Them’s fightin’ words

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

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

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

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…

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

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

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.