EXTENDING CHRISTMAS

Unlike Scrooge, I am stuck with the Spirit of Christmas Present.  Yup.  I am not ready to give up the Christmas ghost yet.  I wake up this morning, turn on the television and and thrilled to see Christmas movies are still on the Hallmark Channel and the Hallmark Movie Channel. 

Yes!  Christmas extends a little longer.

It's no secret that I am in need of some doctoring -- my back/hip is so out of whack that I am starting to suspect I must've suffered some secret trauma because everything hurts.  I have a reasonably high tolerance for pain, but this is getting ridiculous.  My friend is suffering from an attack of sciatica, so she takes her hurting left hip, I take my hurting right hip, and the two of us go to the chiropractor for adjustments.  When we get into her car ... Christmas music is playing.  When we get to the chiropractor's office, Christmas music is playing there, too.

Yes!  Christmas extends a little longer.

I have to write a paper and get a presentation ready for right after the holidays.  As I sit here typing and destroying my office space with resources spread out and notes and papers everywhere, I am sitting right next to the television (you know, so close our parents would smack us), watching yet again the same Hallmark Christmas movies I've been watching since Thanksgiving. 

Yes!  Christmas extends a little longer.

Not homework, not pain, not even the calendar is willing to give up the Christmas ghost this year.  Christmas Present, you are welcome to stay as long as you like.  But, just so you're fair-warned, the decorations usually come down around the twelfth day of Christmas.  But since I'm under the gun with this paper/presentation, I'll grant you an extension.  After all, you've done so for me; it's the least thing I can do this holiday season.

LITERALLY BLOCKING THE PAIN

I've been slightly side-lined for the past thirty or so hours, semi-incapacitated with a tweaked back.  I need groceries, but that's not happening today because I cannot yet get in and out of my car without screaming in pain.  I am, however, able to sit and stand and go up and down stairs without clutching the side rail and taking one step at a time so slowly that a simple trip to the potty during the night takes about twenty minutes.

Nope, today rapid-release acetaminophen has been my friend.  Of course, I'm eating the capsules like leftover Christmas candy, but I don't care.  I can almost move at a partially-normal pace today.  I'm not pushing my luck, though.  I know the drugs are taking off the edge.  I'm staying home and I'm staying put.

I could read; I have several new books plus one a friend lent me, and I have months' worth of magazines backlogged.  I could nap since I slept like crap last night.  I could sit still and work on my final project/paper that is due in a week.  The only thing I know for sure is that I need to spend more time sitting than standing today.

So, I decide to sort out some of my sewing pile.  I discover a box full of quilt blocks that I sewed together probably three or four years ago, back before I was taking a full load of graduate classes straight through all seasons of the year.  I have a dozen blocks of this and a dozen blocks of that and dozens and dozens of blocks that don't really go together and yet might go together perfectly well if arranged correctly.  Or incorrectly.  I don't even care -- I just want these quilt blocks out of my sewing pile.

I plan and work out patterns on paper, adding borders and blocks to make patterns and then ... and then ... and then I decide, "Fuck it, I'll just sew a random forty-eight of the eight-inch-square blocks together.  Yup, I can use the crib-size batting (which is way too big for cribs, anyway) and make a huge lap quilt.  I set up the four piles and simply go across 1-2-3-4-1-2 for the odd rows and 3-4-1-2-3-4 for the even rows.  I pin, sew, pin some more, sew some more, until finally, the top is pieced, sewn, and ready to become a quilt.

I don't finish the project because the tying off of a quilt takes some bending over the work space, and I'm not sure my back is up to that yet.  And, please, do not look too closely at how well I do not line up the rows and blocks.  All in all, it's not a bad accomplishment for a day of infirmary and rest.  Now, if I can just be this productive when my back is fully recovered, I might get that project/paper done this week, too. 

RESTOCKING THE MEDS

Christmas wipes me out; I'm not going to lie.  When I finally fall into bed around midnight, I sleep straight through until 6:30, get up to hit the bathroom, then power-sleep for another three-plus hours.  Yup.  Ten hours.  TEN HOURS.

When I finally do manage to drag myself out of bed, I shower then go on a mission to replenish my supply of acetaminophen, ibuprofen, and good old-fashioned aspirin.  I have $5 in Extra Bucks to CVS, so I head up and search for bargains.

In addition to perusing the pain relief aisle, I decide to see if there are any good post-Christmas sales there, as well.  I am hoping for Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, but all they have are the Reese's Peanut Butter Bells.  Mentally I understand they are the same as the cups, but I cannot convince myself that cups are bells and bells are cups.  It's just wrong, so I keep moving through the displays.  I do, however, find several things on sale that I think will come in handy for next Christmas: bows, wrapping paper, tissue paper, and holiday cards. 

That's right.  Fresh off the heels of a ten-hour, post-Christmas power-sleep, I am already gearing up for next Christmas.  Of course, I do not survive unscathed.  My back and hip have been tweaking for about a week now, and somehow getting in and out of the car, I manage to completely throw out my right hip (which has been given to nasty bouts of bursitis before).  Other than the fact that I cannot walk more than teeny steps and that the pain is so bad that it makes me nauseous, here's the truly ironic part of all of this:

Although I restock the pain meds, I fail to restock the naproxen.  I'm not going back out now.  I probably wouldn't be able to fold and unfold myself in and out of the car, anyway.

Oh, Christmas, you funny fellow.  You exhaust me, you wipe me out, and now you're beating me up on top of everything else.  If I can only get myself off the couch and up the stairs to bed, I might be able to sleep another ten hours, and if only the naproxen would kick in, and, if it doesn't, thank goodness for the back-up meds I have from my CVS jaunt earlier. 

CHRISTMAS SURVIVAL GAME

Getting through Christmas is often like making it through a survival game.

First, the gift shopping has to be done.
Wrapping marathons soon follow.
Then, the grocery shopping has to be done.
Massive amounts of baking and cooking ensue.
Travel plans have to be made.
Schedules have to be coordinated.
Work has to be endured.
Illnesses have to be warded off.
Guests and family need to be made comfortable.
Exhaustion must be conquered and ignored.

I realize during Christmas Eve and Christmas day, while warding off a migraine, that I forgot to replenish my supplies of acetaminophen, ibuprofen, and good old fashioned aspirin.  I cradle the last extra-strength, rapid-release Tylenol like it's the Ebola virus in a fragile jar -- either's accidental destruction will lead to my immediate and painful death.

It has been a long time since I felt under-the-weather during the holiday season, but this is what happens when I run myself into the ground.  And speaking of under the weather, it certainly does not help that it has been almost 70 degrees for two days (Christmas Eve and day).  Between hot flashes, a hot house, and an occasional hot forehead, I'm ready to turn on all the fans and run around in a bathing (or birthday) suit.

My friend in Colorado is snowed in for Christmas, battened down by a blizzard that drops about a foot of snow on her town overnight and continues to rage on Christmas day.  Lucky girl: She gets a white Christmas and a reason to enjoy her bed a little longer.  I pretend to love my bed  by never changing out of my flannel pajama pants all day long, which is a fashion statement that also prevents me from going to the pharmacy for more acetaminophen, ibuprofen, or aspirin.  I could actually go several places for Christmas evening -- my sister's house, my friend's house -- but all I want to do is curl up in a big comfy chair with a blanket and maybe my homemade fleece scarf.

And painkillers.  Why did I not restock my supply of painkillers?  Other than that and accidentally smashing a holiday wine glass in the sink after rinsing it out to use, it is a ridiculously smooth couple of days with friends, family, and all of my silly Christmas animated toys and a house full of oft-lit candles.  In a couple of hours, the survival of this year's Christmas Season will be official. 

Of course, this all means one thing and one thing only:  Time to start planning next year's holiday season.

WAY-TOO-WARM WISHES FOR CHRISTMAS

To friends and family --  Have a wonderful holiday.  Merry Christmas to all, and to all ... bring on the snow.  Sweating my butt off with the windows wide open on Christmas Eve is not my idea of  a New England Christmas holiday.  I keep humming "Christmas Island" and "Mele Kalikimaka" and it just seems so wrong.

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE

T'was the night before Christmas,
Which has so much meaning:
Cooking like crazy
And doing the cleaning

The stockings are washed
Folded up on the chair
In hopes that no one
Will see them left there.

The bedrooms upstairs
Are packed to the borders.
So messy it is,
I should be on "Hoarders."

But what to my wondering
Eyes should appear?
Guests bearing presents;
Guests bearing beer.

I simply don't care
That my house is a mess
Because it's a place full
Of much happiness.

So, I hear all exclaim
As they leave from my door:
"Merry Christmas to all --
Next year we'll eat more!"

THAT'S WHAT I GET FOR VOLUNTEERING

I'm taking yet another graduate class not because I want to but because I have to.  Eventually all teachers in Massachusetts will have to get on board with some level of this certification for Sheltered English Immersion, even though I technically could've bought myself a few more years on my recently-renewed license.

So, why volunteer to take the class?  Simple: This is the last time the state is offering it free of charge to any teachers "tagged," meaning we have English Language Learners in our classes.

Here's the problem, though.  This year I technically only have one ELL student who's still in the program.  Oh, it's not really a problem for me personally whether I have one or none or thirty with me.  The part of this that becomes a problem concerns my final project -- The Capstone.

I am no newbie to The Capstone.  I just completed one for my degree at Salem State a year or so ago.  Piece of cake.  I only lost months' worth of sleep and countless commuting time that I will never get back.  The Capstone itself is not the real problem.

The problem is that I have to lie on The Capstone. I have to lie not just once but twice in the document that is going right to the Department of Elementary and Secondary Education, the organization that decides whether or not I get to keep my teaching license based on my credit card's capacity to rapid-process once every five years.

The first lie is that I am supposed to present as if I have multiple ELLs in my classroom.  I have one.  Just one; at least, one who qualifies.  Tonight's class, our last official meeting before presenting The Capstone and teaching a mini-lesson to other adult-student victims who are taking the class with me, we are given time to work on The Capstone, due right after the holiday break.  I ask the magic question:  How do I modify for two different ELL levels if I really only have one ELL?

Ha.  Some of you know exactly what's going to be said.  I, on the other hand, am not so bright.  The answer to my question?

Make it up.  Make ... it ... up.

Suddenly I have turned into Foghorn Leghorn.  "I say, I say, I say, what did you, I say, what did you say?"   Yes, the answer to my legitimate question is quite illegitimate.  I am to lie through my teeth on a legal document to the DESE.

Make up a student and make up a history for that student.  NEXT!

I sit, dumbfounded, processing what I am being told.  Lie!  Cheat!  Put one over on The Man!  If I fail to do this, I fail the course.  It's kind of a conundrum.  On the one hand, being a writer, I can invent the shit right out of that make-believe student.  On the other hand, I'm LYING in a BINDING document that is directly tied to my integrity as a teacher and keeping my job. 

Yes, this is, indeed, a problem.

The other problem with The Capstone is that I am actually supposed to teach the lesson to my students and reflect on its success.  Um, the holiday break starts Wednesday, and The Capstone is due the Tuesday we get back.  When do I teach this random lesson?  Monday, the day before it's due?  Then write up the report on the fly in one evening?

No, I'm supposed to make this shit up, too.

I now understand how the political machine works.  A little wink-wink here, a little nudge-nudge there, ya know what I mean.  So, I'm required to be honest to get into the class, but I have to lie my giant ass off to get out of the class with a passing grade.  I teach the kids not to cheat, and yet ... and yet ...

No wonder I've had one mega-frikking headache for the last month.  Either that or I've developed a fatal brain condition, and then this whole course will be for nothing.  Oh well.  That's what I get for volunteering.