Sponge Kim Square Boobs

Yesterday was eventful. First, I finally made it to the doctor about my shoulder injury. This trip was relatively boring other than the for-sale items in the waiting area (home-made jams & chess pie, cancer awareness bracelets, some embroidered burp cloths, wooden jar openers, etc. -- you know, normal stuff for a doctor's office) and the discussion with the doctor and nurse about my chickens and eggs and whether or not my cholesterol might be high (decision: wait until The Goose is weaned before getting it checked). The diagnosis was also boring: picking up 20-pound prize baby has caused repetitive motion injury ... keep taking ibuprofen and do some stretch-band exercises since you're nursing and can't take any of the good stuff.

I came home and went for a hike with the fam, checked my email, and then ladies and gentlemen ...

drum roll ...

I returned to the working world.

I basically got my dream job as an adjunct instructor at the community college where I worked as an advisor prior to moving to the Wild West for graduate school. I really can't believe how lucky I am to have happened upon this job (even though it was VERY last minute), since it is everything that I could possibly ask for ... part time, small class size (five students), and at a familiar school. I am teaching an intermediate level, ESL (English as a second language) writing class with students from Puerto Rico, Egypt, Togo, Afganistan, and Sudan. They are all refugees, all in their 20s, and all very eager to learn.

During our discussion about plagiarism, I was reminded why I love ESL students so much when the student from Afganistan said, "But why would these people copy another person's writing ... doesn't that miss the whole point of coming to school to learn?" I didn't really know how to respond, so I just said, "Well, I could give you a short lesson on contrastive rhetoric, but since we don't really have time, I'll just sum it up for you like this: There are some exceptions, but mostly these plagiarists are American." He seemed to understand after that.

The class went well considering I only found out about it two days before, didn't have the textbook until two hours before, and the fact that by the time the class was over I was so engorged that my boobs were square (thank you very much Northwest Airlines). As I was walking out of the house and saying goodbye to Husband, he said, "Good luck. I hope your boobs don't explode." Small claims court, here I come. I'm getting a new breast pump outta that airline if it absolutely kills me.

So now I must go and begin attempting to manage my new lifestyle. There's just not enough time for everything ... I mean, I still haven't made it to the Opry for that alibi interview, or re-applied the sunless facial tanner, or even wiped down all the doors with clorox (MoN: your mother is inspirational). But don't worry, I'll always be sure to make time for the really important stuff like this.