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

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

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

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?

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.

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

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

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…

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

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

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.

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?

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

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."