Z is for Zip-a-dee-doo-dah!

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay

My, oh my, it is finally "Z" day!

The Challenge is over, hip, hip, hooray!

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay

Jiminy Crickets, I had NO IDEA the A to Z Challenge would be so harrrrrd! I totally blame Christine at In The Coop for that, because I read hers last year, thought it looked like fun, and signed up. I was totally fooled by her easy writing style and plethora of writing prompts provided by a husband, six kids, four pigs, and a bunch of chickens.


This by no means is meant to imply that I did not enjoy the experience; I did, immensely. Here's what I got out of it:

1. I have found some awesome blogs to follow and made some new bloggy friends.

Ruby watching the rain. This has
nothing to do with the post; just like the picture.

2. Even if I didn't get it written and posted until nearly midnight, I was able to write something every day, under pressure of a deadline, which is something I haven't done since college (if then; I was an Elementary Education major, after all).

3. I concede that planning your posts around a central theme would make it easier to decide on the day's topic.

4. I also concede that ANY planning would make it easier to decide on the day's topic.

5. I have very talented and creative blog friends.

6. They are also supportive, especially Clark of the Wakefield Doctrine, who never failed to plug my A to Z Challenge posts.

7. My IRL friends who read my blog via Facebook have been complete darlings about reading, liking and commenting about my posts on my Facebook page. If I attempt to list all of you, I will surely leave someone out, so just know that I am very appreciative of the loyalty you have shown me through this VERY LONG month. Love you all!

8. Topics popped into my head about 25% of the time with little or no effort. For the other 75%, I subjected my family to brainstorming sessions. And while they were willing to play the fill-in-the-blank game I forced them into they enjoyed so much, they (I believe purposely) came up with such narrow or off-the-wall topics that I was unable to use a single one of them, which brings me back to #3 and #4.

9. A to Z Challenge participants who keep up with writing their own posts AND reading and commenting on endless posts by other bloggers have my utmost admiration. The upside is I have a lot of fantastic reading material ahead of me as I get caught up on my reading.

10. Wordpress STILL hates me, so if you are a Wordpress blogger, do me a solid and give the ol' spam folder a periodic check for my comments.

A to Z Challenge: accepted and conquered.

Y is for Y, not I

Naming me, according to my mom, was a real pain (if she had only known at the time what was ahead of her, naming me would have not seemed so bad; I was 10 lbs., had club feet and was a forceps delivery). 

It seems every name she came up with, my dad shot down. He, however, did not have any better ideas himself. The closest he came was wanting to name me Carol Ann or Carol Lynn if I were a girl. My mom was opposed to this, as her sister in law was named Carolyn and she didn't want to name me something that was so close to that. 

Finally, they settled on something; if I were a boy, I would be Jerry Dean (whew, dodged THAT bullet). When I was forcibly dragged brought into this world, I came out as Dyanne. And that "Y" would mark the beginning of a long love/hate relationship.

The spelling of my name came from a former 1st grade student of my mom's (she taught school for three years before she was married) and was the girl's middle name. My mom thought it was a pretty way to spell "Diane." Unusual. Unique.

A pain.

Having an unusually spelled name makes you realize how few people have a real grasp on phonics. Nor do they seem to pay attention to detail.

My name would be mispronounced or misspelled or both by teachers (especially substitute teachers), doctor's offices, roll calls of any kind, telephone solicitors, and potential employers calling for interviews. I have been called Dee Ann, Deanna, Diana, Dana, Dinah, Suzanne (never did figure out how she got that, but I gave up and answered to it for an entire semester when a college professor called me that at every single class), and, the WORST, Dwayne. If you want to be (or remain) my friend, NEVER CALL ME DWAYNE.

I am reconciled to having an unusually spelled name now, 53 years later. But when I was in high school and the trend was to wear a necklace with your name written in cursive letters, I was out of luck. There was no "Dyanne" on the rack. I'm still bitter.

My "Y" keeps me from being an ordinary Diane. I'm extraordinary. I'm Dyanne.

With a "Y."

X is for Fax

I moved to Nashville in 1985, with no job and only knowing a few people. One of those few people was the receptionist at a downtown law firm, and she helped me get a job there. The job was that of a runner, meaning I ran various legal documents to such places as the courthouse and to other law offices, sometimes walking, sometimes driving my car. 

New to the city, I didn't know my way around and got lost fairly regularly, both on foot and in my car. In my early days working there, one of the attorneys sent me to a law office a few blocks away to deliver documents and even drew me a map. He then watched me from his 18th story window as I stood on a corner, below, completely confused, turning the map this way and that, trying to get my bearings (which I finally did, no thanks to his lousy map). Another time, an attorney sent me to a business to pick up a document, giving me directions to get there, which included traveling most of the way on a one-way street, but not telling me how to get back to the office, since the one-way street prevented me from retracing my route. I ended up inside a government housing project, probably the single highest crime area in the entire city, and drove around it, white-knuckled, until I found my way back out again.

So, I may have had a bit of a reputation of being a little dingy. 

One day, one of the attorneys gave me some documents and told me to take them to a business a block or so away to have them sent to an attorney out of town via telefax.

I just stared at him. Send them HOW?

I walked slowly to the business (I want to say it was FedEx, but I can't be sure about that; it's been awhile). I handed the man behind the counter my document.

He did something magical that I couldn't see, then told me it was sent.

Then he handed me the document back.

My eyes were spinning pinwheels. Inside my head, I was screaming, "WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU SENT IT WHEN YOU'RE HANDING IT BACK TO ME?!"

I held the document and looked at the man, pretty sure one of us was crazy and it wasn't me. He began helping another customer, and I slowly walked back to the office.

When I got to the office, I handed the attorney the papers, waiting for him to ask me why I didn't have them sent like he had asked, and instead, he thanked me for getting them sent and put them in a file. 

I finally had to ask him how it was sent when it was right. here. He told me the information was sent over the telephone line, but I was still completely and utterly flummoxed, because any idiot knows a paper can't GO THROUGH A TELEPHONE LINE. 

And now? Now I get irritated when my iPhone doesn't load a webpage immediately.

I've come a long way, baby!

Ten Things of Thankful, Tornado Style

My Ten Things of Thankful is going to be only one that is worth ten and more:

We were driving home from our last volleyball tournament less than an hour ago, with severe weather to our west. Our Red Cross tornado app was alerting us to tornado warnings as we drove (and if you don't already have that app and are in an area that is prone to tornadoes, I highly recommend you download it). As I looked to the west, I saw a tornado dipping down from the clouds, probably 20 miles from us. My husband was driving over 80 mph and not passing anyone. We got to my parents' home, which is 90 miles south of Kansas City and 60 miles north of Joplin. A few minutes later, the tornado sirens have sounded here, with a tornado spotted southwest of town, moving to the northeast. We are in the basement, as safe as we can be. There are more tornadoes around the area, with damage reported in extreme northeast Oklahoma and extreme southeast Kansas, very near Joplin.

But we are safe and hope to remain that way.

W is for Words From The Mouths Of Babes

One of the best things about teaching preschool, besides the hugs, the cute drawings, and the snacks, are the words that come out of their mouths. Sometimes sweet (who can resist an exuberant "I love you!" from a 4 year old, I ask you?), sometimes hilarious, always interesting. Following is a representative sampling:

Circle Time, reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar and discussing the life cycle of the butterfly:

Me: The caterpillar hatches from an egg, then it eats leaves and grows and then makes a chrysalis. A butterfly emerges from the chrysalis and soon it lays eggs. And what comes out of the eggs the butterfly laid?

3 year old boy: A baby butterfly!
4 year old boy: A caterpillar!
4 year old girl: A chick!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Circle Time, same class, different day:

Me: What month is it?

4 year old girl: June!
4 year old boy: May!
4 year old girl: Thursday!

(The correct answer was April.)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At Music class, discussing the week's Bible verse and Bible word:

Music Teacher: Who knows what the Bible word this week is? Under--  Under--?

4 year old boy: Pressure?

(The correct answer here would be understanding.)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Inside the classroom, just after a trip to the bathroom: 

3 year old girl: I went poop on the potty! High five!

Me: Wait. Did you wash your hands?

3 year old girl: Yes.

Me: Really well?

3 year old girl: Yes.

Me: High five!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Same girl, same day:

3 year old girl: You have to eat salad, because it makes your poop better.

Me: Well, yes, it does.

3 year old girl: Why does it hurt when I poop?

Me: Because you don't eat your salad.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At table time:

4 year old girl: You want to know what I want to be when I grow up?

Me: What do you want to be?

4 year old girl: Well, since you 're so good at teaching, I want to be a teacher!

Best. Job. Ever.

V is for Vignette

The Setting: a bathroom, around 7:00 a.m.

The Scene: a man and woman are in a bathroom, getting ready to go to work. A calico kitten scampers about the room.

Woman (attempting to sit on toilet as kitten tries to jump up there to get a drink): Stop it, Ruby! Stop it! Get out of the way. This is not your water bowl! 

Man: At least you only have to try to keep her away long enough to sit down. She thinks I'm a fountain.

Curtain closes.

U is for Underwear

Ten things about underwear.

Calling them "underpants" is funnier than saying "underwear."

Women own something they call "period panties." Men don't know this, and they don't need to.

The Victoria's Secret 7 pairs for $26 panty sale is one of my favorite ways to spend $26.

I can get 16 preschoolers to wear their underwear to bed backwards by telling them it will give us a snow day the next day. I only say this when it's a sure bet that we're going to get snow.

Contrary to popular belief, thongs are NOT uncomfortable, and those who think they are have never tried them.

It makes my heart happy to be in the bathroom with my preschool boys, most of whom think they are pretty big stuff, and see their Superhero underwear.

Boxers are sexy.

When putting on my underwear, I always put my left leg in first. Always.

Static cling being what it is, sometimes people find a pair of rogue underpants lurking inside their clothes. Sometimes they find this out when they are getting dressed, and sometimes, they don't find it out until the underpants fall out of their pants leg, or so I've heard.

Life is too short for ugly underwear.