Yesterday, I subbed in a second grade classroom. It was an insane experience from which I am still recovering. My wonderful sister is an elementary school teacher and, after yesterday, she is my new hero.
Things were going just fine in the morning. We had our morning meeting on the rug in the back of the room, the kids went to art, then lunch and we had a somewhat successful math lesson (I won't count the ridiculousness with the blocks used during subtraction if you won't).
But then came recess. Everything fell apart after recess.
The class lined up after their 25 minutes of freedom and I noticed there were a couple of girls missing. When the stragglers finally showed up, so did the tears. Of course, I was concerned. Had they been hurt? Had someone bullied them? But as I surveyed the scene, I noticed they were covered in mud. Zoe, the bolder and apparently more dramatic of the two, looked up at me and said, This is the WORST day of my WHOLE life!
She was the first of three second graders to tell me this yesterday.
The girls had slipped (apparently simultaneously?) while playing tag. But this mud catastrophe was only part of the recess drama and just the beginning of this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Somewhat of a feud had developed between the remaining girls. Lots of I'm not your friend any more action. Probably a walk-in-the-park for my sister to deal with but, you see, I'm used to teenagers. Teenagers are passive aggressive, God love 'em. A sixteen year-old will never actually tell another sixteen year-old that she doesn't want to be friends. No, she'll post it to another friend's wall on Facebook so that future ex-friend can see and then start texting about it using lots of emoticons and abbreviations. But second graders don't bullshit. They get right to the point and break up with you to your face. Of course, the next day you might get back together, but that's just another story.
Maya, the girl doing the breaking up, told me it was her worst day ever and then proceeded to cry for the next half hour. Sammy, the dumped, put on a braver face and just said it had been a terrible day rather than the most awful of her long 8 years. I appreciated her perspective.
Oh, and we haven't even gotten to Madison yet (those of you who know my cat will see the irony in a minute). She had a rough day (and yes, of course she vocalized just how awful it had been to me at least once). I'll summarize by saying that she initially served a time-out on the rug in the back of the classroom and then subsequently served one outside in the hall (self-inflicted). Even though I saw very little of her, I felt her wrath like she was ever-present.
At some point between sharpening pencils and providing tissues to the wounded, I took a step back to try to find my calm. Things were seriously chaotic around me -- tears and time-outs and math! Oh My! -- and I thought to myself, this is your yoga practice. Can you be calm inside when all hell breaks loose outside?
I won't lie to you and tell you that I was in a "Zen place" from that moment on but it was an educational moment, for certain. For much of the day, I felt so incompetent and out of control and coming back into my breath helped me regain my calm so that, rather than run out of the room screaming, I could deal with what was in front of me. Or, at least survive what was in front of me.
I'm fairly certain I won't be going back to second grade. I think I'll leave those heroics to people like my sister. But, I'm grateful for the memories. Hopefully Zoe will remember me fondly when she thinks back to the worst day of her life.
Showing posts with label My awkwardness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My awkwardness. Show all posts
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Friday, August 26, 2011
Empathy Hurts
I spent some time this week playing around with my yoga practice in the studio at which I now teach, 3 Bridges Yoga in Portsmouth, NH. It's a warm and friendly studio with 2 wonderful owners, Jody & Bjorn Turnquist, and I am thrilled to be there. Although I demonstrate certain poses during class, I don't actually do the postures alongside students in my class so that I can adjust them both verbally and physically. Since I'm not practicing with them, I want to be super careful that I don't lose touch with what they might be feeling in certain poses and sequences -- which is why I went to 3 Bridges earlier this week to work on poses and sequences through which I lead a class.
One of the poses I practiced was Baddha Sirsasana (the headstand I'm doing above). In any inversions like this, there is always a fear of falling (at least for me there is!). I have this scene in my head where I fall over, scream from fear and pain, and create a domino effect throughout a class of yogis standing on their heads. I would be just the girl to cause such a yogastrophe, I know it. I imagine my students feel this fear as well in this pose (perhaps without the detailed visualization...). Worried falling might hurt or make a scene causes people to hold back and refrain from trying some inversions. While this fear is totally justified and should hold some people back who would be unsteady and unsafe, I find this lack of confidence stops many, who are prepared, from progressing forward in their practice.
So, I'm in this pose, imagining limbs flying, yogis falling, Lululemon logos going everywhere, and I think, why don't I just let myself fall out of it so I can know how it feels? I'll just get it over with-- it can't be that bad. I have this optimistic image of myself rolling gracefully into a somersault, planting my feet and rising to standing with my hands in the air, yelling, Ta-Da! I just know it's going to be totally awesome and not hurt a bit.
So I fall...
not-so-gracefully.
There is definite tuck and rolling action, but there is no grace and certainly no Ta-Da!
Oh. And it hurts like a mother f-----. Perhaps there is a graceful way to fall but I didn't just do it. I did the opposite of it. Ouch.
My dreams of becoming a gymnast shattered, I peel myself off the ground and commence the pity party. I was only trying to put myself in my students' shoes so that I could teach out of an authentic place, look where it got me? A pounding headache and some awful tasting humble pie. Empathy hurts. Also, I'm rethinking my thought process and realizing maybe that Mensa membership card isn't going to arrive, after all.
I think about another person I know who also went overboard with empathy. My friend Rita's husband was with their kids while she was at a work function. Halfway through the function, her phone rings and it's him.
Johnny ate one of the berries off our bush outside. I'm sure it's poisonous and I'm freaking out!
Johnny is barely a toddler at this point.
Well, Rita asks, How is he?! Is he OK?!
He seems OK right now but, just to be sure, I ate some berries, too.
WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! Rita shouts into the phone.
I wanted to know what he was feeling!
Thankfully Johnny, and his dad, were both fine.
I realize Rita's husband and I understand the importance of empathy but maybe lack intelligence when applying it. Empathy is central to any successful relationship because it's the skill that allows us to cross the bridges between one another. It's most certainly a skill, since, it's something you have to practice in order to perfect.
I, for one, am still practicing. And I have the headache to prove it.
So, I'm in this pose, imagining limbs flying, yogis falling, Lululemon logos going everywhere, and I think, why don't I just let myself fall out of it so I can know how it feels? I'll just get it over with-- it can't be that bad. I have this optimistic image of myself rolling gracefully into a somersault, planting my feet and rising to standing with my hands in the air, yelling, Ta-Da! I just know it's going to be totally awesome and not hurt a bit.
So I fall...
not-so-gracefully.
There is definite tuck and rolling action, but there is no grace and certainly no Ta-Da!
Oh. And it hurts like a mother f-----. Perhaps there is a graceful way to fall but I didn't just do it. I did the opposite of it. Ouch.
My dreams of becoming a gymnast shattered, I peel myself off the ground and commence the pity party. I was only trying to put myself in my students' shoes so that I could teach out of an authentic place, look where it got me? A pounding headache and some awful tasting humble pie. Empathy hurts. Also, I'm rethinking my thought process and realizing maybe that Mensa membership card isn't going to arrive, after all.
I think about another person I know who also went overboard with empathy. My friend Rita's husband was with their kids while she was at a work function. Halfway through the function, her phone rings and it's him.
Johnny ate one of the berries off our bush outside. I'm sure it's poisonous and I'm freaking out!
Johnny is barely a toddler at this point.
Well, Rita asks, How is he?! Is he OK?!
He seems OK right now but, just to be sure, I ate some berries, too.
WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! Rita shouts into the phone.
I wanted to know what he was feeling!
Thankfully Johnny, and his dad, were both fine.
I realize Rita's husband and I understand the importance of empathy but maybe lack intelligence when applying it. Empathy is central to any successful relationship because it's the skill that allows us to cross the bridges between one another. It's most certainly a skill, since, it's something you have to practice in order to perfect.
I, for one, am still practicing. And I have the headache to prove it.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
It's Official: I've Lost It.
We're moving across the country in precisely 9 days and 13 hours. Ho. Ly. Smokes. This means, I am crazy right now. Not my normal brand of crazy but a new kind: the kind where I daydream longingly about chickens with their heads cut off and think, "ah, to be that subdued!" There is so much to do and so little time to do it! I've lost it. I'm speaking, of course, about my mind. See, I couldn't even find it quickly enough to put it into that last sentence!
In a desperate attempt at sanity, I've put a list together of signs I've exhibited that prove I've, indeed, lost it.
1. My outfit today says, "I've given up." Yes, I believe fashion speaks. Just yesterday, my outfit said "I'm pretending that I'm not pajamas when really I am."
2. There are packed boxes everywhere and yet I still insisted we get a Christmas tree. We no longer have glasses but, don't worry folks, the Tannenbaum's a blazin! It's a vertically challenged, naked tree but it is fantastic! Every time I'm around it, I feel like saying, "good grief!" because it's my very own Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
3. I've been looking at the ridiculously huge pile of laundry saying, with great authority and fervor, "Laundry, do thyself!" No matter my optimism, the mass remains.
4. I've developed an enormous mass on my chin. Seriously, I'm Rudolph, the chin version! I prefer to refer to it as my "tumor" instead of a pimple, to which my husband so predictably responds, "It's not a toomah!"
5. I talk to myself. And my cat. Yeah, I'm that girl. I'm in my apartment all day working and packing, things were bound to go south for my sanity! Claudymom, God love her, always talks to herself. She says that "it's great talking to myself because I don't give myself grief like you kids do!" Ah, Claudymom. If this means I'm turning quirkier like her, than I guess I'm cool with it.
Send. Help. Please.
Oh, and Diet Coke. Lots of Diet Coke.
In a desperate attempt at sanity, I've put a list together of signs I've exhibited that prove I've, indeed, lost it.
1. My outfit today says, "I've given up." Yes, I believe fashion speaks. Just yesterday, my outfit said "I'm pretending that I'm not pajamas when really I am."
2. There are packed boxes everywhere and yet I still insisted we get a Christmas tree. We no longer have glasses but, don't worry folks, the Tannenbaum's a blazin! It's a vertically challenged, naked tree but it is fantastic! Every time I'm around it, I feel like saying, "good grief!" because it's my very own Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
3. I've been looking at the ridiculously huge pile of laundry saying, with great authority and fervor, "Laundry, do thyself!" No matter my optimism, the mass remains.
4. I've developed an enormous mass on my chin. Seriously, I'm Rudolph, the chin version! I prefer to refer to it as my "tumor" instead of a pimple, to which my husband so predictably responds, "It's not a toomah!"
5. I talk to myself. And my cat. Yeah, I'm that girl. I'm in my apartment all day working and packing, things were bound to go south for my sanity! Claudymom, God love her, always talks to herself. She says that "it's great talking to myself because I don't give myself grief like you kids do!" Ah, Claudymom. If this means I'm turning quirkier like her, than I guess I'm cool with it.
Send. Help. Please.
Oh, and Diet Coke. Lots of Diet Coke.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
I used to make fun of bloggers. . .
Not to their faces, of course. I'm just not like that. I at least had the decency to do it behind their backs.
Now that I'm a blogger, I think it's only fair that I should make fun of myself. As illustrated above, I'm a big fan of "knocking it before you try it." Here is a list of things I used to make fun of but got totally into later on:
1. Uggs. Sure, they may be a little funny looking but have you ever worn them? It's like cloaking your feet in a soft lamb right before it's sheared. Fantastic. I used to make fun of people for wearing them (again, behind their backs, like a lady) but now I own 5 pairs. Yup, 5 pairs.
2. The Color Pink. Since Claudymom decorated my room in Laura Ashley for the first ten years of my life, I kind of overdosed on pink. My bedroom looked like Laura had eaten bad Chinese food, chugged a whole bottle of Pepto Bismol to cope with it and then threw up over my room while her child was coloring the walls with only a pink marker. Once we moved into a different house, I vowed never to have pink in my room again. I hated it for a long time and, after years of healing, we eventually mended our relationship and my bridesmaids wore a lovely shade of vermilion on my wedding day. It was glorious.
3. Capri Pants. I didn't "get" them for a long time. Sure, they would be useful in the event of a flood but wouldn't my ankles be cold? I have very sensitive ankles. I would mock my dear friend Caroline for wearing them where we were in high school (I really was such a doll!) and it was only a short time later that I had capris of my own. They're quite handy in the mild-weathered San Francisco. Not quite pants, not quite shorts!
4. Harry Potter. There was a time in my life that I persecuted fans of the teenage wizard. It was a dark time in my past that is quite difficult for me to write about. I even threatened to tell my husband (who was then my boyfriend) the end of the 6th book because I had heard a rumor about what happened. I can't believe he still married me! Clearly, I have repented and stepped away from that dark time in my past. Ok, I'm done talking about it-- it hurts too much.
5. Diet Coke. Gosh, I am just bringing up all these painful memories! I used to think Diet Coke tasted disgusting and would make this face anytime people drank it around me:
After years of making this face, I woke up one morning my sophomore year of college with craving for Diet Coke. My life hasn't been the same since! I have a sneaking suspicion that my roomies were slipping me some behind my back and therefore creating an addiction (ah, sweet addiction!) that I would happily carry into my adult life.
6. Highlights. Yes, I was judgmental of people who got highlights. Is there no end to my hypocrisy?! Now, without the help of a trained colorist, I would not be "blonde yogini" but rather "'I used to be blonde when I was younger and sometimes I get blonde in the summers if it's really sunny and I am outside enough' yogini." Thank God for my conversion, not to mention my fantastic colorist at my local Aveda salon (their blondes really are the best!).
7. Big Sunglasses. I was skeptical of the trend in designer eyewear at first because I didn't want to look like a bug or worse, Johnny Depp from Willy Wonka. Now, they are my go-to accessory on any sunny day. Without them, I would need a seeing eye dog when it gets really sunny. My absolute favorite are my Kaenon sunglasses-- the design is called Leila. I just feel so much better in big, fabulous sunglasses. When it comes to women's sunglasses, I say the bigger the better. They are worth the price, in my book and I daresay I look nothing like Willy Wonka (even though Johnny Depp is super hot and, while he's a man and everything, any likeness to someone of that caliber hotness is a compliment).
8. Many more things! Skinny jeans, gladiator sandals, Mexican food, Canada and the list goes on!
I guess I judge what I don't understand or feel uncomfortable with . . . I'm sure there's a lesson from history here. With my track record, in five years I will be a purple-wearing, Ashton Kutcher fan who votes Republican. Yikes!
Now that I'm a blogger, I think it's only fair that I should make fun of myself. As illustrated above, I'm a big fan of "knocking it before you try it." Here is a list of things I used to make fun of but got totally into later on:
1. Uggs. Sure, they may be a little funny looking but have you ever worn them? It's like cloaking your feet in a soft lamb right before it's sheared. Fantastic. I used to make fun of people for wearing them (again, behind their backs, like a lady) but now I own 5 pairs. Yup, 5 pairs.
 |
| This is but a small taste of what I had to live with for years. |
3. Capri Pants. I didn't "get" them for a long time. Sure, they would be useful in the event of a flood but wouldn't my ankles be cold? I have very sensitive ankles. I would mock my dear friend Caroline for wearing them where we were in high school (I really was such a doll!) and it was only a short time later that I had capris of my own. They're quite handy in the mild-weathered San Francisco. Not quite pants, not quite shorts!
4. Harry Potter. There was a time in my life that I persecuted fans of the teenage wizard. It was a dark time in my past that is quite difficult for me to write about. I even threatened to tell my husband (who was then my boyfriend) the end of the 6th book because I had heard a rumor about what happened. I can't believe he still married me! Clearly, I have repented and stepped away from that dark time in my past. Ok, I'm done talking about it-- it hurts too much.
5. Diet Coke. Gosh, I am just bringing up all these painful memories! I used to think Diet Coke tasted disgusting and would make this face anytime people drank it around me:
 |
| Isn't it so fun when someone makes this face at what you're eating or drinking? |
6. Highlights. Yes, I was judgmental of people who got highlights. Is there no end to my hypocrisy?! Now, without the help of a trained colorist, I would not be "blonde yogini" but rather "'I used to be blonde when I was younger and sometimes I get blonde in the summers if it's really sunny and I am outside enough' yogini." Thank God for my conversion, not to mention my fantastic colorist at my local Aveda salon (their blondes really are the best!).
7. Big Sunglasses. I was skeptical of the trend in designer eyewear at first because I didn't want to look like a bug or worse, Johnny Depp from Willy Wonka. Now, they are my go-to accessory on any sunny day. Without them, I would need a seeing eye dog when it gets really sunny. My absolute favorite are my Kaenon sunglasses-- the design is called Leila. I just feel so much better in big, fabulous sunglasses. When it comes to women's sunglasses, I say the bigger the better. They are worth the price, in my book and I daresay I look nothing like Willy Wonka (even though Johnny Depp is super hot and, while he's a man and everything, any likeness to someone of that caliber hotness is a compliment). 
8. Many more things! Skinny jeans, gladiator sandals, Mexican food, Canada and the list goes on!
I guess I judge what I don't understand or feel uncomfortable with . . . I'm sure there's a lesson from history here. With my track record, in five years I will be a purple-wearing, Ashton Kutcher fan who votes Republican. Yikes!
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Ideas for Getting Out of A Bad Mood
Maybe today sucked. Maybe you have an ingrown toenail or your cat was acting up. Maybe your cat has an ingrown toenail. Or, maybe you were just grumpy for no reason. Whatever caused (or did not cause) your bad mood, you're desperate to get out of it. Because, let's face it, being in a bad mood is no fun (for you or the people around you).
This might surprise you but, I am not always a pleasant, bubbly person. I get grumpy and even mean sometimes. Shocking, I know- am I rocking your world?! While it might be easy to get in a bad mood, it's really tough to get out of one. This is where I am here to help. I've come up with a few tips to get help get you out of your bad mood.
1. Treat yourself to something. Not something big, like a pony, but something small and special, like a Diet Coke, a latte or some chocolate. Yum-tastic.
2. Get up and get going! What you may want to do is watch the 6 hour, BBC version of Pride and Prejudice featuring the fantastic Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy (or something like that . . .) but, your body and mind will thank you if you just get out and do something! Make a plan, make a friend and get out of the house or office, just for a bit.
3. Exercise. Boost those endorphins to help your mood from really going south. Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't shoot their husbands, they just don't. (Yes, I am aware that I just quoted Legally Blonde making me, officially, a cliche.)
4. Do something funny. Choreograph a dance to your favorite song (note: this becomes even funnier if you suck at dancing). Prank call a local grocery store (Do you have Mrs. Butterworth's syrup? You do? Well, you better give it back to her! is really a classic). If either one of those don't appeal to you, video yourself lip-syncing to a song like this guy:
5. Start drinking. It's five o-clock somewhere right? Unless you're not a happy drunk in which case, don't do this one, it'll make it worse.
Well, I hope this list was helpful. I know I already feel better.
This might surprise you but, I am not always a pleasant, bubbly person. I get grumpy and even mean sometimes. Shocking, I know- am I rocking your world?! While it might be easy to get in a bad mood, it's really tough to get out of one. This is where I am here to help. I've come up with a few tips to get help get you out of your bad mood.
1. Treat yourself to something. Not something big, like a pony, but something small and special, like a Diet Coke, a latte or some chocolate. Yum-tastic.
2. Get up and get going! What you may want to do is watch the 6 hour, BBC version of Pride and Prejudice featuring the fantastic Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy (or something like that . . .) but, your body and mind will thank you if you just get out and do something! Make a plan, make a friend and get out of the house or office, just for a bit.
3. Exercise. Boost those endorphins to help your mood from really going south. Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't shoot their husbands, they just don't. (Yes, I am aware that I just quoted Legally Blonde making me, officially, a cliche.)
4. Do something funny. Choreograph a dance to your favorite song (note: this becomes even funnier if you suck at dancing). Prank call a local grocery store (Do you have Mrs. Butterworth's syrup? You do? Well, you better give it back to her! is really a classic). If either one of those don't appeal to you, video yourself lip-syncing to a song like this guy:
5. Start drinking. It's five o-clock somewhere right? Unless you're not a happy drunk in which case, don't do this one, it'll make it worse.
Well, I hope this list was helpful. I know I already feel better.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
My Ex-Boyfriend's Band
Ok so maybe the title "ex-boyfriend" isn't really appropriate since we "dated" when we were in sixth grade for like three weeks. But still, three weeks back then was HUGE. Sure, we didn't ever talk and there was absolutely zero physical contact but, it meant something. Jason Blynn's curly blond hair was just too much for me to resist as an awkward sixth grader. Jason lived in my neighborhood so naturally, our romance started on the bus. Of course we would never speak directly to one another but we had our friends to help us communicate. It was like the most awkward game of telephone ever played, as if telephone isn't super awkward enough already.
Now Jason is a big deal. He's in a band with another schoolmate of mine, Sarab Singh, called Harper Blynn comes out of New York City. Of course I had an enormous crush on Sarab when I was in eighth grade. I was much more mature then; Sarab and I actually talked.
Jason is lead vocals and guitar while Sarab plays the drums. The other guys (Pete Harper and a guy name Whynot) are really great, too. I've just never met them before therefore never had a crush on them and apparently this post is all about my old crushes. Anyways, their songs are great-- I think my fave is "Steal Your Love."
Check out the review of their album "Loneliest Generation" on Paste Magazine's web site. Also-- their myspace page is amazing since it lets you listen to a bunch of their songs to see what you think.
I am posting their cover of Beyonce's "Halo" and hoping it will act as a gateway drug to their music. Enjoy!! My SF friends-- they will be at The Independent on November 10th!
Now Jason is a big deal. He's in a band with another schoolmate of mine, Sarab Singh, called Harper Blynn comes out of New York City. Of course I had an enormous crush on Sarab when I was in eighth grade. I was much more mature then; Sarab and I actually talked.
Jason is lead vocals and guitar while Sarab plays the drums. The other guys (Pete Harper and a guy name Whynot) are really great, too. I've just never met them before therefore never had a crush on them and apparently this post is all about my old crushes. Anyways, their songs are great-- I think my fave is "Steal Your Love."
Check out the review of their album "Loneliest Generation" on Paste Magazine's web site. Also-- their myspace page is amazing since it lets you listen to a bunch of their songs to see what you think.
I am posting their cover of Beyonce's "Halo" and hoping it will act as a gateway drug to their music. Enjoy!! My SF friends-- they will be at The Independent on November 10th!
Monday, September 13, 2010
Product Placement
So I was at Wegman's in Frasier, PA today with my mom. You may not know about Wegman's but you should because it is the best place EVER. It's Trader Joe's meets Whole Foods meets Safeway. AND the prices are really great. I heart their sushi in a major way-- kind of the way I feel about Zack Morris.
Ok, enough oohing and ahhing-- this is not the purpose of my post. What I noticed is that, while people are getting better about bringing their own bags to the grocery store, they are still using all of those small plastic bags for their produce. I find those bags so annoying because a)they don't keep my produce fresh in the fridge for a long time, b) I am always awkwardly searching for them in the produce aisle and c) I can never figure out which side has the freaking opening so I stand there like an idiot trying to peel them open. This makes for an all around awkward and long shopping trip. SO, I recently bought my own produce bags and I love them. Amazon sells a number of varieties but I have the Flip and Tumble kind. They are $10.95 for a pack of 5. They are super cute (SO important) and my husband even uses them for his lunches. I keep them in my purse and have found all sorts of uses for them.
Anyways, look into it! Say no to plastic.
Ok, enough oohing and ahhing-- this is not the purpose of my post. What I noticed is that, while people are getting better about bringing their own bags to the grocery store, they are still using all of those small plastic bags for their produce. I find those bags so annoying because a)they don't keep my produce fresh in the fridge for a long time, b) I am always awkwardly searching for them in the produce aisle and c) I can never figure out which side has the freaking opening so I stand there like an idiot trying to peel them open. This makes for an all around awkward and long shopping trip. SO, I recently bought my own produce bags and I love them. Amazon sells a number of varieties but I have the Flip and Tumble kind. They are $10.95 for a pack of 5. They are super cute (SO important) and my husband even uses them for his lunches. I keep them in my purse and have found all sorts of uses for them.
Anyways, look into it! Say no to plastic.
I was once bitten by a snake
Yeah, I'm totally not kidding. The memory of it is flooding back to me since it happened a year ago here, at my parent's house in Devon, PA, where I am currently on holiday (read: unemployed).
Now, don't get the wrong idea about Devon. It's suburbia-- the Main Line of Philadelphia. The closest people get to reptiles here are the alligators on their Lilly Pulitzer dresses. But of course, all that changed on one summer day in 2009. . .
My parents and I were just returning from a lovely dinner out. We pull into the garage and I get out of the car. I begin walking to the side door when I step on something squishy. It all happened so FAST-- I felt a sting on my heel and yelled with great fervor and emotion "A SNAKE JUST BIT ME!" I saw it slither away from me, deeper into the garage.
My mother (let's call her "Claudymom") reacted fast. She bolted back into the car and LOCKED THE DOORS. Thank God for power locks or she would have been taken by that snake that day. We can only thank the makers of my dad's SUV for having the foresight to protect women and children from two-foot water snakes that wander up from the pond into the garages of innocents.
While my mom was indulging the "flight" aspect of her reflexes, my father went into "fight" mode. He grabbed a shovel and proceeded to kill the snake. I think he was defending my honor. He was brave that day . . .
I, of course, had let myself into the house and was wriggling around trying to get rid of the heebie-jeebies (Claudymom's words, not mine) that damn snake had given me. I looked down at my foot and had the tiniest little cut from where the snake had pierced my skin. It was literally so tiny I started laughing hysterically. It didn't even hurt. Of course I would get bitten by a snake and have barely anything to show for it. I mean, it is really hard to brag about how hard core you are when you basically have a paper cut on your foot.
After the snake was properly dead, Claudymom unlocked the car doors and joined my father and me in the house.
We became much closer that day. . . Claudymom believed she had escaped death by mere seconds, my dad had stared into the face of a two foot snake and lived to tell about it and I was nursing my paper cut. The feeling of being alive was invigorating.
Now, don't get the wrong idea about Devon. It's suburbia-- the Main Line of Philadelphia. The closest people get to reptiles here are the alligators on their Lilly Pulitzer dresses. But of course, all that changed on one summer day in 2009. . .
My parents and I were just returning from a lovely dinner out. We pull into the garage and I get out of the car. I begin walking to the side door when I step on something squishy. It all happened so FAST-- I felt a sting on my heel and yelled with great fervor and emotion "A SNAKE JUST BIT ME!" I saw it slither away from me, deeper into the garage.
My mother (let's call her "Claudymom") reacted fast. She bolted back into the car and LOCKED THE DOORS. Thank God for power locks or she would have been taken by that snake that day. We can only thank the makers of my dad's SUV for having the foresight to protect women and children from two-foot water snakes that wander up from the pond into the garages of innocents.
While my mom was indulging the "flight" aspect of her reflexes, my father went into "fight" mode. He grabbed a shovel and proceeded to kill the snake. I think he was defending my honor. He was brave that day . . .
I, of course, had let myself into the house and was wriggling around trying to get rid of the heebie-jeebies (Claudymom's words, not mine) that damn snake had given me. I looked down at my foot and had the tiniest little cut from where the snake had pierced my skin. It was literally so tiny I started laughing hysterically. It didn't even hurt. Of course I would get bitten by a snake and have barely anything to show for it. I mean, it is really hard to brag about how hard core you are when you basically have a paper cut on your foot.
After the snake was properly dead, Claudymom unlocked the car doors and joined my father and me in the house.
We became much closer that day. . . Claudymom believed she had escaped death by mere seconds, my dad had stared into the face of a two foot snake and lived to tell about it and I was nursing my paper cut. The feeling of being alive was invigorating.
The scene of the attack.
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