Apathy

I was reminded today that apathy is contagious. I say reminded because I know that I've known this before, but I guess I forgot.

Students and teachers are huge carriers of the apathy bug. Classic symptoms include:

1) making something out to be harder than it is
2) uncontrollable whining
3) completing intermediate steps at an incredibly slow pace with the hopes that you won't have to actually complete the entire task if it takes you forever to do just one part
4) pretending not to be smart to avoid work
5) uncontrollable whining

You see, today we began the research process in my English class, and you would think I had asked students to tie down a rabid monkey and pull its teeth one by one using only their bare hands and floss. It's just research, for goodness sakes, and you know that you can do some research when you can't quite figure out the second word in the fourth line of the newest Lil' Wayne song, but when it's assigned, when it's for school, then it's rabid-monkey-tooth-pulling.

Each year I go into the research paper knowing full well that all you have to do is say the words "research paper" and students all over the world roll their eyes and let out a whimpering sigh, but this year I decided to do something about it. I totally reinvented the research project to make it something students can enjoy and invest in. This year we're finding information about careers - education needed, salary schedules, entry-level positions and what you can be promoted to -- all really good stuff for seventeen year olds to think about.

I worked all day last Sunday putting it together. I pictured one of my students ten years from now opening her own child care center or being promoted to senior partner and remembering that if it weren't for the research done in Mrs. Hickman's English III class she never would have thought to become an accountant/lawyer/policeman in the first place. I was excited.

The kids, however, were not excited. They were mostly just plain apathetic. Probably the most passionate comment I heard all day was when student #1 said, "This is stupid," and student #2 responded, "Don't call Mrs. Hickman's assignment stupid." I"m not convinced that student #2 thought the assignment was the most fun she'd had in years, but I still wanted to run across the room and hug her. Bonus points for student #2.

By third period (I don't have a first, so this only after one class), I had caught the disease of apathy. When I was giving directions at the beginning of class, I actually heard myself saying "Bueller. Bueller. Bueller." in my head. Then, when a group of students just sat there instead of working, I walked up to their table and told them that I was in a bad mood, and that I had no patience for their sitting around. Then I told them they had two minutes to get busy or they were all getting zeros for the day, and I actually looked at my watch for effect. Seriously.

Now folks, I don't know what kind of experiences you have with school, but that's just not good teaching. In fact, it's borderline horrible teaching and I should be punished with 50 lashes or something like that except we don't allow corporal punishment in school. I spent most of the day being mad at my whining/lazy/grumpy students when I should have been mad at their whining/lazy/grumpy teacher.

• I should have been more excited to introduce the project to them. Excitement is contagious, too.
• I should have worn more sensible shoes to spend the day running around the library while keeping a smile on my face.
• I should have encouraged those students who were slow to get started with a pat on the back and a smile -- I know they respond better to that.
• I should have said "good job" and "you're doing great" many, many more times, even for small things.

But I didn't. I scowled and complained and finally just sat down, too tired to continue begging students to do work they obviously didn't want to do.

Tonight I wonder how they ever could have figured out that I actually wanted them to do it.

I suppose tomorrow is another day. I just need to make sure it's a day with the right shoes and the right attitude.

The Case of the Women Ski Jumpers

Today I heard a news story about womens ski jumping. I learned that the International Olympic Committee allows mens ski jumping but not womens. Apparently there are quite a few female ski jumpers out there, and they want a chance to win a gold medal, too.



The link to the story is here, but I'll summarize it for you. The IOC's official position is that there aren't enough quality female ski jumpers to merit adding the sport to the Olympics (even though there are more of them in the world than lugers or bobsledders ), but the side conversations about the issue indicate that the decision may have come "from a medical point of view."



So either the women aren't as good at ski jumping as the men or the sport is just too dangerous for little ol' girls.



Suck it, IOC.



In a world that continues to move forward in equality for all people, the Olympics are keeping women from doing something that they're happy to let men do. This leads to a bigger question about women's sports. What professional womens sports are there, anyway? Basketball? Mention that to a crowd and invariably one person will say "Does the WNBA still exists?" while another will make a snide comment about those being "some manly girls."



Are there any other professional women's sports out there? If so, someone please enlighten me because I can't think of any.



Our "equal" society still has the perception of women athletes as being unfeminine, unattractive, and somehow less than their male counterparts. What causes this prejudice? Could part of the problem be that the media portrays "beautiful" women to be waifish, helpless little creatures? This poster of the Aggie Women's basketball team shows the georgeous women athletes, but it drew criticism for being "too sexy." Isn't it possible for women to be bad asses and sexy, too. Yes, friends, it is.

Maybe the IOC is worried about poor little women getting injured (hence the "medical point of view"). Well, welcome to 2010, Olympic committee. Women are firefighters, police officers, military personnel, even high school teachers, for goodness sakes. Don't you worry your pretty little heads about our safety. We'll be just fine.

Don't get me wrong here. I am in no way in favor of emasculating the men of the world. Most of the supportive, empowering people in my life have been men, my husband and father included. But it's time we stop assuming that women athletes must be either poor little girls trying to do something they clearly can't do as well as men or manly, butch women who are trying to be men.



Whatever their reasoning, the International Olympic Committee made a grievous error in the case of the women ski jumpers. At the very least, they should have let the women compete alongside the men in a unisex ski jump competition. Maybe the men would have blown the women away, but at least the women would have been afforded an opportunity for the Olympic experience.



Or maybe in the 2010 Olympics, a guy would get beaten by a girl. I'd be okay with that, too.

Valentines with Keaton

What follows is a simulation. It is a simulation because while I did not memorize all of Keaton's Valentine cards, I still wanted you all to get the feel for how this went down.

Trey: Keaton, which one do you want for Branson?
Keaton: What does that one say?
Trey: It says, "Hang on, Valentine."
Keaton: OH! I need to give that one to Andre because sometimes when he's ahead of me I tell him "hang on!" and he doesn't hang on, so he needs to get that Valentine so he'll hang on.
Trey: Who do you want to give this one to? It says "Be cool, Valentine."
Keaton: OH! That one is for Ella. She is so cool. She evern has cool sunglasses. (Yes, Keaton pronounces "even" with an "r" -- I'm not sure why.)
Trey: Which one do you want to give to Brittany* (*name changed to protect the innocent preschooler)
Keaton: Well, which one says "bad"? She's bad, so she needs the bad one.
Trey: That's not nice, Keaton. We don't talk that way about others.
Keaton: Well, she is bad.
Trey: Let's give her this one.
Keaton (exasperated): OOOOKAAAAYYY.
Trey: This one says "Have a seat, Valentine." Who gets it?
Keaton: OH! That needs to be Grady's. Sometimes when it's time to go to the teaching table, Grady doesn't sit down. Then Ms. Monica has to say "Have a seat, Grady," and then he sits down. So he needs this one so that he will sit down at the teaching table.

And on and on it went. Keaton managed to address behavior-appropriate Valentines for all 16 kids in his class.

As a side note, Tucker got his Valentines done all by himself in a matter of seconds, and I even made him put two extras in his bag for his secret girlfriend he won't tell me about. Of course that made him giggle and deny her existence, but nonetheless his Valentines were signed and sealed and that item was checked off his "to do" list.

Toes

Let's chat about toes. Okay, we won't really chat because I'm the only one talking. And I'm not even talking anyway. So, why don't you read about toes and then comment if you feel the need to chat.

First, this has nothing to do with the Zac Brown Band song called "Toes." Although I will mention that while the radio version seems to find the singer with his "toes in the water, toes in the sand," the version on the CD Tucker got for Christmas has the singer's "toes in the water" and his (according to Tucker) "a-s-s word in the sand." Why on earth you'd want you a-s-s word in the sand is really beyond me (seems, well, gritty), and it makes the song quite inappropriate for seven year old fans.

No, friends,this post is about toes. Big toes to be exact. But in order to discuss toes we must first talk about feet in general.

Feet are gross.

I've always been one to go barefoot whenever possible. I never liked wearing shoes, and I vividly remember when I was kid my dad would tell people that he "had to put dirt in my shoes to get me to wear them."

While I don't remember dirt in my shoes, I do remember always being barefoot, stickers and gravel be damned. (That's two cuss words in one post, so I'll try to calm it down, Mom.) Even now, my students are used to me teaching without shoes on. Sometimes, when I need to run to the printer, I have to stop to find my shoes first.

Yes, I know that high schools aren't the most hygienic places on the planet, but they're my feet. I'm not collecting germs through them. They're gross by nature of being feet, so their nakedness in the bacteria filled floors of my high school just doesn't bother me. If I had to be honest, those floors are cleaned far more often and probably far better than the ones in my home. Barefootedness is one of my eccentricities, I suppose, and I readily accept it about myself.

Out of respect for others around me, I attempt to have the tops of my feet as attractive as possible. I keep the nails polished, and I regularly exfoliate. You're welcome, people of the high school.

But this post isn't about feet, it's about toes. Big toes.

About three days ago, my big toe started to hurt. It wasn't bad at first, but by Monday afternoon I was in terrible, gut-wrenching pain. I investigated further and diagnosed myself with an ingrown toenail.

Now, if feet are gross, then big toes are even grosser. This makes big toe toenails in the category of the most disgusting things on the planet. I'd put them right up there with slugs and cow boogers.

The situation was awful. Not only was I in pain, but I was in pain due to a disgusting big toe toe nail. I couldn't put on closed toe shoes without wanting to cry. I couldn't wear heeled open toe shoes because it added pressure to my injury. And I couldn't even go around whining about it because, well, because it's my disgusting big toe toe nail.

It was then I realized that this must be a silent epidemic! People all over the world are probably suffering in silence, ashamed of their toenail issues. Think of it! If you broke your leg, and you were on crutches, and someone asked what was wrong, you could shrug and say "broken leg," without one bit of shame. But with a toenail injury, a big toe toe nail injury, you're forced to walk the halls of your life pretending that everything is a-okay and trying not to limp because if someone asks you what's wrong you'll be forced to cower and say "ingrown toenail." Oh, the horror!

My situation is, of course, worse than all those other toe-sufferers because my school does not allow teachers to wear flip flops. Since my injury prevents me from wearing heels and/or closed toed shoes, what's left? What is there for a girl to wear to ease her suffering without flipping and flopping? Nothing. My feet had nothing left to live for.

So I made the bold decision to buck the system. Yesterday I wore legal, although painful, shoes, but stashed some flip flops under my desk. For tasks in my room, I wore the flops, but I made sure to wear the dressier shoes in the hallway and downstairs to the office. I felt like such a rebel.

At some point I poked my head out of my classroom door, scanned for authority figures, and then ran to the bathroom while flipping and flopping. In my haste, I left my keys sitting on my desk and locked myself out of my classroom, so I had to flop down the hall until I found another teacher who had a key to my room. The crisis was averted, and I was able to get back into my room and my legal shoes without having to go to the office to get busted for my renegade feet.

As I'm sure you can tell, my rule-breaking led to a very stressful day.

But today I wore flip flops again, with a little less anxiety this time because I decided not to be held captive by my big toe toe nail problem anymore. I am brave and strong, and I follow the rules, but I cannot, no, I WILL NOT, force myself into painful working conditions just to satisfy "the man." Further, I'm certain that anyone who hears my sad story and sees me in flip flops will have pity on me instead of scolding me about my footwear choices. Who knows? That person may just have a toenail problem himself, and my courage may be just the thing to free him from his prison of disgrace.

My name is Stormy Hickman, and I have an ingrown toenail, and I am not ashamed!

(tomorrow morning I do, however, have a department head meeting, so I'll be wearing legal shoes)

More about boys...

#1: On Wednesday I received a phone call from Keaton's preschool teacher. He had been vomiting, and I needed to come get him right away. So I rushed to his school, and carried a peaked looking little boy to the car, mentally preparing for a stomach virus to ravage our home. A very short while later, when he seemed to be feeling much better, I asked him why he threw up. This is his response:

"Well, momma, we went to the libary, then we ate lunch, and then we went outside. I played on the merry-go-round, like, the WHOLE TIME. And we were going SO FAST around and around and around you know! Then we came inside to wash our hands, and I threw up."

Stomach virus averted. We had a conversation the next morning about how if you're on the merry-go-round and your tummy feels funny, you should get off.

#2: The classic country radio station Trey and I often listen has created even more fun with the kids. It makes me happy to hear Keaton croon "I Love a Rainy Night" and sing along to Ronnie Milsap tunes. This particular station loves Linda Ronstadt, and I mean they LOVE her. On the way home today Keaton shouted "turn it up!" when "It's So Easy to Fall in Love Came On." Apparently he likes her, too.

It took about one and one-half choruses for the song to turn into "It's So Easy to Fart" followed by roaring laughter. Thanks, Tucker.

#3: Overheard from my place on the couch while the boys played in my room.
Tucker: Are we going to get in trouble?
Keaton: Hey. Whose birthday is tomorrow? Yours. So who's in charge? YOU ARE!

I did a little correction on that, as well.

Why you shouldn't watch "Half Ton Dad"

I was relaxing on the couch on New Year's Day, thinking I should go to the gym, watching "Half Ton Teen" on The Learning Channel. I love watching other people and their problems, including "Half Ton Dad," "Hoarders," and "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant," my personal favorite and great fodder for E's "The Soup" (perhaps the funniest show on tv).

Anyway, I was watching the half ton teen whine because he wanted some chocolate milk or something while his mom cried because all she wanted to do was give him chocolate milk, not kill him with chocolate milk, and Tucker came in from outside. He asked what I was watching, and I explained the premise of the show. He sat down with me and watched the last five minutes, and was still sitting there when "Half Ton Dad" began. In the teaser for the show, there was a surgery where they literally cut off seventy pounds of a guy's stomach. This was both riveting and disgusting, and I watched until Trey came in and said "I don't think I can watch this."

Honestly, I don't enjoy watching surgeries either, but some secret part of me believes that if one of the boys wants to be a doctor he needs to not have a weak stomach, so I try to act like hacking off a person's stomach, etc., is not a big deal.

If either of them is a surgeon, however, it will definitely be Keaton. Tucker gets all squirmy with shots, and I see Keaton as much more likely to say, "Sure! I'd love to cut you open and move some things around to see if it makes you feel better! Hop up on the table, dude, and let's get started!"

I digress.

After the stomach-hacking-off, Tucker crinkled his face all up at the gross-ness, and then said, "Mom, have you ever had your stomach cut open?"

Me: No way!
Tucker: Never? You've never had your stomach cut open?
Me: Nope, and I hope I never have to.
Tucker: The doctor didn't cut it open to get me and Keaton out?
Me (seeing where this is going): Um...no?
Tucker: Then how did we get out?

Now I've had this conversation with Tucker in my head before, and I've always known I would just be very clinical in my explanations. I wondered why I hadn't yet ordered a book to keep for this moment, knowing I could just give him the book and answer any questions he comes up with, praying that he doesn't google anything.

But I wasn't daunted by my lack of book. He likes facts, and I knew I could give him the facts in a mature way and be done with this uncomfortable conversation. I channeled a friend or two who actually uses the scientific terms to identify body parts, and got ready for a conversation that would be simple for him but well, sweaty for me.

And then I looked at Trey, who wasn't listening. A little desperate, I said, "Trey, Tucker just asked if they had to cut my stomach open to get him and Keaton out."

I'm pretty sure his response was a grunt and a head turn in the other direction. I could hear him saying in his head, "He asked you, so good luck!"

I worked myself up to look all nonchalant and I went over scientific names for body parts in my head, and then I jumped in.

Me: Do you really want to know because it's kind of gross.
Tucker:Yeah, tell me.
Me: Okay, you know how girls and boys have different body parts down there?
Tucker: Yeah.
Me: Well, babies come out of the girl parts.
Tucker: Really?
Me: Yep
Tucker: Are they all bloody and stuff?
Me: Yep
Tucker: Yeah, that is gross.

And there you have it. The highlights of my anatomically correct, mature conversation about childbirth was highlighted with the words "gross," "girl parts," and "down there." I hope I haven't traumatized him forever.

I hope I've traumatized him enough to ask his dad next time.

A New Years Meditation

First, I must admit that I pilfered this from an email my parents' pastor sent out a couple of days ago to the members of First Baptist Church of Rice. He borrowed this (and properly attributed it to) an article titled "Everything Can Change this New Year" by Travis Plumb. It's a good reminder for all of us to begin each day in the right place. I'll just quip "I couldn't have said it better myself" and then let you know this is an abridged version (I can't turn off my internal editor even on someone else's work). ;)

"Did you know that anything and everything can change for you this new year? It doesn’t matter if things have been going bad for you lately, Scripture tells us God is able to do anything and all things. (Phil. 4:13) Nothing is too hard for Him. (Jer. 32:17) Seeking God’s help can cause all kinds of changes for the better in your life. You just have to believe — not in a fantasy like a Santa, but in a reality like the God of the universe; not trusting your future to dumb luck like in a lottery, but trusting your future to an Almighty God who holds the future in His hands.
God has a very specific plan for every human on earth; and it is for good, not for evil. It is to give you hope and a future. (Jer. 29:11) God loves you. He cares totally about your well-being, so get in on His plan for your life! You can conquer
anything with God.

Once you are a Christian, you don’t just cope with your stress and manage your anger. In all of these things, you are more than a conqueror through Him who loved you. (Rom. 8:37) But this is not a magic kingdom; that is in Florida. This is the Kingdom of Christ, and in this kingdom He desires for you to “do” (Phil. 4:9).

Don’t wait around for a miracle to be dumped into your lap while you watch your favorite reality show. Get up, start serving, praying, praising and watch your very own show come to reality. God will do miracles in your life. Believe it!

Last night ended at midnight and today is a whole new day. You have to wake up every morning and see the potential of a living God who can do all things through you and for you. Yesterday or last week might have been painful, disappointing, hurtful or just plain yucky. But the worst thing we can do is to sit around contemplating what a miserable, hard time we are having. It will never change unless you change your mental attitude.


Everybody in this life is going to have troubles. That is the reality of living in a sinful, broken world. Since we are all going to have troubles anyway, we might as well choose to go through them with Jesus. It sure beats trying to go through struggles on your own. He can give you hope for tomorrow and peace that passes your understanding. (Phil. 4:7) He can give you strength to go on. (Phil. 4:13)

It doesn’t matter what you did or who you are; it matters who you become. Every choice you make this year will determine who you are. The choices we make, make us. You are actually becoming the person your choices reflect. You can choose to be bitter, negative, depressed and totally self-absorbed about your troubles — if you do, that will determine the type of person you are this year. But you have a choice. You can be determined, strengthened, find courage and hope and grow through your troubles to be a better person in the long run. Those choices also will determine what kind of person you become.

Are you catching on? You can sit around feeling sorry for yourself over your sad circumstances or you can rise above them. You can let other people label you and look down on you, or you can look up and realize God will never discourage you. If you are a Christian, you are not dumb, depressed, divorced, etc. You are wonderfully made (Psa. 139:14) crowned with glory and honor (Psa. 8:5) and a prince or princess of a kingdom that will never end. (II Cor. 6:18) This new year can bring about new changes — any day, any moment. God is waiting on you to join Him in a glorious journey of faith. So what are you waiting for?

Get up! Praise Him! Thank Him! Seek Him! Lift your head up! Smile! Be confident in who you are because of Who is in you! (Phil. 1:6)"

Happy New Year!