The Facts of Life

Recently, one of my eighth graders (we'll call him Joe) approached my desk after school to inquire about the work habits of a 6th grader. The conversation went something like this....

Joe: Miss Lechinger, how is Jordan doing in your class?
Me: Why do you ask, Joe?
Joe: Because he's my tutee.
Me: I'm sorry, your what?
Joe: He's my tutee...you know, I tutor him.
Me: OHHH, I see....your tutee.

Fortunately, Joe left rather quickly after our conversation. I needed to laugh, and I also needed to google the word "tutee". As it turns out, tutee IS a real word. Until that moment, I was pretty sure "Tutee" referred to an adolescent African American girl who ruled the roost on roller skates while playing referee to Blair Warner and Jo Polniaczek. Clearly I was wrong.

Dryer Drama

It is Day 10 of the new school year, and I have already forced three 6th graders to tears. THREE...IN TWO WEEKS! This has to be some sort of record. Unfortunately, I cannot criticize their emotional instability because I too found myself in the middle of a ridiculous sobbing fit last Sunday.

My dryer had gone out about a week prior, and I was attempting to connect the power cord to the replacement dryer. Let me get one thing straight...I rent because my dad lives a thousand miles away and can't repair my appliances. It's really that simple. I still have no idea why this mechanical nightmare was my responsibility, but there I was...wedged between the dryer and the wall in my laundry closet...armed with a screw driver and a cell phone...ready to take on the impossible.

Tragically, it took a grand total of about fourteen seconds for my frustration to usher in the waterworks and only another minute or two before I was fully engulfed in the ugly cry. I cried for a variety of reasons. I cried because I needed to do laundry and had no dryer...because I'm single and have no husband to fix my dryer...because I teach 6th graders, and they annoy me... because the plans keep changing...because I hate the word "wait"...because I'm a Texan living in a foreign land...because the computers still aren't working...because the backpacks haven't been shipped...because I have close to 300 essays to grade...because I'm tired and overwhelmed... And, I cried because I was wedged between the wall and my dryer and wasn't sure I would be able to get out.

Toward the end of my breakdown, I talked out loud to a pretend audience and assured them that I was justified in my insanity. They listened intently and eventually agreed. Satisfied, I dried it up, pulled myself up by my Crocs, wormed my way out of my hole of despair, picked up the pieces to my phone, and called it a day. I mean, really, there are people who get paid big bucks for this kind of drama. I needed a nap.

Back to School

The kids are back in school. It's hard to believe the summer is officially over, but I am glad to have the first week behind me. Our program expanded this year to include 6th grade. This means that I now have students who want to hug me before and after class....EVERY DAY! Apparently, this is part of the learning process when you are eleven. This also means that my classroom now looks more like a giant game of Whack-a-Mole than an educational institution. Seriously, I need chairs with seat belts. I haven't made anyone cry yet, but it is sure to happen. I was created to teach 8th grade. 7th is a stretch, but 6th is simply unnatural. Someone could get hurt, and it will probably be me.

Despite its challenges, I think any teacher would tell you that we have one of the most rewarding jobs in the world. I spent a year in "full-time ministry" only to realize that my greatest ministry is in the classroom. I'll be honest, this year is going to be one of the most difficult of my career. I am writing the curriculum for three grade levels for a class that is not taught anywhere else in the country. I have no textbooks, limited resources, and no teaching partner. I am already incredibly overwhelmed. But, I have the opportunity to make a difference in the life of a child. I get to love kids who feel unlovable. I get to inspire kids who are treated as if they are worthless by those who should praise them the most. I get to listen, to encourage, to teach, to make a kid smile who doesn't have much to smile about. Most importantly, I get to be the hands and feet of Christ each and everyday. From what I can tell, there is no greater opportunity and no greater responsibility.

Agony of De-FEET

The Credo Corn Cutter - Seriously, who calls it that?


The wounds (both physical and emotional) have healed from my recent pedicure disaster, so I courageously ventured into yet another nail salon this afternoon. I have decided that trying to find a good pedicure in Colorado is much like trying to find a good hamburger in China....I'm not sure either exist. However, I am thrilled to report that I managed to find the Big Mac of pedicures today. What I mean is, I found something decent enough to hold me over until I take a trip to Texas. Although relative success was achieved, today's visit is definitely worth discussing.

Let's start from the beginning...

I entered the salon and was greeted by the friendliest Coloradan EVER. He was a pleasant Asian gentleman who quickly instructed me to pick out my color. I, for one, only wear colors with exciting names...like "Do You Lilac It?", "Have You Seen My Limo?", or "Elephantastic". So, you can imagine my horror when I began to search through the assortment of OPI bottles only to find the names had been removed. I don't even know how to pick a color based solely on its looks. I NEED A NAME. After countless hours of searching, I begrudgingly scooped up a color and threw myself into the massage chair.

The friendliest Coloradan EVER didn't seem to be affected and immediately began my pedicure. It was at this time that I noticed the mole on his chin...the mole with four of the LONGEST mole hairs I have EVER seen. No, they were THE longest mole hairs I have ever seen. I'm not exaggerating when I say they ranged in length from two to say, four and a half inches. I couldn't take my eyes off of them. Fortunately, the friendliest Coloradan EVER (TFCE) was focused on my toes and didn't seem to notice me. There was also another hair that seemed to have no origin. I tried for nearly an hour to follow it, but I finally gave up the search. It is still a mystery to me.

Randomly throughout my pedicure, TFCE would greet the patrons who came into the salon. At one point, a "regular" must have entered because he asked her, "How are your mom and shitsa?"

I beg your pardon? Is this salon PG-13?

It was during the exchange of pleasantries that another patron, Park Ranger Susan, took a seat in the chair next to me. The unfortunate nail tech who sat at her feet had apparently drawn the short straw and was a captive audience as she bored us all with her airplane woes from a 5:30am flight....something about a bag and "he didn't want to mess with me at 5:30 in the morning." Misfortune struck when her neighbor entered the salon and Park Ranger Susan began to recount the same boring tale. Her neighbor wasn't impressed either but did make an attempt to look interested...and even went on to share her own insightful monologue about how it was so humid during her trip to South Carolina that she "wanted to tear her skin off."

All the while, TFCE carried on with my pedicure, and I must say...he took no prisoners. He attacked my heels with the Credo-Corn Cutter (these are illegal in Texas but necessary in Colorado where people hike in Chaco's and only get pedicures on their wedding day) like he was peeling potatoes. I think I lost half a shoe size.

After I was properly "skinned", TFCE began my massage....at least that's what I think it was. He squirted lotion on my legs and then began to hit the bottoms of my feet. I almost hit back but then remembered the mole hairs. Who knows what those things are capable of? Quite frankly, I don't want to know. As luck would have it, the beating didn't last long, and TFCE and I are still friends.

After a semi-impressive paint job, I hobbled over to the drying booth to catch up on my People Magazine reading. The nuggets of information one can glean from a People Magazine are riveting....like the fact that Matthew McConaughey has a brother named Rooster who has a son named Miller Lyte. I wonder if he has a shitsa? I'll have to ask TFCE the next time I visit his salon.

Mid Columbine Trail

Rose, Kari, and me


The deer in the headlights look...strikingly similar to what I get from my students everyday


In front of Helen Hunt Falls


Kari and me


Rose and me...she did, in fact, come armed with a variety of breakfast snacks


Rose, Kari, and I went on a quick hike in Cheyenne Canyon this morning. Kari and I then went to the Farmer's Market in Old Colorado City. Can I just say that I LOVE summers in Colorado?? By the way, I bought a melon at the Farmer's Market that is a honeydew-cantelope mix. I really don't care for either honeydew or cantelope, but the mix is absolutely delightful. :)

Alpine Slide

The Finish Line


Darcy coming off the practice track


Darcy, Christy, and me before the big event


Christy is friend of mine from Tech. Nice shirt, Christy!


Bret, Julie, Rose, and Chris.


Rose and me



Paparazzi...they were everywhere!


Last weekend, a few friends and I ventured up to Winter Park for a day of fun and excitement on the Alpine Slide. My friend, Rose, went along...which is to say that we stopped along the way for coffee and pastries. I don't care if we were going to the moon, Rose would know a good pastry shop along the way. Big hug, Rose!

We finally rolled into Winter Park around noon, just in time for a picnic lunch before heading to the Slide. I would love to say the Alpine Slide is a carefree excursion for me, but I get serious when it comes to my sliding (never mind that this is the kind of activity that families with small children do on their summer vacations). I MIGHT have even pretended the people riding the lift above were critiquing my ride...as if they were thinking to themselves, "That girl is so smooth. Look at the way she takes the curves. She is fearless. Tens all the way around." Of course, Alpine Sliding (sure to be an Olympic event) would never be scored by judges...it's a timed event. BUT, there was a shaggy-headed four year old ahead of me who was threatening my quest for the gold. I had to change the pretend rules. I'm not saying for sure, but there might have even been some trash talking involved.

After capturing medals in all three events (the Alpine Slide, the Human Maze, and the Scenic Lift Ride), we called it a day and headed triumphantly back to the Springs. Good times were certainly had by all.