Ok, ok. He wins.

We had another weekend filled with great weather. Since next weekend is Miss Sunshine's garden birthday party, we've been capitalizing on the weather by working extra hard to make the yard look good again. So, there we were. Mr. Strong and I working in the yard. It could be said we don't always agree on things. In fact, I'm sure it has been said before. It is probably carved in a stone somewhere.

That is what happens when two stubborn strong willed people join forces.

I volunteered to put out the mulch since Mr. Strong never looks behind him and "accidentally" stomps the crap out of the plants out of the goodness of my heart. Of course, while I spread the mulch, Mr. Strong likes to give me advice on how to correctly do it. If I'm not mistaken, people without high school diplomas can do this. So, I tuned out the advice.

Mr. Strong has a love-hate relationship with Home Depot. He loves to go to Home Depot and I'd rather poke my eye with a stick because then I have to hear about how much he hates Home Depot to Lowes.

He found a Passion Vine which made me wonder who the heck was on duty when they named this plant as there is nothing seemingly passionate about it this weekend. The flowers aren't opened all the way, but they look like dragon faces to me. Nice dragon faces. Maybe it should have been called a Mythical Dragon Vine. Obviously, people without high school diplomas have been naming the plants.

Whatever it is called. We both agreed on where to plant it. Amazing!



Yard work is exhausting and one must keep their body nourished. So I took a two hour break to slave in the kitchen to make my ravioli recipe.

These ravioli are seriously good! Just boil frozen ravioli for a couple of minutes, then drain (duh!). Spread the ravioli on a baking sheet and drizzle melted butter over them. Sprinkle freshly grated asiago and Parmesan cheese on the top. Broil until browned on top. Delish!

Mr. Strong is a lucky man to have someone who can gourmet up ravioli so well. Even if he just wanted a sandwich. But, alas, he suffered through the ravioli instead of taking a chance and hurting my feelings.

So back to the yard we went to finish planting plants. And replanting plants. And changing our mind and digging up the plants again to move to a different location. And holy schnike! Could we just put the plants in the ground and leave them alone?!

We found this plant at Lowes. The tag says it is from Texas. I didn't know Texas had plants. Having never been there, I visualize hell a big, vast desert with cacti and roadrunners. I wonder if this plant will need desert sand. And no water. We'll see how it does in Georgia. I'll keep you posted.



The trees all over the yard are in bloom. I love the tiny blooms on the Japanese Maple. They are so understated and call no attention to themselves. On this plant, the leaves are the attention whores.

This is one tree Mr. Strong and I agreed upon. We like this tree and we like where he is planted. Sometimes the gods smile down on us.





Then we come to this. A hardened mass that sits upon our front steps leading to the door no one except the pizza delivery guy uses.

And all I'm going to say is I told Mr. Strong NOT to put the jack-o-lantern on the steps because I knew the heat would make it rot and decay. And he said that he'd throw it away after Halloween.

I give up. He wins. I'll put the pumpkin into the trash today. March is a good month to get rid of jack-o-lanterns, yes?

How narcissism starts

I called a mother the other day to come help me deal with her son who was pitching a fit for more than an hour. The teachers and I could not get the child to calm down. Since he was crying and snotting (not a pretty sight on an 8 year old), we could not understand what he was saying.

When the mother walked in, she cuddled and hugged him and interpreted his whining. It turns out, he wanted his money he forgot at home so he could go to the book fair.

So she rewarded his fit pitching abilities by taking him to the book fair.

Since she forgot her money at home, she asked if money could be borrowed from someone at school.

Lets sum this up. Your kid interrupts instruction in multiple classrooms by screaming and crying. Office staff and administration stop everything to help out in during this crisis which includes finding thrown eye glasses and dragging screaming child out from under a computer table. A teacher is pulled from her class to assist in interpretation attempts even though her second language skills were clearly not in the language of whining. Patience has been tried and drinks have been planned. And now you want someone to whip out their wallet to assist you in your sick game of rewarding bad behavior.

Just how big must the ovaries in this woman be but not likely I will ever know as I'm not an OB-Gyn?

This child will have many hard, hard lessons to learn later in life once he finds out the world, in fact, does not spin around him.

Maybe I should have been a counselor

As a former special education teacher, there were many, many days that I was more of a counselor than a teacher. Kids who are hurting or raging are not usually good students. And for the record, I went to school to be a teacher. Because I like to help people. However, there were no counseling classes in my course of study to become a special education teacher.

I once mentioned this to one of my former professors and he told me I should remember my role as a special education teacher. I wasn't a counselor. Do my job and let the counselors do theirs.

But wasn't my role to help children? No matter what?

If they were hungry, I don't think anyone would have argued the need for anyone (even the teacher) getting the child food. We wouldn't look at a teacher handing a child a banana or some crackers and say, "Well, look at that. This teacher is obviously confused and thinks she is a nutritionist. We should get her a hair net..."

Teachers wear a variety of hats every day. Sometimes all at the same time. All in the name of being everything for the children. And often, school becomes one giant therapy session.

After teaching for only three years (yeah, yeah, screw up, move up), I became a special education coordinator. This basically meant that I helped the special education teachers with meetings, writing IEPs, and with classroom issues. At first, I was shocked at how needy many of the teachers were. I expected the neediness to come from some of the parents. Without a doubt, it is emotional when people are sitting around a big table to discuss the issues your child is having. But time and time again, most of the tissues were for overwhelmed, frustrated, overworked, tired, and burnt-out teachers.

During my year as the special education coordinator, I applied for an assistant principal job never expecting to get it. First of all, I was still in school working on my leadership degree. And second of all, I didn't have much experience. Applying for the job was meant to be for interview practice. I just wanted to see how what to expect. Besides, I really wasn't convinced that administration was for me.

You could have bowled me over with a feather when the announcement was made during a board meeting that I was the new assistant principal. Seriously, I swallowed my gum and almost choked and died on the spot. Since then, I've never chewed gum in a board meeting (and besides, that was just tacky of me to try to sneak that contraband inside a school building).

As an assistant principal, I spent many hours counseling with the students trying to encourage good behavior. I spent many hours counseling with parents, too. Basically, trying to encourage good behavior (you know, good parenting skills - not that I am the master but it does stand to reason if Lil' Johnny gets in trouble at school, it isn't a good idea to beat him with a belt until purple welts show up). And I counseled with the teachers. Again, trying to encourage good behavior.

One part of me knew that adults could be so needy. I have been in enough relationships to teach me that. But teachers are professionals. They aren't supposed to be needy. Yet, they are human and therefore, they aren't really like the teachers in the movies that replay in my mind (and have I ever told you how much I LOVE the teacher in Little House on the Prairie - you know, when Laura and Mary were little).

This is my third year as the principal. The needs of students, parents and teachers can overwhelm me. And during these current challenging times, people are experiencing more and more stress. And the cracks are beginning to show. Sometimes, I want to run away rather than tell the teachers about one more mandate or one more change that has to be made. They are giving it all they've got. Teaching has consumed them. The more time they dedicate, the less their nose is above water. It is a cruel cycle.

Then add in the parents who can't be pleased, cancer scares, children who are beaten, lack of personal money, family issues, cancer realities, shortage of instructional money, kids moving in and out and back in, parents who can't be found, unrealistic standards for kids who can't even speak English, PTO meetings (again), children who are starving, a newspaper who has a deep seeded hate for all things education, parents who think that because they were once students they could be teachers, female issues, lack of time to go to the doctor much less exercise, and on and on and on.

But I try my best to counsel them through it all.

And have I said lately how much I LOVE wine. And beer. And my new favorite drink, the Georgia Peach (try it! - vodka, peach schnapps, OJ, and cranberry juice). If only I could stay awake long enough to drink it.

Yesterday, I found out that my school is losing four teaching positions. Thankfully, no one is losing their job. But four teachers will have to be relocated within the system.

So, I emailed the faculty to announce a brief faculty meeting scheduled for this afternoon. Already, I can feel the hysteria settling in. People don't like change. Unless they order the change. And this change hasn't been ordered.

Fortunately, I'm trying to be ready with my counseling hat. And the tissues.

Lucky in something

On my resume, I have the privilege of listing that I am the district president of a state elementary principal association. Before you get all excited and start congratulating me, please realize there are only two members in my district - me and my assistant principal who was coerced into joining in hopes of a favorable evaluation.

For some reason, I joined this association last summer. Almost immediately, some powers that be began calling about the president position. I was all excited and ready to campaign until they explained only current members in the district can vote. And since there was only me and no one else to vote for, I got to add *President* to my laundry list of duties.

After listing my responsibilities which really was just to get members, I decided to take a decidedly Obama-like approach and host a meet and greet. I was even willing to kiss babies. And since people will come to a meeting when food is served, I contacted a sponsor who paid for lunch to be brought in. And I had about 30 people suckered present who pretended to listen to my presentation about this wonderful association and how they've helped me over the past couple of months and now I am SO much more professional and I even look smarter and more principally. You get the point. I laid it on thick. And how many members signed up? Just one. My own assistant principal. I am good, eh?

So, yesterday I attended a district meeting over in the other district. They were kind enough to invite me to attend and I decided to go to see what I was doing wrong so I drove way out into parts of Georgia I've never seen.

The meeting was held in a little town not even listed on a map. My husband pulled out his GPS device - from here on out referred to as "Bitching Betty" - and I plugged in the address and followed her instructions. I turned down many, many random highways with some number on the end. There were no cute names for the roads, just numbers. The roads weaved and curved for no reason other than for the fun of it. It is nice to know our Georgia founders had a sense of humor about them when planning out the roads. That or they were active participants in local moonshine drinking competitions.

And all was well with the world and Bitching Betty was pleased with my ability to follow her asinine directions until I came upon a terrible accident involving a semi-truck and an SUV. Nothing will bring the neighbors out of the woods like a BIG accident. Instead of clearly marking a detour for directional cripples or letting me just sit and gawk I was forced into turning around.

This did not please Bitching Betty as I could hear the frustration in her voice when she had to recalculate. And because apparently, she sits to the left of God, she decided to pay me back for not following her directions by sending me down some dirt roads and through a trailer park. All while needing to go potty (me, not Betty)(and you try driving down a bumpy road while holding it).

As luck would have it, I ended up right back at the accident. And the helpful citizen who made me turn around fifteen minutes earlier was not humored. Neither was Bitching Betty.

As luck would have it, I finally found the school where the meeting was being held. You would have thought Bitching Betty deserved a medal she was so excited.

It was an interesting town - the kind of town that looks like it would be full of grandmas. There was no traffic light or even a bank. The only signs of progress were the random trailers tucked between the little old-timey grandma houses. And their main industry appeared to be a taxidermy shop and deer processing plant. How nice. I'm sure I'll fit right in with these folks (seriously, they were nice).

Now I really don't know what I am doing wrong because I couldn't help but to compare meetings. My meeting was much more organized. And the food I had brought in was a full-fledged barbecue dinner. These guys brought in Chic-Fil-A boxed lunches. The barbecue alone should have gotten a couple of members.

After the meeting, I apologized to Bitching Betty. In return, she got me the hell out of there home.

Because I had way too much energy after sitting on my badonkadonk all day, I decided to do something productive. So I chose to contend with the weeds. Namely, the clover. Which made me feel a little guilty because it is getting ready to flower.



And for the first time in my life, I found a four leafed clover! On St. Patrick's Day! Actually, I found NINE four leafed clovers. They are currently being pressed for prosperity. How lucky is that (for me, not the clover)!





By the way, I bought some lottery tickets, too. If I win, I'll share.

Now I just wish I could get some of this luck to pour over into the principal association. Besides, I want to have more members than the neighboring group in Podunkville. I am a poor loser.

What's up with the lack of members?




Come join the fun with Three Boys One Mommy! She is way funnier than me. And she'd probably have a lot of principally members for her group.

Bless you, bless you bumblebee

When I think of you, Mom, that little poem you used to say when we sneezed always comes to mind. I always thought it was a cool little poem. And we heard often as we all sneezed a lot.

Bless you, bless you bumblebee
Say, when will your wedding be?
If it is tomorrow day
Take your wings and fly away

I don't think it had much to do with sneezes. But I still liked it anyway.

Most mothers and daughters go through a rift and we were no different. Honestly, you were probably more patient than I deserved. Remember that time after I didn't have a curfew anymore right after I graduated from high school when I came home at 2:30 in the morning? Then for some reason the next night at the dinner table I lied and said I was home at 1 a.m. because 1 a.m. sounds a whole lot better than 2:30 a.m. and you shamed me by announcing how much you trust me even though you knew I came in at 2:30 a.m. Yeah? Remember that? Because I was amazed you actually knew what time I came in since for the prior several years I had to wake you up to announce my arrival home before curfew. Actually, I appreciate that you did trust me. I didn't deserve that trust but I do appreciate it none the less.

Remember after Dad left? I barely do. But I do remember how extremely sad you were. And the sister and I tried to cheer you up. By the way, I'm sorry that the picture we drew on the wall in the closet didn't really make you happy. Or the one on the ceiling. Now that I'm older I see the tremendous inner strength you had then.

And I appreciate that you never talked bad about Dad. He deserved some negative coverage but you just wouldn't go there. And when he became sick with cancer, you were there to assure us that all would be OK. I remember that day, two days after Christmas, when you woke us (the sister and I) up to let us know that even though we wouldn't have our Dad anymore, he wouldn't be suffering. Even my young, junior high brain knew you were strong to be able to talk to us at all about Dad.

But your strength shouldn't have surprised me. You grew up on a farm although I'm not sure you realized you were living on a farm given your girly, girl ways with a mother who was strong. I always loved the story of how you overheard the adults talking about the mice problem then you went to play under the house and discovered a little nest of kittens. Thinking they were mice, you snapped each of their little necks. And people wondered why I obeyed you. Hmph! I knew you could snap a neck if needed.

Once you told me that you worried that you yelled at us too much when the sister and I were growing up. I don't remember much yelling but I'm sure the sister and I deserved some yelling at because I'd definitely yell at me if I could. I do remember a lot of laughing. And thanks to you, I appreciate the finer aspects of sarcasm.

Mom, thanks for being such a great mother! I love that you are my friend and my mother.

And bless you.

I think Ms. Poopy needs an intervention

Spring is in the air and I couldn't be happier. The birds are singing. And Ms. Poopy gets more outside time. This makes Ms. Poopy happy. Not to mention the odds of her going poop-dee-doo outside increase substantially. Which really makes us all happy.

The southern God of flowers (azaleas) are in full bloom. And the colors are breathtakingly beautiful.

All over town, the azaleas and dogwoods are beckoning the birds and the bees. But spring in the south is brief.

Soon all those blooms will be gone and the azaleas will be just another green bush. That needs to be trimmed.




While working in the yard this weekend, I noticed a LOT of gold dust. Every place I stepped became a miniature dust storm.



Pine pollen! It seems a cruel fate for the pine pollen to roll out just when the weather is beginning to be kinder.

This pollen covers everything. Our town is covered in a yellow blanket. My car is barely recognizable.

And have I mentioned my pollen allergies? I sound like Peter Brady when his voice was changing. Really the only difference is I dress better.




And how does a short dog react to pine pollen? Why, she sniffs as much of the stuff up as she can. She seems to LOVE it! Snort, sniff, lick, lick.

If she didn't have a gimpy back, I swear she'd be humping the pine trees.




Does Betty Ford have a rehab unit for dogs?

Ding Dong Ditch

Some students came to the office today to rat out express their concern about a fellow student who lives in their neighborhood. According to these students, their former friend has been home pretending to be sick all week.

Me: "How do you know he is pretending to be sick?"

Informative Little Girl #1: "Because he has been running around playing Ding Dong Ditch after we get home from school."

Me (wondering whether or not to ask for clarification because what in the heck is Ding Dong Ditch and do I really want little girls discussing anatomy...): "Uh... um... Ok. I'll just call his mother and check on him."

Informative Little Girl #2: "Yep! You should. His momma will be so mad when she finds out he has been ringing the doorbells and then hiding in the ditch again."

Geez. I can't believe my mind went straight to the gutter.