You make 'em. I'm amused by 'em.

I woke up in the middle of the night with two thoughts racing through my head (damn thee, insomniac sleep). First, it is Tuesday and I haven't thought about or written a tribute (check out Jay and Deb's tribute information here). My second thought was holy hockey sticks... it is a teacher work day. That means I won't have the protection of the children to keep me safe from the teachers.



So, this Tuesday, the tribute goes out to the children of the world (particularly the ones at my school because they are the cutest, most charming, and smartest ones). Because where else but an elementary school can you be entertained by the things the short people say. And check out what they can write.



Such raw honesty. Not everyone on a journey will admit to shitting a bear. And the good news... he didn't die. If I had shit a bear, I probably would have died. Right there on the toilet. Kind of like Elvis.

Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana

I'm really not ready to go back to work tomorrow. My bag of work keeps calling me from the corner where I shoved it last Thursday night. Eh, I don't even know why I bring home all that stuff. One day, I'll accept that I'm just giving the stuff a ride.

But really, I have no room to complain. The schools were closed Friday and Monday for President's Day. Not a bad break. I'm trying to figure out where all the time went.

Yesterday, I decided to bake some Key Lime cupcakes.

I love little cupcakes (Because there is no way I'm eating all the calories that a whole piece of cake has to offer. Really. How many calories could be in each of the little buggers. I'm banking on about 5 or 6 calories. About the same as a Tic Tac. While we are on the subject of calories, I wonder why my damn jeans are tight. Must've shrunk in the wash.). The butter cream icing recipe that goes on top is so good! My husband told me I was a MASTER BAKER! A compliment from a cook. He just made my weekend.

The real story of the weekend is the truck Mr. Strong bought (for the next 36 months) on Saturday. We spent the day of love driving 5 hours round trip then waiting two hours in the dealership to pick up this baby (Not really this baby. I borrowed this picture from the Toyota site. Dig the happening jet ski in the background. Cool trucks can hang out with the jet skis.). A green pickup truck! I can't wait to rumble with my man now. And is it just me but I swear Mr. Strong has more chest hair since this purchase.

Now that Mr. Strong has a truck, he can actually pick up the pine straw he finds on the side of the road. It never ceases to amaze me how jazzed up he can get over pine straw. I know I disappoint him regularly because I don't share the same excitement over the straw. Sometimes I think he wants me to act like a dog in heat and hump his leg. He really gets that emotional. And apparently, he isn't alone. I've had conversations with other men who compare notes on where they found the best *free* pine straw. Twenty years ago, they probably had similiar conversations about women.

In the end, no matter how emotional he gets. No matter how much he drools. No matter how much he begs and grovels. The man around the corner will not let him "just rake his yard for free." He even put up a sign to keep all the pine straw whores at bay.

Synchronicity in Songs

A couple of weeks ago, someone out in the blogosphere wrote about synchronicity. According to Wikipedia, in order for it to count as synchronicity, the events should be unlikely to occur together by chance.

I decided to pay more attention to the meaning behind random events in my life. My first notice of synchronicity was when I was driving up to the drive through window of a local mexican restaurant when I realized Melissa Etheridge's Come to My Window was playing. I was suddenly blown away by the synchronicity. What are the odds?

Since music isn't typically piped into the halls of an elementary school (not a bad idea, eh), the main locale of my music listening diet is in the car driving to and from work/home (So let us take a sec to pause for a moment of thanks for XM radio.). My powers of observation grew sharper with the revelation of synchronicity in songs.

On the way home from school, I got stopped by a train. At about the same moment, Sheena Easton's Morning Train started playing. Although it wasn't morning, a song about a train while waiting for a train to pass wasn't lost on me.

While singing along to Chicago's Hard Habit to Break, I noticed a sale at the Cigarette Outlet Store. Don't get distracted by my sucky music taste to not notice the synchronicity in this one. For the record, I still miss the days of big hair and cheesy music.

At the red light, while singing Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics, I looked over and noticed the Sleep Clinic on the corner. And while driving past the local track, I Ran by Flock of Seagulls started piping through the speakers.

The next morning, I had a meeting at the board of education. While driving past the local nut house, I noticed that Crazy for You by Madonna was playing.

Are you with me in thinking I just may have been handed a keen gift of observation? It isn't often I impress myself.

After leaving the long meeting, I was really focusing on finding the unlikely chance in the random songs. As I pushed the buttons, I just couldn't find anything related to what I was driving past. That was about the same time I realized I had missed the turn to get back to school. And what song was on the radio? You guessed it. Supertramp's Take the Long Way Home.

The best one I saved for last. Why? Because that is how you build suspense, now isn't it? And it was the last to happen. Order can be important. When I drove into my carport at the end of the day, one of my all time favorite songs began it's familiar thump. Red, Red Wine by UB40 is a sure sign of how I am to spend my evening. And now that I am enlightening myself with all this synchronicity, I am questioning less. I took this sign and indulged myself.

Now, where is the Tylenol?

The Story That Changed My View on the World

Last night, my husband and I attended a wedding. It was not your typical wedding as it was held in my school lunchroom. And the happy couple were puppets. It was the wedding of Q and U and my sweet husband was the Rabbi (apparently Q is Jewish). The second graders have been about to burst with excitement over this wedding.

You should have seen the decorations! The lunchroom was truly transformed into a chapel suitable for a wedding and reception. If they'll do this much for two puppets, I want to hire these teachers and parents for the end of the year party. It'll be a blow-out!

Only one child misbehaved at the wedding. Unfortunately, his mother makes a lot of excuses for him. "He peed his pants because he was really interested in the computer program." "He likes to collect a lot of things - even broken glass." "He doesn't always listen to me until I can promise him a new toy. That is how I get him to do his work." "The doctor says he has ADHD. That is why he hides under the desk when he doesn't want to do his work."

Last night, when this child started his shenanigans, we just sent him to his excuse maker. We don't get paid for evenings, so she can just deal with him.

While at the wedding, I saw the daughter of one of my teachers. This daughter is about my age. She is very close to her parents and is one of the nicest people you'll ever meet. And it reminded me of the story her mother once told me. I've used this story many times since when parents are giving excuses about their children. I think it is time for me to have a meeting with Mrs. Excuse Maker.

When nice daughter was 15, she was diagnosed with leukemia. It was very serious and at a point, the daughter was living on the cancer ward with a grim prognosis. Mom let this daughter talk to her however she wanted. She was terrified her daughter was going to die. The doctors kept talking about numbers and counts and the daughter got sicker and sicker. And meaner. And more demanding.

If this daughter said "I want" she got it. She became so mean and demanding the nurses had difficulty getting her to comply with her medical treatment. And her mother made excuses for her. "She doesn't feel well." "She really doesn't like getting shots." "She isn't very nice when she isn't feeling well."

All the while, the dad watched what was going on. He was scared. He didn't know what to do. Their life was turned upside down and they were on the verge of losing their youngest child.

One day, after the daughter had been especially ugly to her mother and a doctor, the dad took the mother down to the cafeteria for a chat. And the dad said, "We've got to start making our daughter be nice again. I can't stand the way she talks to you. I can't stand the way she talks to anyone."

When mom tried to interrupt with her excuses ("But she may be dying..."), he held up his hand.

Dad continued, "She has gotten gifts from you just because she demanded them. We have been at her beck and call and she isn't even appreciative. We need to start treating her like she is going to get better because we will have to live with the child we are creating."

Mom cried. "But what if she dies."

And dad's response was, "And what if she lives."

The B Word

Yesterday, at the end of the day, I got a message from a parent who stated her child had been called the B word on the bus. Because one can never be too careful when dealing with elementary students, I called the parent back to clarify. Was that B word bitch? Or bastard? Or butt ugly? Or possibly buck toothed fool? You can never be certain and we always feel a little proud of students who actually use appropriate swears in the right context. So often, they don't.

In this particular case, a boy was calling the girls on the bus a bitch. And according to the mother, her child thought it was a first grader.

So, I added to my to-do list. Pull bus video. Not one of my favorite things to do as the bus drivers would rather not wait around for even 27 seconds (my best timed-test) for me to pull the hard drive to get the video.

And then there is the watching of the video. It makes my ADHD kick into 5th gear as I am so distracted by all the action on the screen. Usually, I have to rewind several times in an attempt to focus on what I am supposed to focus on.

This morning, before I could even get out to the bus line to get the drive, I received an email from a mother telling me about her first grade son coming home and asking her what a bitch was. She wrote on to explain that a 4th grade student who lives in the neighborhood was telling her son to call the girls a bitch. He said it would be funny. This mother was not laughing.

Ironically, neither was the mother of the girl who had called the day before.

There was one fourth grader at my school who had a horrible, no good, rotten day. Now I wonder what B word I am when he talks to his friends.

Little Miss Poopy

It's Tuesday and this is my day to pay tribute to someone or something. Today, I dedicate this tribute to my dog, Miss Poopy. You can read her story here.

Thanks for being the only being who was happy to see me today. Even if it was so you could get close enough to eat my tissues.

Roses are red

It is February and along with that is the season of love. One of my teachers had her students make some Valentine cards to send to soilders in Iraq. The cards were quite lovely. My favorite went like this:

"Thank you for helping us win and I hope you don't get shot because if you do I will start crying and then I will see you in the newspaper. Thank you soilders. Love, S."

You can just feel the love and encouragement. Just for kicks, I decided to keep this card for myself. I don't want to feel like anyone got jinxed by this card. We can just say her heart was in the right place.

And speaking of a heart in the right place, my youngest step-daughter, Little Miss Sunshine, got a text message today from a friend. And it went like this:

"Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

I like boys

But you may just do.

Go to the prom with me?"

And she said yes. Mr. Strong is a little clueless as to why his lovely daughter wants to go to the prom with her gay friend. But I get it. He will know how to dress and dance. He can even help out with her makeup and hair. And there are no worries about lewd suggestions or dark corners. How perfect is that!

And from there, I've been thinking of how little I have used the "Roses are red" poem for the various people in my life. It is the perfect poem for rewriting to whatever special occasion or particular person you intend it for.

Here is one for my husband.

"Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

You snore so loud.

That's why I kick you."

And one for my sons.

"Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

Here is some money.

Should I schedule a time to see you?"

And, of course, one for the dog.

"Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

Your poop really stinks.

It smells like cheese fondue."

For the student who drank out of the toilet.

"Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

Was bobbing for turds

Really the right thing to do?"

I think I'm going to use this poem more often. Who would you write a poem to? And what would it say?