Overheard during the Cowboy game today:
"Is football the opposite of soccer?" Gabriel asked David.
(I did not stay tuned for the answer.)

David's advice: be more selective about your blog topics.

You know I really don't care much about sports. But it's different when I know the players! Check out number 5: that's Steven, playing football for North Pole High School! I love this picture. So cool, and it was on the front page of the sports section in Fairbanks!

I'm counting on you, Steve, to get the family out of Alaska when you graduate in May--choose your college carefully! :)

Spilt milk

Whoever said "Don't cry over spilt milk" was not a breastfeeding, working mother who sacrificed every spare solitary second of the work day pumping breastmilk to feed her ravenous baby.

Before our only afternoon pep rally, (they're usually in the morning) I decided to take my pump to my classroom after I'd used it for the last time. I did not know until I returned almost an hour later that I had knocked it over, spilling over 12 ounces of liquid gold. It was everywhere, and I cried as I cleaned it up.

Of course my principal stuck his head in the door about this time. "Are you okay?" I swear, he must think I am unstable. I think he has seen me every time I have cried in the past 8 years (that's how long I've worked for him, minus one year when he changed schools before I did). "Yes," I lied, laughing, "you don't want to know!"

From the crib, in the dark, Paloma calls out to me,"Is it morning?"

(Half of the time I try to get her to go back to sleep--she is always aware of when anyone is up--she sleeps like I do.)

I go in and get her out.

"I'm not tired anymore." (She has learned to say this more nicely than this summer when she'd whine, "I'm tiiiired of sleeping!")

On our way down the stairs, she yawns, and just in case I think that means she's not ready to get up, she says, "That was just a morning yawn."