Really, all I wanted to do was make a difference

As I drove to the Georgia coast for an elementary school principal conference, I reminisced about why I ever went into administration. The answer is simple.

I wanted to make a difference.

It is hard to feel like you are making a difference when you phone a parent to let her know her Kindergartener loudly took the Lord’s name in vain because he wasn’t getting his snack fast enough and all she was concerned about was whether or not he got the snack. Apparently, God didn’t want her child to be hungry. Don’t mind the swear. I’m guessing he is only a product of his environment.

And when you call the parent of the child who had a tantrum and crumbled and threw his peanut crackers in the classroom when asked to eat his snack in the hallway in an effort protect the child who has severe peanut allergies, it won’t be his fault because he is impulsive. What the hell?! The student could have died! A grand excuse that I intend to borrow.

But then there is the bad boy who knows how to push his teacher’s buttons. How I love those bad boys! This boy dreams of becoming a professional football player and I hope he makes that dream come true. In some shape or form. In the meantime, I’ll keep encouraging him and I’ll keep a desk in my office for those moments when he is driving his teacher mad because I believe in him. And he knows it. And when he is raking in the millions, he’ll probably remember some high school jerk coach who helped him. Not me. Still, my goal is to be his manager.

And then, there is the little girl who should be in the movies because she is beyond adorable. Too bad it isn’t acceptable to call adults “doo doo head” her behavior isn’t always as pretty as she looks. But I appreciate that her mother is working with us because in my office are some u-g-l-y clothes for this little girl to wear anytime she is misbehaving. Since she loves to be the center of attention cute, she has made HUGE strides in her behavior so that she won’t have to wear the despicable clothing. She will probably grow up and land some great modeling gig. Or become the next Lindsay Lohan.

While this isn’t the Hollywood ending I envisioned, I guess all hope isn’t lost. Still, I wish I could save them all.

All the cool kids are doing it…

Getting sick, that is.  I was supposed to run my first 10K this morning.  Instead, I’m snuffling and sneezing on the sofa.

I can feel the roots of my teeth when I walk.

Still, this is not going to stop me from going out with two of my best friends from high school this evening.  It has been a long time since I’ve had a girl’s night out.

They make Bendadryl martinis, right?

She sells herself short

She was nine years old when I met her and instantly, I was in love.  She has always been my favorite niece even if she is my only niece.  That doesn’t matter!  Because if I could have picked out a niece, I would have picked someone just like her!.  I’ll never forget how desperately she wanted my oldest son to be born on her birthday.  When he came a day earlier than her big day, she shrugged it off and said, “That’s okay.  He can have his day and I’ll still have mine.”

She has always had an amazing outlook on life.

When my ex-husband and I were divorcing, she was sad and said she felt like I wouldn’t be her aunt anymore.  Marriage may have made her my niece but there was no way I could have let her go.  She’ll always be my favorite niece.  While we may not really be related, we have a bond that has stood the test of time.

Life hasn’t always been kind to her.  And life doesn’t always wrap up with a nice ending; however, the story is her story to tell.  I hope one day, she will.

Her mother used to accuse me of wanting her for my own daughter.  On one hand, she was wrong.  I never felt the urge to be her mother.  Besides, being her aunt was more fun.  On the other hand, she was right.  I would have loved to have had the chance for her to know stability.  And love without condition.

Despite the miles between us, she remains a big part of our lives.  I love to chat with her on the phone.  She often apologizes for doing most of the talking but what she doesn’t know is that I could listen to her all day.  Most of the time, she is upbeat and excited.  Sometimes she is sad.

She questions her abilities.  Her education.  Her experiences.  Her memory.  Her background.  Her worth.

I pray that one day, she’ll know, like we know, how completely wonderful she is. 

If it walks like a duck…

Over the years, I’ve had several testy conversations with a local quack child psychologist.  This quack doctor does a lot of school-bashing and loves to tell us all the things she thinks we are doing wrong.  All this she does without us asking ever having set foot in our building.

Let’s get this straight.  We don’t tell her how to treat her patients though I have some ideas.  She doesn’t need to tell us how to educate children especially when she makes ridiculous suggestions like for us to have beads strung across the base of the desk for a particular student to rub his feet on when ever he wants.  Because that wouldn’t be distracting at all.  And it would be oh, so sanitary.

Today, a parent came to see me because she wanted my help with her daughter who has been seeing this quack doctor.  I wanted to tell her to run like hell but I found I didn’t have to.  This quack doctor had sent the mother a letter stating that the daughter had been diagnosed with Oppositional Defiant Disorder and there were some problems.  Apparently, after a mere two weeks in therapy, this quack doctor had determined the child was “resistant to treatment” through her program and was being dismissed.

This quack doctor rejected an oppositional child from her program for being… well… oppositional.

Am I being Punk’d?

Love, Grandparent-Style

After spending a weekend with my extended family for a wedding, I couldn’t help but notice just how feeble my grandparents have become.  Still, I can only hope to be as strong as they have been in character and determination.

It was 1944 when my grandmother was busy working in her garden on the little farm my grandparents had purchased.  Their first baby, my mother, was due that summer and my grandfather had just come home from the war for leave until the baby came.  For extra money, my grandfather, a pilot, taught flying lessons.  It seemed like a great idea until one of his students flew the plane into the ground.

My grandmother’s whole world crashed around her.  How did she have the strength at 20 years of age to handle being a widow while expecting a baby?

My mother came along, right on schedule.  Since my grandparents had already agreed to name a boy Junior, my mother was saddled with her father’s name (which is a whole different story). 

Right after the accident, the grandfather I know arrived on the scene.  He loved my grandmother and wanted to take care of her.  Two years later, they were married – despite the protests from his family (this wasn’t the time or age where men married widows and took care of children not fathered by them).  They went on to have two more children, another girl and a boy. 

Next month will mark their sixty-third anniversary.

We should be so lucky to be loved as they have loved each other. 

Black is the new, well, um… black

For the wedding I am attending this weekend, I’ll be wearing my little black dress.

 Not my dress.  But you get the idea.

Along with my fabulous sparkly black high heeled shoes.

And for fun, I’ll be sporting a new black accessory.

 This is a fairly accurate depiction of how my eye looks.

For the record, I blame the Yankees.

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Before anyone gets all excited and calls 1-800-Poor Gal, I need to explain how this happened.  Mr. Strong got all excited about the Yankees scoring some runs and excitedly rolled over to tell me.  In the process, his elbow connected with my eye.  Apparently, my eye is allergic to his elbow.

Randomness Mess

If you’ve been a reader of this blog for any length of time, you’ll know that Miss Poopy is the pack leader a demanding little yapper our precious dog who had back surgery almost two years ago when she became paralyzed after a disc ruptured in her spine.  She was only three years old at the time of her surgery and our whole house changed as a result into a doggy yellowy pee-y river and pile o’ poop abode. 

The miracle is that we let her live she can walk now albeit a bit like slinky dog!

The other day, I found something just for Miss Poopy!

A diaper!  Obviously, Miss Poopy hates loves it!  Please disregard her tail drooping and the fact that she is hiding her head in shame.  Miss Poopy lasted almost 5 minutes in her diaper before she peed it up we decided to remove it. 

For Hanukkah, I’m thinking of getting Miss Poopy a special gift since she has been such a needy good dog.

A Snuggie for dogs!  How awesome is that?!  Are there any other suggestions for gifts that can shame for my sweet doggie?