My New Glasses Could Start a Forest Fire

These bad boys simply cannot be left out of the case! Imagine if the sunlight filtered through the window in just the right manner...poof! Up in flames. You can see that I have a tremendous responsibility as the owner of these beauts.
No one really understands how blind I am...I can't explain to other people what it's like to see at 20 feet what others can see at 1, 150. It's hard to communicate what it's like to have to hold a page of copy a centimeter from your eye so that you can read one letter at a time. Putting my glasses on at night to see my clock with the two inch numbers is small potatoes. I've done that my whole life!
Thank goodness for contacts. My eye doctor has just told me about a new procedure that might be an option for me (I'm too blind for Lasik because my something-or-other is too thin). The new procedure involves a permanent prescription lens implant. Hmmm. What would life have been like if I'd been born in another time?
If I had lived during Biblical times, I would have been one of those blind beggars on the side of the road, an outcast from society. If I had lived in the days before plastic and high index lenses, my nose would have fallen off long ago from the sheer weight of my prescription. If I had lived in the days before contacts, I would probably be shipped to a home to live out my days with my heavy spectacles, pocket protector and the other special people.
My team teacher was ogling the wonder that is my new pair of glasses after I picked them up yesterday and a student happened to mention that she had seem glasses like that "at the Special Olympics." Thanks.

Look at me!! All Haloscan and stuff.

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog! So you'd better comment, because I did this for you! :o)
So much for all my old comments, but maybe y'all can post now.

what do you look like?

I have this student. She's somewhat low, not a lot of self-esteem, nice kid. Unfortunately, she's also a real life Cinderella. Her step-sister is in my other class. Same age, same teachers, similar abilities. Except for the sister is allowed to be in Girl Scouts, dance, special science camps, and an other number of special activities. The sister makes good grades and is rewarded. When I send home a Scholastic book order, the sister gets over $20 worth of books and fun stuff courtesy of the grandmother. The sister gets to go on fun Disneyish trips every holiday. She doesn't.

Now, this in itself is unfair, right? I've had a soft spot for this girl all year. She comes to tutoring twice a week and works hard for me. But she never does well on tests or homework. Her parents only call or email me if they want to check to see if she's lying about her homework. Which she never is. She's told me that it's not worth it to try on schoolwork because if she does poorly, they show her how well her sister did and if she does well, they accuse her of cheating.

So a couple weeks ago, I gave a practice TAKS reading test and challenged her to forget about her sister and really give me her best effort so that I could see what she could do. So she worked like a dog on that test for two days. Made an 88%. I made a HUGE hairy mammoth deal. We hugged, we cheered, we high-fived, we went to the principals to brag, etc. I told her I was going to call her parents to brag on her. She freaked out and begged me not to.

I called and got dad. Told dad how great and fabulous she was and how proud we are. Waited. Waited some more. Could hear breathing. Dad said, "Well, that's fine, but we're not going to tell her about the grade. If we praise her any she'll quit working. She's lazy and bad, like her mama. She'll never amount to anything." I was flabbergasted. I asked stiltedly if there was anything I could do at school to help her. His reply? "No, we're real, real happy with y'all. We're actually gonna stop sending her to that tutoring. Y'all are such good teachers and you don't need to waste your time on her. She can do it, she's just lazy." Bahr??

Next day, she asks me if I called her dad. I said yes, that I did, was that okay? Did he tell her how proud he was of her? She shook her head and said, "He wanted to know what you look like."

Erm....huh? Is he a pervert? Is he going to put a hit out on me? What on earth do you think that comment meant???

Creepy Fish Guy

Okay, so I go to the cheapest grocery store in town. Not because it is my favorite, but because it is the cheapest. (This is not the store where I rudely abandoned the cart full of goods.) I would love to go to the superfancy Tom Thumb with its neat rows of produce all shiny, its free sample cappuccino and its fancy shmancy spices and sundries. But then my bill would be about $20 higher a week. So instead, each week I shlep over to the sketchy stripmall 1970's-esque Brookshire's, a fine facility if you're okay with less organized produce, fewer selections of products, and mostly fresh fish. It gets the job done and allows me to mingle with more interesting people.
This grocery store must reach out to the masses with their hiring policies, because they consistently have the most eclectic collection of employees I have ever encountered. I feel like I know them all intimately after chatting with them once a week for a couple of years. I've even named most of them. There's Man with Funny Arm who is super friendly and even once searched for Super Pretzels for me when they stopped carrying the product. There's Lady Who Stopped Growing Too Soon who kindly steps off of her stool each week to put my Bud Light on the counter. There's Guy With Missing Patch of Hair Who Carries My Groceries who is so chipper and excited to be placing my groceries in my car each week that he waves at me when I walk in the door and always changes check outs to bag my line.
There's nothing like feeling welcome in a grocery store, right? If you take a good look around at my fellow patrons, you'd understand why GWCMG is so glad to see me. I've always noticed that the other shoppers are a bit...well, uncivilized. So maybe they might occasionally shop in a bathrobe, or maybe it sometimes takes a little longer to wait for them to pay with food stamps, but hey! I'm saving money.
But tonight. Oh, tonight! Tonight, I went to the grocery store in the evening. 8:30 to be exact. On a Tuesday (it's always Tuesday), which just adds more flavor. There were people in the store not wearing shoes. Shoes! What happened to No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service?? But this was a very necessary trip, so I gritted my teeth, gripped my cart, and pressed on. No one was going to stop me from saving money.
As I was out of town over the weekend, it didn't occur to my pumpkin Mike to go to the grocery store and we are now completely and utterly out of food. As in only butter and beer in the fridge out of food. Since I have to take my lunch to work, this is a mighty big inconvenience for yours truly. So after a sketchy lunch of cheese, a Snickers mini, and Jello, off I went to the grocery store after my tennis match. In a tennis skirt: error #1.
It seems that no one in Brookshire's has ever actually seen a tennis skirt. There was much staring and some inappropriate pointing. Which leads me to Creepy Fish Guy. CFG is a Brookshire's fish counter employee who befriended me about two years ago when he saw me at church. Every. Single. Week. since that day, he has asked me if I still attend the same church. It's our little ritual every weekend. Didn't expect to see CFG on a Tuesday night. You'd think the dude would go home sometime. No, no. Instead, he comes up to me as I (tried to quickly) push my cart past the fish region.

CFG: Hey! You still going to that church?
Me: Heh, heh...yep. Still going! [push cart faster]
CFG: Do you, uh, play tennis? [staring]
Me: Yep. [me now clearly in Other Meats aisle, CFG tailing me with fish gloves on]
CFG: Do you play near that church?
Me:
CFG: Is it a church thing? The tennis? [staring]
Me:

I managed to escape quickly to dairy, which is really not his forte, so he didn't drift much past the pork section, staying safely within his Fish Realm and was left to wonder.
So. There I am. I did manage to get my microwave popcorn, which is what I have been craving since Sunday night. Can anyone tell me why, oh why, I always talk myself out of real popcorn in the snack aisle and into reduced fat styromfoam-fest popcorn. WHY? WHY?? It's such a disappointment.

"Are you here with your parents?"

I'm back! We had so much fun in Los Angeles! I will put some pictures up on Flickr soon. I've been too tired and too busy to write anything because those darn school administrators made me go straight back to work today and I have two tennis leagues starting this week too. Maybe tomorrow night I'll write something coherent.

In the meantime, the highlights:

1. There is an insane number of really expensive cars in Los Angeles. I was country-come-to-town ogling all of the fancy rides surrounding us and hoping they wouldn't judge us by our car.

2. Our car. We were graced with a [mumbling with hand over mouth] PT Cruiser as our rental car. A PT Cruiser. As in the cheesiest car on earth. We tried to get past that and just hope that the valet would notice our rental keys.

3. I saw the TV show Joey get taped! It was so much fun. Jennifer Coolidge ("Stifler's mom") was in the episode and she was hilarious in person. Lots of debauchery. The show we saw will air May 5th, so everyone should watch to listen to me cough through the whole thing.

4. Please turn away for a moment while I embarrass myself. As a loyal fan of Days of Our Lives since I was about 14, I was beside myself to see the Days set. Hee!! I was such a geeky fan. Will later publish picture of self standing at the Java Cafe in Salem, USA. We also got to see the Tonight Show studio while at NBC; it's quite small.

5. We took many suggestions from those of you who gave us advice on my blog and also did the following things: We walked the Hollywood/Highland area and saw Mann's Chinese Theater and the Walk of Fame (saw Sandra Bullock get star) (well, saw crowd of people seeing Sandra Bullock getting star). We saw lots of the Warner Brothers studios when we went to see Joey. Saw Lauren Graham (Gilmore Girls) roaming around. We went to Pasadena and Santa Monica to shop. We ate yummy sushi at California Roll Factory. We ate yummy Mexican at El Cholo. We ate more yummy Mexican at Border Grille. We saw Venice Beach and Santa Monica Beach and pier. I put my feet in the freezing cold Pacific Ocean. We drove up the Pacific Coast Highway and around through a bunch of scary canyons, mudslides and freaky roads on the sides of cliffs. We went out to the Red Rock bar someone told us about. It was fun! We went to the Getty Center and took pretty pictures. And lastly, we went on the Stars' Homes Tour! Yes, we are nerds. But it was fun! My favorites were seeing the Osbournes' house and the house that's on the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Hee!

6. Finally, a kid in the hot tub at the hotel asked Beth and me if we were there with our parents or there together. Enough said.

Those are the highlights. I need to get to bed. I won my tennis match tonight, but it has rendered me sleepy. More tomorrow!

Ta Ta!

Now that I've engaged in extensive Ninja operations to sneak my suitase out the door without Gus' knowledge, I'm off to Los Angeles! Gus knows that something is up. He's been eying me with suspicion ever since the luggage came out of the closet yesterday. Earlier, he parked himself in front of the door to the garage and refused to budge. I'm hoping to slip out undetected without a huge crying scene from Gus. It really does bring down the mood. Ah, well...I'm off!

Wish me many celebrity spottings! See you Monday!

Collarbone Calamity

I cannot stand for someone to touch my collarbones. Or the back of my bellybutton or an individual toe. But especially the collarbones. It just gives me severe skeeves. I would rather rake my fingernails down a blackboard or chew foil that even touch my own collarbones. It's likely that I have really filthy collarbones because I would never intentionally touch them. But the mere thought of someone else coming within even feet of my collarbones is vile, horrid, nasty, offensive, disgusting and...and....just horribly unpleasant.
Today I went for a massage because I haven't had one in 3 months and I am supposed to have them for "maintenance" so that I don't have to undergo that foul trigger point injection again.
My massage therapist is a nice lady. Often shares a little too much information, but generally an interesting, Phoebe-esque person. Today? Today the woman manhandled my left collarbone. Mistreated. Abused. Took advantage of my left collarbone. As in she took her finger, pressed it to the top of it, and pushed. Hard. Then she raked said finger down my collarbone while I squirmed in agony. Writhed.
Learning moment: It turns out that there's some muscles attached to that wretched little bone that are related to my neck troubles. She might as well have just stuck her finger into the back of my bellybutton and squirrelled it around. Or grabbed onto one toe and held on.
I can't even fathom what it would be like to break a collarbone. I think I would die. I would at least have to be placed into a medically induced coma for 6 weeks so that it would heal and I would be none the wiser.
I might need therapy after today. She touched my collarbone. Shudder.

Copycat Alert

I have to copy Steph's Geek List. It was too funny and made me think of too many of my own tendencies to nerdhood. I began my road to nerdiness around the age of 8, the year I got glasses. So we'll start there.

1. I got glasses in the 3rd grade. They were brown plastic with ff emblazoned on the temples for Fred Flintstone. In 5th grade, I moved on to ET glasses, then HUGE red round ones in 6th grade. Each year, my glasses grew predominantly thicker until I reached high school and got the Harriet the Spy-esque eyewear. They were not only thick, but large and in charge. Fortunately, I got contacts in 7th grade.

2. I was always somewhat furry, very short and bone skinny. Unfortunately, my name rhymes with skinny.

3. In fourth grade, I had an orthodontic device called a lip bumper. It was to correct my oversized buck teeth by not allowing me to rest my teeth atop my lip. It was pearly white and foxy.

4. I once made my own library out of my bookshelf. It included a check out date label in the back of each book. It was categorized alphabetically within each genre. I charged my sister and her friends for library cards and kept lists of overdue fines.

5. I didn't really play sports much. I played soccer for about a third of a season and then I got hit in the mouth with the ball. That was the end of sports for Ginny until high school when I wanted them for my transcript for college.

6. I once got hit in the face with a raw egg while innocently roller skating to my friend's house. The shell cut my eyebrow and blood and yolk all down in my glasses. Then I was blind and had to feel my way home. Crying. On rollerskates. With long, gangly chicken legs.

7. I didn't brush my hair for almost three years. I had a huge rat's nest underneath my hair in the back. My mom gave up on me and told me that if I had to have it cut out, it was my problem.

8. When I was little, I wanted braces, glasses, and crutches more than anything in the world. I used to put unwound paper clips over my teeth and tell people they were retainers.

9. My friend Dana and I made up a dance involving bent-legged cartwheels and hula hoops to Bon Jovi's Livin' On a Prayer. In the front yard. In front of other people. And we wouldn't let them join us because they weren't cool enough.

10. I collected my own teeth in a Tic Tac box. I think that it's because I had so many teeth-related accidents. I once broke my front permanent tooth my slamming into a kitchen table while on rollerskates, imitating what my sister had done moments before. This was to show her how foolish she looked. Clearly, I showed her.

My favorite forward ever.

Have you heard about the next planned "Survivor" show?

Three businessmen and three businesswomen will be dropped into an elementary school classroom for 6 weeks. Each business person will be provided with a copy of his/her school district's curriculum, and a class of 28 students.

Each class will have five learning-disabled children, two with ADD, one with ADHD, one gifted child, and two who speak limited English. Three will have severe behavior problems.
Each business person must complete lesson plans at least 3 days in advance with annotations for curriculum objectives and modify, organize, or create materials accordingly. They will be required to teach students, handle misconduct, implement technology, document attendance, write referrals, correct homework, make bulletin boards, compute grades, complete report cards, document benchmarks, communicate with parents, and arrange parent conferences. They must also supervise recess and monitor the hallways. In addition, they will complete drills for fire, tornadoes, and shooting attacks.

They must attend workshops, (100 hours), faculty meetings, union meetings, and curriculum development meetings. They must also tutor those students who are behind and strive to get their 2 non-English speaking children proficient enough to take the end of year tests. Sick or having a bad day? They must not let it show.

Each day they must incorporate reading, writing, math, science, and social studies into the program. They must maintain discipline and provide an educationally stimulating environment at all times.

The business people will only have access to the golf course on the weekends, but on their new salary they will not be able to afford it anyway. There will be no access to vendors who want to take them out to lunch, and lunch will be limited to 20 minutes. On days when they do not have duty, the business people will be permitted to use the staff restroom as long as another survival candidate is supervising their class. They will be provided with 5 43-minute planning periods per week. If the copier is operable, they may make copies of necessary materials at this time. The business people must continually advance their education on their own time and pay for this advanced training themselves. This can be accomplished by moonlighting at a second job or marrying someone with money.

The winner will be allowed to return to his or her job.

Little Thoughts from Little Me

• I still have no voice. IM is the only way I'm having any interaction with other people. Mike continues to yell questions from across the house and wonder why I don't answer.
• I spent $200 yesterday on clothes. Oops. But some of it was for a wedding, so that doesn't count. Plus, what else was I supposed to do without a voice? And I got 10% off.
• I'm on Spring Break! [butterchurn dance]
• I got to lay out today! The leaves aren't all the way on the trees yet, so the little part of my backyard that actually gets sun is bigger right now. That makes me happy. So do tan lines. And wrinkles.
• I killed 16 little sweat bees with my bare hands while laying out. They are persistent little buggers.
• Gus ate 4 of the ones I killed, plus a stick.
• I'm on Spring Break! [doin' the sprinkler]
• I got to IM with my traveling buddy about my trip to LA. Thank you to everyone who made suggestions, we are using them!
• I finally figured out Blogroller and am quite proud of my little list. Still working on Haloscan. Afraid will screw up.
• I'm on Spring Break! [disco fever]
• NC State beat Connecticut! Go Wolfpack!
• I whispered a whole conversation to my mom on the phone last night, v.v. romantic.
• I would desperately appreciate a home remedy for laryngitis if anybody knows one.
• Speaking of desperate, Desperate Housewives is actually on tonight, yay!
• Wasn't this a riveting post? Sadly, it sums up my weekend. My very quiet weekend.

**************************

Note: Desperate Housewives is a rerun. This is unfortunate. Also, though it is dark, there is a large tractor plowing up the cornfield behind our fence. Gus is on high alert. Repeat, high alert.

It's only 11:30

I bet I'm gonna post 40 times today. I am so bored. Let me tell you why.
I have absolutely no voice. My whisper is way louder than any other sounds I can make. I have some mild breathing issues, but nothing to constitute sitting on the couch watching movies all day. I can't talk on the phone. I can't go play tennis, even though it's beautiful outside, as I have the breathing issue. Mike suggested I clean, but clearly cleaning agents are going to interfere with my breathing also. I sat for a long while staring at Mike while he diligently tried to work at the kitchen table. Then I tried to mimic a bird out in the yard by whistling. Gus thought I was a real bird, so he started howling at me and that's when Mike sent me away.
So there's only one thing left to do. I must shop.

Take a Shot!

This is really pretty exciting. It will be my last school-esque post for a week because I am on Spring Break (Hallelujah, amen!).
Our kids finally got some PE equipment to play with. You'd think they'd know how to play games without it, but kids now don't know how to play games. You know what they do? They act out video games on the playground. Seriously. They take turns being the different characters and "conquering" the different levels of the game. There's a lot of fake guns and rolling on the ground. And the girls stand around and gossip about who said what about whom on IM last night.
So. Equipment! In the last two weeks, the kids have learned tetherball, kickball, jump rope, and four square! How about that? I'm very proud of them and it's nice to see them playing normally. Here's the funny part. There are two four square games that take place: the regular game that you and I remember and then there's the Extreme game. Extreme Four Square is only played by boys and it's the funniest thing I've ever seen.
They have huge boxes for their "court" and they stand waaaaaaay back in the corners. Instead of gently bumping the ball back and forth, they slam it at creative angles to try to get the other people out so that they can advance to King of the Court. When someone gets out, they have to go take a shot. Take a shot! I was looking frantically around for the tequila bottle under the slide, but they ran over and slammed their frustrations into the basketball goal before they got back in line. You haven't laughed until you've seen aggressive ten year old boys yelling, "Go take a shot!" everytime someone gets out.

Hmmph.

1. Apparently, very few people are able to post to my blog. Blogger doesn't love me this week. I've sent them two (2) help requests and received one (1) form letter and no (0) solution.

2. I am officially on Spring Break, but have been rendered mute...again. Voice all gone.

3. I am now going to go read People instead of posting, because no one can comment anyway and I feel unjustified when my efforts are not rewarded with copious comments.

4. Yes, I am spoiled. So I like comments. Then I know people are reading what I take the time to write. So there.

***********
Later that night....despite all of the kind comments below, just for the record, I am still unable to post comments, even on my own blog. So Steph and I aren't totally crazy. Anyone know how to fix it?

Forgetful due to medication.

Sometimes communication with parents is so inane that you just have to laugh. We get together in the mornings and share tidbits from our daily rake over the coals by parents. My teammate got this one this morning.

My daughter says that sometimes you'll call on her to answer a question even if she doesn't have her hand raised. I am asking that you consider not calling on her if her hand is not raised. Right now my daughter is not experiencing "Love of learning" and I need your help in getting this issue under control. Thank you for your consideration in this matter.

For real. Because in the real world? Yeah, they're always going to wait for her to raise her hand. Or if she's not paying attention, that will surely be okay. My teammate first considered the response, "As your daughter has not been in attendance for most of this week, it is physically impossible that I did call on her, hand or no hand. If you would allow me to tutor her in math as I suggested earlier, perhaps she would be more confident and would raise her hand. But since you are choosing to tutor her at home, perhaps the lack of hand-raising is related to your inability to tutor her." She decided in the end not to dignify that email with a response.

Then I checked my email! Yesterday, I send this to the mother of the most ADD child I've ever met. (unmedicated, of course) He's really smart, but unable to focus, so he's failing everything. She makes grand sweeping promises to help him almost weekly and has yet to follow through on one. I wrote:

Hi! Can you please sign [Billy's] fourth quarter goals? It was due last Friday and he is losing $2 from his incentive money everyday he doesn't have it signed. He said he asked you last night and you forgot...if that's the case just let me know and I won't take that money from him.He worked very, very hard on a reading test Monday, yesterday and today, but it was extremely difficult for him to focus.
Please be sure to go through his goals with him (the blue paper stapled into his folder) each night to help him organize his progress. I appreciate your help. I will continue to touch base with him each day to see what y'all were able to do at night.
Thanks!
Ginny :o)

Sweet, huh? Putting it back on her, yet pointing out her failures as a parent, yet being supportive all at the same time. Here's her response:

Hi, I am sorry I did forget. I have been running from appointment to appointment lately and have been forgetful due to medication.

Hmmm. We had a good laugh over this one. There are so many ways to read this. How do you read it?

Crevasses

Children entering the classroom must be one of the funniest parts of the day. It illustrates my ability to carry on multiple conversations at one time and make everyone feel important. I think there should be a section for that on a resume.

Child #1: Mrs. R!! You're wearing pink for the third day in a row! [wraps herself around me for morning greeting]

Me: I am? [Huh. Must evaluate wardrobe decisions. Kids watching clothes, not lessons]

Child #2: I got an exshpander in my mouse! My mom hath to turn the key at night. [opens mouth widely to allow me to view the orthodontic wares]

Me: Wow! Looks painful! [carefully extract self from child #1. She begins stroking my earrings.]

Child #3: I found a stray cat! [meows and croons in cat-like manner]

Me: Wow! Are you going to keep it?

Child #2: It ish painful. [Sticks hand in mouth]

Child #1: Don't you have other clothes?

Child #3: My mom's allergic.

All together now:
When he turned the key, at firsht I shcreamed. It's orange and white striped! I like you in pink, I think you look good. We're going to make missing signs. I'll get bracshes after thish. Don't forget to wear green tomorrow, though. Do you think the nursh hash any wax? It has a place on its neck where you can tell it had a collar. I wore my hair like you! My brother hash a head gear. When we let him out last night, he just sat by the door and purred to be let back in. Waxsh would make it feel better. See, I have a low ponytail too! I get food schtuck in my exschpander.
Then the rest becomes a blur. I just start to hear bits of all the conversations and they melt together. I say "wow!" a lot and smile sincerely.
After that round of chaos passed, we got rolling pretty good this morning, then when I was right at the best part of my Davy Crockett Rocked the Alamo lesson, two large burly men appeared as if by magic and stood stupidly in the front of my classroom. I thought for a moment that word had spread about the sheer brilliance of my Crockett Rocks charade, but quickly reconsidered when they stood there, caveman style.
"Some lady said you wanted a pencil sharpener?" one grunted as the other pulled out a drill. Um, actually, I have loved not having a functional pencil sharpener. It meant I got to send the kids elsewhere for their sharpening needs. However, the kids were about to burst with excitement over the prospect of having their own sharpener in the room. (perks!) Fine. I waved Beavis and Butthead over to the sharpener site and carried on with my lesson. Or tried to.
"Okay guys, so Davy Crockett was a leader in what ways?" WHIRRRRRR! I was not going to be outdone by a drill. I raised my voice. "Other than the Texas Revolution what else do we know about him?" WHIRRRRRRR! All of the children's eyes were glued with fascination to the backsides of the two oafs oblivious to the fact that they were in a classroom. Um, during class. "What ways? Hello??" I began to wave my arms. One child finally raised their hand. I pointed eagerly.
"Can I sharpen my pencil when he's done?" Six more hands popped up and everyone began to examine their pencil tips. Sigh. I gave up and sat down at a desk and we all watched the men finish up. At last, they departed with a friendly wave. I finished my lesson and moved on to a reading test, avoiding pencil sharpener use for one last day. (I told the kids that it needed some time to "settle" from the drilling or else it might break like the last one. They nodded reverently and spoke in soft whispers near the new device.)
During the reading test, a boy pointed to a word he didn't know and asked me what it was. It being a test, I didn't want to tell him. "Sound it out," I encouraged him and leaned in. Just for the record, don't ever have a kid sound out the word crevasses. It really didn't go as planned.

Say...

My friend and I are going to Los Angeles next week for part of Spring Break. We will only be there for three full days. Neither of us has ever been there before. We are very much excited little movie star nerds.
Does anyone have any suggestions for cool things we could go see or good places to eat? Or advice? Suggestions? Decent links? That would be simply fabulous if you do! [Dude. A bug just crawled up my computer screen. That was different.]
We will have a car. Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Why?

1. Why, oh why, must Blogger log me out every. single. time. I return to it? Even though I diligently check the "Remember Me" box? Why?

2. Why must Gus howl only when I am on the telephone?

3. How would it happen that in one day (a Tuesday, mind you) 6 people dropped me from their Blogmarks? Did I write something offensive? Must have been me single-handedly raising gas prices on Sunday.

4. Why, when I am trying to write down my thoughts, does Gus insist on mating with my couch cushions?



5. What adult in their right mind thought that 600+ elementary school age kids would want to sit through a 30 minute groundbreaking ceremony for the new ($10,000 not spent on books or other necessary materials for learning) pavilion? The groundbreaking ceremony involving 10 gold shovels which was held in the gym because it was raining. The groundbreaking ceremony that lasted 30 minutes. Thirty minutes of the PTA members giving each other awards and making speeches? Seriously! Who thought that was appropriate at the end of the day on a Tuesday??

And now I adjourn to my glass of wine. As you were...

I Hate Tuesday.

It's always Tuesday. And they are absolutely endless.

My Amputee

Did I ever tell you about the time I cut a kid's finger off at school? I'd forgotten about it until recently when I was trying to brainstorm positive reasons that our administrators in my current distict might have used to determine that our school would not have doors. Reason # 46: A door could amputate a student's finger.
See, my old school had these big, heavy 1940's wooden doors. The old fashioned kind with the little window up high to peep through. It was the first day of school my second or third year teaching and we were practicing the art of Lining Up Appropriately. My new class obediently filed through the door and began to line up against the hallway wall. My "caboose" was apparently still in training and had forgotten to close the - big, heavy - door. So I sighed demonstratively to appropriately express my disdain and pulled the door closed.
Except it stuck. I gave it a sharper tug. Hmmm. I furrowed my brow and yanked that door with all my might. Snap! It shut. There!
"Eeeeeeee!" shrieked young boy, color draining from face.
"Augh!" shrieked his teacher, not knowing what the heck was going on. He had startled me with his cry. He gestured with his free hand that his other hand was caught in the hinges of the - securely closed, big, heavy - door. I gasped and frantically began pushing on the door until it freed my hostage. My profusely bleeding, pale faced, nine year old hostage who had just been shut in a door by his new teacher.
I rushed him to the sink. We wrapped, we applied pressure, we elevated the wound. We sent the other kids to PE, no longer concerned with hall etiquette. I rushed him to the nurse.
"His hand! His hand!" I gasped, pointing. "Blood! I shut him in the door!" The nurse hustled my victim away and shooed me into a chair. I sank into it and thought of the many ways I was about to be sued. I began mentally listing all of my other job possibilities. Soon my principal got in on the action and went in to appraise the situation. He came out a short moment later sheathed in a rubber glove and carrying a Dixie cup filled with ice.
"Going to get the piece!" he said grimly as he walked toward my classroom. The piece? The piece of what? A look of horror covered my face as I put two and two together. Well, in this case, four and one literal digits. I had cut off the finger of an innocent child. I had permanently rendered a child one finger short. I was clearly about to be fired. I sat there for a long time looking around...listening to the nurse call the kid's mom...watching the principal return with the part. I timidly stepped into the nurse's office.
"Heh, heh...how are ya, buddy?" I attempted joviality as I timidly felt out the situation. His hand was swathed in a ginormous bandage.
He looked up at me pitifully. I could see the resentment in his eyes. He would never forgive me. He was about to speak. I moved a minute step closer to him and leaned in to hear his weak words. "Am I gonna get to play dodgeball at recess?" he demanded.
I sank onto the rubbery paper-covered sick bed with him and sighed with relief. I had not permanently damaged his will to live. He was going to make it. All we needed was that little piece of finger and a deft surgeon.
Fortunately, we got both the finger and the surgeon and his mother (who had 4 boys) was very cool and even let me teach a couple more of her kids. For the rest of that school year, that clever little victim was able to give me "the finger" any time he felt that things were not going as he wanted. And I gave in every time. After all, he had me wrapped around his finger.

One being not that bad and ten being straight up white trash...

I did something really obnoxious today. I tried a new grocery store to see if I'd like it and after filling my cart about halfway with products that weren't quite what I needed, I got frustrated and abandoned my half-full cart in the diaper aisle.
On a scale of one to ten, how tacky was that? Note: There were perishable items in the cart. Second note: It was a really terrible grocery store.

Say What?

I teach a bunch of yuppie, snobby, racist kids. We have been reading Maniac Magee, a wonderful novel in which the overriding theme is racial tolerance. It's a phenomenal Newbery Honor Book. I've had a group of kids in this literature circle for about 7 weeks now and they just finished the book. I have carefully been cultivating this group to be a racially tolerant group of people who look at people for what's on the inside...people who try to understand where other people are coming from: that not everyone's background involves a stay at home mom and trips to Disney World in the summers. Et cetera.
Based on their fabulous conversations and meaningful discussions thus far, I was feeling pretty darned proud of my accomplishment. I mean, this was teacher of the year material. Whenever the principal would walk down the hall, I would wave her in and "invite" her to be wowed by the kids' depth of thinking and maturity and high level ideas that I had facilitated. [Read: write me up something good on my evaluation, please.]
Until today. Thank goodness she didn't come by today. Today, during our grand finale literature circle, a scene I had envisioned as everyone joining for a group hug with tears in their eyes and goals to go out and seek peace in the world, I realized that things aren't always as they seem. You simply cannot change everything that a kid comes to you with.

Our discussion director began with her question:
DD: "What do you think the author's message was in this book? What were we supposed to get out of it?"
Wonderful kid: "That people are all the same on the inside. Maniac was really able to show both sides of town how they could get along."
Me: [beaming proudly, nodding emphatically]
?*!%& Kid: You know, I really think it's good for black people to be mixed with us.
Me: [mouth falls open] Are you kidding me? I thought, staring in disbelief.
DD: "What?? That is so....so...." she looked at me for help. "Why would you say that?"
Me: [mouth still open]
?*!%& Kid: "Well, you know. It's important for like, basketball and stuff." He giggled. The rest of us looked at him like we wanted to punch him.

Seriously. In 2005. Today, actually. Basketball. Basketball! What is wrong with these kids? Their parents? I'm still blown away.

Fried Like a Pickle

I am obsessed with warm weather. I track it, predict it, and covet it when it happens. Sunshine and warm weather turn me into this dancy-skippy creature who I don't know very well. People around me don't know quite what to do when it first happens and I actually uncross my arms because I'm not cold for the first time all year. My demeanor becomes slightly less cynical (not too much though) and slightly more...dare I say perky? I hate perky. But I love warm weather.
We officially seem to be in spring now. The trees are greening, the flowers are up, the temperature is consistently above 70. It does strange things to me. Just this week, I have hulahooped, jump-roped, and today I played a game of tetherball. And lost miserably. It turns out that I'm still not good at tetherball because I am deathly afraid of the ball. I screamed 3 times and turned an ankle trying to duck from the ball. But the kids loved it and cheered and raved for the rest of the day about what an awesome player I am. Hee.
I adore laying out. Yes, I know about cancer and all that stuff, but I just LOVE it. I don't like tanning beds, I like to get my cancer the old fashioned way. I spent about ten minutes of recess today gazing into the sun and dreaming of tan lines and coconut lotion. Ahhhh....we hit 80 today and I could've stayed outside all day. 85 degrees is the perfect temperature in my opinion. Hot enough to get sweaty and get in a pool, but cool enough to not fry you on a tennis court. A nice round 85.
I'm ready for summer preparations.
First, must do toes. Need pedicure. Must do own, as am freakishly ticklish and once kicked kind Jamaican woman near face during spa treatment.
Second, must commit to new shaving habits. Time to upgrade the shaving schedule and exfoliate legs.
Third, must clean up lounge chair and round up new sunscreens. Never use old. They expire. Stephanie once fried like a pickle [where on earth did that phrase come from?] at the beach as a tragic result of old sunscreen.
Fourth, must get away from computer. [writer has left computer.]

"Wash your hands." (ya freak)

How old does a child have to be before they learn that it's inappropriate to pick their nose in public? According to their parents, these children would be scarred to the core for life if I forced them to stay in at recess to finish the homework they didn't do, but their child sure shows no sign of humiliation in class when they insert their finger into their nostril, mine for boogers, and then wipe it on the underside of my desks. Or eat it. Or look at it closely to see what they caught.
A lot of people will look the other way so as not to embarrass the child. This is probably a kind thing to do. I stare at nosepickers. LIke I'm watching a good movie. When at last they look up from their booger reverie, I smile and say, "Wash your hands." Don't think everyone doesn't know what that means. More code.
Would you let your child be in my class? I'm just trying to promote real world learning, consequences and skills. They'll run me out of these suburbs in the next three years for sure. No one wants someone teaching their kid about real life. That's something to protect them from until they're 18 and have no idea how to take care of themselves. Sometimes I miss the ghetto. But then I remember how hard my job was. How did I get from booger picking to this? Hmmm. I'm a bit rambly and disjointed today.

Open House Jollies

Open House: (noun) 1) A dog and pony show presented by desperate teachers under pressure from their administration to impress parents. 2) An opportunity to corner your child's teacher during time for which she is not paid. Consider monopolizing her time for maximum benefit to you. Remember to let your children run wild.

While all of the surrounding districts in the area are on Spring Break this week, we got to enjoy Open House. Despite the fact that my grade level spent much time, effort and money creating a scavenger hunt which traversed the entire campus [read: get out of our rooms and leave us alone], copious amounts of parents managed to send their children on the scavenger hunt and remain in the room to speak "confidentially" to us. Yay.

Very Important Confidential Topics included, but were not limited to:

1. Why doesn't the other teacher put grades on her papers? [ask her]
2. Do you think my child is gifted? [no]
3. Did my child draw that? It looks like how she draws cats.
4. How long have you been married?
5. Can you put my child in X teacher's room next year? [no, unless you get me a really good end of the year present]

Clearly, this evening was a good use of my time. I'm now going to take my migraine medicine and go to bed.

By the way...

just wanted to point out that it's Tuesday again. Told ya.

Dear Parents,

A few friendly pointers as we finish out the last quarter of this school year...
1. Open House is not code for "your own private parent conference." There are 90+ of you. I am only one person and if you want the truth, I'm pretty tired of talking about your kid.
2. Despite popular belief, it is not entirely my responsibility to teach and raise your child. You had the kid. I am only here to teach it. I am not accountable for teaching your child morals, manners, or sports. Just so you know.
3. Just because my district doesn't enforce the dress code doesn't mean you can't exercise a little common sense. Wife beaters? Kinda tacky. Bellies? They really shouldn't be visible. Especially in winter. That bring me to number four.
4. It is not healthy for a fourth grader to weigh over 150 pounds. Yes, they do. We did a mass center in math and I know. And yes, I laughed when your child left. However, if you do not find problem with this weight, perhaps you might consider that horizontal stripes, anything in the "legging" family, and halter tops are really not the best look for your child. Also, if you could stay away from the Tweety Bird shirts that say "Hot Chick," it would really help me keep a straight face while I'm teaching.
5. I am 100% cognizant of the fact that your child is special. Please stop reminding me of their special needs. I have 44 special kids and I like most of them, but none are more special than the others. Seriously. I will not "write down their homework for them" or "pack their backpack to make sure they have everything." Which reminds me...
6. Don't say, "I don't believe in medicating my child." I personally don't believe in medicating most children. But yours? Really needs medication. I wouldn't lie to you. Of course, I'm not allowed to tell you your child needs medication because you could sue me. But when I keep using the words can't focus and limited attention span and social problems? Yeah, that actually is code. Get your kid some meds.
7. A full sized bag of Funyans is not an appropriate snack. Make a note of it.
8. Please do not feed your child massive quantities of eggs on the mornings of big tests. I know you mean well, but the octane level in my classroom after these breakfasts is a potential biohazard.
9. Get your daughter a bra and some deodorant. I know she's only in fourth grade, but the evidence is staring me right in the face everyday.
10. I understand that you bought 48 pencils for your child at the beginning of the year. That was a really long time ago. You need to go to Target and get some more. I'm sorry that your child lost them all, but the cup on my desk is not a free store as your child believes it to be.

Thanks so much for your help and support. Together, we can strive to help your child reach their greatest potential.

Sincerely,
Mrs. R

Eastward Bound Hair

So, I've been feverishly cleaning all day for two reasons. One, because Gus has taken a newfound interest in the sunflower seed birdfood that the birds drop on the ground. Two, because I brought home some work from school that I need to get done before tomorrow.
A bit of explanation...it turns out that beagles are not able to fully digest sunflower seeds. Well, the shells. Husks? Hulls? Whatever, I'm not very practiced in my seed vernacular. At any rate, the shells appear to have two options: pass through whole or come back up whole. Which leads to my cleaning frenzy. I have thrice cleaned up some expelled goodness courtesy of Gus in the last two days. Said expulsions have taken acouple of forms, which we will henceforth refer to as A and B. [I realize this is a lot of information, but I really need to express myself.]
First, we had the Pile 'O Seediness. When I opened the door to Gus' room after work on Friday, I was struck with a stench so rotten my gag impulse was triggered. So I did what any sane person would do. I pulled Gus out of the room, shut the door, and left the pile of seedly goodness a la Form A for Mike. Unfortunately, he refused to go near it and it turned out that I only prolonged my cleaning fate. Sicknasty.
Second, Gus woke us up at 4:55am today making that wretched hulrp...hurlp...hurlp noise that is hideously familiar to any beagle owner. As I staggered blindly out of bed and rushed to get him outside, he puked right in front of the bedroom door. A nice little wet pile of sunflower seeds. Form B....fabulous.
Third, after Mike took him outside and gave him some water and [normal, appropriate] dog food, I cleaned up the second mess. Gus, however, took a brief leave of absence. While I scrubbed away at the carpet [in my pajamas at 5am on a Sunday], Gus vanished somewhere in the house. As I returned from the laundry room, I found him, hunched up in the dining room, producing Form A of the sunflower goodness right there on the floor. In the dining room. Deep breath, cleansing thoughts, repeat step two.
So, it's apparent why I had to launch into a cleaning frenzy today. Those three tainted rooms clearly had to be scrubbed and one thing just led to another. I just couldn't stop myself. Everytime I saw my pile of schoolwork sitting on my desk, I was able to conjure up another cleaning task for myself. Here I sit, in my spanking clean house. I think I am officially the dirtiest thing in my home. I have one piece of hair jutting directly east from my head. The retching wonderdog is wagging his tail in the doorway. There is a pile of work insolently leering at me, so...I'm blogging. Something I hadn't planned to do today in light of all the work I have to do, but here I am. Being that I am filthy, I think that it might be the perfect time for spa time. I think today is the day to get the feet ready for spring. A pedicure won't take that long. I'll still have plenty of time to do my work. Later. Much, much later.

It's Green With Stripes!

"Do you know what this thing is on my hand?" Small hand with black smear is thrust into my face at close range. I honestly don't want to know what's on that hand. I guide the suspect hand toward the lockers and brace myself for the rest of the darlings entering the room that morning.
"Mrs. R! Do you like horses?" I shook my head, trying to avoid the cacophony that I knew would come next if I indulged their question too much and guided them to the lockers....there. I was safe. "I like dogs!" piped in another in answer to the previous question. Doh! So close! I didn't dodge the contagious "I have/I like" eruption this morning. "I like cats!" "I have a hamster, two fish, and a dog!" "I have two cats!" "Well, I have a big dog, a little dog, and a bird! Who likes birds?" "My cat eats birds!" "Well, I like horses." "One time, I rode a horse at camp by myself!" "My hamster had babies!" And so on and so on until the bell rang.
We sat in line semi-quietly, relieved of the morning's explosive pet confessional. The kids looked around during the minute of silence, taking in their surroundings. Suddenly, two hands shot into the air, their owners' eyes filled with urgent longing to be called upon. I held up a finger and deliberately waited until we were released from the minute of silence. Teachers must set a good example. I was pleased to see all of their eyes on me while they waited expectantly. Forty long seconds passed. "Yes?" I asked, proud of them all for looking at me. "Your zipper is down!" they exclaimed in unison.
Oh, good. So it was going to be one of those days. I zipped casually and motioned my line to leave for music. I saw whispering. "It's green with stripes!" I heard accompanied with excessive giggling. Oh, fabulous! I had cleverly selected some vibrantly colored undies from the collection for the day I wear a faulty zipper. May as well do it right, I suppose. I certainly made their day.

"But Women Can't Be Professors!"

cried Stifler as he stared aghast into his chapter book. He looked to his buddy to confirm his theory. I raised an eyebrow and eavesdropped with interest.
"Nah...I don't think so," echoed his friend. He pointed to me for confirmation.
"Mrs. R! This book has a typo! It says that this professor is a woman! Women can't be professors!" Stifler gasped to me, clearly concerned about the literary accuracy of his novel.
I half-closed my eyes, tilted my head and gazed at him disdainfully, daring him to continue.
"What?"he said, shifting uncomfortably.
I cleared my throat and spoke slowly and clearly to his ten year old sexist brain. "Women can be anything." I spoke carefully. "Except for men. My best friend is actually a professor." I stared at him, waiting patiently for his "aha moment." I waited.
He squinted. He thought. He spoke at last. "Your best friend is a guy?!"
Sigh.

Non-Critical Clinginess

I am aware this post is about to illustrate just how weird my mind is, but it's interesting to me. I am troubed by leaving things behind. Inanimate, meaningless things. I feel terrible when I give away a bag of belongings to Goodwill. Mainly because I don't know what kind of homes they are going to.
I feel terrible that my childhood security stuffed animal, Pooh Bear, has been sitting on a shelf high in my closet since we moved here two and a half years ago. On top of a hunting rifle. In the dark. I finally put another old Pooh Beah up there with him so that he has company.
The other day I was trying on clothes and I noticed a string hanging on my jeans, so I snapped it off and dropped it on the floor. And then wondered if it was going to be lonely there in that dressing room. Or if it would be scared when the vacuum sucked it up later.
Once, when I was in fifth grade, I had a hangnail in church and peeled it off and dropped it on the floor. I was verklempt for the rest of the day over that fingernail. When a pen runs out of ink, I hate to throw it away. I kept all of my baby teeth in a TicTac box in my room. When my beach chair finally collapsed with rust on the beach last summer, it made me sad to leave it beside the trash can at the public access. That chair and I had a lot of good times.
I think I have a problem. Other than this issue, I am a fairly normal person. Really, I am.

Revenge is Sweet

"Where were you?" many angst-ridden pleas and 6 pairs of desperate, searching eyes met me at the door to my classroom. Two wee people koalabeared themselves to each side of me and another grabbed on for the triple hug. I had the audacity to take yesterday off. While it's nice to feel appreciated, it's also nice to have personal space.
"Okay, guys, let's get moving today! Lots to do! Go unpack!" I smiled kindly and attempted to pry one off of me. "Okay, seriously, get off. Get moving," I urged more firmly as my fan club tore themselves away from me. I relaxed for a moment and got my bearing. Sub left note? Check. Sub left room relatively tidy? Check. No complaints about "mean" sub from overprotective psycho parents? Score! Good sub.
Oof. I was bombarded from the front by my sole boy who is still sweet enough to hug his teacher without being mortified. Unfortunately, he also plays tackle football in his offtime. As I tried to get my breath back, I patted him on the head. "You weren't here yesterday!" he accused, glaring somewhat lovingly at me. My little Captain Obvious. I agreed that I was not, in fact, there yesterday and sent him on his merry way. These kids were bonkers today.
I tried to wrap my brain around the fact that these kids haven't had a day when they haven't been tested or otherwise quietly contained in over a week! They were completely flabbergasted when I wrote Normal Day! Switch classes! on the board. It's as though it were the first day of school again. Rules? What rules? Routines? Huh? Things we've done every other day of the school year? Don't know what you're talking about, lady!
We rolled on the floor, we pretended to be Mexican soldiers during the Texas Revolution lesson, we talked during the minute of silence, we forgot all of our supplies...it went on all day. When I say we, I of course mean they. And they lost a lot of money today per our classroom checkbook arrangement**.
See, our Super-Fun! Movie Event is this Friday. It's the event I've been holding over their heads for eight long weeks. We are going to show the movie Holes. I've been frantically trying to get the whole book read aloud to them for several weeks and today it almost cost me my voice. But it will be worth it, because my movie extravaganza will be the event of the season. The place to see and be seen! The social affair of the season! Really, just baggies of popcorn on the floor of my room. But! We've also included several five dollar BYO_ options, including BYOP (pillow) and BYOS (snack). For just $10 extra, we'll let you sit with a friend.
I had a child on his knees desperately pleading with me at recess today to tell him anything, anything he could do to earn some money back. I just couldn't...quite seem to think of anything. I sadly shook my head at him, a pitying smile on my face. In my mind, my other personality devilishly rubbed her hands together, while swishing her tail and cackling. Heh. I love consequences. Even when I have to wait eight lo-o-o-ong weeks for them. Tomorrow I might dangle a little cash in front of him in exchange for some effort on the millionth district assessment he has to tackle. We'll see how I'm feeling. Mwua-ah-ah!

**Checkbook arrangement, per early-January post: In addition to my school not believing in grades, doors, or the teaching of spelling, they also frown upon classroom management. That is, you are encouraged to reward children (positive reinforcement), but you may not actually discipline them. This practice could be damaging to their self-esteem. WELL. I'm not really into self-esteem. I like kids and kids like me, but this feel good stuff is for the softies. This sugary sweet scenario just doesn't fly in my world, so my team and I came up with a behavior checkbook "system" cleverly disguised as positive reinforcement (technically, we could give them money for being chipper little dumplings and pleasing us, I suppose, but please.). In this Plan, we dangle a Super-Fun! privilege in front of them at the end of each quarter which they may only attend if they have the cash flow to afford it. Then we snatch all their money when they're bad. Mwa-ah-ah! But obviously, you clever readers, that's not listed in the system description submitted to the proper authorities.

Downward Dog

When Gus is muzzled against his will, he becomes instantly petrified. Frozen to the spot. He remained in this yoga-esque pose for over 10 minutes, while I laughed, pointed, and took pictures. He declined comment.

It's Always Tuesday

I don't know if you noticed. Tuesdays are only one day past Monday. Except that you're tired from getting up on Monday. Tuesdays are not yet halfway through the week. You still have 3 more days to go. Everytime you think about what day it is...it's probably Tuesday. Happens to me all the time. Start paying attention to it. Thus, my phrase, "it's always Tuesday."
If you've ever worked with me, you've been privy to this theory. Every Tuesday, in fact, I share the riveting news that it's Tuesday again. It certainly is a Tuesday today.
I began testing this theory in college. You see, in college, Tuesdays were unfailingly the worst days. On Tuesday/Thursday, my classes were always 90 minutes instead of 60. My attention span pretty much ends at an hour. Tuesdays were unswervingly the day I had labs. Long labs. Usually at night. There were always meetings on Tuesdays. Our deadline for the newspaper was midnight on Tuesday.
I continued analyzing my theory when I began teaching. In NC, teachers are not guaranteed a planning period every day. Every year I taught there, Tuesday was the day I didn't have specials. Tuesday was the day I had my little pumpkins all day without a break. I hated Tuesday. Tuesday was the day of our faculty meetings. Tuesday is always the day I get stuck with duty. There is just something about Tuesdays.
There's never a holiday on Tuesday. Well, maybe Fat Tuesday. But what a terrible name for a holiday! Easter Monday, Ash Wednesday, Good Friday....Fat Tuesday. Then there's Black Tuesday. It's obvious to me that the Depression would have to start on a Tuesday. It's clearly the red-headed stepchild day of the week. You never get a Tuesday off. You have to wait in line to vote on Tuesday. The writing test is always on a Tuesday. 9/11 was a Tuesday. Constantinople fell on a Tuesday. The Greek and the Spanish-speaking world consider Tuesday to be an unlucky day of the week.
So, it's really not just me. This phenomenon has permeated society. It's a historical, world-wide trend. But I coined the phrase "It's Always Tuesday." Feel free to pass on the joy. I'm trying to get this gig to go global.