They're After Me . . . Right?

My husband gave me a necklace. It's fake. I requested fake. Maybe I'm paranoid, but in this day and age, I don't want something around my neck that's worth more than my head.
--Rita Rudner

I break into a sweat every time I open my email inbox. It's not that there's anything bad in there, besides irritating ads for clothing stores that sell jeans with premade holes (which I will never understand . . . golly I sound OLD), but there are emails. Everday. Multiple times a day. Email. From parents. Oh it makes my stomach hurt to think about it. Nightmares are coming back . . . I dream about email responses.

It's not that there's really anything bad in them . . . questions mostly regarding the lesson plans . . . or papers Sherry and I forgot to hand out . . . or an assignment the parent partner (a parental volunteer who helps in class every day) forgot to stamp or record. I just always feel like I'm in trouble, a disappointment . . . the failing new girl . . .

I'm not. Everyone tells me I'm doing wonderfully. The parents are all really sweet and supportive. The kids seem to like me, they seem to be learning, and, while I feel like I'm losing my mind, my act just might be coming together. Just maybe. The point is my mild paranoia of pleasing everyone around me may just be turning into a true psychological case. Oh dear. And poor Chris has to hear me panic about it every night . . . such a good listener and encourager . . . the poor, poor man.

And did I ever mention how weird it was to be back in "first day of school" pictures? I haven't had one of those since I was . . . I dunno . . . the last one I remember was in first grade? Kindergarten? Ryan McIntosh is in it, a head shorter than I am with a combover and cowboy boots. I was wearing a jean jumper, and the hair that wouldn't fit in my side pony-tail-braid (it does exist) was pinging out in every direction. We had bags our mom's had decorated with our names. Now, I'm back in this pictures, though hopefully my hair looks a bit better, and the person next to me is a wee six-year-old in her school uniform, all smiles, while parents flash pictures like paparazzi. Everyone wants a picture with me. It's sort of like I'm a mini-celebrity, like a soap star or something . . . Anyways, it's just a weird Twilight Zone Moment. At least I'm used to being called "Mrs Bocchino" now. That helps a little bit.

Indiosyncrasy

American women expect to find in their husbands a perfection that English women only hope to find in their butlers.
--W. Somerset Maugham

May the gods grant you all things which your heart desires, and may they give you a husband and a home and gracious concord, for there is nothing greater and better than this -when a husband and wife keep a household in oneness of mind, a great woe to their enemies and joy to their friends, and win high renown.
--Homer

Chris's sisters never failed to tell me the joys and woes of having him as a sibling, so I had a pretty good idea of his random quirks and habits, especially after knowing him and his family for nearly ten years (wow that makes me sound old . . . ). Chris knew most of my habits because most of our dating relationship we were on the phone and I told him waaaaay too much with words and without.

Marriage has a way of opening eyes to all sorts of little idiosyncrasies, some annoying, some funny . . . some simply exist.

Here are a few of ours . . .

Chris's Kitchen Habits that Confused Sarah:

• "This cereal box/breakfast bar box/milk jug is empty. I will leave it on the counter so that we realize it's empty. Maybe my wife will throw it away or we can use it as decorative art . . . maybe."
• Remember how the little girl in "Signs" used multiple glasses of water in a day because they had dust in them or whatever? That quirk was inspired by my husband, not M. Night Shamalan's brilliant plot devices.

Sarah's Kitchen Habits that Confuse Chris:

• "Oh hey, kiddo, I was just at the store, but I forgot something, and I really need it for dinner tonight--you know, that dinner I planned days ago and put on my list with 'all' of the ingredients? Well, I can't finish it without this thing, so can you stop by the store after work and grab it real quick?" [ok, I have been getting better at that . . . but mistakes happen]
• Setting dishes to soak in the sink . . . having any sort of sinkal blockage drives Chris nuts.
  
• Fixing late dinners . . . partially because Chris comes home late but then making him wait later

Chris's Random Quirks Sarah is Learning

• Anything involving any sort of chemical is DEATH. Even Raid vs the cockroach is not cool. Smashing it with tissues or shoes is so much better . . . despite the nasty musk and gutsy mess it leaves. And, yes, he is the one who gets to clean it up. [and fyi, we have only seen ONE roach here ever, which is spectacular, and using organic cleaners is cool . . . we are all learning that some chemicals are necessary . . . like Raid]
• The PCs are in the bedroom, and when Chris is playing his online games in the gameroom via massive extension chords that decorate the hallway, one or both rooms' doors must stay CLOSED at ALL TIMES. I like leaving doors open.
  
• We have a spot for dirty clothes in the bedroom and in the laundry room . . . but his socks always end up in a separate pile in the gameroom. Not a messy pile. Just a random pile. At least I always know where they are so he doesn't go sockless.
  

Sarah's Random Quirks Chris is Learning

• I love spoilers. Love them. I will read detailed reviews, summaries, what have you on books and movies, especially if I don't think I will see them but I want to know the "twist" and if everyone lives without wasting two hours of my life. Chris likes to go into a book, movie, or game with no knowledge or expectations. My impatience drives him batty.
• I like the apartment as tidy as possible when people come over--not perfect, not anal, just no yucky dishes out. Chris has never understood this female quirk. '
• The need to talk about EVERYTHING. :) No really, everything. Eveeeeeryyyyyythiiiiiiiiiiing. He's learned way to much about pregnancy and childbirth, and I'm not even pregnant yet. My stories about my library decreased in faith in humanity. I have scarred him for life.
  

Dontcha just love marriage? Haha. I do! :) No really, I do. God has blessed me with my other perfect puzzle piece, someone who challenges me and balances me in the best of ways. Love it. :)

Kiddo Diddos

Crash programs fail because they are based on the theory that, with nine women pregnant, you can get a baby a month.

--Wernher Von Braun

And golly gee willickers if it doesn't feel like that's been happening lately . . . and yes, I did just sound like Opie Taylor.

People continue to ask me when Chris and I will be expecting. I'm hoping it's not because of my weight . . . *glare* I think part of it is because so many young married couples have been popping up fertile recently. Looking at all those magazine covers in the library and grocery store, I felt like an old-fashioned silly getting married at 22, without a real career. Women, statistics said, were happier marrying in their 30s with a well-established career, and even happier having babies years afterward by natural or scientific methods or wonderful adoption. So here I am, 23, ring on my finger, contemplating creating little mini clones of my husband (if you've seen his family photos, you know his genes are so dominant it's ridiculous ;) ), and wondering if I seem like a relic from Little House on the Prairie. Well, goooolly I was fooled. Maybe it's because I run in church circles, but we're pretty much your average couple . . . give or take the baby thing.

It helps me feel a tiny bit better about having kids working in class. Gosh, these kids are the cutest. Hysterical and chatty but cute. I had a little boy tell me flat-out that school was too long, that I should shorten it. I told him I couldn't but he was free to ask our principal about it. He hasn't really said anything about it since. I hope the kids are learning. They seem to be having fun, and they're all brilliant. Class days seem both not long enough and too long. I try to keep it interesting. Today, one of my boys decided to constantly remind me that I can't say the word "poem" correctly. We were talking poetry, and I confessed I say "poim" or "po-um," which drives Chris insane. Do you think my class let me forget that?? Nope. Not one bit. The parents are awesome. No mutant mother nightmares, though I do continue to dream about passing out papers. It's all a learning experiences . . . pun intended, I guess.