I loathe annual performance reviews. I have been on both sides of the desk, and I don’t enjoy them from either perspective. They remind me of statewide standardized tests: yes, it’s important that we have a benchmark for performance, but there could very well be a better way to go about it.

I don’t like having to rank myself (or my staff) on a scale, because I don’t think the whole year can always neatly be summarized on a scale of 1-5. We all “need improvement,” even if we’ve had a “good” year with “exceptional” moments.

Thankfully, my boss is pretty communicative, and I think that if there were any glaring concerns, then I would already know about them, and the annual review wouldn’t be a surprise. Unfortunately, I know a lot of folks who don’t have great bosses, and they dread review time even more than I do.

My office suite is very cozy, so it’s a good thing the four of us get along well. As a supervisor, I try to address potential problems as they arise and not wait for it to hit the fan. I’m not a perfect boss (or employee), but I think that I have a very good relationship with my team, and we have pretty open communication with each other. (It’s hard not to have open communication when you are within paperwad-throwing distance from one another.)

I don’t have a better solution to offer for annual performance reviews at the moment; I just needed to vent. Now, I must get some sleep so that I’ll be ready for mine at 8:30am. Ugh.

P.S. I just read this draft aloud to my hubby in Iraq via Skype, and he said, “The Army would say that you can’t complain about a system until you are prepared to offer an alternative for improvement.” lol. Tell the Army that this is my blog, and I’ll say whatever I want to. So there.

Do you recall that episode of The Brady Bunch when Mrs. Brady has a fender bender in a parking lot and ends up in court over it? The other driver fakes a neck injury, but they don’t really know if Carol is at fault until Mr. Brady drops a briefcase in the courtroom, causing the “injured” person to look sideways – something he wouldn’t be able to do with a legit neck brace.

I’ve felt kinda like that the past couple of weeks. You get dragged into other people’s drama, and you don’t really know what to believe. The circumstantial evidence looks damning, yet your gut says otherwise. It’s a quandary.

I can’t really talk about the situation in detail, because it isn’t my tale to tell. However, I would like to ask you to join me in prayer about it. My heart is burdened for the Truth … not just convenient answers … not just a corroborating story that will fit the mold … the Truth, the whole Truth and nothing but the Truth.

I told you last week that I was starting karate. Well, that first day went well, and we would normally go twice a week, but then we had to miss a couple of classes while we were passing around the stomach bug. Consequently, tonight was my second class.

Would you believe that we were SPARRING on my second day??

Sparring is basically structured fighting. I told my lil’ blue belt that I was nervous, and he said, “Don’t be! We’ll go easy on you.” LOL – Gee, thanks! Actually, it went fine. We rotated partners, and I was paired with two black belts, a green belt, an orange belt, and I was even matched with my lil’ blue and purple belts, in turn. Sparring against my own kids was a little awkward at first, until I remembered that they are several levels ahead of me, so the odds of actually hurting my child during the exercise were slim. Even if I goofed on a technique and threw a wild punch, they are trained to block it reflexively. The advanced belts also know to adjust their practice based on the belt level and size of their sparring partner, so it was all good.

I was still nervous about actually swinging a punch or kicking someone (and vice-versa), but the advanced belts encouraged me to actually follow through on the strikes and kicks … ie, really try to hit them. (I should mention that we were all in pads & other protective gear!!)

All things considered, one of the black belts told me after class that I did really well for a white belt. Talk about boosting my ego!

Speaking of my ego –  along with every other muscle, joint and cell in my body – it’s exhausted. G’night!

I found out today that I’ve been accepted into the Doctor of Public Administration (DPA) program at Valdosta State University in Georgia! In case you’re just tuning in and haven’t heard me going on & on about this for months, it’s an accredited, distance-learning program that is flexible enough to accommodate working adults. Valdosta is part of the University System of Georgia. I’m jazzed about it and can’t wait to start classes. They only admit 25 students each year (fall term).

I told the boys the news and got high-fives for my enthusiasm, but they didn’t really seem to care much about the degree. I tried to explain that you can have a “doctor” degree without being a medical doctor. I said that this degree, for instance, will help me know all about how organizations and governments operate (perhaps not the best description, but it worked for them).

My oldest looked up from the hand-held video game he was playing, shrugged and said, “I’d rather be, like, a vet doctor or something.” 🙂  This is coming from the kid who says that he wants to be the first person to walk on Mars.

This Lumberjack-turned-Bear is now going to be a Blazer!

On one hand, 250 posts sounds like a lot, but then there are weeks when I write only once – or sometimes not at all. At any rate, I figured I’d write about something off-the-wall for this post – something completely mundane in the grand scheme of things, yet it is one of my biggest pet peeves. Someone used my towel.

I walked into my bathroom earlier and discovered that my 10-1/2 year old had used my towel – again. Besides the obvious gimme – it was damp – he had hung it back on the door hook by the short end instead of the wide side, so it hung down practically to the floor. That hook is for MY towel. The towel that he used the other day was hanging up nearby, perfectly reusable and well within reach of the shower.

The shower, by the way, is a privilege that not all of the boys get. The oldest two are the only ones allowed to shower in the master bathroom, a) b/c I trust them not to make a Splashtown-esque mess, and b) b/c they can take a shower while the little ones are taking turns in the tubs.

Anyway, I don’t know why it bugs me so much. I know that – in theory, at least – you are clean when you dry off, and we’re all family … but still. I just don’t like the idea of someone else using my towel. We’ve had this discussion before, and I’ve asked him not to use it.

When Lane is here, he does the same cotton-pickin’ thing, and it drives me bonkers. How difficult is it to reach into the cabinet and get your own towel? I don’t just arbitrarily pick up his razor and use it, just b/c it might be closer to grab.

It’s not worth making a mountain out of a molehill; it’s just something that irks me. So, what are some of your pet peeves?