I really do. I really like big butts. Well, I like butts of any size, but what I really really like is songs about butts. Any time a butt song comes on the radio I pump it up and bob around behind the wheel. I like to sing along, but I really shouldn’t. When I try to rap I sound exactly like a twenty-eight year old white woman from Denver who is trying to rap. Or like that girl in Teen Witch who has a freestyle showdown with a couple of dudes by the trash cans. “Beep beep, bop, bee-beep bedeep bop!” That is what it sounds like when I rap.
Anyway, I like songs about butts so much that I asked my friend Steve to make me a butt song playlist for my ipod. I don’t think he realized that it was a serious request, so I had to bug him for a while to get it going. In the meantime my friend Allison came to town with her formidable hard drive full of R&B. When I told her about my love for all songs butt, she quickly assembled a killer 2 hour mix for me. A few days later Steve came through, and now half of the songs on my ipod are about butts. I had to delete former staples of my pod- The Shins, Little Wings, Tullycraft- just to make room. Think there are not enough songs about butts to fill an ipod? Here is a sampling from Steve’s mix:
Ms. New Booty
Ms. Fat Booty
Feelin’ On Yo Booty
Greatdayndamornin’ / Booty
bootylicious
feeling on your booty (remix)
I Can’t Believe It’s Not Booty
Booty Run
Da Booty
Booty Hop
Bootylicious
Loose Booty
Booty Doo Daddy
Booty Cologne
big booty bitches
Booty Meat
Booty Drop
Shake Ya Ass
Light Your Ass On Fire
Shake That Ass
Back That Ass Up
Baby Got Back (I Like Big Butts)
Shake Your Rump
Money Maker
Shake Ya Tailfeather
Rumpshaker
Tootsee Roll
My Humps
Face Down Ass Up
Jenny From The Block
dem jeans
Them Jeans
Face Down, Ass Up
Also, at the end of this video is a sweet butt mix treat:

1000 Beers: Happy Beervantine’s from Mike Merrill on Vimeo.

So, I love the Shins. And I am in a big Gilmore Girls period of my life. So imagine my surprise and delight when during a Spring Break trip to Florida, Rory Gilmore went to a hot club with Paris Gellar, and THE SHINS were playing at the hot club! I realize that there is nothing nerdier that I could blog about, but man am I delighted! Also delightful? Rory Gilmore on spiked punch! Episode sublime.
Now that I think about it, today has been delightful from start to finish. At six in the morning I got a call from my principal that the roads were too icy for the school busses so we were put on 2 HOUR DELAY which is more exciting than getting the day off because it goes so fast and we don’t have to make it up a the end of the year. When she told me about the delay I said “woo woo!” Later in the day she sent out an email to the whole staff with the subject line “woo woo,” and she told everyone that I said it. So then all the other teachers, when they saw me in the hall, said “woo woo!” I thought that was very funny. The kids were jazzed and the day flew by.
AND, while the day was flying by, my new fancy teacher-desk arrived! Up ’til now all I had was a lousy small desk that had prolly been in the classroom for 35 years. It was so small my knees were always getting bumped and the surface was cracked and peeling. So I asked the custodian (remember her? the frog catcher?) if there were any other teacher-desks around the building and she said no. But then she offered to check around some of the other schools in the district. And through the facility services grapevine she found a big (BIG) oak desk that is in wonderful condition and she had them deliver it to my classroom today. It’s like four times the size of my old desk. The kids got so excited to see it. They all crowded around it and crawled underneath it and even pressed their cheeks to the surface, which was still cold from the delivery truck. The nice thing about teaching six year olds is that they will match your enthusiasm for anything, including office furniture. Delighted!
My friend Amanda is coming to visit on Thursday. We used to work together at a pub in New York, and she gave me some great connections when I moved to Ireland. I haven’t seen her in three years, and I can’t wait. We are going to be drunk for 4 days.

A few weeks ago two of my girls discovered a tiny frog hopping into the girls’ bathroom. They came into class all excited, so I called the custodian to tell her about it, and to ask her to let the kids have a look if she was able to catch it. 15 minutes later she came down to my room with the critter in a little plastic ramekin with holes punched into the lid. Predictably, the kids went nuts- crowding around, telling high pitched stories about other frogs they’d seen. After a while I brought the frog next door to my friend Hannah’s class, so her kids could have a look. We let the frog go at recess, and it hopped away, happy as can be.
As I said, that was weeks ago. But the memory of the frog lives on among my students. I used the story a few times to model the writing process because the kids were a part of it, and thus invested. First I wrote a very boring version of the story, then over the course of a few days made it more and more interesting by adding details that the kids remembered. It was a great opportunity to teach about editing and rereading, about descriptive language, about writing for an audience. Anyway, yesterday the custodian came down to give me some garbage bags so I could bag up all the pillows and stuffed animals in my room. I needed to quarantine them as the result of a lice breakout. (Gross, I know. Now let’s move on.) So when she was in the classroom I showed her the story about the frog, in which she figured as a main character (the rescuer). She sent me an email later telling me how touched she was to be a character in our story, and asking if she could keep it when we were done using it. Let it be known that this story was written with magic markers on giant chart paper. So we fancied it up a bit, the kids forced me to improve my illustration, and I was about to send it down to her when a girl came up to show me the story she’d written about the frog. It was great, and pretty different than the one we’d written as a class. So I asked for a show of hands- who else had written about the frog? Seven hands shot up. Next thing you know I had a parade of first graders headed to the boiler room to give their stories to the custodian, along with the one I wrote on chart paper. I hope she liked them.
I feel obliged to end this post by saying something like, “that little frog touched more than the tile floor when he hopped into the girls’ bathroom that day. His webbed feet also touched our hearts.”
But I won’t. I still want this blog to be a little bit edgy, so instead I’ll end with this. “Frogs are assholes.”

My adolescent cat acts like a boyfriend. He plays too much, he expects me to feed him, and he yells at me when I come home late. Ha ha ha! That was my stand up routine. But seriously folks, he loves to be spooned. He often wakes me by touching my face with his paw (80% of the time sans claws). When sleeping, he prefers as much of the surface area of his body as possible to be touching my face. He gets jealous of Mike. He give me what can only be classified as kisses by pressing his wet nose to mine. I think he is in love with me.
Look who blogged two days in a row!

…sign your name at the golden gate. 1st grade, 2nd grade, 3rd grade, 4th…
Does anyone else remember that jumprope song? I should go out on the playground more often to see what the kids sing while they jump these days. “Cinderella, dressed in yella…” is sure to still be in use, right? What else?
So here I am blogging. Look at me! And do you know who won the prize for Most Likely to Lure Willow Back Into The Blogosphere? Someone named Robert who just yesterday left a comment on a months-old post, asking me so nicely to come back! You win, Robert! Your prize is a rambling Perfect Heart post about teaching and making silly movies! Come collect your prize anytime!
So, teaching. I’m back at it again, and it has been a strange year so far. My class is of course way different this year, and it seemed to take longer for all of us to settle in together. The kids I had last year were mostly old for 1st grade- the bulk of them turned 7 in October or November. As a result they were able to sit on the rug longer, work on stories longer, read longer. They were also able to stand in line without shoving, cutting, screaming, or slapping. Not so this year, my friends. This year’s class has a collectively shorter attention span, and a limited understanding of personal space. Thus when I go to pick them up for recess, 90% of the time someone is crying because someone else bumped/cut/slapped/spit on them. I even gave them assinged spots to stand in line, but it doesn’t really help. I have what is known in the field of education as an “active class.”
On the flip side, they are way funnier than last year’s group. I have one little boy who likes to sit right up close when I am reading a story, and then sing out the last word on each page of the book exactly in unison with me. This same boy has been known to turn to a neighbor in the middle of a lesson and cheerfully ask, “More tea, Eloise?” Another boy has these meta-tantrums where he’ll declare,”I’m mad! I’m so mad I’m gonna stamp my feet!” The next day he’ll say, “Member yesterday when I stamped my feet? That was embarassing.” Funny boys.
This year I am also the union rep for my building, and I am taking courses to get my Reading Endorsement, which is sorta like getting a second Masters. I feel a little over-extended, to be honest. I’m still finding time to work on non-teaching related projects though. Like this movie I made with my friend Justin for a 48 hour film fest (click on the video for details about the contest:

Dragon Breath from No Montage on Vimeo.

I am not ashamed to say that I am a Horse Girl. You know the type- long hair (well, not that part), a faraway look, a Little House on the Prairie paperback sticking out of her coat pocket. Every Horse Girl has a variation of the same fantasy: while walking in the woods/field/neighborhood after being tormented by a sister/parent/bully, a beautiful but wild white/black/painted horse appears out of nowhere. Girl and horse stare at one another; girl beckons to horse with eyes/hand/mind; an understanding between creatures is established; horse kneels before girl/girl leaps onto horse; they ride off into the distance, leaving worldly problems behind. If you are also a Horse Girl (or possibly a whale/dolphin girl) you know just what I’m talking about. If not, well then I just feel sorry for you.
Horse Girl-dom usually peaks around age 12, or at least it did for me. I spent summers at camp riding the trails around Snow Mountain Ranch, imagining I was a pioneer or cowgirl or princess. But it wasn’t long before boys became the focus of camp life (and non-camp life), and horses were replaced by guys in my hero escapism fantasies.
A couple of years ago I started dreaming of horses again. I suddenly felt an overpowering desire to groom a horse, to feel the satisfying weight of a saddle in my arms as I lifted it onto the back of a willing steed. I wanted to sit in that saddle, hold the reigns loosly in my left hand and survey the land. I started talking about horses. A lot. Steve tried to arrange a trail ride for my birthday, but it was the wrong time of year and no one would allow it.
But then. This past Saturday. After a two years of wishing. I rode a horse again. This horse:

His name is Shadow and he belongs to Richard, the father of one of my grad school friends. He lives in a stable not far from my school, and I can ride him whenever I want! On Saturday Richard showed me around the barn, introduced me to all the horses that live there, and then gave me free reign to do as I please, whenever I please! I brushed Shadow down, and lifted his hooves and cleaned them. Richard stood watchfully by as I hoisted the sadle up and adjusted the stirrups. Then he left me alone for a blissful 30 minutes of riding in circles around the ring. Shadow is an old horse who can’t abide much trotting, so I just walked him around, listening to the creaking of the barn, the buzz of the swallows that dove around us, and the whinnies and neighs of Shadow’s compatriots.
It is a full Horse Girl ressurection, my friends. I’m already planning trips to the barn after school- I’ll keep my boots and a pair of jeans in my classroom so I can make spontanious trips. Maybe I can trade barnwork for lessons. Maybe I’ll give up my love life to devote more time to the horses (now that is just taking it too far, Willow!) Anyway. Horses Girls!!!!
PS, This little baby horse lives at the stables too, and he let me hug him, and he nibbled my shoulder! Eeeee!

You might be wondering how I am spending my summer.
Well.
For one thing Mike is helping me to become a better swimmer. When he was in high school he was on the swim team, and so he has great advice for me like: “Swim faster!” “Kick better!” and “That’s not a real stroke!” He also squeezes my foot just right when the dumb flippers make it cramp up and obligingly swims around my when my backstroke gets all crooked. Joking aside, he is a good teacher. It turns out lap swimming is fun! More fun than the elliptical machine, although I can’t get my illicit US Weekly fix in the pool. Also it makes my entire body sore in a good way. Sore body = good workout.
And.
I have been reading a lot. Of course. I plow through my New Yorkers in about 3 days and read books while waiting for the next issue to arrive. So far this summer I have read ‘Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows’, ‘The Yiddish Policeman’s Union,’ ‘Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman’ (the Haruki Murakami short stories mentioned in a previous entry), and I’m working on “What is the What’ by Dave Eggers. Also Mindy Kaling (Kelly from the Office)’s amazing shopping blog. Also US Weekly, but only at the gym, so shh!!
And.
Today I finally went to Ikea for the first time. I loved it. I found so many things for my apartment and my classroom, and the crowds were dense but not that annoying. It was just a scouting mission though. I need to take some measurements around here before I make any major purchases. However I did pick up a few small items and carry them around the store for two hours before abandoning them in the face of massive check out lines. They were just not that crucial, and anyway the smell of hot, fresh cinnamon roll was tugging me toward the snack bar. I ate a giant, delicious, gooey $1 mess as I trekked back to the overflow lot. Mmm. Swedes sure do cinnamon rolls right.
I have done other things this summer too: camped, taught a summer course, went on a road trip with my mom, got some cavities filled, put $600 into my car, enjoyed a wet What The Heck Fest, and tutored a nice 5th grader on the intimate details of fractions and long division. Summer Vacation!
In two weeks I go back to school. Until then- more naps, more books, more swims. And hopefully some tubing down some river. Yup. You heard me.

I feel fairly confident that this rock will remain in the street forever.

Tonight I was witness to an admittedly petty crime. About an hour ago I was settling into a book of short stories on the couch while Sleepy Mikey was going to sleep. I live on a busy corner, and my windows are single-pane and rickety so I often hear drunks being drunk outside. So I’m reading my book when I feel my apartment tremble and hear a group of people outside laughing and shouting about levers and pulleys. See, there is a big rock that sits on the sidewalk just below my window. It is about 2 and a half feet tall and roundish. It has been there for as long as I remember. Kids like to climb on it, drunks like to sometimes stand on it. These drunks wanted to push it somewhere. The shaking I felt was them trying to rock it into motion. They had little luck, and one of them suggested finding a crowbar to pry it loose. A few minutes later they departed, and I figured that was the end of it. What drunks have the stamina to track down a crowbar to lever a rock? When I’m drunk I just want to dance around and then abruptly want to go to sleep.
But these drunks had staying power. About 20 minutes later I heard them return, and felt the building shake once again. I heard the rock rolling down the sidewalk amidst their shouts of triumph. But I was alarmed! I live on a slight hill, and there are many cars parked on my street! Some of them belong to my friends! One of them belongs to me! That rock could do a lot of damage! I decided to shout at them:
“Hey! Could you not push that rock around? I’m afraid it might hit a car.”
“Umm… It’s sorta too late.”
They laughed some more and started to run away down the street. As they ran one guy shouted, “Fuck cars!” To which I (loudly) replied, “Fuck you!” He responded with a (pretty funny) “Fuck your car!” And then they were gone.
The rock- now resting in the street- was visible to me, but the parking spot directly beside it was blocked from my line of sight by a big tree. I assumed there was a car there with rock damage, so I called the police. I figured that the owner of the damaged car would get a better settlement from their insurance if a hit-and-run (of sorts) was reported. I called 911;
“Um, hi. Some people just rolled a big rock into the street outside my window and I think it hit a car.”
The woman on the other end of the line typed furiously as I described my location, the suspects, and the direction they had fled. She took my name and number and I went to bed- mostly to wake Mike up and report on the action. A few minutes later my phone rang. It was a cop, calling me from his cell phone on the street below. I could see him out my window, and could hear his end of the conversation both through my earpiece and the open window. I tried to wave at him but he didn’t see me. He asked again about the suspects and told me they had been intercepted nearby. He asked if it was 3 guys and 2 girls, and I said I only saw one girl. He told me it was probably the same group of drunks, as one of the girls they picked up “didn’t look much like a girl.” He also told me there was no damaged car beside the rock. I felt kind of bad. I’ve participated in some drunken antics in my day, and rock-tipping may well end up on my agenda some day. But I figure if there was no property damage they probably didn’t get ticketed. I hope they just got a stern lecture.
Anyway, after we hung up I watched the cop kick at the rock a couple of times, make some calls on his radio and eventually drive away, only to return a few minutes later with 2 more cops in a car of their own. The three of them seemed to get a kick out of that big ol’ rock just sitting in the street. One of them suggested that the three of them could life the rock back onto the sidewalk, but Cop Number One refused. “No way dude! I don’t want that rock rolling over here and hitting my squad car!” They kicked the rock a few time (more apartment shaking) and joked that if left there the rock would probably get pushed all the way down the street by morning. You know, by other drunks. Shrugging their shoulders they returned to their cars and drove off.
I saw the first cop drive by a couple more times to shine his light on the rock and speak softly into his walkie talkie. Assuming the action was over I got into bed and tried to go to sleep, but no! Just as I tucked the covers under my chin I heard a deep rumbling and was forced by curiosity to return to my perch at the window. I tow truck was backed up to the rock with lights all flashing and engine all loud. Apparently the driver couldn’t figure out a way to hoist the rock up onto his truck though, because a few minutes later he turned off his lights and drove away. The rock remained.
I waited a while to see if he would return, but the street was relatively quiet- just a few stragglers leaving the bars up the street, walking alone or in small groups, some stopping to flip through the old beat up records Eric leaves outside his store for just that reason.
I decided to type this entry because a) I haven’t really posted all summer, b) Mike doesn’t want me to wake him up any more times for updates, and c) the stories I was reading before this whole drama unfolded were of the police-blotter school. Also d) I took a long nap today and can’t really sleep.
Anyway, as I was typing one final vehicle pulled up beside the rock. It was a truck from Portland’s maintenance department, and the driver acted without hesitation. He pulled a flashing orange and white hazard marker out of his truck and placed it next to the rock, then promptly drove away.
That’s it. A faithful account. Tomorrow I’ll go down and take a picture of the rock and marker, if they are still there. Now the street is deserted and I am going to sleep.

I said goodbye to my class a week ago. I cannot overemphasize how weird it is that these little people that I spent six hours a day with for nine months are not mine anymore. We’ll all come back to school in the fall but there will be a new person that they will call “my teacher,” and there will be new kids that will be “my class.” They will not be mine, I will not be theirs. I taught them how to read! I learned the names of their siblings and pets! I gave them extra love when their grandmothers died, and their apartments caught fire, and their friends were mean on the playground. And they gave me extra love when my kitty died, and when I was sick, and when it was my birthday. They were my first class.
The last day of school was surreal. It was a half-day, and it’s not like they were going to learn anything anyway, so I took them out for a long recess and we played games together as a class. I let the girls push me on the swings. Let me tell you, those girls are strong! They pushed me high! Then we went back into our room and I put them to work scrubbing and organizing and throwing things away. It was very business-like and the time just flew. Pretty soon it was time for our closing circle. I kept it brief, gave them a chance to reflect on what was special about 1st grade, and what they were excited about for second grade (harder math). I told them that I was proud of them and thanked them for being such a great first class. I told them I was nervous about next year, because what if the new kids weren’t as nice or hard working? And they assured me that the kindergartners they knew were all very nice and very hard working. Then the gathered all their stuff in their arms and their backpacks and lined up for the last time at the door to our classroom. I helped a few kids get their belongings together, and when I looked at the line I saw that about half of my kids were standing there, all laden with junk, crying silently. Not showy crying. Not hugging their friends and being dramatic. Just quietly standing and crying. It was heartbreaking. I didn’t know how the day would go- if I would be sad, or if they would, or if we would all just be antsy to get out of there. In then end I was quietly crying too as I walked my kids to the busses and then stood on the grass with the other teachers and waved goodbye.
It was hard.