. He thinks he is so tough, but now I know he wears underoos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Act Four-Just Reading&lt;br /&gt;Upon entering my classroom, I find that one student has moved his desk half way across the room and is just sitting there like nothing is wrong. He does this all the time. So, I take his desk and move it into the hall. Where I can see him, of course. He is bawling because I moved him. I mean, hysterically sobbing. Just one of four boys that cried today in my class. He eventually calms down and I find out later that when asked by a teacher why he was sitting in the hall, his response was "I just wanted to sit out here and read." Well....at least he's reading. Or is he?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-6925292083244359812?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/6925292083244359812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-had-such-bad-case-of-after-school.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/6925292083244359812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/6925292083244359812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-had-such-bad-case-of-after-school.html' title='Irony and Underoos'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-1029884802786988718</id><published>2009-01-20T18:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T19:18:27.037-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What a Day!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXaTaKHxVCI/AAAAAAAAABs/n5bLtvYawJ4/s1600-h/inauguration+day+033.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293580489623426082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXaTaKHxVCI/AAAAAAAAABs/n5bLtvYawJ4/s400/inauguration+day+033.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXaTZ04JKTI/AAAAAAAAABk/ZM7D7NOYEvs/s1600-h/inauguration+day+019.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293580483920734514" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXaTZ04JKTI/AAAAAAAAABk/ZM7D7NOYEvs/s400/inauguration+day+019.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXaTZvPwJMI/AAAAAAAAABc/EtlyKxOE6A0/s1600-h/inauguration+day+007.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293580482409145538" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXaTZvPwJMI/AAAAAAAAABc/EtlyKxOE6A0/s400/inauguration+day+007.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXaTZT2gxOI/AAAAAAAAABU/ck_gA4xx9cc/s1600-h/inauguration+day+022.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293580475055523042" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXaTZT2gxOI/AAAAAAAAABU/ck_gA4xx9cc/s400/inauguration+day+022.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXaTYxb6uII/AAAAAAAAABM/ov1L5rQu344/s1600-h/inauguration+day+017.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293580465817172098" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXaTYxb6uII/AAAAAAAAABM/ov1L5rQu344/s400/inauguration+day+017.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is difficult to write because I do not want to diminish the importance of today by the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;minuscule &lt;/span&gt;details of my own experience. I will say that I had an amazing day and am honored to have been here to experience the joy. I hope the pictures tell the story that I am unable to write at this moment. Plus, I would like to get back to celebrating with my friends. :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-1029884802786988718?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/1029884802786988718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/01/it-is-difficult-to-write-because-i-do.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/1029884802786988718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/1029884802786988718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/01/it-is-difficult-to-write-because-i-do.html' title='What a Day!'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXaTaKHxVCI/AAAAAAAAABs/n5bLtvYawJ4/s72-c/inauguration+day+033.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-7944419125999751830</id><published>2009-01-19T14:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-19T14:59:12.276-08:00</updated><title type='text'>On This Moment</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;Lincoln Memorial-closed as soon as I got there.&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXUDPcsRVtI/AAAAAAAAABE/ZEVXcDNGLPY/s1600-h/DSCN1901.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293140500978685650" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXUDPcsRVtI/AAAAAAAAABE/ZEVXcDNGLPY/s400/DSCN1901.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXUDPMmWLdI/AAAAAAAAAA8/jqFxNmFDOQA/s1600-h/DSCN1902.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293140496658869714" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXUDPMmWLdI/AAAAAAAAAA8/jqFxNmFDOQA/s400/DSCN1902.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Frozen reflection pond.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXUDO2DMgaI/AAAAAAAAAA0/mRwgT_XEq3c/s1600-h/DSCN1889.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293140490605855138" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXUDO2DMgaI/AAAAAAAAAA0/mRwgT_XEq3c/s400/DSCN1889.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Obama's viewing box for the parade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXUDOg-31NI/AAAAAAAAAAs/xvaoSquQLD0/s1600-h/DSCN1906.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293140484950578386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXUDOg-31NI/AAAAAAAAAAs/xvaoSquQLD0/s400/DSCN1906.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This may be as close as I will ever get.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXUDOUeea7I/AAAAAAAAAAk/aup-dxLt9Sc/s1600-h/DSCN1919.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293140481593469874" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXUDOUeea7I/AAAAAAAAAAk/aup-dxLt9Sc/s400/DSCN1919.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In front of the Capitol Building-where the action is going to be tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXUCEljxTgI/AAAAAAAAAAc/q9AXDAazcqY/s1600-h/DSCN1919.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;1/19/09&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went down to the DC Mall to see what I could see. It was crazy. But awesome crazy. You can’t put millions of out of towners in one place and not have a little bit of chaos. I tried to go to the Lincoln Memorial, but it was closed. So, instead of battling crowds in museums or landmarks, I decided to just stay on the Mall and experience what was happening around me.&lt;br /&gt;As I was walking around, I was overcome with emotion. I started thinking about the importance of this event and what it means for this nation and the world. The DC Mall is like a walk through American History-wars and presidents. And tomorrow, history will be made and all the millions of people that are in DC find tomorrow’s moment so important that they made the journey here to see it. Being here is more powerful than I imagined. I couldn’t help but think that I was part of something so much bigger than myself. It is almost too big to comprehend.&lt;br /&gt;As the tears flowed and I looked at the World War II Memorial and the Lincoln Memorial, I tried to find the source of the tears. It appears to be very complicated, but this is what I have figured out so far:&lt;br /&gt;Not since a small child have I felt proud to be an American. In fact, I often felt shame, especially when in the company of people from other counties. But today, I am proud of what my country has done. The load of shame-that I didn’t even know I was carrying- has slightly lessened. I think the tears were part of that release.&lt;br /&gt;The tears were also spurred by my beginning to understand of the power of hope. For 8 years (maybe even longer) I have had little hope in the leaders of this nation-and some other nations for that matter. But today, sitting with all those people walking by, hope could be felt in the air. Adults were talking to children about history and political policies and people were dancing to the music from yesterday’s concert. I didn’t even realize what I was missing when I had lost hope. Is it Obama that has brought the hope back or is it the people?&lt;br /&gt;The children dancing around made me think about my students and the other children in my life. What will this moment mean for them? My mind stumbled upon a story my cousin told me about going to vote during her pregnancy. After voting she touched her belly in a moment of hope for her unborn baby. Last week she gave birth to baby Rowan. We all know there continues to be atrocities and violent injustices in the world. But I can’t help but hope, because of this moment in history, the injustices that Rowan will experience will be a little less. And he, in turn, will never be without hope. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-7944419125999751830?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/7944419125999751830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/01/on-this-moment.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/7944419125999751830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/7944419125999751830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/01/on-this-moment.html' title='On This Moment'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXUDPcsRVtI/AAAAAAAAABE/ZEVXcDNGLPY/s72-c/DSCN1901.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-9116462460385664488</id><published>2009-01-17T10:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-17T10:51:56.586-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Education Made Everything Possible." -Barack Obama</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXIn5fwSOWI/AAAAAAAAAAU/tC5pN6LwCT0/s1600-h/DSCN1858.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292336380843800930" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXIn5fwSOWI/AAAAAAAAAAU/tC5pN6LwCT0/s320/DSCN1858.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Currently listening to Ira Glass-all about Obama-and getting ready to head to DC tomorrow. I can't wait to feel the energy of the city. Unfortunately, this blog will be blocked on the school's network. So, my students will not be able to follow along as much as I had wished. I know some of my students will never get to DC and really wanted them to feel as much a part of history as I do. It will have to wait until I return. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-9116462460385664488?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/9116462460385664488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/01/currently-listening-to-ira-glass-all.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/9116462460385664488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/9116462460385664488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2009/01/currently-listening-to-ira-glass-all.html' title='&quot;Education Made Everything Possible.&quot; -Barack Obama'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXIn5fwSOWI/AAAAAAAAAAU/tC5pN6LwCT0/s72-c/DSCN1858.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6295438102947615476.post-3775931830100083071</id><published>2008-12-26T18:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-17T10:41:56.985-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Here we go'/><title type='text'>Here We Go!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXImUc7WYNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/B4AuMd0J5xs/s1600-h/DSCN1855.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292334644918116562" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXImUc7WYNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/B4AuMd0J5xs/s320/DSCN1855.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ok, so here is my attempt at creating a blog. I just bought my plane tickets to the inauguration and am hoping to keep my students up to date with all of the action with this blog. Seeing as I am fairly technologically disabled, this should be interesting.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6295438102947615476-3775931830100083071?l=threegoodnerves.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/feeds/3775931830100083071/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2008/12/here-we-go.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/3775931830100083071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6295438102947615476/posts/default/3775931830100083071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://threegoodnerves.blogspot.com/2008/12/here-we-go.html' title='Here We Go!'/><author><name>Lydia</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_o9Wtz5Z0cTg/SXImUc7WYNI/AAAAAAAAAAM/B4AuMd0J5xs/s72-c/DSCN1855.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
