Thursday, December 11, 2008

Dear Diary,


Drat my impulse to randomly change layouts. I'm liking it, but not too sure it's fully settled into place yet.

In other news, I'm sticking my icons/avatars here so I can find them later. Go me.



I definitely want to make more interesting ones later on. I suppose I should post an entry describing why this site is called 'Frosty Puppies.' The story is actually quite wonderful. It goes a little like this:

Once upon a time in a land that has no mass because it's digital, I decided to give birth to my umpteenth blog. When the doctors came up to me asking for the name, the first two words that popped into my head were 'Frosty Puppies' and thus, a legend was born.

Holy moly, it's going to be fun when I have kids of my own. They better hope I'm not hungry or loopy from pain meds still, or they might end up getting named Pancake Split, or Thorny Ketchup.

Anywho, today I noticed that one of my students at school has really been working hard at the piano; unlike the others, she's dedicated, hard working, and actually interested in things like technique and form. When I was talking to her in a lesson, she reminded me so much of myself at that age- not having an instrument to practice on, having a private teacher who was insufficient for her needs. I also sensed a subtle change in her from the beginning of the year; it seems as if she had woken up.

Then, almost instantaneously, and half unwillingly, I remembered a conversation I had with her about a month ago. It was during a lesson, and I remarked how impressed I was with her ability to learn quickly, and lectured [or preached to] her about how God gave her those talents to develop those skills and use them in service of Him. I explained to her that because she learned so quickly, she had a responsibility to do the best she could with it; she had a choice to spend the next four years goofing off like her peers inevitably will do, or she can focus on her purpose. I just know this kid is going to do great things over the course of her high school career, and I'm really excited about it.

As for her peers, the conversations tend to go more like this:

Girl: Ms. S, you look sad. Will you smile? I want you to smile. Please smile.
Me: [extremely hoarsely] Hello. [cough, hack, cough]
Girl: Are you sick?
Me: [pause, shooting her a blank stare]Are you blond?
Girl: [grabs a strand of her hair and looks at it] I-I-I think so...
Me: Your answer is my answer.
Girl: Huh?
Boy: Oh my gosh. Are you kidding me?
Another Girl: Well maybe she could've dyed her hair or something.
Girl: Huh? What? No. My mom doesn't let me dye my hair. And I wouldn't want to. But she never answered my question.
Me: Who?
Girl: You.
Me: Yes I did. I said your answer was my answer.
Girl: What?
Boy: Ok. Look. Listen to me. You're obviously blond, right?
Girl: Right.
Boy: So that means it's obvious that Ms. S is sick.
Girl: Huh, wait what?
Me: [Doubled over laughing my head off but still sore from coughing for days and kidney stones] Hahaha....ow....hahaha...ow
Girl: Are you ok?
Boy: You're unintentionally hurting her!
Girl: I don't get it. When I tried to make her smile, she refused to smile. And now that I'm not doing anything, she won't stop laughing at me. And I don't get it. She laughs just when I'm being me.
Another Girl: That's the point.
Girl: Huh? I don't get it.
Boy: It's the blond. Blame the hair.
Girl: Huh? What? No. I have highlights.
Boy's Twin: Listen to me. I'm not making fun of you. Who's your favorite twin now?
Boy: Yep, it's definitely the hair.
[grabbing strands of her hair, referring to the color] These aren't even real. They're fake.
Another Girl: Uhhh... that's not the best way to start a sentence.
Me: [doubled over laughing again] ahahaha....ow....hahaha.....owww
Girl: I don't get it. Why are y'all laughing at me? They're fake.
Boy's Twin: Girl, no. This is the good twin speaking. Stop while you're ahead.
Another Girl: Well, no. In this case, it's stop while you're still behind.
Girl: Well I still don't get it. Whatever.

And that, dear diary, is called the future. As much as I regret to inform you of this, I teach the best and the brightest teenagers in my district- and the majority have some kind of funky quirk like that. Like the kid with an outstanding I.Q., wonderfully creative ideas, extremely precocious personality who ended up licking battery acid because she thought she spilled some soda. Or the kid who's on honor roll and works for the school newspaper and decided it would be a good idea to jump over a fence and break his arm in the process of retrieving a football from his neighbor's yard the week before a piano recital. Or the kid who, in his junior year of high school, finally realized that the word "fifth" is spelled with two f's.

Yeah. My sentiments exactly.

Adios amigos,