Dear Mr. Happy,
Last night, when you were in such a bad mood, did you realize that you growled? I'm sorry you have so many assignments and tests due at one time. Didn't you say that the English paper was originally due on Friday and then the professor said it could be turned in on Monday? You should have been happy to have the weekend to work on that paper. And didn't I see you on Flickr uploading pictures from this past weekend? It's all about time management.
And please note, the next time I ask if there is something I can do to help, please don't suggest that I smother you with a pillow. Because that is dangerous. And it sounded like a great idea.
I won't be here when you get up because I don't feel that your ray of sunshine will help me have a great Monday. Good luck on your music theory test!
Love you!
Mom
Monday, February 9, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Where is that you'd like me to go?
One of the positives to living in the deep south is the mild winters. Now, in my book, mild would be temperatures above let us just say the freezing mark. I realize when a tour guide is published about an area or region, the temperatures are averaged but that would still only allow for a night or two of outlier temperatures.
I took this picture one morning about 3 weeks ago when the temperature was 25 degrees. The reason for this picture was my complete fascination with the appearance of the little snow flake right above the temperature. How nice for the Volkswagen people to tell me when it is freezing. Ironically, I've never noticed a flame icon when the temperature is hotter than that place down below. And most of the time, it is that hot here. So, you see, there has been no reason to have almost 3 weeks of below freezing temperatures. We just weren't built to cope with that.
Fortunately, today was finally a nice day with temperatures in the low 70s. After just sitting in the yard for a while, some friends came over to visit. And have a drink. Or two. Why are we counting drinks? Carry on. We talked about all kinds of random things. You know about school. Then food. Then pets. Which, of course, led to pet poop. And from there, it was a natural progression to religion.
As we were talking about the Holocaust denier on the news, we started swapping stories about various people who've prayed for our souls. I'm always amazed by Holocaust deniers. Really, there is more evidence the Holocaust occurred than there is that Jesus walked the Earth (I'm not doubting it, just making the point about all the pictures and visual accounts of the Holocaust). Really, it pains me to see so many people have to say their religion is THE right one. I wish everyone could just accept that each person is allowed to have their own beliefs. But I digress. The whole point of this post today was I wanted to share this story with you all.
Once, over a decade ago when I was teaching behavior disordered kids in a middle school, a fellow teacher came into my classroom during our planning time. When I looked up at her, she had tears in her eyes. Thinking one of my students had had a moment with her, I jumped up to see what was wrong. She then said she'd just heard I was dating Mr. Strong.
I was speechless and thinking really, he isn't that bad. I mean, he sometimes runs a few minutes late and often can't remember to put the toilet seat down but nothing is majorly wrong with him.
Seeing the confusion in my eyes, she went on to say she knew Mr. Strong was Jewish and therefore he was going to hell. And if I was with him, then I was going to hell, too.
All I could say was, "Then I'd rather be in his hell than your heaven."
Years later, I still remember this teacher. She wasn't a bad person and her intentions were to "save" me. In reality, I wish it could have been me that saved her. If I could have, I would have saved her from having such a closed mind.
A special THANKS goes out to my mother for teaching me to find the good things about people - no matter what their beliefs.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Books, books, books for me, me, me
A week or so ago, Pseudononymous High School Teacher wrote a post about a book meme. She nicely didn't tag any specific person but left the meme open for takers. Since then, I've been thinking about completing the meme - especially since I can't seem to reign in all the random stories in my mind. Plus, I'm a sucker for anything about books.
There were specific questions to answer, however, I've taken a few minor liberties (ok, ok, some are more major liberties) with the questions I answer.
What books have been on your shelf the longest?
In all seriousness, probably some of the ones on the top shelf. On the left hand side of the top shelf are three books I've had since high school by Ferrol Sams. He is one of my all time favorite writers. And he is (or was) a doctor who was born and raised in Georgia.
There is one book I'd like to point out - What Girls Learn. I've only had it for about a year, but already I've read it twice and loaned it out to other several times. It is a great one!
What book brings fond memories to mind?
That would definitely be a toss-up between these two books.
My boys were fascinated with knowing where they came from. I think I read Where Did I Come From about ten million times. Seriously, we had the stupid book memorized. My mother kept telling me this book told them too much information. I kept telling her all the experts say to answer their questions and that the kids would only digest what they could understand. While shopping with my mother, my oldest son announced he wanted a baby sister. When I explained to him that his mommy wasn't having any more babies, he loudly exclaimed, "You have thousands of eggs. You are just being selfish." My mother gave me that look. You know the one that says "I told you so."
There were specific questions to answer, however, I've taken a few minor liberties (ok, ok, some are more major liberties) with the questions I answer.
What books have been on your shelf the longest?
In all seriousness, probably some of the ones on the top shelf. On the left hand side of the top shelf are three books I've had since high school by Ferrol Sams. He is one of my all time favorite writers. And he is (or was) a doctor who was born and raised in Georgia.
There is one book I'd like to point out - What Girls Learn. I've only had it for about a year, but already I've read it twice and loaned it out to other several times. It is a great one!
What book brings fond memories to mind?
That would definitely be a toss-up between these two books.
My boys were fascinated with knowing where they came from. I think I read Where Did I Come From about ten million times. Seriously, we had the stupid book memorized. My mother kept telling me this book told them too much information. I kept telling her all the experts say to answer their questions and that the kids would only digest what they could understand. While shopping with my mother, my oldest son announced he wanted a baby sister. When I explained to him that his mommy wasn't having any more babies, he loudly exclaimed, "You have thousands of eggs. You are just being selfish." My mother gave me that look. You know the one that says "I told you so."And I Love You Forever - ahh, what a tear fest. I think my boys brought that book to me just to watch me cry. For whatever sick reason, that just cracked them up.
What books are in your waiting to read pile?
Currently, I'm reading Father Melancholy's Daughter (on top). All the ones underneath are part of the ones next in line to be devoured. Plus I just bought 4 more books this evening at the book store. I get a little freaked out if I don't have an adequate reserve of books to read. In fact, I worry more about not having a new read more than I do showing a random body part.
What book have you reread the most?
I love to reread certain books. Of all the books I've reread, The Good Earth has been read the most. I know of five times I've read the book since 7th grade. Several years ago, I found out it was the first in a trilogy of books. I've read the other two - but only once. They are good but they just didn't capture my attention like The Good Earth.
What is your favorite non-fiction book?
Without hesitation, my favorite non-fiction category would be cook books. I love food. My favorite collection of recipes is the old Better Homes and Garden Cook Book from the early 60s. Nothing like an old-fashioned recipe with some shortening. And did I mention, I love food. There are those who think in coincidental that my husband is a caterer. I say there are no accidents in life.
There are books all over the house - here are a couple more shelves for those of you who want to take a gander. I will read just about anything. Poor Mr. Strong has had to get used to my obsessive ways regarding books. And I've adjusted to all of his knick knacks. For the record, the books are easier to dust.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Can't you smell that smell?
Yesterday, a father came in to talk with me about the number of tardies his son and daughter have gotten so far this year. Of course, he didn't call to make an appointment. And of course, I dropped everything to meet with him since he has been a rather elusive parent. Much like Bigfoot.
He came in and sat down. In no time at all, the smell of him wafted over to where I was sitting. He smelled like a mixture of old cigarettes, body odor, dirt and feet. I've smelled skunks that smelled better than this dude. In an effort not to gag, I turned around in my seat to grab the lemongrass lotion and busied myself by squeezing out an enormous gob of lotion. As soon as the lotion was somewhat coating my hand, I pretended to listen to Mr. Stinkbomb while holding my fingers under my nose. It didn't do much to cover the stench.
And to make matters worse, it was obvious that Mr. Stinky has not become a big fan of the 'ol toothbrush. Surprisingly, he appeared to have his major cuspids intact. It was the strings that got to me. You know, the strings of gloppy goo that form in your mouth because of lack of oral scrubbing (not that I know from experience). Those strings stuck between his lips as he mumbled to me about why his kids were tardy. For God's sake, I was ready to never mark his kids tardy again if he would just get the h - e - double hockey sticks out of my office.
That gag reflex is a powerful thing. And when you surpress it, it puts pressure on your stomach. It makes for an excellent appetite suppressant and that is fortunate, as I'm on a perpetual diet.
Right as I started fighting the hallucinations, he stood up to leave. Mr. Stinky stuck out his filthy, gloved hand to shake and didn't seem to be surprised at all by my response. I simply waved good-bye. For the love of all things clean, I was fighting serious hurling urges.
Meeting Mr. Stinky explained so much about his poor children. I just wish the Department of Family and Children's services would do something. Apparently, it isn't a law that parents must be clean. At least, his children come to school clean most of the time. Even if they do wear pajamas and bathing suits in the winter.
On to a different story.... Today, we had a child sent to the nurse. The teacher was so flustered, she couldn't tell the nurse what was wrong. Finally, the kid said, "I drank from the toilet." After the nurse regained her composure, she made him say it again. "I drank some water from the toilet."
According to the teacher, while the class was taking a bathroom break, this child stuck his head into the toilet and drank. Much like a dog drinks from the pot.
And for the record, this child does not belong to Mr. Stinky. But I'm thinking of introducing Mr. Stinky to Potty Boy's mom.
He came in and sat down. In no time at all, the smell of him wafted over to where I was sitting. He smelled like a mixture of old cigarettes, body odor, dirt and feet. I've smelled skunks that smelled better than this dude. In an effort not to gag, I turned around in my seat to grab the lemongrass lotion and busied myself by squeezing out an enormous gob of lotion. As soon as the lotion was somewhat coating my hand, I pretended to listen to Mr. Stinkbomb while holding my fingers under my nose. It didn't do much to cover the stench.
And to make matters worse, it was obvious that Mr. Stinky has not become a big fan of the 'ol toothbrush. Surprisingly, he appeared to have his major cuspids intact. It was the strings that got to me. You know, the strings of gloppy goo that form in your mouth because of lack of oral scrubbing (not that I know from experience). Those strings stuck between his lips as he mumbled to me about why his kids were tardy. For God's sake, I was ready to never mark his kids tardy again if he would just get the h - e - double hockey sticks out of my office.
That gag reflex is a powerful thing. And when you surpress it, it puts pressure on your stomach. It makes for an excellent appetite suppressant and that is fortunate, as I'm on a perpetual diet.
Right as I started fighting the hallucinations, he stood up to leave. Mr. Stinky stuck out his filthy, gloved hand to shake and didn't seem to be surprised at all by my response. I simply waved good-bye. For the love of all things clean, I was fighting serious hurling urges.
Meeting Mr. Stinky explained so much about his poor children. I just wish the Department of Family and Children's services would do something. Apparently, it isn't a law that parents must be clean. At least, his children come to school clean most of the time. Even if they do wear pajamas and bathing suits in the winter.
On to a different story.... Today, we had a child sent to the nurse. The teacher was so flustered, she couldn't tell the nurse what was wrong. Finally, the kid said, "I drank from the toilet." After the nurse regained her composure, she made him say it again. "I drank some water from the toilet."
According to the teacher, while the class was taking a bathroom break, this child stuck his head into the toilet and drank. Much like a dog drinks from the pot.
And for the record, this child does not belong to Mr. Stinky. But I'm thinking of introducing Mr. Stinky to Potty Boy's mom.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
6 Things - I think I can handle this
I recently discovered Sunny's blog and let me tell you - she is a great writer! You'll love her so check her out soon. Today I was tagged by Sunny and the rules go something like this:
1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.
5. Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.
1. I have an obsession with books and I read every night before I go to bed. My idea of a perfect day is to spend the entire day reading to my heart's content.
2. I never wanted to be a principal. When I was teaching, my principal talked me into applying for a program that would pay for an administrative degree. When I was accepted, I really thought I would just have the degree and that I wouldn't try for a principal's position for some time down the road. Before I even finished my degree, I had an assistant principal position in an elementary school. 5 1/2 years later, I became the principal - and I love it (most of the time). So much for planning.
3. For a Southern girl, I'm not too impressed with Southern food. You can have all my cornbread, grits, and greens. I'd really rather have sushi or stir-fry.
4. I love shoes! And I don't mind spending too much money for a pair of shoes (like these) that are both comfortable and stylish. While style is most important, comfort is also a priority as I walk between 4 to 6 miles a day at school (yes, I've worn a pedometer).
5. I am 14 years younger than my husband. We met while with our children at a birthday party. Most of the time the age difference seems to not exist. It is most apparent when we pick out music for the cd player.
6. I am completely freaked out by roaches. Living in the deep south means trying to make ammends with these awful creatures. I don't do well in that regard and all roaches within my house must be found and punished - no matter how long it takes.
Ok. I'll tag Kulio, Amy, Only A Movie, Pseudononymous High School Teacher, Sarah, and Candice. I'd love to know more about you guys.
1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.
5. Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.
1. I have an obsession with books and I read every night before I go to bed. My idea of a perfect day is to spend the entire day reading to my heart's content.
2. I never wanted to be a principal. When I was teaching, my principal talked me into applying for a program that would pay for an administrative degree. When I was accepted, I really thought I would just have the degree and that I wouldn't try for a principal's position for some time down the road. Before I even finished my degree, I had an assistant principal position in an elementary school. 5 1/2 years later, I became the principal - and I love it (most of the time). So much for planning.
3. For a Southern girl, I'm not too impressed with Southern food. You can have all my cornbread, grits, and greens. I'd really rather have sushi or stir-fry.
4. I love shoes! And I don't mind spending too much money for a pair of shoes (like these) that are both comfortable and stylish. While style is most important, comfort is also a priority as I walk between 4 to 6 miles a day at school (yes, I've worn a pedometer).
5. I am 14 years younger than my husband. We met while with our children at a birthday party. Most of the time the age difference seems to not exist. It is most apparent when we pick out music for the cd player.
6. I am completely freaked out by roaches. Living in the deep south means trying to make ammends with these awful creatures. I don't do well in that regard and all roaches within my house must be found and punished - no matter how long it takes.
Ok. I'll tag Kulio, Amy, Only A Movie, Pseudononymous High School Teacher, Sarah, and Candice. I'd love to know more about you guys.
Sometimes, you just have to cry
As I went to bed last night, I was thinking of the meeting I am scheduled to have first thing this morning with Mr. Bigwig Lawyer. To begin with, he is very defensive about this meeting even being scheduled. He operates well with his head in the sand. But I have things to tell him that he can not afford to miss. Namely, his wife is not going to be allowed on my campus after the fiasco that followed when she showed up high on who know what trying to check out their daughter. The child was not released to the parent. The resulting scenario wasn't pretty - but I have to keep all children safe no matter what kind of car they drive or how much money is in their checking account. It's what I do. I look out for kids.
As I climbed in the bed to read and hope that my mind wouldn't keep me up all night playing out different imagined conversations, the phone rang. It was my sister. From the moment I heard her voice, I knew something was wrong. My sister and I are only a year apart. We were often mistaken for twins when we were growing up. No matter what life throws our way, we've learned to be strong. And when we need to cry, we call each other.
Through the tears and the gasping for breath as she tried to get the words out, she told me that a friend of ours was just diagnosed with Stage 4 Ovarian cancer. This friend has two children who attend my school. They are only in 1st and 3rd grade. My mind was reeling.
How could this be? Just a couple of years ago, this friend had a hysterectomy. All they left behind were her ovaries. How the hell is it fair for the only part of the reproductive system left behind to be riddled with cancer. And they already know the cancer is in her lymph nodes. The current prognosis is grim.
Maybe I sound like I've lost hope before we even give any treatments a chance. But my sister and I know what kind of thief cancer can be. He struck out at our father and took him from us when he was only 36. He didn't care that young children would be left behind. Cancer is ruthless that way.
Today, I will need to tell the teachers. I know I'll cry. But I'll say all the right things.... We'll be there to support the kids..... Let's organize some folks to bring in food for the family... We need to include the counselor so she can be aware of the situation.
We'll rally around them. And when I see the kids, I'll smile and hug them. And when the time is right, I'll admit to them I'm scared.
As I climbed in the bed to read and hope that my mind wouldn't keep me up all night playing out different imagined conversations, the phone rang. It was my sister. From the moment I heard her voice, I knew something was wrong. My sister and I are only a year apart. We were often mistaken for twins when we were growing up. No matter what life throws our way, we've learned to be strong. And when we need to cry, we call each other.
Through the tears and the gasping for breath as she tried to get the words out, she told me that a friend of ours was just diagnosed with Stage 4 Ovarian cancer. This friend has two children who attend my school. They are only in 1st and 3rd grade. My mind was reeling.
How could this be? Just a couple of years ago, this friend had a hysterectomy. All they left behind were her ovaries. How the hell is it fair for the only part of the reproductive system left behind to be riddled with cancer. And they already know the cancer is in her lymph nodes. The current prognosis is grim.
Maybe I sound like I've lost hope before we even give any treatments a chance. But my sister and I know what kind of thief cancer can be. He struck out at our father and took him from us when he was only 36. He didn't care that young children would be left behind. Cancer is ruthless that way.
Today, I will need to tell the teachers. I know I'll cry. But I'll say all the right things.... We'll be there to support the kids..... Let's organize some folks to bring in food for the family... We need to include the counselor so she can be aware of the situation.
We'll rally around them. And when I see the kids, I'll smile and hug them. And when the time is right, I'll admit to them I'm scared.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Asphalt Urges
The weekend is supposed to be a time of relaxation, rejuvenation and drinking. For some reason, the calendar gods must have conspired together to teach me a lesson. I’m not sure what lesson, but I have some ideas. It started on Saturday morning - a time when I usually sleep in and lounge about the house in my pajamas until noon. Instead, I found myself taking Mr. Funny (the 16 year old riot of a child) to an interview four hours away for a summer honor’s program.
At the beginning of the trip, hope sprang eternally that this would be a great time to bond with Mr. Funny. Next year will be his senior year and he is doing everything he can to find a college as far away from home as possible. I tried to talk with him about music. Then movies. Then books. Regardless of my lofty aspirations, I finally admitted defeat. It is impossible to converse with someone who has had his Ipod surgically attached to his ears. Plus, he grunts and says multi-syballic words without vowels. Really, the only pleasure I got from the trip was knowing that I was driving him insane. What? You don’t sing at the top of your lungs in the car? I like to think of it as building a memory.
After EIGHT hours in the car (GAH!), I had to get up the next morning to go to a conference whose destination was about 30 miles past yesterday’s interview location. Cruel, huh? Thankfully, Mr. Strong took a couple of days off work and volunteered to drive. Really. He is so nice.
Now, according to Mr. Strong, he doesn’t need my help in driving. He says I interject too much – to the point I’m not sure we can continue to travel in the same vehicle.
That aside, the 250 mile stretch of highway we were traveling has approximately 234 miles of construction going on. This really messed up the flow of things. And for the record, the signs that say “Minimum speed 40 mph” – well, that is only a suggestion and was never placed there to be taken literally. This is America, people. We don’t do anything minimally. Speed limits shouldn’t be an exception.
All this build-up is really just to let you know about my powers of observation. Have you ever realized that the interstate is just full of SEX?! Unless of course, this is a twisted issue of folks from Georgia, then I just embarrassed myself (Note to self: travel interstates in other states to look for issues, then blog about it to the world.).
With Mr. Strong behind the wheel and me with my trusty camera (and my explicit orders to NOT SAY A WORD ABOUT HIS DRIVING EVEN THOUGH HE ALMOST RAN INTO FOURTEEN CARS NOT TO MENTION THE GUARDRAIL AND HE ACCELERATES WHILE THE DRIVER IN FRONT IS CLEARLY APPLYING THE BREAK), I entertained myself with all the drama that unfolded itself on the highway. Apparently, the traveling on the asphalt brings out a primal lusty drive. See for yourself.
Is it just me, but isn't a giant sculpture of a peanut a bit phalic?
Not far down the road, I found a peach for that penis. Uh. Um.. I meant to say that peanut.
And need I say more. Truckers welcome where the strippers strip. And a hotel with a midnight special. Convenient, eh?
Rest areas have taken on a new meaning. What are they doing behind those closed stall doors? Hey. Why are you tapping your foot like that?
Another spa with truck parking. I'm beginning to get a picture of truckers as being less than angelic.
At first you might think this has a Lion King feel - but then take notice of the way the boy lion is dominating the girl lion. I'm pretty sure Disney would have had this the other way around.
Strippers who do good things. Does this message confuse you? It confused me.
We all know what is going on at this exit.
Somehow I get the feeling this girl will give the trucker a happy ending. My view of truckers has forever changed.
Conveniently, you can get a massage at the Lucky Spa while waiting for your divorce to dash through. I love the drama! How lucky!
And nothing says Thanks to our Troops like a rabbit vibrator and edible panties. God Bless America!
Are they saying they are crazy? Or trying to lure nut-loving women? No mention of trucker parking... Hmmm. Maybe there aren't enough truck driving, nut-loving women out there to warrant a truck parking lot.
And a special note to all the testosterone driven truck drivers out there. I think this is a warning that you might get crabs from un-godly women.
At the beginning of the trip, hope sprang eternally that this would be a great time to bond with Mr. Funny. Next year will be his senior year and he is doing everything he can to find a college as far away from home as possible. I tried to talk with him about music. Then movies. Then books. Regardless of my lofty aspirations, I finally admitted defeat. It is impossible to converse with someone who has had his Ipod surgically attached to his ears. Plus, he grunts and says multi-syballic words without vowels. Really, the only pleasure I got from the trip was knowing that I was driving him insane. What? You don’t sing at the top of your lungs in the car? I like to think of it as building a memory.
After EIGHT hours in the car (GAH!), I had to get up the next morning to go to a conference whose destination was about 30 miles past yesterday’s interview location. Cruel, huh? Thankfully, Mr. Strong took a couple of days off work and volunteered to drive. Really. He is so nice.
Now, according to Mr. Strong, he doesn’t need my help in driving. He says I interject too much – to the point I’m not sure we can continue to travel in the same vehicle.
That aside, the 250 mile stretch of highway we were traveling has approximately 234 miles of construction going on. This really messed up the flow of things. And for the record, the signs that say “Minimum speed 40 mph” – well, that is only a suggestion and was never placed there to be taken literally. This is America, people. We don’t do anything minimally. Speed limits shouldn’t be an exception.
All this build-up is really just to let you know about my powers of observation. Have you ever realized that the interstate is just full of SEX?! Unless of course, this is a twisted issue of folks from Georgia, then I just embarrassed myself (Note to self: travel interstates in other states to look for issues, then blog about it to the world.).
With Mr. Strong behind the wheel and me with my trusty camera (and my explicit orders to NOT SAY A WORD ABOUT HIS DRIVING EVEN THOUGH HE ALMOST RAN INTO FOURTEEN CARS NOT TO MENTION THE GUARDRAIL AND HE ACCELERATES WHILE THE DRIVER IN FRONT IS CLEARLY APPLYING THE BREAK), I entertained myself with all the drama that unfolded itself on the highway. Apparently, the traveling on the asphalt brings out a primal lusty drive. See for yourself.
Is it just me, but isn't a giant sculpture of a peanut a bit phalic?
Not far down the road, I found a peach for that penis. Uh. Um.. I meant to say that peanut.
And need I say more. Truckers welcome where the strippers strip. And a hotel with a midnight special. Convenient, eh?
Rest areas have taken on a new meaning. What are they doing behind those closed stall doors? Hey. Why are you tapping your foot like that?
Another spa with truck parking. I'm beginning to get a picture of truckers as being less than angelic.
At first you might think this has a Lion King feel - but then take notice of the way the boy lion is dominating the girl lion. I'm pretty sure Disney would have had this the other way around.
Strippers who do good things. Does this message confuse you? It confused me.
We all know what is going on at this exit.
Somehow I get the feeling this girl will give the trucker a happy ending. My view of truckers has forever changed.
Conveniently, you can get a massage at the Lucky Spa while waiting for your divorce to dash through. I love the drama! How lucky!
And nothing says Thanks to our Troops like a rabbit vibrator and edible panties. God Bless America!
Are they saying they are crazy? Or trying to lure nut-loving women? No mention of trucker parking... Hmmm. Maybe there aren't enough truck driving, nut-loving women out there to warrant a truck parking lot.
And a special note to all the testosterone driven truck drivers out there. I think this is a warning that you might get crabs from un-godly women.
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