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Genie asked about Christmas traditions. Here's one of mine: my stupid birthday. (More on actual Christmas later.) >Tomorrow, I will be 39. Inside, I'm still sort of 23. I don't feel different. There's a little frost on the punkin, but thanks to L'Oreal, I'm still a Brown-Haired Lady (TM). I'm about the same size and shape, only a little riper and thicker. I just HATE ages ending in 9! I shouldn't feel bad; Dafydd is 40, and he'll always be older than me! Whee! My tree-sloth students made me cry today. They sang "Happy Birthday" (or was it "Happy Barfday"?) to me, badly. They tried very hard to be nice to the sick teacher. They were precious. One of my wee girls, a recent transfer, gave me a note that made me cry even more. She wanted me to know how much they all appreciate me. She is a gem; never complains, works hard, smiles a lot. I am so lucky! Her note goes in the skinny little file I have with appreciative notes from former students in it. I read them when I feel like I am the Worst Evil Teacher Bitch Ever, just to remind myself that I'm not all bad. I think I'll go read it now. I need to feel a bit more 23, a bit less 39. Today's book: Winter's Tale by Mark Helprin-ironic on a day when the temps in my part of Va. broke the record high set in 1918; it's a great, confusing book. Peter Lake always looks like a certain mustachioed Earl of my acquaintance, in my mind's eye. Today's tune:Theme from The Snowman, played by Michael Chertock-essential for maintaining holiday serenity; good for zen present wrapping. |
 
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It's my Dad's birthday, too!