How to Win When You Can't Hit Back

I've run into many highly hilarious happenings during my short time as a high school English teacher. I've watched a student pull belly-button lint from his navel during class. I stood in horror during cross-dress spirit day as I spotted teenage boys with curvier figures than me. I've seen teenage brains break in the midst of high hormones. I've even witnessed a teen projectile vomit from her desk. But none of these occurrences have made me angry.

Today, for the first time in my teaching history, I lost my temper.

Looking back, today's events could easily go into the 'highly hilarious happenings' category (how's that alliteration for you!), but only after the fact. In the midst of the day's events, my only thought was, "I can't retaliate. I'm an adult."

This week has been grueling. Little sleep, high emotion, and evaluations looming have made the days drag on, so today was just a recipe for disaster.

I have one class for struggling readers. I have six high school students, all of whom read on about a 6th grade level. Keep in mind, five of these six kids are incredible, gifted students who simply struggle with reading. If it were up to them, they would be taking AP courses and plotting out college plans. But limited reading has a way of dashing great academic dreams, a concept I'm trying to correct in these students.

The sixth student, though, is a very capable, very intelligent kid. He just simply won't apply himself. By acting dumb, and acting out, he's figured out that high school can actually be a breeze with little to no effort.

Today, oh today...student #6 waltzed into class with a paper airplane, cocked and ready to go.

I simply stated, "#6, don't you dare." He looked me full in the eye, arched his hand back, and yelled, "Sean! Catch this!"

But he did not anticipate his poor ability to throw the paper airplane.

And the 8 1/2 by 11 inch paper missal missed its target, and paper cut me...in the neck.

And this would be where I lost my temper.

I could think of nothing better than strangling this kid, so I coldly stated, "Get out."

"Hahaha, very funny, Mrs. Blain."

"No. You. Get. Out."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I won't throw it again."

"Get out!"

By this point, the rest of the class had made their way into the room, and, eyes wide, echoed, "Just get out!"

I told #6 I'd call down to the office when I was ready for him to come back to class, but I had to give myself ten minutes. I don't know where the anger came from, but I genuinely had no love in my heart at that moment for #6.

After, not ten, but fifteen minutes, I called down to the office and said #6 could return to class.

He was an absolute angel.

After class, I kept #6, and made him sign a detention slip. One hour. With me. He'll be cleaning my classroom, top to bottom. And I am going to love every single minute.

I'm not mad anymore, but the slice on my neck stings a bit. I take solace in knowing that very soon, my whiteboards will be clean, my text books will be organized, and all of the desk tops will be sanitized.

Thank you, #6.

And so, for today, Mrs. Blain- 0, #6- 0, paper airplane- 1.

Technology, You Stink!

I'm still chugging away on my Master's degree, playing trapeze artist trying to juggle too many flaming torches while riding a bicycle down a tight-rope, and my computer crashed.

Working on an MAT alone is hefty work, especially during my first year teaching, but the task is quite difficult when your hard drive goes down.

I'll be honest- the Master's work didn't worry me too much. Josh has a laptop I can work on. But my pictures? I am lamenting over them. Years of college, traveling, and engagement memories...gone. Why didn't I print all of those pictures when I had the chance?! Can you hear my lamenting?!

Don's computer crashed earlier this spring, and I felt bad, but I didn't really have sympathy. Now I have total understanding of how life-altering the world becomes when a computer dies. And memories die with it.

Okay, enough lamenting. Josh did take my computer in to "The Mac Guy." I do still have a working laptop, but it doesn't have Microsoft Office, iPhoto, or my thousands of pictures documenting life from these last five years. Apparently Mr. Mac Guy couldn't salvage anything from the hard drive.

Isn't it amazing how someone can mourn digital media?

And such is life, and all I have to say is, "Technology, you stink!" But please, don't ever quit working again!

Following the Leader

Oh, the joys of owning a Miniature Schnauzer.

Lately, Ivan has been so full of energy he wakes up shaking, tearing apart his sleeper pillow before we can let him out of his kennel. The end result? Ivan's pillow is very thin, and when he has successfully killed it, he will no longer have cushion to sleep on.

Today was church day, so Ivan was left to entertain himself most of the day while Josh and I readied things for service.

Here is living proof that we are sharing our house with a hyperactive dog; a very entertaining dog at that!

Full Speed Ahead

Labor Day Weekend was a jam-packed, eventful three days, which ran right into yet another week of teaching.

On the last flight before landing in Ohio, I got to practice my CPR and First Aid certification. Just as I was boarding, an 85-year-old man fell, and I watched as nearly 30 people walked by him as he was sprawled out on the floor. Passengers made their way onto the airplane, offering looks of sympathy. I stopped and offered my assistance. The EMTs arrived thirty minutes later, and I walked onto the plane, covered in blood and ready to vomit. The poor man gashed his face pretty bad, and broke his nose. His eye had some trauma, and at the exact moment I realized the eye was bleeding, so did the man's wife, who started screaming, "It's his eye! It's his eye! It's his eye!" I remember yelling, "Get her out of here," and then she was gone, sobbing on down the platform. I'm fairly certain the man, Mike, had a stroke, which caused him to fall. He and his wife were on their way to their son's wedding, which I would guess they missed. It broke my heart.

But Lane Evan Miller is perfect. His mommy and daddy are finally home with him, and are enjoying their own space and privacy as a family of three.


I got home from Ohio late Monday night, and jumped right back into a week of school. Josh and I spent today on a date, picking berries with plans of making jam. We were very successful in our endeavors. We found thousands of blackberries, red, yellow, and purple plumbs, and apples. We thought we picked cherries, but once we washed them at home, we realized they were red plumbs. About the only negative point of the day was while attempting to pick yellow plumbs. We climbed over the guardrail on the grade, and it was nearly a 30 degree angle or so. I slipped, and ripped the crotch out of my jeans. Oh, well, I suppose. At least we got the plumbs!


What a marvelous adventure today! Hopefully the jam turns out---it could be interesting.

Here's another Idaho sunset. Just wanted to share!

Weekend of Labor

This time last year, Josh and I were rushing to Springfield for the arrival of the cutest nephew around, Martin Alfred. He was a month early, most definitely an unexpected arrival, but perfect in every way.

This year for the weekend of labor, I'm visiting another baby, Lane Evan. My best friend from high school, Carrie, and her husband Lyn, have a 4 pound addition to their family. Lane was just a week early, but had complications the doctor didn't catch, so he's spending his first few weeks at the Infant Hilton in Ohio. I'll catch a flight in just six hours, and head to the Buckeye state for the weekend to celebrate the arrival of the smallest Miller name sake.

Carrie and Lyn were married in November of 2008, and I was privileged to be Carrie's maid of honor. Then, in May of 2009, Carrie stood up with me for the Lesslie-Blain wedding extravaganza. I cherish the friendship we started as 14-year-olds in freshman speech class more than I can say.
November 14, 2008


May 23, 2009

To celebrate the long weekend, Josh is out camping with Eternal Hope Wesleyan Church members and Weippe Wesleyan church members, which is making my life a bit emotional. Who knew I could miss that man so much? He's only been gone for one day, and I'm a mess! The worst part is that we can't talk to each other, because there is no cell service in most of Idaho, especially the camping areas. We haven't gone a day without talking to each other since 2008...and I'm not handling it as gracefully as I anticipated. Maybe I'm not quite as independent as I once thought!

And one more sliver of information for the Labor Day Weekend...

Blake and Tina are expecting in late April!!! And just like when I heard the news of Martin, I screamed, laughed a little, and then burst into tears. I love being an aunt, and apparently cry every time a baby is added to that magnificent title.

Hoping for a Ticket

Here's the deal: if I so much as look at a cop, they write me a ticket. I won't feign innocence. I've had my rebellious streak of pushing the speed limit and rolling through stop signs, but I'm a changed woman.

By about the age of eighteen, I realized vehicular submission was becoming an obedience issue, and I had an attitude adjustment. But I still got tickets.

The worst scenario was my sophomore year of college, driving back from Blake and Tina's for the first time. They lived in Missouri, about 2 1/2 hours from OWU, so I didn't anticipate issues. But when the sun went down, and the cops came out, tears inevitably followed. Have you ever been lost in the dark? It's so creepy and hopeless. Sunlight makes a huge difference when traversing unknown territory. And not one single cop took pity on me.

Long story short, within one mile, yep, just one, I was pulled over three times, and not one cop had compassion. Sobbing and feeling forsaken, my dear friends, Max and Ruth Ann Colaw, came to the rescue. I described my surroundings, and they came and picked me up. This is where I cue the Hallelujah Chorus!

Totally innocent of malicious speed or burnt out headlights, I had to pay the fees. And that was my last run-in with tickets.

But Josh? Guilty- yes. Punished- never.

On the way home from Weippe last night, after several games of Pitch with Don, Patty, an Tom, Josh and I were chatting away when red and blue lights appeared.

Josh looked down, realized he was going about 12 over, and promptly pulled off the road.

The police officer approached, and upon seeing the driver stated, "Oh, I didn't recognize your car. Could I get your license and registration?"

"Whose car is this?" To which I responded, "Mine."

"Oh, that's why I didn't know the driver," a.k.a., had I been alone...he would have pulled out the ticket book!

But for Josh? The guy didn't even run Josh's license. He stood at the window for about 60 seconds, told Josh he's driven that stretch of Weippe long enough to know the speed, then handed everything back and wished us a pleasant evening.

This is, and I'm not exaggerating, about the tenth time Josh has deserved a ticket, and gotten out of it. Speeding through a work zone on our honeymoon, while talking on the phone, cruising through Alva at top speed, rocketing across Montana in a Mercedes Benz, trucking through Burton, KS, IN A SPEED TRAP! But no tickets.

And each time that bearded husband of mine gets pulled over, I'm thinking, "Give him a ticket, give him a ticket!"

Yes, I know this will increase our insurance, and I know we'll have to pay a fine, but I want justice! It's so wrong, and Josh isn't even trying to get off Scott-free.

Maybe it's his honesty. Maybe his pleasantry. Maybe some gleam in his eye. But then again, maybe it's the beard.

I might have to start growing one...