What I Should Have Said

Finally

2011-06-13T16:39:00.001-04:00

It was a hot June afternoon. The gnats dove in and around our faces promising to become a part of our very breath. The sun shone down while the small gathering of people closed in to congregate around us.

"Love is patient. Love is kind..." were the words being uttered by our friend, the plumber who was also a rabbi.

As I gazed into my soon-to-be husband's eyes, noticing the glistening of tears fringed on the edge of his lashes, I was caught up in the magnitude of the moment. Sure, we'd been together for nine and half years. It had become a joke to some of our friends and family who liked to predict just when we would get married.

Finally.

That was the word in my head. And the description used in our invitation.

We quickly repeated our vows, my husband never looking away from me, never suspending his smile.

And it was that smile and the way he gazed at me that locked me into the moment. I don't remember the specific vows and I don't remember who was standing in particular places all around us.

I only remember who was standing before me.

And it was our moment. Finally.

Irony

2011-06-09T16:35:00.008-04:00

When I was 14 years old, my mother, sister and I went to spend a couple of weeks in Denver, Colorado with my aunt, uncle and two cousins. We absolutely loved the sights and sounds of the Great Rocky Mountains and enjoyed eating at many of the restaurants the locale had to offer. Eating out probably doesn't seem like a big deal but when you are being raised by a mother and step-father who prided themselves on the spices they used, salt AND pepper, getting to eat in places that served food that had FLAVOR was a huge deal.

The Yum Yum Tree had a name that appealed to mine and my sister's 14 and 13 year-old selves. Plus, we'd seen the commercials about how "every type of cuisine could be found under one roof for the low, low price of..." I don't remember the cost but according the adults, it was expensive. At least by 1980 standards. Still, we wanted to go.

Persistence is something both my sister and I pride ourselves on and we eventually wore down the adults. We were headed to the Yum Yum Tree! When we got there, it was like an amusement park of food. Italian food. Mexican food. Chinese food. Japanese food (which my mother quickly forbade us to go to once she saw the sushi). German food. British food. Basically, you think of the type of food and it was there. I was in gastrointestinal heaven!

As I perused each of the nationalities and their offerings I heard my mother warning me to not do to much. "All that funny stuff will hurt your stomach," she promised.

I ate and I ate and I ate - savoring each morsel of food with flavor. There were delicacies I had never dreamed of and it all went down filling me to the point of uncomfortable. My mother, being ever so cautious, stuck with tried and true offerings proclaiming some of them as not good. "Ew. This spaghetti sauce is so garlicky," she would say as she pushed her plate away.

After we'd eaten more than our fill, we all went into the connecting mall (yeah, it was one of those types of restaurants attracting mall rats) so that we could walk around with our extended guts. It was in the middle of one of those big department stores that my mother loves so much when she suddenly grabbed her stomach and grimaced. Truthfully, I didn't think much of it at the time as my sweet mother was and is rather delicate and was and is often complaining of some ache or pain.

All of a sudden, my mother's face went pale and she mummered with clenched teeth, "We need to find a bathroom now!"

We quickly dashed about the department store finally locating a bathroom in the back corner, near the men's department. But it was too late. She'd already shit her pants.

My mother had shit her pants!

My sister and I, being the good girls we were, fell apart laughing. I realize that a bit of sympathy might have gone a long way but really... my mother shit her pants! It was hilarious!

After we finally were able to calm down and wipe our tears away, my mother handed us her credit card from under the bathroom stall.

"Go buy me some new underwear! Right now!" It was obvious that mom was not amused.

My sister and I walked around the big department store finally locating the women's unmentionable section. After browsing through the choices, we found a pair of panties with meatballs on them. Seriously. Meatballs. And. We. Had. To. Get. Them.

We took the underwear to the clerk who gave us funny looks as we paid for the goods with our mother's credit card. We were falling all over ourselves laughing as we made our way back to the bathroom where my mother was still under lockdown with her shitty britches. When she saw the underwear we chose, she started to laugh.

Funny how playing it safe was the crappy way to go that night.

The Teacher's Daughter

2011-06-07T07:11:00.005-04:00

Currently, I am participating in a local group of the National Writing Project. We have intense classes that meet for the entire month of June. One of the class requirements was to write a "memoir" about something that happened to you in your life. For whatever reason, this was the story I pulled from my rear. I really would like some honest feedback on what needs to be edited, changed, deleted, etc.

I hope you are all having a great summer!

Being the child of an educator hasn’t always been easy. In fact, at times, it has downright stunk. The opportunity to tell my side of the story was rarely given and once my teacher contacted my mother to tell her of my shortcomings, I was in for some serious punishments. For instance, my mother was not humored when I made my first F in Science, though I had a fabulous plan to make that F so that I could get out of the gifted class and escape the teacher who had no patience with me and my energy level. My mother was not amused and shut me in my room as I desperately tried to get her to see my way of thinking.

Basically, my version of the events never mattered when I got into trouble with a teacher. Except for one time.

When I started the eighth grade at the Junior High as an unconfident and awkward thirteen year old dealing with braces and random acne outbreaks who had recently lost her father to cancer, I didn’t have the skills or emotional maturity yet under my belt to deal with the likes of Mrs. B. Mrs. B was a mammoth of a lady who was quick with a frown and slow to move across the room to help a floundering student. From the moment I walked in the door of her math class, I was suddenly aware of being on her radar, much like a duck in a hunter’s sight. I had heard the stories of poor souls who would wither under her tutelage in that last class on the left at the end of the hall.

Within days, I would learn that I could do nothing right. When called upon, she would interrupt me and tell me that I “had better start paying attention” because she was sick of students like me who didn’t take school seriously. The more these comments were made, the more I retreated and the less my mind focused on what she was teaching. Suddenly, I found myself feeling lost and helpless as to what to do to make the situation better. At the same time, I was falling hopelessly behind in the math material being shoved our way.

Talking to my mother was out of the question. The loss of my father combined with her old-school support of ALL teachers made it a rough emotional time. Add in my teenage angst and it was a recipe for disaster. It probably didn’t help that I had a history of being a bit of a challenge in the classroom.

Then came that fateful Wednesday afternoon. Math was the last class of the day and I dreaded it from the moment I awoke each day. On that particular day, Mrs. B called me to the board to work out a problem that seemed particularly vexing. When I couldn’t do it, she chastised me and had me continue to stand there for the remainder of the period. Fighting tears, I resolved to not cry. I simply faced the board with my hands in fists blinking back the tears that promised to betray me.

As the bell rang, I was told to stay there at the board because she was keeping me after school for detention. She muttered something about talking with my mother about my attitude, work ethic and how I “didn’t need to be smoking ‘mary-jew-anna’.” The panic of the impending consequences from my mother made me feel nauseous as I felt my face turning red. Wanting to say something... anything... but feeling frozen in time, I stood there waiting for something to happen.

Time passed slowly as Mrs. B sat at her table grading papers. Her flabby flesh spilled over the sides of her chair, as I listened to the scratch of pen on the paper as she vehemently attacked student work with a red pen in her paw. I worried what my mother would think when I wasn’t standing in front of the school with my sister for her to pick us up. After what felt like a life time of standing at the board, I heard my mother’s voice and I shrank even further into myself ashamed of the situation I was in. The teacher sent me to the hall so that she could talk to my mother about my issues.

While I couldn’t hear what the teacher had to say to my mother, I could hear my mother. And she was on my team! I don’t know how she knew that I was so beaten down. Maybe it was a mother’s intuition or maybe she’d heard some of the same rumors I’d heard before gracing the doors of Mrs. B’s classroom. She was furious and the mama bear in her came out with a vengeance. “As a teacher, you should know better than to falsely accuse a child” along with “you have no business teaching not only my child but any children” were harshly spat at Mrs. B. My heart raced as this verbal exchange escalated to a stormy frenzy.

Suddenly, the door slung open as my mother grabbed my arm and began marching to the office, feet clomping loudly on the tile floor. Her eyes were blazing as she demanded that I be removed from Mrs. B’s class. The relief that overcame me caused those tears to come flowing out. As I stood there hiccuping back my sobs and listening to my mother tell the principal that he could just un-enroll me from school because I wouldn’t be back, I never loved my mother more than I did at that moment. It would be the instant when I knew my mother would stand up for me when it mattered most. I was, after all, her daughter.

He might need to worry about his gene pool

2011-02-14T20:15:00.004-05:00

This past school year, the husband and I've learned to live with an empty nest. Having four kids in college is ~~crazy~~ exciting as we ~~have no money~~ get to live vicariously through their stories.

Somehow, I thought I'd worry less, sleep more, and regain some of the brain cells I fried in the whole mothering experiment. I couldn't have been further from the truth.

A few weeks ago, ~~in an attempt to gain a nomination for mother of the year~~ I randomly decided to order some surprises for my son who is living in ~~a snow bound hell~~ Connecticut.

Here is a reenactment of the conversation I had with myself whilst trying to determine what to order:

"Let's see.... What would be a good surprise for a strapping young man relegated to indoor activities such as reading? Hmmmm... Some Five Hour Energy might be good. I'll order a case... Oh, and some more long underwear since he is probably wearing dirty duds.... You know, over the holidays, he really seemed to like sweets... Maybe I'll get him some animal crackers..."

In hindsight, the fact that the animal crackers were called Barking Dog Animal Crackers should have been a clue to me. Yep. I sent my son dog treats as a surprise.

And, boy oh boy, was he surprised!

No wonder I never get nominated for mother of the year.

Pfffssht!

2010-07-08T08:34:00.001-04:00

A good friend of mine has recently started running. She has made a lot of progress in a short amount of time and I'm really proud of her! On several of our morning meetings at a local track, she has talked about a Boot Camp exercise class that she has participated in.

Being ~~a glutton for punishment~~ up for a challenge, I decided I’d join her to see what this class was all about. Besides, I need to work on something besides obsessively running.

I picked out my clothes and set my alarm for 4:45 a.m. so I could be at the gym in time for the 5:15 a.m. class. And this is ~~grounds for~~ commitment ~~to an insane asylum~~ because I’m on my summer break.

As usual, I woke up way before the alarm.

After arriving at the gym (and signing all the paperwork to try out the gym as a guest), we headed down to the ~~gallows~~ gym only to be informed that the teacher had a sick child and the class was cancelled.

Well, pfffshht!

So, we tried a quick round of basketball. It was brutal reminder of why I was the team benchwarmer.

I think I’ll have Nutella for breakfast now.

How can I start a new project when I currently have 47 projects going on?

2010-07-03T08:52:00.001-04:00

Earlier this week, I received a Kindle (for those of you who don’t know, a Kindle is a small electronic device that can hold thousands of books and magazines in it [or is it on it] and you really should get out more often) and I promptly paid to download five books and then downloaded 15 additional free books.

In my pre-Kindle days, I had a book by the bed, a book by my chair in the den, a book on my desk at work, and a book in my bag that I gave a ride from work to home and back again each day. I can read all these books and not get them confused. This is not to impress you but just a feeble attempt to explain how my sick little twisted mind works.

Now I have currently have 20 books at my fingertips and I am like a crack addict working up a good fix. So far, I’ve read a chapter of Sherlock Holmes, two pages of Anna Karenina, a passage or two of Frankenstein, four chapters of Born to Run, six recipes in Not Your Mother’s Slow Cooker Recipes, almost the first chapter of The Happiness Project, and the first two chapters of Unclutter Your Life in One Week. My hand shakes as I convince myself not to open up another book.

Last night, I woke up during the night wondering where the heck I last stored the slow cooker, pondering how I could go about arranging my own happiness project, worrying if I purged enough from my closet yesterday after being inspired to rid my life of clutter, contemplating taking a run without shoes (not really) and thinking about ways I can convince my husband that we must have a pet praying mantis (that last one is random and actually wasn’t an idea presented in any of the books).

Today, I’ve pledged to only read from one book on the Kindle and I’m struggling with which one. My head feels like it could explode. I don’t understand why this many choices gets to me because I have far more options on my book shelf. Is it because I am inherently lazy and once there is a book in my hand, I am not so inspired to get up and look for another? Is there something hypnotic about turning the pages of an actual book?

It is possible I’ll need an intervention…

Has it really been that long?

2010-06-16T08:54:00.003-04:00

My last post was over a month ago. Apparently, I'm an all or nothing kind of girl when it comes to blogging here. I've still been taking posting a picture a day over on the other blog (http://mundaneandmagical.blogspot.com/) but I've all but turned my back on this blog.

Is it over between us? And by us, I mean this blog and me.

I still have a lot of ideas that swirl in my head keeping me awake at night.

I think I just needed to simplify my life. The month of May was an emotional one: both boys turned a year older (and is it really possible for me to be the mother of a 20 year old and an 18 year old?); we had tile taken up and tile put down in our den and kitchen; my oldest son moved out; my youngest son graduated from high school; it was another typical can't catch your breath end of the school year; some jobs were lost...

Still, I miss this place. I miss my friends.

Now would be a good time for me to learn some moderation. When it comes to blogging, that is.

Let’s just play in the dirt again

2010-05-09T18:14:00.002-04:00

As I peeked into the quiet room, I gazed upon the sleeping boy. The slight snore from the persistent allergies signaled that deep sleep – the kind of sleep where dreams of animals talking and people visiting from other worlds comes.

How I wanted to curl him up into my arms and snuggle one more time in the rocking chair, tucking my nose into that place on his neck where the sweet smell of boyhood lingers.

Except that boy is now a man.

“Turning twenty kind of sucks,” he told me earlier this week. “It sounds old and yet you are still too young to legally drink away your sorrows.”

I didn’t focus on his use of that word “legally.” He is, after all, an independent college student who is “legally” of age to die for his county.

How can it be that twenty years has passed since his grand entrance into the world? It seems like just the other day he was clamoring for a bottle, climbing onto furniture, begging to play outside, sneaking into the bed in the middle of the night.

The hardest part about becoming a mother is being needed so much.

Ironically, the hardest part about watching your child turn into an adult is not being needed.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Happy! The past twenty years have been the best twenty years of my life.

Conflictions

2010-04-07T12:10:00.001-04:00

Excitement. Amazement. Overwhelmed. Anxiety.

These are just a few of the emotions I’ve entertained this past week since we found out my son got accepted into an Ivy League school.

When he first mentioned his desire to apply, I encouraged him. ~~What was I thinking?! We don’t live any where near these schools!~~ While I knew he was bright and motivated, I knew it would be hard for him to get in. In fact, I really didn’t think it would happen. Prior to this week, we were working to decide between a couple of schools in Georgia ~~where we live, for crying out loud~~.

Of the five Ivy Leagues he applied to, he was wait listed for two, turned down for two, and accepted to one.

Now that one school has become the one.

Suddenly, I’m ~~having to pull my head out of the sand~~ making flight and hotel arrangements to some city I’ve never visited. Heck, I haven’t even been to that state.

Now that the reality is settling in, I’ve been grappling with nearness of my impending empty nest. Tears fighting for a chance to surface and a heaviness in my chest are ever present.

I’m not looking for pity. Being accepted to an Ivy League school is the kind of stuff dreams are made of. I’m proud of my son and I’m proud of myself for encouraging him to do his best. Being a single mother wasn’t easy and I worried that I didn’t or couldn’t do enough. Looking back, I think his independence thrived as a result. ~~So, hover mothers, write that lesson down for the books.~~

So, how did this happen so fast? Is he going to be okay so far away from me?

As I gazed up to the sky, I noticed a young hawk coasting on the breeze. Not far behind him was a larger hawk, presumably his mother.

Like that hawk, I know the truth. He is ready to fly.

Reason 134 Why I Love My Secretaries

2010-04-02T06:09:00.001-04:00

Not only do these ladies ~~protect me from intimidating parents~~ make me look good, they have an awesome sense of humor.

Phone Message to Overwhelmed 5th Grade Teacher: “Please call Mr. Lyon. Your name has been drawn for a prize. 555-555-5555.”

Overwhelmed 5th Grade Teacher: “Is this Jim who called me? I know Jim Lyon but I don’t recognize this number.”

Secretary #1: “It might be. Give him a call. We want to hear what you won!”

Overwhelmed 5th Grade Teacher picks up the phone and dials.

Person on the other end of the phone: “Atlanta Zoo.”

Overwhelmed 5th Grade Teacher with a confused look on her face: “May I speak with Mr. Lyon?”

Person on the other end of the phone (who is probably not amused): [Insert Uncomfortable Pause] “Ma’am. It is April Fool’s Day. I think somebody is playing a joke on you.”

The entire office erupted into laughter.

And it appeared that the 5th grade teacher was slightly less overwhelmed when she walked back to her classroom.

When one door closes…

2010-03-31T05:41:00.001-04:00

On one hand, I love spring. After winter’s harsh weather, the warm breezes and the blooming trees and shrubs breathe new life into me.

On the other hand, spring is the season where I wait to hear from the Superintendent’s office as to how many teaching positions my school earns ~~and how many teachers will be moved~~. This year is especially tense as the Superintendent has announced that due to budget restraints, positions will be cut.

Moving teachers to different schools suddenly looks like the good old days.

I’ve never seen education have to face the cuts it is currently facing. And the governor hasn’t quit cutting. ~~Nor does he seem to have his priorities in order.~~

The other day, I had to tell a sweet but ineffective teacher that she wouldn’t have a job next year. I came home and cried. While there isn’t room in the classroom for ineffectiveness, it breaks my heart to be the one to shut a door.

But when one door closes, another one opens, right?

I’ve got to believe that everything is going to be okay. I’ve got to hang on to that thought that one bad event can open a door to a new and better opportunity.

I’ve got to believe that every thing does happen for a reason.

If I were king of the world, I’d make Tuesday happen a couple of times a week

2010-03-23T21:14:00.002-04:00

It is Tuesday, right? The day in the blog world known for randomness, eh?

All is well in our world. Thanks for all the comments and emails. We are slowly getting back to normal. Well, normal as defined by us.

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I got a speeding ticket from the nicest cop this morning. At 4:45 a.m. I was on my way back from the gym when he clocked me going 68 in a 45 mph zone (it was a 4 lane highway with absolutely no traffic… relax). ~~I’m sure I was looking lovely with my sweaty self.~~ I ~~begged~~ asked for a warning but he pointed out his supervisor in the other cop car. At least he knocked the speed down a bit so I wouldn’t get hit with the hefty fines associated with the super speeder law in Georgia. On average, I get one speeding ticket a decade. Typically, I drive like an old lady. And by old lady, obviously, I mean my grandmother. She is one of the original speed racers.

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Speaking of driving, why is it so difficult for some folks to figure out how to use turn signals. And there needs to be a course on the purpose and use of the turn lane. Personally, if I were a cop, I’d focus on those folks for my ticketing fix.

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Life at school has been ~~hell~~ hectic. The superintendent announced that jobs would be lost then decided to ~~keep it a secret~~ wait until after the state test to tell the pink-slipped folks and their principal. Enough already. Just let us know. The not knowing is causing ~~typically kind people to start tattling and making stabbing behind back motions~~ all kinds of anxiety. It hasn’t been pretty.

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I’ve been thinking about ordering a few of these awesome bottle openers. If they were painted gold, they could make some awesome awards for some real winners out there.

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Spring in Georgia is awesome. While it is still cold in the mornings and evenings, I have decided that I am done with winter clothes. I’ve pulled out the spring skirts and dresses. Let’s just say that I am embracing my whiteness.

Suddenly silent

2010-03-14T08:15:00.001-04:00

It is never good news when the phone rings in the wee hours of the morning piercing the subconscious, wringing the soul in preparation for the changes to follow.

“I’ve got bad news.”

My husband’s mother has been failing in health over the past years. A little over a year ago, we moved her into a full-care, assisted living arrangement. From there, the decline has been like a free-fall.

Each visit, each phone call brought us closer and closer to the inevitable.

“At least, in the end, she knew who we were.”

Memory is a funny thing. When it fails you, it can keep you in a grand, make-believe world where life is happy and good. Her reality may have been a fantasy, but at least in her mind, she was happy and content.

“If she’d known she was in the state she was in, she’d have wanted to pass years ago.”

Over the years, I prayed for her comfort and I prayed for her to pass quietly in her sleep. For several years, she had let go of her role as a mother. A child-like replica stood in her place.

We will miss you, Mom. We already have.

Redefining Normal

2010-03-13T19:38:00.002-05:00

Last weekend was an amazing weekend. Running (mostly) the half marathon is something that has changed me (sorry to sound superficial). A year ago, I couldn’t run for ~~two~~ ~~three~~ five minutes. When I signed up to the Disney Princess Half Marathon, I didn’t realize how much work and commitment I’d have to put into making that goal a reality.

But I did it!

Plus, I got to meet some amazing people. I’m already planning to sign up for next year’s run.

The morning of the race, I got out of bed before the alarm went rang out. I hadn’t slept much and my stomach was in knots.

Nerves? Why now? I wasn’t aiming to compete against any hard core athletes. I just wanted to finish the 13.1 miles in a somewhat decent time.

I tried to eat breakfast but it just wouldn’t go down. So, I got dressed and went on down to the lobby to meet Krystyn and get on the bus to the line up. It took 20 minutes to find my friend, Page (which is a real miracle as we had no cell phones and it was crowded).

It was COLD. The number of people were incomprehensible. There were thousands and thousands of women there. Thousands willing to get up at two something to go stand in the cold so they could run 13.1 miles.

My muscles began to tense and ache while standing in the cold. Still, the excitement warmed my heart. Finally, the last corral was walked to the start line and we were off… running and cheering each other on.

All in all, things went well during the run. Except that my back and side began hurting. And I started getting winded.

“Obviously, I need to focus on more hills in my training,” I thought. Little did I know.

The entertainment was top-notch and inspired me to keep plugging along ~~though I think someone was out to do us in with those awful gel packets because you can’t spit that crap out~~!

I was never so excited to see a finish line in my life!

My husband and I spent the day with Page and her husband in Epcot. You could say we ate and drank our way around the world.

By the end of the night, I was hacking and barking the most awful cough. In a fevered haze, I knew I was going down with a real kicker.

Three doctor visits and 9 medicines later, I am happy to announce I’M ALIVE (even if I still have a little bit of a barky cough)!

In a few more days, I’ll be ready to lace up those running shoes, again. For so long, I’ve been trying to feel like a runner. I think I’m almost there.

Faking a snake bite and other bad ideas

2010-03-03T21:38:00.002-05:00

I work in an elementary school. It is what I do ~~for giggles and craps~~. And there are many, many lessons to be learned each day.

Don’t use a sharp instrument to make fang marks on your leg then scare the school nurse by claiming the injury to be a snake bite.
If you really do want to go with the snake bite routine, be sure to do some research. A bite with fang marks one inch apart could not have been inflicted by a 6 inch snake. And “I don’t remember” isn’t a good answer to what color was the little, tiny snake when it slithered away.
Don’t try to fool medical professionals in a Oscar-worthy showdown to get out of school for a few days. The IV and blood work alone make this a bad idea.
Don’t bypass the office when at your child’s school and then yell and intimidate your child’s teacher in the hallway in front of other children and adults.
After receiving the letter that bans you from your child’s school, don’t call and harass the principal.
Don’t kick the teacher after being told to get your hands off your neighbor’s snack.
Don’t scream “shut the f- up” in the lunchroom when the last ‘your momma’ joke pisses you off.
Don’t call the principal and tell her that your child has a right to be upset and that sometimes a bad word “just slips out.”
Don’t complain about a fellow teacher not having patience with a child then turn around and expect someone to feel sorry for you because of *this* particular child. Patience is patience. Grow some.
Students should not hand out their *special* vitamin to other students.

For the record, they didn’t teach any of this when I was in college.

I’m thinking about joining the circus

2010-03-02T05:55:00.001-05:00

Possibly I’d have a bit more time for myself. Besides, I seem to already spend a lot of time with clowns.

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We (and by we, I mean me) finally finished filling out all the FAFSA and financial aid paperwork and now I’m a little discouraged. If all of these *smart* people at these big universities need me to repeat myself and fax copies of information they already have on file, why should I trust them to educate my child?

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My first half marathon is in 5 days! I’m so excited ~~I could pee myself~~! Here is a picture of the design that is being painted on my t-shirt.

It says, “Cinderella ~ proof that a new pair of shoes can change your life!” I’m not often a pink girl but I found these fabulous black knee socks with pink polka-dots… And I had to get them!

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My parents are going to Disney for my half marathon and for some reason, that just cracks me up. When I was on the basketball team in 8th grade, my mother didn’t go to any of the games. ~~Though she would have seen that I had mad bench warming skills.~~

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I am attempting to take a picture every day for 365 days. So far, ~~there are too many that are a half-a$$ed attempts~~ so good. You can see my progress here.

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I can’t wait to get to school today so I can hear about the kid with the snake bite. He was bitten on Sunday but didn’t tell his parents. Once he got to school, he stopped by the office to have the school nurse take a look. She ~~freaked~~ calmly called his parents to take him to the doctor ASAP! More on that developing story later.

Happy Tuesday!

Mother knows best

2010-02-22T20:11:00.001-05:00

Several months ago, my mother called me.

Mom: “I’ve ordered something for you and Mr. Strong. You are going to LOVE it.”

Me: “Cool. What is it?”

Mom: “It’s a magic bullet.” OMG! Why would she do this? We barely even talked about the birds and the bees when I was growing up… It was more comfortable to ask my friend’s mother to help me buy the monthly necessities.

Me: “Uh… Mom? Why?” What do I say? This is so embarrassing!

Mom: “Because I knew you’d love it. And it has all kinds of attachments.” Holy carp! I can’t stand the visual of my puritanical mother shopping in one of *those* stores…and attachments?! What the heck?

Me: “I’m not sure we need one.” Really, I can’t accept a gift like this from my MOTHER.

Mom: “Your step-dad loves when I get this out because he knows he is getting a treat.” Agh! Lalalalalalalalala…

A couple of days later, the mailman brought my new surprise.

For some strange reason, I blush every time I make a smoothie.

And then he played a harmonica

2010-02-17T19:58:00.001-05:00

Funny how a funeral can make you think of your own mortality. Though I was a little jealous of the guy in the casket because he got the only warm spot at this graveside funeral. And he didn’t have to smile and nod as the preacher played a little number on the harmonica.

There are a few things I’d like to happen when I die. ~~First, I’d like for someone to just throw away everything in my underwear drawer. There is nothing in there that needs to be saved.~~ In my dreams, my funeral would involve a huge toilet bowl so that I could be flushed to that great river in the sky. All the fish I’ve flushed over the years have made that journey look like a day at the park. The water park, to be exact.

Since I don’t trust my children to find the right toilet (and it would be embarrassing if my hips got stuck on that final bend before heading out to sea), I’m probably just going to have to settle for a lively cremation. That way, I won’t have to worry about what clothes the family picks out for me after my demise. This is a good thing since the vast majority of my family looks like rejects from the lost files of “What Not to Wear.”

Then, at the ceremony, someone could play a little jingle on the harmonica right before the big flush.

I’m not planning on pushing up daisies any time soon. And I’m not trying to make fun of death (or maybe I am… but not in a rude way… but in that way that says, “I’m not afraid of you, Grim Reaper!”… except I really am a little afraid of him because not being able to see his face creeps me out). I am merely writing down some of the random thoughts that played through my ~~sick~~ ~~twisted~~ mind at the funeral for an older gentleman earlier today. Seriously, I hope that when I do die (a LONG time from now is my plan) that people will take the time to remember the good times and to laugh. That would be the biggest honor.

Reminiscing

2010-02-13T08:56:00.002-05:00

Before I ~~screwed up and~~ moved into administration, I used to teach middle school children with behavior disorders. ~~This experience gave me a lot of tools to use when dealing with adults.~~ Regardless of the oxymoron (because aren’t all middle schoolers behavior disordered to a certain degree?), there were some great stories that came from those years in the classroom.

Charlie (not his real name, dooh!) was a beautiful boy with blond hair and blue eyes and the mouth of a sailor. His mouth got him in trouble, outside my classroom, on a regular basis ~~though, truly, I agreed with most of what he had to say~~. There were many failed attempts to teach him to other ways to express his ideas. He just needed to cuss.

In a moment of desperation, I asked him to write his feelings down in a notebook when feeling his rage was working up to a blaspheme-fest, then tear up the page ~~because if he still had evidence of potty mouth, there were still too many teachers ready to take him out back and shoot him~~.

One day, as I was conferencing with a parent about their child’s progress, Charlie came charging into the classroom slamming the door into it’s frame. The parents had a look of fear on their face. I tried to ignore Charlie and carry on with the meeting.

Charlie ran to his desk and grabbed his *special* notebook. I tried not to smile and continued talking with the parents. Their furtive glances over their shoulder at the mad boy frantically scribbling in his notebook made it even harder for me not to laugh. I redirected the parents back to their son and our concerns.

Suddenly, Charlie ripped out several pages from his notebook and began shredding them over the trash can, then ran right back out of the room.

I finished the conference with a huge smile on my face.

I never knew what made him so mad (and I really didn’t care as it was usually something minor). At least on that day, Charlie was a success.

Trying to communicate

2010-02-10T19:50:00.001-05:00

Clumps of raw emotion

Stories that can’t be told

Mind numbing self-preservation

Calls to my husband,“Just cheer me up. I can’t talk about what is going on today.”

Dreams… expectations… disappointments

Trying to understand the real message screaming to be heard between the lines

Meetings with children services

I wish I could take them home.

Say what?

2010-02-02T20:23:00.001-05:00

Things overheard so far this week that have made me smile…

“You always help a lady up off the ground.” Said by a first grader after a student ran into a teacher and knocked her down.

“There are better ways to communicate. The growling will stop.” Said by a teacher when two first graders both wanted the last swing available.

“Really, boogers probably aren’t protein. I don’t care what your mother told you.” Said by a 3rd grader after a fellow student grossed out his table in the lunchroom.

“Come on! Ms. Teacher just told us to sit on the ass fart.” Said by a Kindergartener when they were getting ready for an activity outside and had to sit on the asphalt drive.

Waving the white flag

2010-01-29T06:01:00.001-05:00

While I fully recognize there is a full moon out there, I’m not afraid. After the rollercoaster that has been this past week, there isn’t much more ground to cover. Besides, I’m a little numb inside.

With my assistant principal out for three days, I’ve run the ship alone. With so many events crammed into each day, my response to Mr. Strong’s question of what happened today has been a succinct “nothing.”

Actually, there are approximately 42 stories for me to tell you since we last spoke though I’m still grappling with finding a humorous view. At least a lice outbreak is funny, right? But where is the humor when a parent hurts a child and DFACS removes children from the home. And I’m not laughing at all at the irate parent who secretly recorded a meeting we had and is now threatening to sue because we are “picking” on her child. Though I probably should be laughing at the parent who won’t work on sight words with her child but will stop and spend time to write a scathing email to me about the kids not getting outside recess one day when the playground was still super muddy from all the rain.

The good news is that home is ~~sane~~ ~~calm~~ still the same. And Miss Poopy continues to earn her rent by cleaning the dishes.

Warmer weather and hot heads

2010-01-21T20:26:00.001-05:00

Maybe it is the weather front which brought in the warmer weather. Maybe it is a conspiracy. Maybe it is an issue with alien possession.

Whatever it is, here are a few snippets of conversations from the past couple of days.

To a student: “I’m sorry you were mad at the lunchroom monitor. That doesn’t give you a reason to raise your fists to your teacher when you got back to class.” (And no need to keep telling me how much you hate school. We got the message down pat from the first day you arrived. I just wish I could help you with all your anger.)

To a parent: “As a matter of fact, you are right. I do want you to leave. This meeting is obviously not working to resolve anything so we’ll just see you next week when you can bring your child back to school.” (While meeting with an irate parent who doesn’t see a problem with children showing disrespect to others… and I have no idea where the child learned this behavior…but the child will get to hang with Mama Attitude for a couple of days now.)

To a student: “So, do you like sitting in poopy pants?” (After the child got mad at his teacher [again!] and announced he was going to crap himself – and he did… which makes me wonder how he can crap at will… and reminds me to be thankful we only have 78 more days with the willful crapper.)

To a parent: “Well, hello to you and Brown Betty!” (Brown Betty is a brown belt who has magical powers in fixing attitudes.)

To a student: “It is never okay to tell a girl you want to push your pee pee against her butt.” (Well…. one day it might be okay. But never in school. And this conversation is making me uncomfortable. Why, look! A bunny!)

To a parent: “I understand the traffic is bad today but please don’t yell at my teachers on duty. We don’t have any control over the traffic.” (Um… were you trying to go for Road Rage Poster Parent of the Year?)

Is it Friday yet?

Lessons learned… so far

2010-01-18T08:28:00.001-05:00

As I’ve been training for an upcoming half marathon, I’ve actually started to enjoy my long run days. I like the feeling of running at a ~~slow~~ comfortable pace without worrying about time. Plus, I get to see my town in a different way than I do when cruising by in a car.

Along the way, I’ve learned some important lessons:

It doesn’t matter that I look like a complete moron, it is important to pull my short hair back out of my eyes.
Getting away from everything has a cathartic feel. This is my only real alone time.
I now have proof that I’m not a witch - and apparently, I’m not all that sweet – as nothing happens to me when it rains.
The *seedier* parts of town have really entertaining things on the ground. How does a magenta, flowery bra end up in the road? ~~And used condoms?~~
Splashing water from a water bottle scares away most dogs.
There are a lot of idiot drivers ~~who apparently got their license from a cereal box~~ out on the road.
Despite what most people told me, I do NOT crave salad and other healthy foods while running. I do; however, think a lot about Doritos, hamburgers, and bread pudding.
The shuffle feature on my iPod is awesome and makes it feel completely natural to follow a Smithereens’ song with one by Otis Redding.
Stick with a bland breakfast. No more jalapenos with my eggs on the morning of my long run. This is an important one. ~~And I probably need to send an apology to the dude who has the nice yard where I herked a little.~~

So, there. I really am getting ready for that Princess Marathon at Disney in March. Now I need some ideas for how to decorate my shirt for the big event. Any suggestions?

Love one another

2010-01-17T08:41:00.003-05:00

Pain and affliction fill the air

I feel helpless and undeserving

Why should I have these comforts

When others have none?

I’ll give. I’ll pray.

Will you do the same?

Unless you live under a rock, you've heard about the tragedy in Haiti. My heart breaks for the people there. Please consider giving in some way, shape or form. There are many agencies and churches out there who are collecting money and donations. Even my students are bringing in their change for us to donate to the Red Cross. You don't want to be showed up by elementary students, do you?

This is a Sunday 160. The Sunday 160 only uses 160 characters (including spaces). For more information, visit Monkey Man (a creative genius!).

Harvesting happy thoughts

2010-01-16T09:40:00.001-05:00

After much anticipation and worry, the governor of Georgia has finally made the announcement. There will be three more furlough days for educators on top of the three we’ve already had. ~~And I can count! Three plus three equals six! No need to question my credentials.~~

Still, I’m thankful I have my a job. ~~And now, I’m officially broke.~~

We got a new student a couple of weeks ago. Mr. Smiley is adorable. And very busy. And incredibly below grade level. ~~Yes, you can be below grade level in Kindergarten.~~ Mr. Smiley smiles all. the. time. Even whilst crying in the sugar seat in my office after threatening to hit a girl on the butt.

I think I love him. ~~And the teacher is now calling him my boy. Should I let my husband know?~~

Finally, the weather gods remembered that we live in the deep south and slowly thawed the freeze we’ve been under for the past three weeks. Morning duty will become enjoyable again. Though I still have my eye on you, Mrs. Pissed at the World. And you better never try to drive off while kids are still getting out of cars. Cuz I’m itching to ban you and your crappy attitude from the campus. Forever.

And while morning car duty is fun, it doesn’t hold a candle to afternoon car duty. Buh bye! Have a great long weekend! I am so out of here!

The post where stabbing myself in the eye with a sharp stick begins to sound fun

2010-01-11T19:28:00.002-05:00

Way back before I became an administrator, I was a teacher of middle school students with behavior disorders. ~~Yeah. I know. Crazy! What was I thinking? Who knew behavior disordered middle schoolers could be saner than parents?~~ Occasionally a student would bring a book to me pointing out a *bad* word to which I would always give the same simple response.

“Thank you for pointing that out. Obviously, you are not mature enough for this book. I’ll return it to the library for you.”

At that point, the conversation was over. There was no debate. And I never had this conversation twice with the same student.

If only things could be so simple with some parents.

Today, I received a phone call from a parent who wants to have a picture book banned from the school library. The author in question is a well-known and well recognized author who writes about such themes as overcoming hardships and appreciating the differences in people.

Truly, I wanted to default to what I used to say to my ~~obviously more mature~~ former middle school students but I feared ~~another~~ a phone call from the superintendent. I tried to be understanding and just listen. Basically, it all boiled down to this…

The book made her son sad.

Yes, that’s right. There is no nudity or implied sex scenes. There are no profanities. There isn’t even a fight scene.

Dang it. I’m thinking of suggesting Old Yeller as a read aloud for her son’s class.

160 - Envy

2010-01-10T08:23:00.002-05:00

The green-eyed monster

Silently spews his venom

Tears through friendship

Destroys the family tie

Without it, there would be no change

With it, there will be no peace

I tried the 160 character challenge. For more info go see Monkey Man.

There is this teacher I know…

2010-01-07T20:20:00.001-05:00

There is this teacher I know who has two little girls with blonde hair and blue eyes. She and her husband loved these two little girls and have raised them well. Still, this teacher knew something was missing.

This teacher and her husband talked with each other and both agreed they wanted to do something to help a child in need.

This teacher dreamed of adopting a little boy with blond hair and blue eyes that would look a lot like her little girls.

One day, a quiet, little girl with brown hair and brown eyes entered her classroom. This little girl lived in a foster home, as she had most of her life, since her mother had abandoned her. Although she had dreamed of a blond haired, blue-eyed boy, this teacher fell in love with this needy, little brown haired girl with brown eyes.

This teacher went home that night and talked with her husband. They both agreed that they’d ask the powers that be if they could adopt this quiet, little girl with brown hair and brown eyes.

This teacher and her husband met with the powers that be and agreed to take parenting classes and to add another bedroom to their house so that they might be considered as possible parents for this brown haired girl with brown eyes.

Time passed. The classes were taken. A new bedroom was added. This brown haired girl with brown eyes was allowed to visit this teacher and her husband. The little girls with blonde hair and blue eyes loved this little girl with brown hair and brown eyes. They wanted her to be their little sister.

Finally, just before the holidays, this little girl with brown hair and brown eyes moved into this teacher’s house. This teacher and her husband waited to hear when the adoption would be finalized for this little girl with brown hair and brown eyes for they loved her very much.

Right after the New Year, a father with brown hair and brown eyes decided he wanted custody of his this little girl with brown hair and brown eyes. Although this biological father had never raised this little girl with brown hair and brown eyes, he now wanted a chance.

There is this teacher I know who is broken hearted.

And are we always this charming?

2010-01-05T18:07:00.001-05:00

I had a message this morning from an irate parent.

“My son is on his way back from his father, the bastard, who didn’t get him home on time so he won’t be at school today. Since it isn’t my fault that his father was being a jerk, I am demanding this absence be excused. And if you don’t excuse it, I will take it over your head because this. is. not. my. fault. And if you send me another letter about my son’s absences and tardies, I will report you. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Apparently, since my voice mail didn’t respond to her question, she went ahead and called the superintendent’s office.

Her new letter about her son’s unexcused absence is already in the mail.

Irregardless of your time, can we just take a minute to conversate?

2010-01-04T18:50:00.002-05:00

Seriously, I try not to laugh ~~out loud~~ when parents ~~and teachers~~ use words that aren’t really words. At least not yet. And by not yet, I mean they aren’t currently listed in the God of Dictionaries – the Merriam-Webster (I could be wrong on this one since I’m not super vigilant about attending services).

Relax. I’m not a language slob. Especially since *I*, the hearing impaired one, mispronounces words regularly. I do happen to have mad phonics skills but we aren’t here to discuss those ~~outlaw~~ words that defy the phonics police.

Once when meeting with a parent about their child’s behavior, the father sat up and loudly said, “We’ve done every thing we know to do. We’ve taken things away from her. We’ve spanked her. Why we even grounded her and the groundation didn’t work.”

The groundation.

Personally, I think it is a word that makes good sense. I just wish I saw it in the vocabulary of more parents these days.

**Update - Hilariously, I didn't mean to write slob instead of snob. Nor did I intend to use the wrong verb tense. I blame the Nyquil.

160 – Swamp Lesson

2010-01-02T21:16:00.001-05:00

Spanish moss dangles

From history’s arms

Hidden alligators

With weary wisdom laden eyes

Resurrection ferns

Bring the promise of change

While this world stays the same

I tried the 160 character challenge. For more info go see Monkey Man.

D'oh

2010-01-02T14:30:00.003-05:00

What fun is it if I have to keep this shirt away from fire?

How quickly the conversation changes

2009-12-31T11:41:00.001-05:00

Not that long ago, when we had *those* conversations with the kids about “IF you are drinking or with someone who is drinking, please don’t drive… Just call us… We won’t judge…” we were met with eye rolls and proclamations that they nor their friends drank.

Today, I went into my usual spiel with my college boy since tonight is notoriously amateur drunk driving night. His response?

“Don’t worry mom. I’m spending the night there.”

Got a lot of nothing here

2009-12-29T20:35:00.001-05:00

I love vacation time because I’m able to stay awake long enough to watch the ~~lame~~ awesome television shows that come on ~~after 9 p.m.~~ so late. Last night, we watched Hoarders – a show about people who can’t part with their stuff (including trash). There is often a lot of crying and near break-down moments. Can I just say, I love shows about people who make me look so ~~boring~~ ~~non-psychotic~~ normal. Still, I feel sorry for the kids growing up in that environment.

Today, I cleaned out a couple of drawers just to prove that I. am. not. a. hoarder. I’m not! I need all those random notes and lists. Don’t even think about throwing out the recipes! And how could we even begin to think about throwing out something the kids made/wrote? because I’ve had some extra time on my hands. I found some old journals from back in the day when I hand wrote all my thoughts down ~~you know, back when the Earth’s core was still cooling~~.

1/1/01 Today is the beginning of a new year…. blah… blah… blah and my resolutions are to:

*Start running

*Write more

*Wear more green

… NEXT ENTRY …

9/17/01 Blah, diggity blah….

So, let’s see how I did. First, I DID start running. On May 2nd. Two thousand nine. Eight and half years later. Sadly, I struggle to remember my anniversary (I know it is in June… shouldn’t that count for something?) but the day I started running is engraved in my mind.

Second, after declaring my intent to write more NINE MONTHS passes before I write again. How good am I? I could have conceived and birthed a child in that time frame.

And the last one about wearing more green has been on my resolution list since the late 80s when my boss told me I should wear more green because it really brought out the color in my eyes. This advice I took from a man with a serious comb-over.

While the rest of you may be thinking of ways to better yourself by making resolutions, I think I am going to work up a list of things I want more of. Like eating more peanut butter. And Stoned Wheat Thin Crackers (because the visual of crackers smoking something funny makes them that much more tasty to me).

Growing up… no matter how many years it takes

2009-12-27T09:25:00.001-05:00

It was two days after Christmas when my mother woke us up that fateful morning thirty years ago. My sister and I had started sleeping in the same room again. There was no discussion about it. We just needed the comfort another person can provide. I was twelve, my sister eleven.

I remember the look on my mother’s face. Her eyes were swollen. Her lips pursed.

“I have good news and bad news. The good news is your father is no longer suffering. The bad news is he is gone.”

The rest of the day felt like a dream. We’d just spent Christmas Eve at his house and he had been smiling and laughing. He didn’t look like a man who was about to die. How could he just be gone?

A few days later, I sat nestled in between my aunt and my uncle in the front of the church during the funeral. My mother was relegated to the back of the church since she was the ex-wife. At that point, I couldn’t cry. As the preacher’s voice resonated in the chapel, petals from the blanket of flowers lying on the casket began to fall off. For some reason, all I could do was laugh though I did disguise my laughter into sobbing. Several months would go by before I could really cry about what had happened.

My father had brain cancer. He was 36 years old when he died. Despite all the chemo and radiation, he quickly lost his fight with this disease. At the reading of the will, my father left my sister and I almost nothing but chose instead to leave most everything to my step-mother.

As I grew up and became a mother, I then became hurt about how little my father had left us. How do you not take care of your children - especially when you know you are dying? It left me feeling confused and at times, angry. I loved my children so much that I couldn’t imagine not being sure they were taken care of.

I watched my sister grow bitter. My father’s family quit calling soon after the funeral. We reached out several times but it felt awkward and forced. It was just easier to stay away. And to remain angry.

Over the years, I’ve never quit missing my father. A couple of months ago, my father’s sister sent some pictures to me that she’d found when cleaning out my recently deceased aunt’s house. There were pictures of my parents together in a time before I had a memory. And there were pictures of that last Christmas. They took my breath away. In those pictures, my father looked swollen, pale, sickly. Not at all like the picture in my memory.

For me, time has healed a lot of wounds. Unfortunately, for my sister, her bitterness has festered and grown. Now, I think I understand why he didn’t leave us much in his will.

He didn’t plan on dying.

And for that, I can easily forgive him.

It all depends on the viewpoint

2009-12-23T09:24:00.001-05:00

I’m not going to lie to you. Christmas can be a tough time of the year for me. Thirty years ago, my father died the day after Christmas. It is impossible to think of Christmas without remembering that loss. His death forever changed the landscape of my childhood.

Still, I revel in the joy that can be found in the season. I am easily moved to tears when I hear of random acts of kindness.

One of my little students, Mr. Hero, has leukemia. He has been responding well to treatment and we even anticipate his return to school sometime in January. One of his friends, who also has leukemia, attends a neighboring school and is not doing very well. In fact, the family is preparing to bring her home for her final days.

My loss pales in comparison to what these parents must be feeling.

Still, this little 9 year old girl has hopes and dreams. One of her final wishes is to receive cards from all over the world. I know this is a clichéd wish – but it is what this child wants. If you are in a position to mail a card to this child, please indicate so in a comment or email and I will send the child’s name and address to you.

Remember to treasure your loved ones, today and every day.

Forget her energy, I want some of her wonder

2009-12-17T07:22:00.001-05:00

Little Miss Loves Life is a frequent flier in my office. She isn’t a *bad* child but she does have a lot of energy. And by a lot of energy, she often jumps up and down while in conversation. Sometimes the teacher just needs a break.

Little Miss Loves Life: “Do you know what is for lunch today?”

Me: “I don’t. But we can check the calendar…”

Little Miss Loves Life (interrupting excitedly and beginning to jump up and down): “It is my favorite! Toasted cheese sandwich! I love how the cheese and the bread stick together…..”

How can you not love that? She can make the most ordinary thing extraordinary. I when Little Miss Loves Life visits the office (and for the record, she isn’t in trouble… we have a deal that the teacher sends her to us to do some work when she is feeling stressed with the flea-like antics).

As we have gotten closer to Christmas, Little Miss Loves Life has ramped up her energy level. Yesterday, we got to spend some quality time together.

Little Miss Loves Life (vibrating, I swear she vibrates): “We bought you a Christmas present and I’m not supposed to tell you but we did and we bought it from Sams!”

Me: “You are so sweet. Now let’s take a look at this math problem…”

Little Miss Loves Life: “My mom told me not to tell you and I told her I wouldn’t because I CAN keep a secret even if she says I can’t. I CAN. I really can!”

Me: “I know you can. Can you read this word problem to me…”

Little Miss Loves Life (interrupting herself while reading a math word problem): “Miss Beth? Do you love coffee mugs?”

Me: “I do!”

As a matter of fact, I do love coffee mugs. Almost as much as I love her zest for life. She amazes me and keeps me smiling.

And her secret will be safe with me.

Up for a downer

2009-12-14T06:23:00.001-05:00

This past weekend, I worked ~~as if I were a slave~~ ~~for free~~ for my husband on several different catering gigs. It was actually a lot of fun since when you are feeding people, they are usually happy. We even got to meet the real-life version of Lorraine Swanson (a character on Mad TV).

She was just lovely… and by lovely I mean it took everything ounce of patience not to push her out to the lake and hold her head under water. ~~I probably missed my chance to be a hero.~~ It must suck to be old and crotchety.

In between catering jobs, my mother and I went to see a movie and she picked Precious. It was a great movie; however, ~~I despise leaving a theatre with a red, snotty nose~~ it was so sad! I’ll never look at quiet, withdrawn students in the same way.

To counteract the sadness I felt at the theatre, I came home and watched a movie from Netflix ~~that has been sitting on my TV for 3 months~~. Why did I not know Ordinary People was so glum?

And what is it with the ~~crappy~~ ~~sucky~~ mean mothers in both these movies? Come to think of it, Lorraine Swanson kind of looks like the ~~witch~~ ~~cow~~ mother in Ordinary People.

I knew I should have held her head under water.

Gullible

2009-12-10T21:10:00.001-05:00

When I used to work in the business world, I once worked with a secretary who was… ahem… very blonde. She believed everything anyone told her. Everything.

One day, some of the guys I worked with convinced her that ‘gullible’ was not a word. She hesitated because she had been made the fool so many times. Finally, she looked it up in the dictionary ~~where she should have found her picture~~.

Sometimes, I think about Secretary McFluffy when dealing with certain children.

In the past, I convinced my students that the first of each month was that month’s Fool’s Day. You know… January Fool’s Day… October Fool’s Day. I told them that for some reason only April Fool’s Day was the one that stuck and became popular. We played jokes on each other at the first of every month for the entire school year. When it was April 1st, I told them the truth. It was the ultimate April Fool’s Day joke.

Those students were extremely gullible.

Apparently, so am I.

The other day, one of the secretaries came running into my office in a panic about some man on the phone who was insisting he get directions to the school so he could deliver the 100 pounds of shrimp we had ordered.

I picked up on line one while stammering and stuttering to him that no one had ordered any shrimp. He insisted he had 100 pounds of shrimp to deliver and he’d need to pick up a check.

Turns out he was the husband of one of the secretaries. I should have known they were up to something.

Does it surprise you to know that I am blonde?

And then there was hope

2009-12-02T20:58:00.001-05:00

As I cleaned out my hope~~less~~ chest the other day, I found a poem Mr. Strong had sent me when all was not well in our world. It took me right back to that dark time when my heart ached and hope had faded. Back to the time when I wasn’t sure that Mr. Strong was able to be my Mr. Strong.

I mourn my loss, an opportunity wasted, a relationship passes, a lesson learned

Lonely again, an empty heart

Next time I will live for me, I will show my love, I will share my love, I will watch it closely.

I want to cry in your arms, not alone in my bed.

I learned to love from you if only I showed you how well and how much.

The creased paper reminded me that what we had had was real. And almost lost.

Thank God for second chances.

Them’s fightin’ words

2009-11-28T11:05:00.002-05:00

My mother is ~~someone who lives to shop~~ a big believer in all the hoopla that is known as Black Friday. Despite my need for rest after cooking, cleaning, and serving for three days, I agreed to, once again, go shopping with my mother ~~at an ungodly hour~~. Because I am trying to get nominated for mother of the year, I dragged my two boys along, too.

After picking us up at 4 a.m., we soon found ourselves standing in the long line at Kohl’s just waiting to pay for our purchases ~~and it was exciting because with a line like that, I just knew there had to be a ride at the end~~. When I noticed the red light blinking on my ~~crackberry~~ Blackberry, I looked to see what message I had. I didn’t recognize the number who’d sent me the text – and I was shocked when I read the message.

“You act all fly when you wit them hoes.”

Wha?! Immediately I knew I had to defend my mother’s honor. Frantically, I typed back.

“Don’t you be calling my momma a hoe.”

How rude! I can not believe someone would call my mother a garden instrument. She hates being outside (unless by outside you mean waiting in line to get in a store) and she does not do gardens ~~even though she is an upstanding garden club member. But her secret is safe with me~~.

A couple of hours later, my phone rang – it was the number from the offensive text sender.

Me (irritated): “Hello.”

Offensive Text Sender: “Uh… hello?”

Me (even more irritated): “Yeah. Hello.”

Offensive Text Sender: “I think I’ve got the wrong number.”

So, there. I told him.

This is just how we roll

2009-11-26T20:46:00.001-05:00

Mr. Strong: “Now, tell me again. How many people are coming to our house for Thanksgiving?”

Me: “~~Are you serious! I’ve already told you 52 times!~~ We are having 21 people.”

Mr. Strong: “And just for me, let’s go over the menu again.”

Me (sighing loudly because we’ve gone over the menu a bazillion times): “I think I just want to kill myself. We are having turkey, brunswick stew, dressing, sweet potato crunch, green beans, broccoli casserole, squash casserole… key lime cake, pumpkin cheesecake…”

Mr. Strong (beginning to sharpen a knife): “I just need to know that we have enough food.”

Me: “All you are responsible for is the turkey. That is all. Don’t worry about the rest. Just do the turkey.”

Mr. Strong: “But with 21 people, do you think we have enough food?

Me (through gritted teeth): “You are starting to sound like your mother.”

Mr. Strong (handing me the knife with a big smile): “Here you go. Just in case. You know with that suicide business.”

****************************************

Thanksgiving was a hit. We have leftovers enough to feed an army. E-mail me and I’ll send directions.

The post where I get to make fun of a friend

2009-11-24T17:56:00.007-05:00

While taking a break from the ~~Law and Order marathon~~ Thanksgiving baking, I went to retrieve the mail. In the pile were sale circulars, magazines, bills, and one card.

Oh, goodie! A card! I love getting mail.

It was a card from one of our close friends ~~who is trying her darnedest to keep the US Post Office AND Hallmark in business~~.

Awww. What a lovely card. I didn't even know they made Thanksgiving cards.

Holy turkey feathers! What is that she wrote?

Remember its a USA holiday only

So, not only is this a card, it is a history lesson. ~~Apparently, I need to quit drooling and to act my age not my shoe size when she comes over.~~

I wonder if Hallmark sells a Thanksgiving apology card.

A trip down memory lane… or make that a moment when I remember how much of a glutton for punishment I am

2009-11-23T21:50:00.003-05:00

One of my favorite things about Thanksgiving is that our school system takes the entire week off. A whole week of not going to school, not getting ~~crazy~~ ~~mad~~ phone calls from parents, not correcting kids for breaking the rules, and not being sleep deprived.

As usual, whenever I get a day off, I decided to clean. And by clean I mean I began to tackle chaos known as the picture cabinet.

That was where I found a picture of Queen.*

One year when I was teaching, Queen came to me around Valentine’s Day with ratty hair sticking out all over and dresses that were a little too short. Especially when she rolled around on the ground.

And she liked rolling around on the floor a lot. She refused to talk. She refused to make eye contact. She refused to even grunt when I asked her a question. Yet, she would scream and yell every time she was in the hallway.

I had to have a meeting with her grandmother to ask her to dress Queen in pants ~~because there is a limit to the number of times one should be allowed to see someone’s underwear~~. The principal wanted Queen moved to a *special* school and I begged him to let us have more time with her.

He gave us until the end of the school year.

Queen ruined the calm routine that had been established in my classroom. My bad boys didn’t know what to do with Queen and her horrible communication skills.

Time passed. Queen began to trust. And I began to find a girl who had a great sense of humor. A girl who loved to draw. A girl who wrote rap songs.

She screamed less. She talked more. In class, she became a really likeable student.

Since we had to have success outside of just my classroom, we set a behavioral goal for Queen. For her reward, she wanted to go to the movies (a big reward for a big change in her behavior).

Just before the school year ended, Queen met her goal and I called her grandmother to set up our date. Since Queen had never been to the movies before, she insisted upon sitting on the front row. In a dress. Where no one else could see her panties when she rolled around on the floor for a few minutes.

I wonder where Queen is today. And I wonder if she still wears dresses.

*Not her real name

While it might look like I’m being all friendly…

2009-11-19T19:28:00.001-05:00

It’s that time of the year - the time when parents have decided their ~~annoyingly spoiled~~ precious off-spring would fare better in a different teacher’s classroom.

Because the problem is never with their child. ~~And it is possible that Jesus wasn’t the only one who could walk on water.~~

And when they make legal threats and my boss tells me to move their child, I’ll do it ~~because I am the picture of compliance. Really~~. But don’t expect me to be understanding when your ~~little pain in the rumpus~~ child continues to have problems in their new classroom ~~because obviously the new teacher made the child throw a fit and break a glass treat jar on purpose. Why would we ever want children to be responsible for their behavior? Such a ridiculous idea!~~.

And just because I was all nice and smiling ~~and you couldn’t see or hear what I was thinking~~ about the whole situation doesn’t mean I want to be on your e-mail forward list. ~~Take me the heck off!~~

You really don’t want to make a bad situation ~~badder~~ worse. After all, I do get to decide what class your precious angel will be in next year.

Blow

2009-11-18T06:09:00.001-05:00

Dear Kindergarten Mom,

I really don't know how to gently lead into this one... so, just smile.

Today, there was a commotion in the cafeteria, and one of my teacher assistants went to check out what was going on and to settle our darlings down...when your son turned and looked at her with what looked like dried blood coming out of his nose. Before you panic, I want you to think, "what did I put in his lunch today?"

Yep, your precious boy shoved some raisins up his nostrils...both sides...about three each. He was encouraged him to ~~blow them the hell out~~ get them out and finally, after blowing hard, the intruders were dislodged. No harm, no foul. Your son and I spoke about the dangers of shoving things up noses and why this is not a smart thing to do.

I probably shouldn't add this, but it made us giggle all day...when the teacher assistant came back to get the raisins in a napkin to throw away, they were gone. Yep, you are probably guessing right on that one too.

This is just one of the reasons why I love kindergarten. You may want to reinforce the no sticking things up noses conversation. Please remember to laugh because it will all pass too quickly and he will be grown. ~~But this will be a great story to revive at his wedding.~~

Have a great evening!

Beth

Broken

2009-11-13T06:14:00.001-05:00

As I drove home from school thoughts of you were rolling through my head.

How is it that you can be only 5 years old and yet so indifferent about school?

You show no fear. No remorse. You even say you don’t want to learn.

Still, I see a lost look in your eyes. A look of despair.

And like a sucker punch to the gut, I gasped for breath. Suddenly, I knew what to do.

No more reactions. No more consequences. Only encouragement and praise. And time to heal.

We’ll believe in you while you don’t. We’ll love you since you don’t. We’ll build you back up to the little girl you were meant to be. Even when you behave like you don’t deserve it.

Because you do.

Just a word of advice

2009-11-12T06:20:00.001-05:00

Dear Pushy Company Rep,

The next time you want to provide lunch for my faculty so you can ~~peddle~~ hand out your information, please bring more than 6 pizzas for my faculty of 85. And when I point out that you don’t have enough food, it would behoove you to act like you care ~~because it really wasn’t my responsibility to go buy more food~~.

And don’t have the pizza place cut the slices and then cut each slice in half again. That makes you look cheap and it is insulting to us ~~because, hello!, we can tell you are a real jerk~~.

There is a big difference between lunch and appetizers.

We do, however, appreciate your boss who understood our point of view. And we will try not to rub salt in the wound when you come back by on Friday ~~with your tail tucked~~ delivering breakfast for everyone. And by everyone, that means 85 hungry people.

Still craving pizza,

Beth

P.S. I don’t think this helped you land any sales. Just sayin’.

Really, all I wanted to do was make a difference

2009-11-08T21:48:00.002-05:00

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…

2009-11-07T10:03:00.001-05:00

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

2009-11-03T20:37:00.001-05:00

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…

2009-11-02T20:11:00.001-05:00

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

2009-10-29T06:10:00.001-04:00

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

2009-10-23T06:54:00.001-04:00

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.

***************************************************

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

2009-10-21T06:29:00.001-04:00

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?

Thoughts while running

2009-10-18T14:22:00.002-04:00

It’s cold. Hope the cheap gloves are warm enough. Wow. It really warmed up. Let’s toss the gloves into this driveway. Hasn’t it been 5 minutes yet? Ugh. I’m not sure I can do this for an hour. Yay! I made it 5 minutes. Only 55 to go. Focus. On something besides running.

Spanish mission architecture. Colonial homes. God, I love the south. Blue skies. Magnolias. Big oaks. Spanish moss. Crap. Did the Spanish Moss touch me? I hope I didn’t get any chiggers. Note to self: Get clear fingernail polish to get rid of chigger infestation. Also, need to get manicure. And pedicure.

Sprinkler system. Magnolia leaves. Slippery as owl crap. Almost fell. Sidewalk uneven. Grass is, too. Puddle. Jump. Almost made it. Squish. I don’t know if I can make it. I’m just pretending to be a runner. Think about something. Anything. Good song. Don’t Let Me Down. Love the Beatles. Still. Remember when Mr. Happy was one? And knew the names of the Beatles? And he liked the word rhododendrons. Rhododendrons. Cool word. Better than azalea.

How much longer? Halfway? I can do this. I think I can. Donut shop. Closed today. Lunch? Maybe a salad. Or soup. And grilled cheese. With ketchup. Wrong to think about food while running. No wonder I don’t lose weight. Pink ribbons. Signs. Save the tatas. Funny. C in high school. B after having babies. A after running. Not fair. No one saved my tatas. Wish it were my rump that shrunk.

How much longer? Did the timer mess up? 15 more minutes? Think about something. Passed someone. With a Mountain Dew. Thirsty. Cars. Refocus. The cars. Not me. Cemetery. Old one. Thoughts of my father. Remember when he went through the health phase? With the bicycles? Sister still can’t ride a bike. She’s been talking to me more lately. Maybe things are better. Looking forward to Thanksgiving. Pumpkin cheesecake. Cranberry bars. Stop it. Quit thinking about food.

Uh oh. Dog. Mangy. Barking. Heart racing. Chasing. Screaming. Need pepper spray. What good are leash laws? Wish I could take Miss Poopy for a run. Poor, gimpy dog. How much longer? I hate the voice in my iPod. She is mean. She taunts. She can’t tell time. Slow. Backwards. I. Don’t. Think. I. Can. Do. This.

Five more minutes? I can do this. I can make it. Dyin’ To Get Home. Perfect song. Really. Just around the block. Blue skies. Cool breeze.

I did it!

So. When will I feel like a real runner?

What I love about Sunday morning

2009-10-18T08:25:00.001-04:00

My mother would tell you there is something wrong with my wiring. I can’t sleep late. I have vivid memories of my mother showing me what the clock had to look like before I woke her on the weekends. ~~My husband has had the same conversation with me.~~

Most Sunday mornings, I run my long run for the week. Today, I decided to savor the morning and run later in the day. ~~Besides, it is COLD outside!~~

As I fixed my first cup of coffee, I noticed the message on the Splenda packet.

Be sweet. Pass it on.

Just as I was sitting down to warm my hands and my soul with some some strong coffee, Miss Poopy sounded out from her crib in the bedroom. As we stepped out into the cool morning air, the sky was beginning to light up – much like someone turning up the dimmer switch.

A harsh, “Shhh. No barking!” warning was given to Miss Poopy. The birds were singing as we headed back in to snuggle on the sofa. There is something calming about how needed I am to this little dog. Her sighs, the way she conforms her body to mine, tucking her nose under the blanket give me a sense of things being right with the world. Breathing in her sweet dogginess and relishing this time I have alone, it dawned on me. Sunday morning is my favorite time of the week.

When a joke backfires

2009-10-16T08:51:00.001-04:00

Yesterday was our last day of school before getting out for two days of Fall Break ~~and a furlough day~~. We were giddy with excitement ~~which may or may not have accounted for some of our poor judgment~~.

Coincidentally, my assistant principal and academic coach were gone to a training. Somehow, the idea to do something to their offices was hatched. ~~My secretaries and I made a pact to blame the ghost that inhabits our school.~~

This school year, we have a western theme going on and as a joke earlier in the year, I hung up two buffalo right outside my academic coach’s office. She has commented on them several times. We decided to wad up brown paper to make buffalo patties on the floor. In an effort to make it look more realistic, we sprinkled in some grass. Then we made a sign “While you are gone, you never know where the buffalo will roam.”

For my assistant principal, we went to one of my new favorite websites (www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com) to print up some pictures to replace in her 18 picture frames ~~cluttering~~ scattered all over her office.

Seriously, this is a much better picture than the one she had of her daughter getting married.

Click on the picture to visit Awkward Family Photos. You won’t be sorry.

We were pleased with our efforts ~~especially since it had been a very busy day~~.

Last night, as I was slothing on the sofa, my cell phone rang. It was one of my secretaries. She was almost crying because she had just checked her email and our academic coach had sent a message about how disappointed she was and that she didn’t appreciate our BULL and we should GROW UP. Being ~~the~~ concerned ~~responsible principal I am~~, I called her. And when I heard her laughing, I knew the BEST joke had been played on us!

Still, ~~because obviously I’m immature~~ I can’t wait to see my assistant principal’s face next Wednesday morning when she sees her office.

Sometimes we all need a little perspective

2009-10-12T20:32:00.001-04:00

Today was Monday. All day long. ~~I’m really not trying to be a Master of the Obvious.~~

The fire alarm was set off twice by the AC repair guy soldering wires in the electrical room. The good news is that we get to count this as our monthly practice fire drill. The bad news, we had to evacuate the building in the rain. ~~Even though the teachers fussed, I had to laugh when the kids cheered about the fire trucks arriving on the scene.~~

The aforementioned air conditioner is still not working in our Media Center. This can’t be good for ~~the books~~ all of us during the freak heat wave. The good news is that we are getting a totally new AC unit for the Media Center. The bad news is that they think this will be up and running by ~~freaking~~ Thursday. ~~I wonder if they’d work faster if we all wore our bathing suits. Then again, they might just pour bleach into their eyes.~~

Just when we thought things might slow down in the clinic ~~because how many kids can puke at school on one day~~, little Mr. Why Walk When I Can Run ran into the fence and cut his eye and forehead. The good news is that it WILL be better before he gets married ~~even if he thinks getting married is yucky~~. The bad news is that he needed 8 stitches.

As the day pulsed on giving no indication of ever slowing down, in walked Mr. Hero donning a Sponge Bob Square Pants face mask. Mr. Hero was sent home with flu-like symptoms almost a month ago. When he didn’t get better, the doctor ordered more tests and sent the boy to some specialists. The end result for this 7-year old trooper was a diagnosis of Leukemia. Mr. Hero wanted to see his friends at school before he had to go back into the hospital for another spinal tap and chemo.

As I fought back tears, I stood in awe at the strength and tenacity in this little guy. Suddenly, I realized it had been a great day.

Next time, I’m going to hang out with the kids

2009-10-11T10:17:00.001-04:00

Designer wedding dress: $4000

Specialty wedding cupcakes: $750

Rental of Royal Restroom with music and air conditioning: $6000

Repellant to fight plague of mosquitoes in record heat and gill growing humidity: $150

People standing in line for restroom because the flower girls realized the only air conditioned spot was in the Royal Restroom: Priceless

Exactly what is the age of responsibility?

2009-10-10T14:06:00.001-04:00

According to some of my parents, we can’t expect young children to bear any responsibility for their actions.

Mad Parent: “I want to know why my son rode the bus home to my empty apartment when I told the teacher he was going to after school care!”

Me: “Ma’am. I know you are upset and I understand. Your son was lined up to go to after school care in the lunchroom but he chose to get into the bus line to go home. He told us that he wanted to play with his friend at home. He has a responsibility to go where he is told to go.”

Mad Parent: “But how could he be responsible? He is only 5 years old!”

Me: “Ma’am. We have to start teaching responsibility from the time children are very young. We have children with special needs who understand that they have to go where the teacher tells them to go. The ones with more significant needs have someone assigned to them. But I don’t believe that is what your son needs. He just needs a consequence in place if he doesn’t follow directions.”

Mad Parent: “He will not be held responsible for this! And I don’t care if someone does have to be assigned to my son. I just need a guarantee that he will never be allowed to move to a different line when leaving at the end of the day!”

Then again, according to some of my teachers, they are free from responsibility, too.

~~Whining~~ Teacher (at 7:35 a.m. – school starts at 7:45 a.m.): “I need to take a sick day today because <insert any minor reason here>.”

Me: “You are supposed to call that in to the substitute finding service by 6:30 a.m. The only exception is when there is an emergency and this doesn’t sound like an emergency.”

~~Whining~~ Teacher: “Well, I didn’t know. You haven’t told us that before.”

Me: “Actually, I’ve told you every year at the beginning of the year for the past 4 years. In addition, it is in the Faculty Handbook in which you signed acknowledging that you’d read it.”

~~Whining~~ Teacher: “How am I supposed to remember everything in that manual? You should have reminders about this more often. It is not my fault.”

So, any ideas on when I can expect people to be responsible?

My mother probably should have named me Helen

2009-10-06T20:17:00.007-04:00

We (and by we I mean me and anyone who has decided to tell me that I can't hear ~~because that won't happen twice, eh?~~) have known about my hearing issues since I was about two years old. Apparently, my mother had the wherewithal to realize that my chimpanzee-like speech was not going to be acceptable in society ~~although people should be more understanding since we likely descended from apes~~. Back in the day, my hearing aid consisted of a box strapped to my chest with delightful wires running up to the earpieces wedged into my ears. According to my mother, I frequently pulled the plug on this sound enhancing contraption.

In first grade, I got my first behind-the-ear hearing aids and started regular sessions with a speech therapist. ~~And for the record it is EASY to get words such as kitchen and chicken confused. But I get it now. One you eat and one you eat in.~~ I was well on my way to becoming a normal little girl. Well, normal as it applies to me.

If only the kids hadn't noticed the ear accessories ~~that sometimes squealed maniacally~~. I hated standing out. I hated not being able to hear well. I hated that my mother always insisted I sit on the front row in the classroom. I hated that my teachers couldn't remember to face the class when they taught ~~because while they may have had eyes in the back of their head, they did NOT have lips there~~ causing me great difficulty in reading their lips.

Enter Mrs. L, my 5th grade teacher. After breaking my leg, I was moved to the far right front row seat. There, I began to struggle to read the squiggles on the board. Surely the teacher was not using the appropriate amount of pressure on the chalk while writing on the board. I squinted and squirmed and tried to read her hieroglyphics. Mrs. L called my mother in for a meeting. Within days, I was fitted with a pair of glasses that would have made John Denver proud.

I hated my glasses. I hated having to work the stems around my hearing aids in order to find to right place for my ears to be able to support all my correction devices. Again, I stood out only now I stood out as the poor girl who couldn't hear or see.

Time passed. I learned to wear contacts. I learned to pronounce most words ~~if only all words followed the sensible rules that make phonics work~~. And I learned to stand up for myself.

Truthfully, I still hate not being able to hear or see well. But I do love having the gift that this struggle has brought me. When I was teaching middle school kids with behavior disorders, they appreciated that I clearly had faults. My elementary students and parents like knowing that I was once a struggling student. I think it gives them hope ~~"See, Ms. Beth couldn't hear a jackhammer in the next room and here she is a principal! Who would have thunk that? So, now you know you have what it takes to pull your act together."~~.

Still, I need someone to explain to me why it is fair that I may soon need some ~~freaking~~ bifocals (contacts).

Wishful Thinking - with a little help from John Mayer

2009-10-01T17:58:00.001-04:00

One day, I really do wish I could say what I want to say. What I should have said. There are a lot of things out there that really aren’t funny and should probably be said. Still, I want to be able to earn my retirement. ~~Maybe I should look into placing advertisements on my blog.~~

“Take all of your wasted honor
Every little past frustration
Take all of your so-called problems,
Better put ‘em in quotations

Say what you mean to say…”

If I ~~were independently~~ ~~rich~~ felt like my job wouldn’t be in jeopardy, I’d have a lot of things I’d like to say to my supervisors. It speaks volumes about how out of touch you are with what is going on in the schools when you call me during dismissal time. And let’s not even open the can of worms called “passing the buck.” You are the boss. That means it is in your power to make a decision and stick with it - even if there are some who don’t like it. ~~Just grow a spine.~~

“Walking like a one man army
Fighting with the shadows in your head
Living out the same old moment
Knowing you'd be better off instead,
If you could only ...

Say what you mean to say…”

If there could be a motto to use with my teachers, it would be, “Grow UP!” How old do you ~~freakin~~ have to be to figure out that life ain’t exactly fair. Learn to take the high road ~~despite having ovaries~~. And just because you don’t agree with a rule doesn’t mean it is your right to challenge it. Besides, the grass will never grow in the side yard if you don’t stop parking your car there. And, yes, I do think you need the extra exercise that you’ll get by parking in the teacher parking lot.

“Have no fear for giving in
Have no fear for giving over
You'd better know that in the end
Its better to say too much
Then never say what you need to say again”

The creatively cruel manners of some parents never cease to amaze me. There is absolutely nothing funny about using duct tape in any shape or form as a means for discipline. And not having your kids in school on time or at all because you are too sorry to get up is educational neglect. Try to put yourself in your kid’s shoes. It isn’t fun being the one who is always tardy or trying to catch up on missing assignments. It is obvious you can procreate well. Now try to learn how to demonstrate a caring attitude.

“Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open

Say what you mean to say…”

Some of my students can be so mean. And so street smart. How sad I feel for you and your loss of innocence. Who treated you so cruelly that you felt it was okay to do the same to another human being? I hope one day you’ll know that you were loved. Even when I was disappointed or angry, you were loved.

Just don’t grow up to be one of those spineless supervisors, whining teachers, or disassociated parents. There is only so long I can hold my tongue. There will come that day when I really will say what I mean to say.

There is one less deranged bird in the world but please don't call me Ozzy

2009-09-28T06:18:00.001-04:00

This morning, at the track, I noticed what appeared to be a bat flying around one of the light posts ~~because I usually go running before the butt crack of dawn~~. I like bats ~~as long as they stay the hell away from me~~ because they eat bugs. If there is one thing you need to know about the south, it is that we have bugs. Lots of bugs. Anything that eats bugs is cool in my book ~~as long as that said thing stays away from me~~.

Suddenly, the ~~stupid~~ bat swooped at my head. Oddly, I had just been thinking about what I’d do if the bat tried to attack me – so I was prepared. I grabbed the bat and flung it to the ground.

Only it wasn’t a bat. It was a bird. Apparently a deranged bird.

I guess we could say he isn’t having a good Monday.

Hope your Monday is better.

The name may be all wrong but still I like the visual

2009-09-25T16:42:00.001-04:00

After running at recess, Mr. Argumentative flung himself into the line with the other boys and girls waiting to reenter the building.

Mr. Argumentative (having worked up a sweat): “Whew! I ran so fast I was like a snot wad!”

Kindergarten Teacher (trying to comprehend): “Say that again.”

Mr. Argumentative (trying to enunciate better): “I just ran so fast I was like a snot wad!”

Kindergarten Teacher (leaning in closer to the student trying to understand): “How does running fast make you a snot wad?”

Mr. Argumentative (looking at the teacher ~~as if she were the slow kid~~ trying to explain): “You know. Like those fast cars guys drive. Snot wads!”

Kindergarten Teacher (biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing): “Oh. You mean hot rods.”

Mr. Argumentative (with one eyebrow up and a look of disdain): “You can call them that but my daddy says they are snot wads.”

He just may have a point, eh?

It really wasn’t her fault

2009-09-24T17:28:00.001-04:00

Despite the waning popularity of diagnosing people with ADHD, the disorder is still alive and well. ~~Just ask my husband.~~ Today, a 5th grade student was sent to school without her meds. We can deal with her ~~until she starts eating her class assignments~~ but she is super emotional and just all over the place ~~much like a goat on crack~~.

I had to speak with Little Miss Out of Meds this morning in the hallway as she skidded to a stop outside the bathroom. On her knees.

She began to cry - which was my clue to her lack of meds. Since it was so early in the day, I decided to call her mother to see if she could run the medicine up to the school. The mother agreed and asked for me to have the child in the office to save time.

Little Miss Out of Meds ~~spread her stuff out over three desks~~ sat in the office working on ~~undoing the braids in her hair~~ an assignment until the mother arrived.

Mother: “Well, look at you! You look like Buckwheat!”

Little Miss Out of Meds (beginning to tear up again): “Momma. Why do you make fun of me? I didn’t mean to mess it all up!”

Mother: “Then quit messing with your hair. And look at your school work. It looks like you wrote with your foot!”

Little Miss Out of Meds (really working up a good cry): “I wish I had a different mother! A nice mother wouldn’t make fun of my feet.”

Apparently, her feet write neater than her mother will give them credit for.

Next time, I am totally checking that out.

Should I tell them?

2009-09-20T16:26:00.001-04:00

Mr. Funny gets tons of mail from a lot of different universities. He has worked hard in school and having many options is his reward ~~and my stressor because how far away from home do you want my boy?~~.

As we have been perusing the applications, I’ve noticed they want lots of ~~money for the application fees~~ recommendations from former teachers, current teachers, and his guidance counselor. They ask nothing about my opinion of my son’s abilities.

Therefore, I do not feel it is my responsibility to let them know that Mr. Funny may need some special assistance in some areas. For instance, he can’t figure out when to empty the trash.

He has yet to figure out how and where to put away his clothes.

Discussing the state of affairs at his desk makes me feel ~~like going into a blackout rage~~ a little crazy.

Soon enough, Mr. Funny and all his messes won’t be my problem. ~~I sincerely hope that there are some remediation courses in the home department as I have apparently failed to teach him in this area.~~

These universities have no idea what they might be getting themselves into. For crying out loud, we occasionally have to remind him to flush the toilet. Probably, they should leave him alone.

But that’s what they’ll get for not asking for my opinion.

Some will say that grownups are just big kids. I say they are grownups and they should, therefore, grow up.

2009-09-18T06:12:00.001-04:00

I’m tired of excusing away bad behavior on the part of grownups. Particularly in regards to tattling. You’d think there would be that magical moment, ideally in elementary school, when people realize that they shouldn’t tattle on others. ~~Is it really earth shatteringly important for me to know that Ms. So and So was 2 minutes late?~~

One of my PE teachers has adopted a policy of saying, “Tattle tale time is after 4 p.m.” 4 p.m. is after all the kids have gone home. I wonder what the teachers would think if I just didn’t listen to them and all their supposedly innocent slips of information. ~~“Oops. I didn’t mean to tell you about how Ms. So and So took the kids outside to clean the animal cages during Math time. Math time! Can you believe it?!”~~

Ironically, when I was teaching middle school, I remember being amazed that older students would still tattle on others. And by tattle, I don’t mean they’d tell me about the class bully trying to shove their head into the toilet during break but things like, “She is looking at me.”

In an effort to cure my middle school kids of all their tattling, I developed worksheet for them to complete if they needed to tell me about something. Especially if we were in the middle of a lesson or group work. I worked hard to teach them the difference.

For instance, I wanted to know if Susie was making herself puke in the bathroom after lunch. I didn’t want to know that Johnny passed a note to ~~puking~~ Susie. I wanted to know if Horace had his glasses broken by Butch. I didn’t want to know if Horace hid his glasses in his pocket during lunch ~~though who could blame him for not wanting to look at the lunchroom food~~. It boiled down to a simple rule. If life, limb and/or feelings were at stake, come tell me.

The worksheet had about 20 questions for them to complete. Things like describe the weather, what is one thing you learned in your last class, what do you wish were on the lunch menu, and so on. The last question was, “What did you want to tell me?”

I’ve thought about pulling that sheet out for my teachers. Either that or posting a sign announcing, “Tattletales accepted after 4 p.m.”

Anyone want to join me for a nice run at 3:59 p.m?

If at first you don’t succeed, failure might be an option

2009-09-13T21:43:00.001-04:00

After ~~the week from H-E-double hockey sticks~~ a really rough week (thanks for being such a great ear, Movie!), I knew I had to do something to get my mind off of some of the chaos (the unbloggable chaos, that is). I discovered a new favorite drink - the cucumber martini. And with cucumbers in it, it counts as both a beverage AND a vegetable! How awesome!

After two servings of vegetables, Mr. Strong and I went to a funky hamburger dive. I ordered a hamburger different from any burger I’d ever had.

If you think that stuff under the bacon looks like PEANUT BUTTER, then you are super observant! What is not to like?! Hamburgers and peanut butter are two of my most favorite foods ~~but it does make me wonder what the inventor of this burger was smoking~~. And BACON makes everything better! It was an awesome hamburger ~~and I’m working hard to find it in me to forgive my oldest child for eating the half I brought home for later~~. Surely, the combination of peanut butter (protein!) and hamburger (more protein!) with bacon (even more protein!) will help me improve my running skills.

It must have been the combination of two vegetable drinks along with a freakishly delicious burger that encouraged me to go ahead and do something I’ve been ~~trying to talk myself out of~~ thinking about.

I ~~finally~~ signed up to ~~torture myself~~ run in the Disney Princess Half Marathon!

Now I really need to get serious with my running ~~because I don’t want to be the last princess to cross the finish line~~. Also, I need to get focused on eating healthy.

By the way, does anyone know where they might serve Peanut Butter Burgers for breakfast in Orlando?

I need a new name for Barbie Stickers

2009-09-09T20:58:00.001-04:00

It would be safe to say Barbie Stickers is a student who marches to the beat of a different drum. ~~That is the nice way of saying we work our butts off to keep her motivated. And not biting others.~~

This year, she is no longer interested in Barbie stickers ~~for merely stepping out of the car~~. She has moved on to bigger and better things.

Yep. She has fallen in love with a 6 foot inflatable kangaroo that was intended to be a decoration in the media center. She will do her work just for a nod of approval from this inflatable kangaroo. ~~I am wondering when Barbie Stickers is going to look at us as if we are crazy and announce that the kangaroo is in fact, not real.~~

Any suggestions for a name to replace Barbie Stickers?

Just when you think you’ve reached your breaking point…

2009-09-08T20:43:00.001-04:00

Today was the kind of day that, had it been legal, it would have been nice to take a swig of something strong. Then again, I am still a little afraid to have a drink because that could be the beginning of the story that ends with, “Hello. My name is Beth and I’m a …”

Today, there were many, many situations that wrapped their tentacles into my brain and tore away at my sanity.

You might think it is hard work to remain chipper despite the seventeen parents who sent negative emails about their child NOT watching the President’s speech but those emails pale in comparison to the phone call from the irate grandmother who WILL TALK TO AN ADMINISTRATOR. TODAY. ~~At least now I know where the little guy gets some of his colorful language.~~

While it seemed like a good idea to let my hair air dry this morning to allow time to respond to some of the many emails, it suddenly seemed a poor decision when the local news channel came to film how my school was handling the Obama speech to the students. Make that BOTH OF THE LOCAL NEWS CHANNELS. ~~Yep! That was me, bad hair and all, on BOTH the local news channels this evening.~~

A paragraph won’t do justice the situation going on with the parents of the Tsunami Twins. Those poor kids! I could write a book about this family and you’d question my truthfulness ~~because nobody does this kind of ridiculous crap in real life! Right?!~~.

Having a teacher make inappropriate comments about a situation really frustrated me and wreaked havoc on my patience. Then all that patience came rushing back when Mr. Matter of Fact broke down in the hallway because he missed his father who died on the last day of school this past school year. ~~I couldn’t write about it then as my own emotions about losing my dad when I was a kid are still way too raw.~~

Even ~~Lucifer~~ the trainer seemed to pick up on the fact that I had had a rough day and went a little easier on me. It may or may not have helped that he noticed me on the news with my bad hair answering stupid questions from the reporter. Really, what principal would answer truthfully about if they did or did not think the Superintendent had made the right decision. OF COURSE, he made the RIGHT decision. See? I love my job!

Nothing soothed my soul more than my own husband. As I recounted my ~~hell~~ day, I once again ended the conversation with my habitual comment of “I wish I were teaching again.” And he said, “"Why don’t you?”

I need to answer that question this year.

Why don’t I?

I’m going to bite my tongue

2009-09-08T05:57:00.001-04:00

And I’m not going to talk about the hype surrounding the President’s speech today. Also, I’m going to ignore the SEVENTEEN new emails I received during the night from *concerned* parents. It sounds like today might be a good day to have the secretaries hold the phone calls.

God knows, I wouldn’t want to encourage students to work hard on their education. Sheesh.

But Ms. Poopy might have a thing or two to say. She really ~~stinks~~ doesn’t do well with keeping her opinion to herself. In fact, she posed for this picture to let others know what she thought of some of the people who may or may not be instigators in this whole mess.

My husband started a war and now I kind of feel sorry for the refugees

2009-09-06T21:12:00.001-04:00

I’m not sure where Mr. Strong developed such a ~~hatred~~ strong dislike for squirrels but if they had the right representation, he’d be accused of discrimination based on ~~fur color~~ breed.

I could probably distract him from his self-imposed mission of ridding the yard of squirrels if only Ms. Poopy would quit barking at them. All. The. Time.

Despite a ~~gimpy~~ yapping dog and a ~~crazed~~ man with a BB gun, the squirrels have decided to set up camp and stay. It was when the fourth squirrel’s nest showed up that Mr. Strong declared war. First, he went to ~~gather some ammunition~~ cut down a huge bamboo pole.

The bamboo pole was as longer than the truck and we had to shove it through the back window so I could hang onto it. We ~~were styling as we drove through town~~ hurried home so Mr. Strong could begin the battle with the squirrels.

The game plan was to just mess up their nests ~~that are strong enough to sustain hurricane force winds~~ so that they’d move somewhere else.

The bamboo pole was perfect for reaching the nests and stirring them up.

When ground fighting became too tiring, Mr. Strong ~~took to the skies~~ climbed up to the roof.

One squirrel went running after the Great Tree Shake Up of 2009. I assume the rest will come home this evening to face devastation.

I do hope the squirrels will face facts and move on ~~and so do the neighbors so they won’t have to listen to Ms. Poopy barking at them anymore.~~

Would it be wrong of me to leave some bird seed out there for homeless yard rats?

Do you know Lucifer? He works at my gym.

2009-09-03T19:00:00.004-04:00

In an effort to get in better shape, I ~~lost my freaking mind and~~ signed the husband and I up to meet with a trainer once a week.

As it looks now, I have a standing date with ~~Satan~~ the trainer every Tuesday evening. Tuesdays with Lucifer.

This past Tuesday, we worked on upper body ~~issues~~ strength. The end result has been ridiculous. I can't even get food into my pie hole. Getting dressed is an exercise in torture. I'm considering sleeping in my contacts and skipping the dental hygiene.

In fact, my husband has a new life goal. Get strong enough to kick Lucifer's ass.

Today, at school, I was sitting in the Opportunity Room (you know, the room where you have the opportunity to straighten up and make better choices) with Mr. I Will Pee Pee in My Pants on Purpose when suddenly the child ran to the school intercom phone on the wall.

Mr. I Will Pee Pee in My Pants on Purpose (as he hastily grabbed the phone): "Hello... Hello... Oppicer." What the heck?! He is calling an officer on me?!

Me (sorely, getting up): "Put the phone down. It is time to calm down and get our work completed." I really did sound that calm. In my mind, I was thinking, "You tried to call the cops?! You little *#@%!"

Mr. I Will Pee Pee in My Pants on Purpose (beginning to freak out, then slams the phone up against his head): "Ow! Ow! My ear! You hit my ear! I'm going to tell my momma!"

Isn't that some crap?! I wasn't even touching ~~Mr. Stinky Pants~~ the kid. Never mind the fact that I can't even lift my ~~freaking~~ arms.

I probably should send Lucifer a thank you note for causing me so much pain because while I was on the verge of getting really irritated with that kid, I ended up just laughing. My inability to move provided me with the comic relief to just laugh and laugh. I'm pretty sure I scared that kid into acting right and flying straight. Crazy people can have that affect on people.

Now, how about some pain pills. Anyone willing to share?

Can we conjugate nouns?

2009-09-02T19:58:00.002-04:00

As Little Ms. Know It All was reading something in her book, she suddenly became confused by a challenging word.

Little Ms. Know It All: "What is this word here?"

4th Grade Teacher: "That is the word cacti. It is plural for cactus."

Little Ms. Know It All (with a confused look): "Huh?"

4th Grade Teacher: "It means more than one cactus. When there is more than one cactus we say cacti."

Little Ms. Know It All (clearly not liking that she didn't know something): "Well, I've never heard of it before. How was I supposed to know."

A few minutes pass by when all of a sudden Little Ms. Know It All is back in front of the teacher.

Little Ms. Know It All: "Oh. I get it. Cacti is kind of like possi (pronounced pos-eye)."

4th Grade Teacher (with a confused look): ~~"Huh?"~~ "Excuse me?"

Little Ms. Know It All (feeling oh so confident): "You know. Possi. Like when there is more than one possum."

This is a very angry parent

2009-09-01T06:06:00.004-04:00

Just saw the headlines on CNN: "This is a very angry fire" in regards to all the burning going on in California ~~which my grandmother used to say was going to fall off into the ocean one day~~. And I began to wonder. Why is it only the angry fires make the news? And are there nice fires?

It isn't but a hop, skip and jump for me to get my mind back on the parent I will have a meeting with this afternoon. ~~And I didn't lose any sleep over this. Those bags under my eyes are always this dark.~~ CNN would likely call her an angry parent ~~but I won't bet on it as logic doesn't seem to be the strong suit of the media~~. And she is bringing her advocate ~~who is a scary *#&@~~.

At the very end of May, the judge expelled her son from school. The parent was given a ~~laundry~~ list of things to do. The one I was most excited about was the mandatory counseling the child was to receive. ~~Still, I had hoped the mother would have to take some parenting classes. A girl can dream, right?~~ As it turns out, the mother did finally do what the judge required her to do ~~just not in the time line MOST parents would have done it in~~.

Today, we meet to discuss reentering the child into school. A few of the big wigs from the School Board Office will be at the meeting ~~so I guess I should gussy myself up a bit~~.

My plan is to just sit back and let them deal with the wrath of this angry parent ~~because God knows I've dealt with it plenty of times over the past few years~~. She isn't going to like that her child will be moved to the Alternative School.

Maybe CNN can make a headline for me: "This is a very happy administrator."

Does this mean I am losing it?

2009-08-30T11:32:00.004-04:00

Last night, I cooked dinner for Mr. Strong's birthday. While I was getting the salad ready, I looked and looked for the big salad bowl we have. After looking in all the cabinets, I gave up and put the salad in a smaller bowl.

This morning, I was playing around with my camera and my new lens. Mr. Strong often puts funny messages on the chalkboard. This one says, "For Sale Children - Slightly Used" ~~in case you can't ready his elementary handwriting~~. He is this funny everyday ~~and I never want to stuff a sock in it~~.

Suddenly, I noticed a large bowl beside the pig.

Dang it! There was the bowl I was looking for the night before. How could I have missed that?

It has been holding our hodge podge of fruit now for about 6 months.

Maybe I should put Miss Poopy in charge of the kitchen. Does anyone have any good recipes for backyard birds?

And why would you want me to do that?

2009-08-28T18:12:00.003-04:00

As Mr. School Stinks was sitting at the lunch table with the other first graders, he suddenly sneezed so forcefully, we had to replace two of the meals for the unlucky students ~~showered~~ sitting across from him.

After the hysteria had died down, I gently reminded Mr. School Stinks to use his hands or the crook of his arm the next time he felt a sneeze coming. Mr. School Stinks gave me one of his infamous ~~puppy dog head tilted~~ confused looks.

Me (trying to explain): "If you cover your nose and mouth, all that stuff won't blow everywhere."

Mr. School Stinks (who earned that name for a reason): "But then my arm will get all wet." Bada bing!

I honestly didn't know what else to say.

And just how high was that bar?

2009-08-25T20:32:00.003-04:00

This afternoon, I had a meeting with Mr. Funny and one of the assistant principals at ~~the small town they call a school~~ his high school. Since this is Mr. Funny's senior year, we were making plans ~~to send him to a college as far away from Georgia as possible~~ to apply to quite a few schools. ~~Feel sorry for me now. I'm about to be broke.~~ Mr. Funny has worked hard to earn good grades and to score well on his ACT and SAT tests and I am proud of him.

As I was driving away from the school, I had a flashback of the last time I'd had to meet with someone at Mr. Funny's school. That had been a ~~fun~~ ~~emotional~~ scary little meeting with Mr. Funny and the middle school principal.

It seemed that Mr. Funny had photoshopped a picture of the principal's face onto a picture of Hitler with an outstretched arm. To the side was the caption, "We raise the bar this high."

Actually, I thought it was rather creative. And funny.

As the principal threw around words like "expel" and "suspension", I realized he failed to see the humor in the situation. In the end, it turned out that Mr. Funny had not done any of the ~~crime~~ altering of the photo while at school. The principal had found out about the picture from other students ~~which revealed the REAL stupidity in his actions. He had emailed the picture to some friends! Idiot!~~.

It was up to me to punish him. And punish him I did.

That event was event was almost 5 years ago. Do you think it might be time to lift the photo shop restriction?

It pays not to be Goaty

2009-08-22T05:35:00.008-04:00

Yesterday, we had a rodeo come to our school to kick off our Accelerated Reader program. The kids were super excited and ~~as a result were LOUD in the lunchroom~~ could hardly wait for the horses to arrive.

As I was out in the back field helping to set up, I saw the cutest goat.

A little girl who belonged to one of the rodeo hands was dancing around and playing with the goat.

Me: "What is the goat's name?"

Dancing Girl: "He don't gots no name."

Me: "Awww. Poor goat. Everyone deserves a name."

Dancing Girl: "Well, I call him Goaty. You can call him Goaty, too."

During the rodeo, the trainer explained specifics about rodeo life. Suddenly, I noticed someone running to poor Goaty.

I watched in horror ~~and mild amusement~~ as the goat was plopped to the ground and a rope was quickly wrapped around his little legs.

Holy Goat Roping! I think I would be scared to death if someone four times bigger than me were running up to me (while I was already tied to a tether) to flip me to the ground and tie my legs together. Several thoughts went rolling through my head.

Who would want that job of getting tied up? Did Goaty audition for the part? Does Goaty get *special* feed to compensate for the humiliation??

I'm going to put a picture of Goaty in my office to remind me to be thankful of everything my job has to offer. At least no one is knocking me to the ground with a rope clenched between their teeth.

Build a bridge and get over it

2009-08-20T06:12:00.006-04:00

Something you may or may not know about me is that I am a people pleaser. I despise controversy and will work hard to keep the peace.

This past spring, some anonymous teachers at my school ~~almost made me want to dig ditches for a living~~ really hurt my feelings. They are apparently at it again. Another teacher on my faculty came to me yesterday afternoon upset about something going on. It seems that a group of teachers who play bridge together are secretly meeting with a school board member to complain.

What a kick in the ~~bleeping~~ gut! I thought this year had started off so smoothly.

I asked the ~~informant~~ teacher what they might be complaining about and she had no idea. She had gotten the feeling they thought I was asking them to do too much.

I am only asking them to do their job. Teach the curriculum to their students. Be kind to their students and guide them to become better people.

Work is a funny thing. I've never worked in a place where everyone was happy. While I know that each person is responsible for their own happiness, I never realized how cutting mean comments can be.

You need to have thicker skin. Really? Is that a marketable skill? I've never seen it on a resume.

It comes down to this. Hurtful comments are, well, hurtful. They hurt just as they were intended. I fear if I become immune to the negativity, I could also become immune to the needs of others.

This past summer, I attended a conference ~~where I almost died in running in a lightning storm~~ that suggested each school mentally split their schools into thirds. The first third would be the excited, positive, supportive teachers who will do whatever it takes to help their students succeed. The bottom third are the complainers and the rebels who insist on doing it their way despite the curriculum changes ~~because the earth might tilt on it's axis if someone didn't get to teach the butterfly life cycle even if it is no longer a standard for that grade level~~ or die doing it. The middle third are middle of the road teachers who could be swayed to either the top or bottom third. The speaker gave us a few minutes to rank our teachers.

My assistant principal and I could not figure out who was in the bottom third.

But now I have a feeling the bottom third is a bridge playing group. Maybe I should take up cards and beat them at their own game.

We're going to need a bigger island

2009-08-18T05:39:00.007-04:00

This past weekend, Mr. Strong and I went to the beach along with Mr. Funny and some of our friends. It was a much needed break and I enjoyed walking on the beach with my sweet husband then swimming in the ocean with my youngest son. The weather was just perfect!

As we were galavanting on the beach on Sunday, we noticed some fish jumping out of the water. Then we noticed this.

Yes! That is a SHARK! ~~The Jaws music didn't even play in the background.~~

Next time, I'm not hanging out on the beach with my lawyer friend.

Free advice to parents who think their kid is the cutest, bestest, and/or smartest kid in the whole wide world

2009-08-12T17:33:00.009-04:00

Are you sitting down? ~~If not, where the heck do you keep your computer because who works on a computer while standing up?~~ I have some news I'd like to share with you.

The world does not revolve around your child and there will be times when your child will have to face disappointment.

There. I said it.

I work with children. It's what I do. And I find them all charming in their unique little ways. But not so charming as to think that one child is better or more important than the other. Or that one child should be protected at all costs of ever knowing any disappointment.

So when your child has to be moved to another class due to overcrowding, it really doesn't help for you "give me permission to pick another child." That is akin to wishing bad luck on someone else. Your child was selected. It is time for you to ~~deal~~ help your child learn to see the positives in the situation.

Furthermore, when your child has ~~to be torn away from your legs screaming, "I want my Mommy!"~~ separation anxiety, he/she is often doing that for your benefit. I don't want to hurt your feelings when I tell you most children stop crying within three minutes. It takes me longer than three minutes to get over having to wake up so early in the morning. So when you shout out "Are you happy now?" after I have ~~worked up a sweat~~ carried your darling child to his class, I have just learned to feel sorry for you. It must ~~suck to be stuck with middle school emotions~~ be hard to see your child that upset.

While I believe most parents have good intentions for their children, there are many, many parents who want to protect their child from any and all disappointment. I wish they would realize that the best lesson they could learn from "bad" situations is a positive attitude and the ability to problem solve ways to make it better.

I have a feeling there are going to be a lot of disappointed adults in about 15 years.

Aligning the Stars

2009-08-08T07:47:00.006-04:00

Last year, the beginning of the school year had me coming home bruised, exhausted, and crying. I was even bleeding from a bite one day. Suffice it to say the "Tsunami Twins" ~~kicked our tails~~ rocked our world.

But I'm not here to write that story yet. ~~My therapist recommends waiting to tell that story~~ That story can wait for another day.

Possibly, it is the survival of last year that has made this year's beginning feel so good. Let's recap last year's events just for the ~~hell~~ fun of it:

Due to redistricting, more than half my school was new to us at the beginning of last year. Oh. My. God.

Many of the parents liked to tell us all about how they did it at their last school. Yes. I see.

Then there were the aforementioned "Tsunami Twins" who were much like the feral children I've seen in documentaries. I'm not going there (but I am going to say thanks for special schools for the severely emotionally disturbed).

Oh, and our enrollment was down and they moved my two last hires to different schools causing us to restructure several classes. Why is it always the last hires?! Dang it! I hired them to help me with the pissy attitudes of some of the old timers.

Then to add insult to injury, there was the end of the year where they predicted we'd need less teachers and moved ANOTHER of my last hires to a different school. Despite my ~~reprimand by the superintendent~~ begging and pleading to not move another teacher, they insisted I was wrong about our predictions for next year's enrollment. Again, why does it always have to be the last hires?! All my awesome people are slipping away from me...

In the end, ~~I WAS RIGHT!~~ our population has grown even MORE than we predicted.

Our Kindergarten and 1st grade classes have EXPLODED! We've run out of little desks and books ~~causing me to wonder, "What the heck was going on 5 or 6 years ago to have this mini-baby boom?"~~ Regardless, the kids have been fantastic! We had two criers the first day, one the second, and none on the third day - a Personal Best for us! And the parents have been fantastic ~~but as for the criers, I can't count that high~~! Even ALL ~~well, almost all~~ the teachers have been fantastic ~~despite some of their super crowded rooms~~!

The beginning of the year, while busy, has more or less been a cake walk. A very busy cake walk. Like one with a super, fast tempo. Like maybe a cake walk to Super Freak. But I digress.

Now for the icing on the cake - the teacher they moved to a different school this past summer is coming home!

I don't even care if I don't get an apology. The fact that they would right this wrong makes it all worthwhile. ~~For the record, it took two and a half days of begging, pleading and making comments to make them feel guilty. Once again, I am reminded of the power of guilt.~~

Even if it has been exhausting, it has been the BEST beginning of the school year. Ever!

Ready, Set, Activate

2009-08-03T05:29:00.006-04:00

A few years ago, a friend of mine told me a story about a little girl who had been in her son's class. No, it isn't that little girl to the right. That's my cousin's beautiful child. She will probably be acting out this story in a few years.

My friend, Ms. PTO, was working at the school during Open House when a little girl, Miss Acrobat, came skipping up to her.

Miss Acrobat: "Hey there, Ms. PTO."

Ms. PTO: "Well, hey there Miss Acrobat! Did you have a good summer?"

Miss Acrobat: "Uh huh! I did! But my momma is ready for me to come back to school."

Ms. PTO: "That's because she is ready for you to learn all the stuff you have to learn as a second grader."

Miss Acrobat: "Maybe. She told me that I activate her nerves."

Once again, I think the parents are going to be the ones most excited about school starting on Wednesday. Their nerves have been activated.

All "Lioned" Up

2009-07-31T08:12:00.005-04:00

The pace at school has reached a fevered frenzy trying to get the school ready for ~~the over-excited parent stampede~~ Open House.

Replace stained ceiling tiles ~~but don't worry about the leak that is the cause of the stain~~. Check.

Call maintenance for the ~~hundredth~~ fifth time about AC in Media Center ~~AND the AC for the menopausal teacher because that baby just can't get cold enough~~. Check.

Sort out papers and handbooks to ~~overwhelm~~ go home with parents. Check.

Take custodians out to lunch for ~~having to deal with all of us crazed educators~~ doing such an excellent job making the school shine. Check.

All the while, parents who have moved to the area are still coming into the office to enroll students.

One parent came in to withdraw her two daughters. I don't think I've ever seen this woman happy. Her personal mission last year was to get a bus driver fired. In the end, I had an arsenal of videos that could have been used to train bus drivers how to do their job. When she came in... surprise, surprise... she wasn't happy. Still.

Melancholy Mom (with her arms crossed and a haughty attitude): "I want to withdraw my children from this school."

Me (smiling, because that is my job ~~and she had just made my day~~): "Not a problem. Where will they be going to school this coming up year?"

Melancholy Mom (clearly irked that I asked): "I am home schooling them."

Me: "That is fine. You will need to complete some paperwork at the Board of Education office stating that you are home schooling your children."

Melancholy Mom: "THAT is none of their business! Why do I have to tell anyone what I am doing?"

Me: "It has to do with the Compulsory Attendance law...." Yada yada yawn.

Melancholy Mom (starting to look like a fierce lion): "Well, that just isn't right. The public education in this town is awful, just awful. Do you know what I think is the biggest problem with your curriculum in your school?" Um, no. I really don't.

I just stared at her because I know these types of conversations. The mother ~~lion~~ was going ~~for blood~~ to tell me what she thought no matter what.

Melancholy Mom: "You guys spend too much time reading. Kids need the chance to see the world and experience things outside of school." Did she think we were an flipping travel agency? And when did reading in school become a problem?

After ~~her verbal diarrhea~~ she had finished, I looked around and got excited because one of my secretaries was at her desk ~~trying to disguise her laughter~~. It always helps when more than one person hears a conversation. Besides, I'm really not that creative and I couldn't make this crap up.

Panning for Turds and the Fecal Fiend

2009-07-27T05:53:00.004-04:00

My neighbors are home after a week in the Caribbean. When they are gone, I watch out for their FOUR CATS and ONE LITTER BOX. I've never been so happy for them to get home.

Let's just say, the experience has been good for the diet. And I can't look at Tootsie Rolls without feeling nauseous.

Also, on the agenda this past weekend, we got to pick up Mr. Funny from his Poindexter Camp. He has been there for the past 6 weeks and we've missed his ~~mood swings~~ witty banter around the house.

When asked to share his experiences with us, he told us about one night when all the boys were called together for an impromptu meeting. Apparently, some boy had pooped in the sink in one of the academic halls. They were out to get this bathroom bandit.

Of all the stories. He has been at an academic camp majoring in Social Studies and the first story that comes to mind deals with this sneaky crapper. Nice.

Hope your weekend was ~~pooptastic~~ great, too!

Me and my shadow

2009-07-22T05:41:00.005-04:00

This past week, a student in the Educational Leadership program was assigned to shadow me. The first day, I found out she is currently not in a teaching position. She hasn't started looking for a teaching position because she'll graduate with her Leadership degree in December. In fact, she has never even had a job, much less been a teacher. ~~It is so painfully obvious she has no idea what the real world is like!~~

Why would you want a leadership degree when you haven't even tried out the teaching part of the job? And why does the university allow blatantly inexperienced students into the leadership program ~~because really, those of us in administration question our sanity as to why we went into administration on many a good day~~?

So they sent her to shadow me for a week. A week when I don't have students and I don't have teachers. All she is learning is the paperwork part of my job. Big, hairy deal. The real fun starts when the students arrive.

At the end of the week, I will have to rate my shadow. So far, she has just come across as young and immature ~~as I'm sure all of us would have been if we had no reason to work~~. She came to work 5 minutes late yesterday. This truly ~~pissed me off~~ surprised me as I had just explained the day before that one of the deadly sins in education (my opinion, my school) was tardiness. And she has left the school to take an hour+ lunch break both days. She can't seem to remember to bring something with her to eat ~~and doesn't seem to grasp the idea that teachers and administrators have to eat lunch in approximately 3 minutes on most days~~.

She doesn't have a ~~frickin~~ clue.

Since whatever I have to say to her seems to fall on deaf ears, I am assuming she will eventually get the message from her supervising professor when I complete her evaluation and send it in.

All I can say is I wouldn't want to work in a school if she was running it. Hell, I wouldn't even want to put a my child in her class.

Summer is over

2009-07-19T06:46:00.004-04:00

When ~~your three weeks is up~~ summer is over, you are supposed to ease back into work. Right?!

Why didn't the memo get to the right people?

~~Just for craps and giggles~~ They sent us back to work a week before our secretaries. Don't they know who really runs the school? I ~~tried~~ enrolled over 30 new students in 3 days! And we aren't even going to talk about the phone ~~because I promise I could just chunk that cell phone and not miss it one bit~~.

And while these phones were ringing and the people were in the office enrolling their kids, a new wall was being built. Right outside of the front office. Have I ever told you about how much saws and drills make my teeth hurt? No?

In addition, this past week of craziness coincided with a new business venture for my husband. Vending machines! ~~While the honey buns may rock they are totally not worth half the days caloric allotment.~~ And being the nice wife, I went out to help load the twenty something machines they have put in this one business.

This I did on a Friday evening. The day before the 5K on Saturday.

After working like dogs, we got home and ate pizza around 9 p.m.

I'll spare you the details but I have learned that pizza at bedtime a few hours before you run is NOT a good idea. Don't let anyone tell you any differently.

On a positive note, I did my best time ever - 36:09. ~~Maybe hurking up pizza isn't so bad after all.~~

I'll leave you with a sign I found the other day in a convenience store. I have to admit, it is kind of nice to think that some men were trying to get more in touch with their feminine side.

I'm not sure I would have passed the test

2009-07-14T20:41:00.007-04:00

The same people who thought it was a good idea to let me run a school encouraged me to attend a conference exclusively for administrators. At the beach. Which is an especially cruel place to make people sit inside listening to ~~boring~~ speakers while others were outside riding bikes and building sand castles.

One of the speakers talked about how it was critical that we teach children how to problem solve. Apparently it is more important for them to figure out real life situations than it is to learn their multiplication tables. Who knew?

Now if only they'd get the state test changed. We could set up some real life situations. For instance, we could put the students outside right before a storm and rate them on how they respond. The ones who came in from the rain would clearly be ready to be passed up to the next level while the ones who stayed put would need some type of intervention and face possible retention.

At the end of the first day, a 5K beach run was scheduled ~~because apparently somebody thinks it is fun watching a bunch of out of shape administrators huff and puff down the coast~~. They got us all in a line on the beach and sent us off running.

About a mile into the race, lightning began zapping, thunder started booming, and the rain poured down. I can only speak for myself and the poor kid running near me but it was a downright Billy Graham experience. Right there on the beach.

I thought I was going to die.

So, I did what any normal person would do. I grabbed that boy and made him run faster than he has ever run in his life.

After all, only the ones who finished the race got a t-shirt.

Wasting Good Air

2009-07-12T07:37:00.008-04:00

Last night, my husband was catering for a friend's 50th birthday party. I went along ~~for the free food and drinks~~ to help. While I was ~~working the room~~ standing around, I met a retired teacher and her ~~fat~~ husband. She was interesting. He was weird.

Me: "You used to teach Home Ec? How cool!" My mother would have LOVED for me to have taken home economics. Instead, I took drafting and art.

Retired Teacher: "Yep. Once I told the senior girls to each bring in a chicken and I would teach them how to cut it up and cook it. Several of the girls got off the bus with a live chicken." Double points to those of you who realized that only girls took this class. What the heck?! One of the main reasons I married my husband was for his cooking skills and house cleaning abilities!

Me: "Oh, wow! What did you do?" Because what WOULD you do with live chickens running around the school?

Retired Teacher: "Well, the Ag Teacher and I showed them how to wring the necks of the chickens. And then we cleaned them and cut them up to get ready to cook them." Oh. Of course!

~~Fat~~ Husband of Retired Teacher: "Kids today aren't like they used to be." Were we speaking to you, lard butt?

Me: "Well. No, they aren't. But parents aren't like they used to be either." What was I supposed to say? We weren't even talking about misbehaving students.

Retired Teacher: "Amen to that." I love when realizations bring about a religious experience.

~~Fat~~ Husband of Retired Teacher: "You know when all the problems started? Back in 1964 with the Civil Rights Movement. Every thing has been downhill since then." Did he just say that aloud? Dang! How do you respond to that?

Insert awkward silence.

Me: "I think I need to go help out at the bar." Because apparently I suck at good come backs.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
In an effort to be more like my friend, Michel, I am sitting here blogging when in less than an hour I am supposed to be picking up my assistant principal to head to a conference. I haven't filled up the car with gas. And I still haven't packed or gotten dressed. See? I needed some cheesecake!

Perspective

2009-07-10T09:42:00.004-04:00

In just a few months, it appears my mother-in-law has aged ten years. She has lost her teeth again. Still, she smiles as if they were in place in all their enamel glory.

The doctor says her lungs are no worse than they were a year ago ~~which is only because no one will buy her cigarettes~~. The fluid on the brain is significantly worse. And this is where we are having problems.

She can no longer walk. Her memory is ~~for crap~~ basically gone.

But she is happy. In her world, she is picking weeds, going to work, teaching dance lessons, and entertaining the annoying neighbors. She is even going to the dentist. Her husband who died 5 years ago is still paying the bills. She is happy.

And yet, she is no longer who we knew before. She is but mostly she isn't.

The doctors talked with us about having a shunt inserted to relieve the pressure off her brain. It isn't a complicated procedure. The complication lies in getting her off the respirator. There is a strong chance she won't be able to come off that respirator. Her lungs are that bad. And this scares me for her.

What if we have this shunt put in and it works? It would be great to know that she is able to realize the world around her and to once again carry on a real conversation. But what if she is never able to come off the respirator?

I know there are things worse than death. Isn't that it?

A Biology Lesson - Why brains will get you farther than looks

2009-07-08T13:16:00.001-04:00

About a month ago, I noticed this little guy on my fennel plant. Swallowtail caterpillars! There were ~~a lucky~~ 13 in all. Please pay attention. This is a story of birth and death and butterfly stupidity. Besides, there may be a test at the end. They ate and ate and grew. Sadly, their numbers went down despite the fact they were totally ~~chowing down~~ consuming what used to be a huge fennel plant. Finally, I realized the ~~godless, stinging beasts~~ wasps were zapping them and flying away with the caterpillar carcass. My protective nature kicked into gear. ~~Ozone sensitive wasp spray may or may not have been sprayed in vast quantities in an attempt to rid the world of this evil.~~

When the numbers were a mere THREE, I brought them onto the porch and prayed for them to pupate.

Over the next two days, each of the three caterpillars struck the pupate pose.

Interestingly enough, the color of the chrysalis seemed to be determined by the color of the stick the pupation took place on as one was green and two were gray-brown. Next year, I plan to paint some of the sticks orange and purple just to see what the chrysalis color will be.

Two of the butterflies came out of the chrysalis when we weren't looking. Later, we had to catch them on porch and send them on their merry little way ~~since they were too stupid to fly out the open door~~. The last chrysalis finally showed evidence of the butterfly coming out.

Because I did read a little about the Swallowtails, I knew to leave them alone. Apparently, things in nature have this whole birthing process worked out.

Like humans, they really aren't too cute when they finally emerge. At least they don't suffer from the cone head issues.

After they are born, they are supposed to hang out and let their wings dry. At first, he seemed to get the hanging out part.

Then, for some reason, he just fell to the floor. He looked a lot like a turtle on his back. I wanted to throw him a lifeline but I resisted playing God.

He just didn't look good and it didn't feel right to not lend a helping hand. I cheered for him and all he did was crumple up his wings. He seemed defeated.

When he began to tear his wings, I offered a stick to the butterfly. He seemed thankful and grabbed hold. I placed the stick back into the flower pot.

Within a few minutes, the butterfly was back on the floor. What the hell?! Maybe this was a special butterfly. Or maybe this was a butterfly who would benefit from some accommodations. Or it could be that this was a butterfly who was having issues with that whole survival of the fittest concept.

I offered the stick again. Again, the butterfly clung on for dear life.

Maybe the butterfly needed some food. I decided to place the butterfly outside on what remained of the fennel plant. He quickly climbed up a new stick and just sat there. Now maybe what remained of his wings would dry out and work for him.

Within minutes, a wasp started circling the area. Against my better judgment, I decided to let nature take it's course. Damn wasps won again.

I was able to snap this picture of one of the butterflies who followed the protocol for wing drying right before we caught him to place him outside ~~because he was one of the two butterflies too stupid to fly out the door we opened for him~~.

In the end, the score was Butterflies - 2, Wasps - 11.

I think I'm going to have to reconsider this whole "Free as a Butterfly" idea. It appears when it comes to survival of the fittest, the wasps have it going on.

ABC Gum

2009-07-06T09:06:00.015-04:00

Already Been Chewed Gum
It has many meanings

On the bottom of your shoe

Stuck beneath the desk

A breath freshener hoping for that kiss

On the roof of a mouth, hoping the teacher won't notice during class

A terrible joke crammed into the key hole

An announcement that Miss Poopy is back in the saddle

(She stole the gum from my purse.)

************************

Go Miss Poopy Go!

************************

Miss Poopy had a relapse last week and suddenly began dragging her back legs. Just over a year ago a disk ruptured in Miss Poopy's back causing her to be totally paralyzed. After surgery and therapy, she regained her ability to walk (even if it does look a bit like Slinky dog).

Miss Poopy spent several days in the doggie ~~jail~~ hospital and now she is home and able to walk again. Another delay in the ordering of the wheels! Crisis deferred.

Carry on.

Wild Kingdom

2009-07-02T14:09:00.014-04:00

We've had some ~~wild (ok, who am I to judge)~~ rabbits who've moved into the neighborhood. After leaving out a few baby carrots and the food disappeared. I expect an invite to their den any day now. It is nice to have good neighbors. And they look much friendlier than the little old lady with the two poodles ~~although it has become my life mission to wave and smile to her EVERY DAMN DAY because apparently her life sucked and she likes to show it on her face~~!

When I run in the morning, there are usually two rabbits grazing in the lot across the street. Apparently, they are ~~not supposed to be seen together~~ shy because they usually do their statue pose when I come by. If everything goes as planned, they'll grow to love me as much as I love them. Aren't they adorable?

A few weeks ago, we noticed some bees flying around one corner of the house. After watching them for a while, it was obvious they were crawling under the wood and going .... where?! DANGIT! We didn't invite the stinking bees!

The brave, daring husband crawled into the attic to investigate. He came back stating the bees were NOT in the attic.

After a Google-fied search, we realized we were dealing with honey bees.

DOUBLE DANGIT! We can't kill honey bees! There is a huge decline of honey bees in the United States (and in the world - but it appears the rest of the world is doing a better job advertising for the bees to visit and stay).

After a few ~~frustrating~~ phone calls to the County Extension Agent ~~because WHY THE HECK WOULD WE REALLY WANT THEM TO TAKE OUR CONCERNS SERIOUSLY! We have BEES! BEES HAVE STINGERS! WE DON'T ENJOY THE STINGERS!~~ , a volunteer arrived. Apparently we ~~look a step above complete and total imbecile~~ don't look well educated in all things bees and he didn't trust our judgment that the bees were NOT in the attic.

After a sweaty climb into the attic, Mr. Bee Keeper came down to announce the bees were NOT in the attic.

Oh, really.

He felt they were in the wall. A lively discussion about the merits of going through wood or brick ensued. The wood lost.

After cutting into wood at the top of the garage ~~which has NOT been cleaned out due to reading, avoiding the hotter than holy carp heat and waiting for the garage fairy to arrive~~, Mr. Bee Keeper announced the bees were NOT in the wall!

The next step was to ~~attack~~ check the eaves of the house.

Mr. Bee Keeper loaded up the bee smoker and explained that the smoke made the bees really excited. Really?! I think I've met others who get excited about *special* smoke, too. Who knew humans had so much in common with the bees?

Mr. Bee Keeper really smoked those bees. And they did get excited ~~and I believe a few bee brain cells were fried in the process which is why you should NOT smoke stuff even if it is just pine straw~~!

The task of ~~ruining~~ cutting into the eaves began. It started with a little hole but quickly grew into ~~a more expensive chunk-o-damage~~ about an eight foot section.

HOLY HONEY! There were tons of bees! This experience has taught me that bees are smarter than I initially thought. Their colony even had a brain-like appearance.

Mr. Bee Keeper then began the process of ~~getting stung~~ taking the honey combs down. We begged him to put on his cool bee-keeper hat but he said it wasn't necessary.

Mr. Bee Keeper ~~ain't no sissy!~~ is a very tough man.

While ~~getting stung~~ taking down the honey combs, Mr. Bee Keeper gave us several lessons on bee keeping ~~although I'm not sure why because we wanted the little stingers out of there~~. He also looked for the queen.

I really didn't understand everything he said but I did get that if you were a bee, you'd want to be the queen. And the drones ~~are boring~~ get killed. See, Mom? I can be a good student!

We all looked for the queen. Mr. Bee Keeper said he'd know her when he saw her.

I looked for the crown.

I looked a little bit closer. Maybe I'd be able to spot that majestic wave.

Is it me or do they all look alike? This is making me feel like a bee-racist.

Instead, I found this bee hanging out on a leaf. Is it just me or are those some BIG eyes?!

Normally, I'm not all a-scared of bees but typically, I don't mess up their ~~condo~~ colony.

I was starting to just think it was all in my head. Bees don't have emotions. Bees won't take this personally.

Then, I saw my cup of water.

DANGIT! There is no denying that the bees have it out for us!

I think I'm going to go see if I can move in with the rabbits.

It may be a sign

2009-06-29T07:03:00.003-04:00

We just got back from a weekend trip to the beach with friends. Mr. Happy and Mr. Funny and I haven't been to the beach together in several years. They were still fun to play with even if they wouldn't build a sand castle with me.

We found several sharks' teeth. You know what that means, don't you? That's right! Sharks don't take care of their teeth. My dentist should totally lay off the 'flossing after every meal' soapbox. There are probably hundreds of sharks who could benefit from her services.

I'm going to recommend she go to help out.

And then the flood gates were cracked

2009-06-24T20:26:00.003-04:00

"Beth. This is your Aunt Jan. Do you remember me?"

My dad's little sister. I could never forget.

"I'm sorry to bother you but I needed to let you know your Aunt Kay died this past weekend."

My dad died almost 30 years ago. He was 36. I was 12. I haven't seen this side of the family regularly since his funeral.

"I called your grandmother to get your phone number."

I've missed this part of my family. Twelve years of memories are all I have.

"I need to get your address because your Aunt Kay left you something in her will."

I used to be bitter about how things turned out. How it seemed my sister and I didn't matter any more. Now I know that it was just life that got in the way.

"They found her on Saturday. At this point, we think she had a heart attack. Just like her son. In the same chair."

Poor, poor Aunt Kay lost both her husband and her only child to heart attacks. Now she can rest between them.

"Your grandmother updated me on all that has been going on in your life. I'm real proud of you. Your dad would be real proud, too."

And those tears I'm usually so good at holding back, I'm not doing so well today.

Not so tough after all

2009-06-22T12:46:00.006-04:00

Despite the heat, I've continued with my running even though the humidity has tried it's best to suffocate me. Regardless, I feel stronger and healthier. I've actually been impressed with my commitment to running ~~because I prefer to lay around on my laurels~~.

This past weekend, I worked in the backyard. I pulled weeds and then pulled some more weeds. Today, the backs of my legs are in revolt*. I can't walk without stifling the moans of pain. In fact, I can barely walk at all.

Forget running, I've been done in by some rascally weeds.

Since I can't walk, I think I'm going to spend the rest of the day with The Thirteenth Tale. This book was recommended by Jason and I have had to make myself put it down. Jason probably needs to start looking for some cheap tickets to Georgia. Since I can't tear myself away from the book, my summer projects have been neglected. And I have a garage to clean out along with some cabinets and closets.

*Grammar update courtesy of Comedy Goddess.

What happened to the 'through rain or snow or sleet or hail' part of his contract

2009-06-17T06:38:00.013-04:00

When I was growing up, we had a mailbox fastened to the house and a friendly mailman who walked the neighborhood with his canvas bag slung over his shoulder. He was a super nice guy who always spoke to us when he made his rounds. He even tried to teach me to whistle.

My mother always scrounged for money to leave him a tip at Christmas and the beginning of July.

These days, the mailmen (and women) only deliver mail in their dorky little mail trucks. And those mailboxes attached to the house are just reminders of days gone by.

But I don't mind walking out to the mailbox to gather the ~~bills~~ mail. It gives me the chance to practice whistling ~~and annoying the cats from next door who view my yard as their litter box~~.

Yesterday, I received this little slip of paper in the mailbox. It was resting on top of the mail with no explanation.

The first thought that crossed my mind was that my ~~grumpy~~ ~~fatty, fatty two by four~~ mailman was leaving us a thank you note for all the food we left by the mailbox during the recent food drive. I began to read the message.

What the heck!? My ~~idiot~~ mailman is worried about me removing snow? We live in South Georgia. It doesn't snow here. And we are currently in the middle of a heatwave with the Heat Index hovering around 110 degrees. Does he know something about that place with the double hockey sticks freezing over? Should I be worried?

I continued reading ~~and I didn't even ask for help with the big words~~.

So, Mr. I'm So Darned Lazy I'd Rather Write 'Mailbox Blocked' And Deliver the Mail Another Day felt like it was time to leave a more official note. On a crappy overused copy with snow references even though we live in the armpit of the south where it doesn't snow. Because he isn't going to take the 3 steps from his truck on the road to the mailbox on the curb. What did he think would happen with 6 people in the house and 6 cars?

No wonder his voluminous hiney spills off the sides of the seat of his mail truck.

Does Mr. Funny's car look like it is too close to the mailbox? I think even a blind dude could figure this one out.

This year, the only tip he is getting from me is the suggestion to cut back on the Twinkies.

And now he wants my cooperation in this matter. In fact, he'd appreciate it.

I wonder how much he'd appreciate the thoughts in my head right now.