Teacher's choice

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Red pencil or red pen for grading papers? Or do you chose not to traumatize your students with red, and instead chose a cheery color, like purple?

I almost always chose red pencil.

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Mighty St. Michael

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CCC 329
St. Augustine says: "'Angel' is the name of their office, not of their nature. If you seek the name of their nature, it is 'spirit'; if you seek the name of their office, it is 'angel': from what they are, 'spirit', from what they do, 'angel.'" With their whole beings the angels are servants and messengers of God. Because they "always behold the face of my Father who is in heaven" they are the "mighty ones who do his word, hearkening to the voice of his word".

What a fabulous feast day -- don't you just feel stronger today celebrating our heavenly superheroes? We had a wonderful day -- we talked about our archangels, St. Michael, St. Gabriel, and St. Raphael, which corresponded beautifully with religion lessons on Creation. We colored pictures (thank you, Charlotte!), and we ate Sinfully Good Chocolate Angel Food Cake. Can a feast day get better?

We end the day with a powerful prayer.

PRAYER TO HOLY MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL

Holy Michael, the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do you, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who wander through the world seeking the ruin of souls.
Amen.

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My Math Lesson

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We are not math minds. That goes for everyone in my house. I do not say that to be "clever," to let myself off easy, or to justify poor grades. I really don't like when I hear people say things like, "I just don't get math," because they prefer an excuse to not do math. Lame excuse. That just means you have to work harder. It takes a while before the light bulb goes on, but it still comes on.

Anyway, we are not math minds, so that means we work harder at math than we do at spelling or English or even Latin. Peach, in particula,r is working harder at math these days because she would rather just say, "I don't get it" and walk away. Not so fast, Sister.

We've been working on Fact Families, and for those of you who have no idea what those are (like I did not) those are numbers that go together in a math fact. Like 5 + 6 = 11, and 6 + 5 = 11, and 11 - 6 = 5, and 11 - 5 = 6, thus 5, 6, and 11 are a "fact family." This was a new concept to me when I started teaching my children, but that's o.k. Peach was having a hard time with it because she says she "caaaan't rememmmmmber" her fact families (and that is said in such a way that only a 7-year-old whiny girl can say it).



To help her, I created these Fact Family leaves as a visual aid of sorts. I drew a leaf (not very pretty, but I was going for something with three points) and cut it out of tag board. Then I traced it onto sheets of construction paper and cut them out. On each leaf I have written a fact family, with the two smaller numbers on the side and the larger number on top. Yesterday we went through all of them just saying them out loud -- 5, 6, 11. We'll do that twice a day all week. So far I have done up to 14. By the end of the week I am hoping that I can cover the largest number and she will be able to guess. Yes, sort of like flash cards, but she gets to study them first. Technically you should be able to cover any number and have them guess it, because they are a fact family (now you get it).



They were quick to make and hopefully will help us get over this hump in second grade math. Do you have any Fact Family tricks up your sleeve?

UPDATED: Today for her math lesson, I gave Peach two pages of mixed problems and then handed her the fact family leaves, one at a time, and asked her to find the problem for each fact family. She had no trouble at all. Yes, I was, in essence, giving her the answers, but I want her to make the connection between the three numbers and she did. She also recalled from memory a dozen or more fact families while we were in the car this afternoon. I love watching light bulbs come on!

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My Art Lesson

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As a homeschooler, I make a genuine effort to cover all of the subjects my children should learn, but I admit that I am not an art (or music) teacher. I can teach them adequately, but I haven't enjoyed teaching them, and my students have a lack of fervor for both subjects. Poor lessons? I don't think so. I recently realized that it might be a lack of participation on the teacher's part.

During art lesson, especially, I sit my students down, present their material, and they complete their work. It was adequate, but nothing special. What the teacher didn't know until recently (teachers learn too, you know), is that art lessons benefit from jumping in with both feet. This year, I bought each of us a sketchbook and a pencil case filled with colored pencils and we are taking our show on the road. We're headed outdoors and I find my children really enjoy sketching nature, as long as I sketch along with them. We've been to the park and just outside on our own deck, and I think that fall will offer us some great opportunities for more great designs.


Peach and I sat on the deck together and sketched the petunias in the pots.



At the park, we sketched roses and trees.



And we enjoyed some fresh air...


and a rest in the shade.


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Feeling Fallish

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The leaves on the Red Maples out front have started to turn. Most of the trees in central Ohio are still very green (except our neighbor's tree which is almost completely dormant already). The red leaves on the maples are falling almost as soon as they turn. That probably means our landscape will be lacking in color for much of the season -- it was a very dry summer. That's too bad -- the best part of fall for me is enjoying the lingering colors.

The pup is happy and doing well. She's a very sweet dog, actually, and even if I have to do most of the work (and she wasn't my idea), I still like her.

Cookies -- chocolate, oatmeal, yum. Recipe here.


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Peekaboo

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I'm just popping in to say "Hi." I am enjoying a break, but I do miss you.

I've turned my motor down and it's a good thing I did -- we got a big ol' household cold (and fever) of which I'm working on Day 5.

And then there's four days of no coffee (unless you consider this coffee -- I normally drink mine black and this just doesn't cut it, and so I cut it).



And we're on Day 3 of no air conditioning (why does Ohio wait for fall to get hot and muggy?). The motor died and we're waiting for parts.

And then there's that puppy (she' s doing well, but a puppy's a puppy -- as much work as a baby, but not near so sweet-smelling).

And there's a little girl who wants to be a puppy.



See ya when it feels like fall.



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Seven Quick Takes

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Yesterday I took College boy to school. He is living in an apartment this year (I hope we don't regret that move) and after I moved him in, unpacked his clothes, and made up his bed I came home, took a Benadryl, and a shower and made a gin and tonic, in that order. Why do all college apartments have to be smelly, poorly lit, and dirty? Is there no college student that lives like his mother raised him? I'm trying not to think about it. My husband reminded me that he lived in the basement of a bug-infested, dirty apartment in college and he lived. Now I start my nine month vigil -- lighting a seven-day candle once a week and spending all my spare time on my knees. Lord help me. And His sorrowful mother.

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Speaking of students, today is the Feast of St. Joseph Cupertino. Do you know him? I think I may be bothering him a little this year for my students. He is the patron of studying. It is said that he was such a poor student, he once prayed before an exam that he only be asked the questions to which he knew the answers and his prayers were answered.

O Great St. Joseph of Cupertino
who while on earth did obtain from God
the grace to be asked at your examination
only the questions you knew,
obtain for (me or student's name) a like favour
in the examinations for which (I or student's name) am now taking.
In return I promise to make you known
and cause you to be invoked.
Through Christ our Lord.

St. Joseph of Cupertino, Pray for us. Amen.

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My high school boy Joshua has an awful cold. His nose is running like a faucet and he has a sore throat. He feels miserable, but can't afford to miss a class. Which is why all of the boys at his school are sick, thus infecting each other -- their curriculum is just too stringent to stay home. For two days I have compulsively checked his forehead for fever, with the H1N1 in the back (or front maybe) of my mind. Peach asks me, "Mom, does Josh have the Hini flu?" (The boys call it the Hini flu -- pronounced hinee because the ones look like i's). I wonder how many times I will worry about this dumb flu this year.

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The puppy is doing pretty well. A handful of accidents, but mostly we get her outside. Of course, I've been standing on the front lawn since we got her -- she can hardly miss. But on the few occasions when she's had an accident, Peach says "She has a sad face right before she's going to go on the floor, mom." If we can just all learn what that sad face is, we'll be in good shape. Of course, yesterday when she peed on the floor Peach said, "I don't know mom, she had a happy face right before she peed. I don't know why she did it." So much for that theory.

She chews everything in sight, so if you have suggestions for chewing, I'd appreciate it. We've never given our dogs rawhide, but we have broken down for this one. This morning she tried to chew the brick fireplace. And she eats everything that's on the ground outside -- leaves, moths, hickory nuts, crab apples, deer poop. Disgusting.

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Tonight is our high school's homecoming football game, so we'll all go. High school football is just so American, isn't it? What's not to love? The weather is just right -- cool, but not cold, breezy with the smell of leaves in the air. We'll eat lukewarm hot dogs and too salty popcorn and get tears in our eyes when the boys get down on their knees for a prayer before the game.

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I took this picture this morning. It's really the only beautiful spot left in the garden. Everything else is dead by now, and as soon as it frosts, these will be too. But they have done well. I told you my Mary flowers never do well -- too much shade and competition for water. But these Petunias did beautifully. I think Mary enjoyed her bath and I guess we'll have to do that every year.

The Red Maples in the front yard are starting to turn and the sound of scratchy leaves blowing across the sidewalk reminds me of fall. Just a few more days now and it's official. I think we'll celebrate with an end-of-summer fire this weekend. Bring some marshmallows if you're coming.

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And speaking of fall, I'm planning to take a little break here until then. My motor is running on overdrive and I'm wearing down (you know it's bad when the first thing you think of when you open your eyes in the morning is a nap). I need to recharge and reorganize. I need to tear down college boy's room and do some fall cleaning. The younger boys want to split up and Noah wants to move into Geoff's old room. I was against it at first, enjoying having an untouched guest room. But I suppose there's no sense in having an unused room. They have slept together for eight years, I guess they earned some solitude. So I'll be busy switching them also.


Pray for me, will you? I will also pray for you. Until then...


Join Jennifer for more Seven Quick Takes.

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Could it be?

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Has it really been a year since we lost our Jill?



For those of you who were not reading my blog a year ago, "my" Jill was my first cousin, a young sweet woman, who was just beginning a teaching career in special education, and just a few months away from her wedding, when she was diagnosed with sarcoma, a particularly brutal and invasive tumor. She fought, by today's standards, a very short battle. For her, there was no earthly miracle.

Jill was my Peach's Godmother, and we still talk about her regularly. Peach prays for her every single night without fail. If it is possible for a little girl's Godmother be more stupendous than in real life, Jill is now her heavenly Godmother, more magnanimous than ever.

I would like to thank, again, all of my long distance friends who prayed for Jill in her last days. She may not have received a miracle for her earthly body, but she brought hundreds of people together in prayer, and that offers great hope of miracles to come.

Prayer for the Dead

God our Father,
Your power brings us to birth,
Your providence guides our lives,
and by Your command we return to dust.

Lord, those who die still live in Your presence,
their lives change but do not end.
I pray in hope for my family,
relatives and friends,
and for all the dead known to You alone.

In company with Christ,
Who died and now lives,
may they rejoice in Your kingdom,
where all our tears are wiped away.
Unite us together again in one family,
to sing Your praise forever and ever.

Amen.

Waving at the Astronauts

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Do you learn something new every day? I love it when I do, and I probably always do even when I don't know it. On Sunday, I learned about the International Space Station -- ISS for those of us who are in the know ;-).

To be honest I've never given the ISS one second's thought. Honestly. Not one second. I'm not a big fan of the space program -- I think we should care for people with the money, but what do I know? It turns out the ISS is a tad bit interesting. The space station is a research lab that is constantly in orbit, up in space doing studies, even working with the NIH on medial research. It's probably still a waste of money (imo) but maybe they will find a cure for something -- you just never know.

On Sunday, I found a website that tells you just exactly when the ISS will "fly over" your house. I use that term "fly over" loosely because it is no where near my house, but I can see it. A tiny little light way, way over there. We have to walk up to the end of our street because our yard has too many big trees to see it, and we stand in the middle of the intersection until we spot it way, way over there. Both nights that we have viewed it, it took about one minute to fly from one side of the sky to the other. And we all stood there and said, "Isn't that really awesome?" And some of us waved.

I think this might become a habit at our house -- it's just kind of neat to know that there are people up there in that tiny, tiny light (the light is from the reflection of the sun on the station). Real human people, just like us.

To find out when the ISS "flies over" your house, go here. Chose your country (under Sighting Opportunities), state and city and you will find out where and when to look for it. It's on my sidebar too, in case you lose your link, under "Brain Food for Students."

H/T: the farmer's wife

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Our Lady of Sorrows, pray for us

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At the Cross her station keeping,
Stood the mournful Mother weeping,
Close to Jesus to the last.



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The name drawn for the chaplet was Jennie.

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And Because Michelle Responded

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The one aspect of blogging that I love most is that I learn some of the deepest thoughts of folks (women) who I know, a little, but whose deepest thoughts I would probably never learn otherwise. When women get together, for the most part they don't talk deep subjects, unless it's about our children or our faith. At least in my experience that is. We don't burden each other with serious topics like death and war and life-altering events.

Margaret asked and Michelle answered -- on a very serious, life-altering topic.

And I would like to respond to Michelle's response.

I support our military, no questions asked. Two of my brothers were Marines and my brother Jeff still works for the military, civilianizing (if that's a word) the Military Police. He is very dedicated to his fellow soldier (once a Marine, always a Marine). I have always thought our military to be the bravest, most unselfish men on the planet. Any one of our military would stand between my family and the enemy, without a question of a doubt.

A few years after the war in the Middle East began, I began to learn, personally, of men who were deployed. Many were men with large families, men like Jennie's husband and Michelle's Bill, who were not only risking their own lives, but risking the well-being of a family at home who would suffer not only during deployment, but who could, at any time, suffer the loss of their bread-winner, and beloved life-mate and father.

It was at that time that I began to privately refer to the war as "that damned war." I was not one of those who publicly bashed our government -- the opposite, in fact. I have always supported our government's decision to engage, and would debate the issue with those outside my family. But secretly, or with my immediate family, I was angry that really good men were being sacrificed on foreign soil. "For what?" I said. I understood keeping America safe, but why there? I wished that we could bring all of our soldiers home and stand them shoulder to shoulder on our borders. Just keep the bad guys out, keep us safe at home. Keep our soldiers intact.

I suppose if that were logistically possible (can you picture our military standing shoulder to shoulder on the beaches?) it would be a solution. But, Michelle's point is that beyond doing what is necessary for our country, beyond keeping us safe, we have bettered the lives of human beings somewhere else. Our soldiers can be proud that they have not only stood between my family and the enemy, but they have stood up for another family, an Afghan or Iraqi family, as well.

In his homily at Mass yesterday, Father said that "our cross" is not something that we personally bear, an illness or a discomfort that we bear only for ourselves. I cannot say that my sore foot is "my cross to bear." My cross must be something that is born for the betterment of someone else. Jesus Christ was crucified to save mankind, not to save Himself. He died to make man free. I can think of no greater cross to bear than the one our soldiers carry on their backs. They suffer, and some die, for you and for me.

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As Needed

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This morning was one of those mornings. I was in a mood, the kids were in moods, dad was in a mood. Too many things to do. Too many people with their own agendas -- none harmonizing, all colliding. It would have been so easy to skip Mass, avoid the headaches, the conflicts, the arguments. I remembered a saying (and forgive me, but I cannot remember the exact quote or with whom it originated -- if you know please educate me): if you think you don't have time to pray, pray more.

I can forgo cooking, cleaning, laundry, schooling, eating, sleeping. But, I should never give up Mass. Nor should I allow my family.

As God always leads us where we need to go, Mass was just what I needed. In the quiet of the church before Mass began, I read in the Mass meditation from my Magnificat:

Your life, such as it is, is a pre-ordained thing, and it is for you to drink your cup even as Christ drank his. His life and death, if they apparently were failures, were not so in reality. We also are children of that divine Father who held to the lips of His Son a beverage to drink, and so our lives have a wonderful mysterious significance. And it is in this light that we ought to look at human things and be superior to them; never letting them overpower us, as if they were some dark arrangement, as if they were the result of some malign power. No, human things are the will of the Father for us as they were the will of the Father for his divine Son.
--Dom Vonier, OSB

Never give up Mass.





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Greater Than, Less Than

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Playing with my puppy is GREATER fun THAN this math page.


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Our Lady of Sorrows Chaplet

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Next Tuesday, September 15, is the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows. In honor, I will give away one of my chaplets. Leave a comment here by next Monday at midnight and I'll put you in the drawing.





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Life on Thursday, September 10, 2009

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Maggie has seriously hampered my morning prayer, coffee and blog routine. She's doing well, except for one darned poopy accident this morning (and then there were those fleas, but we won't talk about it -- all I can say is thank goodness for doggy pharmaceuticals). She is a serious chewer, unlike any dog I've had in memory and I think we'll have to go back to the pet supply store and find some different chewing devices. She likes: books, blankets, pillows, stuffed animals, a leather chair, baskets, and none of the dog products for which we shelled out good money. Go figure. Fortunately she's very cute and has been forgiven for her transgressions. She hasn't been called "that dog" yet. We'll know that the honeymoon is over when she is. And if any one has some really great punishments for children who bicker over who gets to feed, walk, play with, touch, look at the puppy, I'm taking them. There's always the pooper scooper and I'm seriously considering it as a punishment. (I apologize that I have used the word "poop" twice in one post.)



And speaking of coffee, I'm giving a lot of thought to giving it up. Or at least most of it. I am a big coffee drinker. A couple cups in the morning and then several in the afternoon. It's a serious crutch, and even though that's a good reason to give it up, that's not the reason. It's for medical reasons, which stinks. I love it, but it does not love me. Sadly, almost all other beverages cause the same trouble (inflamed bladder) -- I'm left with water alone. Any tips for embracing eight glasses a day?



The weekend is just around the corner (so soon?). Friday is, of course, September 11. I posted my thoughts from that day two years ago. If you've never read them and would like to, they are here. Saturday is the Feast of the Holy Name of Mary. I had good intentions to celebrate Our Blessed Mother's birthday on Tuesday, but the puppy came and all good intentions fluttered away. We will definitely celebrate on Saturday. Jessica has some great ideas for celebrating. And maybe I'll get that Blueberry Cream Pie baked after all.

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There was a farmer had a dog...

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...but she came home with us -- O.

Yes, she did. And I absolutely have lost my mind. There is no other reason why I would bring a new puppy home at this time.

And now I am alternating between mixing gin and tonics and potty walks with a puppy on a leash (which is a completely foreign object, as is everything else she comes in contact with, unless of course we happen to run into a chicken). Just kidding about the gin and tonics -- I only mixed one.

Her name is Maggie May -- so that when she is a bad puppy I can sing "Maggie... I wish I'd never seen your face." Just kidding. I might think it, but I won't sing it, unless I have had more than one gin and tonic. (Name that artist and you can win a turn with the pooper scooper.)

She's a 13 week old Australian Shepherd and I'll be sure to fill you in on all the details when I am doing fewer potty walks.

Rule No. 1: We never wake a sleeping doggy. Ever.

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What are we thinking?

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We are driving several hours this morning to look at a puppy.

Do you think there is any chance that we will come home without one?

I think not.

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Use Your Words – A Rant

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On Saturday afternoon and evening we had a big family get-together at out house. The women were gathered in the kitchen preparing the food, enjoying a cold Sangria and clucking like the hens we are. We were talking about food and the subject came around to a sandwich that I ate recently at the cafe where college boy works. I mentioned that while it was good, I thought the toppings were niggardly. After I spoke, my mother looked at me and said “I wish you wouldn’t use that word.”

I said, “What word?” because I honestly couldn’t think of what word would have offended her. She said, “Niggardly. You shouldn’t use that word.”

And then my aunt said, “I would probably get fired for using that word at work.”

Then I realized why they thought I shouldn’t use it.

I said, “You have to be kidding me. It’s a valid word which has nothing to do with what you are thinking.”

My mother said, “I realize that, but it doesn’t sound nice.”

I was stunned.

I assumed everyone was familiar with the word and knew that it has nothing to do with the Latin word for the color black, from which the racial slur comes. If you don’t use the word, it mean miserly or scanty. The root is “nig,” a Scandinavian word for a stingy person.

So tell me, when did we stop using words with perfectly valid meanings because they sound like words we would rather not use?

My husband ran into the same situation at work not long ago. Speaking with a colleague he used the term “linch pin.” He used it correctly, referring to something (actually some one) that was crucial to holding its parts together. His colleague said, “You shouldn’t use that word.” When my husband asked, “What word?” his colleague said that a linch pin is the pin that was pulled when a black man was lynched.

My husband apologized for offending his colleague, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had been wrong to apologize when he should have corrected. He later wrote to his colleague and explained that a linch pin has nothing to do with a lynching. His colleague apologized and thanked him for setting him straight on a cultural misinterpretation.

So back to my question, when did we stop using words because they sound like words we don’t use?

Our society does not seem to shy away from using some very inappropriate words intentionally, like most of the four-lettered words and their kin, why would we shy away from words with perfectly valid, inoffensive meanings, because they sound like “bad words?”

Maybe because we, as a society, an American culture, have ceased to learn new words? We have stopped reading challenging literature because it’s “too hard.” We have become close-minded with our vocabulary. I would say that even our media is guilty of avoiding words which challenge us. People no longer refer to their dictionary to learn the meanings of words they don’t know. They chose ignorance, maybe out of laziness, or because they prefer familiarity.

Or have we become so afraid of our neighbor that we will do anything, including being ignorant, to keep from offending him, even if the only reason he is offended is his own ignorance? And the media, again, is guilty of perpetuating the pattern, by encouraging political correctness.

Or maybe it’s that we are so afraid of offending our neighbor we don’t want to use words he doesn’t understand. Last night Doug and I watched a movie in which the young adults said, “Hey” and “What’s up?” and “I’m good” and “Yeah.” That was about it. I asked Doug if he thought people really speak like that and he replied, “Yes, I do.”

I obviously don’t know the answer to this issue, but I do think that it is an issue. And it really burns my derriere.

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For my friend, Regina...

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...thank God she's a Buckeye and not just some nut!

TBDBITL

Navy got a standing "O"!

pics from my husband's Blackberry.

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I can tell that it is Hayfever Season...

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...by the shreds of tissues that flutter to the floor each time I open the dryer.

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The Trick to Pleats

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I caved. I am so weak in the face of parochial school plaids. Help me! No, don't -- I don't want to be saved.

My dear friend Theresa, the dirtdartwife, tipped me off to some really, really inexpensive school uniform skirts, and so I caved. I bought Peach a uniform skirt (or two) and now I am looking at my little Peach in her sweet little parochial school plaid every day. It was just too much to resist.

But, that's not the reason for this post. This post is about laundering pleated skirts. I learned this trick from my aunt years and years ago before I ever knew I would have the opportunity to use it. She used it on her three girls' pleated jumpers and skirts for 13 years.

Here's the trick:

Wash the skirt or jumper in the machine. Remove it promptly and hang it on a hanger with clips or on the clothesline. Clothespin every pleat, individually, with a spring-loaded pin. I promise that you will not ever need to iron pleats again.



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Mary, Undoer of Knots

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Our Blessed Mother has many different titles. So many, in fact, you could almost pick a new one for every day (which I did in May). It is nice to find a title that fits your need -- it makes it so easy to run to our Heavenly Mother when we see that she will help us with our problem du jour.

Recently my mother-in-law shared with me one I had not heard of, Mary Undoer of Knots. The title is inspired by Saint Irenaeus (Bishop of Lyon and martyred in 202), who made a comparison between Eve and Mary, saying: "Eve, by her disobedience, tied the knot of disgrace for the human race; whereas Mary, by her obedience, undid it." From the meditation, an unknown artist painted a much-venerated painting which hangs in St. Peter church in Perlach, Germany.

The knots that Mary undoes are all of the problems that we take to her -- worries for our children, trials in our marriages, our struggles with the world. It is a beautiful visual to imagine Our Holy Mother untying the knots in which we become tangled in our daily lives.




I am on the eighth day of praying the novena to Mary, Undoer of Knots. If you would like to read more about this title of Mary, you can find more here. If you would like to pray the novena, you can find the information for obtaining a booklet (EWTN Catalog also has them).

The novena prayers are inspirational and rich with visual revelation. Some of my favorites lines in the prayers are:

"I entrust into your holy hands this knot in my life...and all the rancor and resentment it has caused in me."

"Undo this knot in my life...o, Mother, and ask Jesus to heal my paralytic faith which gets down hearted with the stones in the road. Along with you, dearest Mother, may I see these stones as friends. Not murmuring against them, but giving endless thanks for them, may I smile trustingly in your power."

"No one ever saw you angry; to the contrary, your words were so charged with sweetness that the Holy Spirit was manifested on your lips. Take away from me the bitterness, anger and hatred which this knot has caused me."

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If You Live in Michigan...

...in Congressman Mike Rogers' district, send him a note of thanks. You are fortunate that he represents your voice. He thinks like the majority of Americans. From where did the remainder of Congress come?

Pure Torture

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I do believe that Parent-Teacher Night at school is one of the worst forms of parental torture in existence.

It is so awful that I told my son I would rather eat dirt than to go to Parent-Teacher Night. Honestly, I really would sit on the ground in the back yard and eat dirt if I could stay home on Parent-Teacher Night.

I would rather go through labor again and deliver my 5 foot, 11 inch, 175-pound high school son than go to his Parent Teacher Night. Without an epidural.

I just got home from Parent-Teacher night and I need an epidural for my headache. Or an IV with Tanqueray and tonic.

I need to go to bed.

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