Archive for the ‘school’ Category

 Yesterday was the Boy’s Valentine’s Day Party at school.  To prove that I am not the oldest, laziest mother on the planet, of course I jumped at the chance to provide cupcakes for said party.

*note to self – they are happier, apparently, with those tiny, nasty little cupcakes from Walmart.  Next time, grab a bag of some nasty premade treat instead of toiling over your homemade and carefully decorated ones, k?*

Anyway, so when I get there, the Room Mother Lady was there, just beginning to set up the table.  She looked sick.  Her Boy was sequestered over in that chair over there, instructed to ‘stay away from people.’  

It turns out that Her Boy had been home alllllllll week with THE FLU *real flu or bad cold, people just call it the flu around here’ but she ‘hated for him to miss his party,’ so she opted to bring him up to participate in the festivities.  Oh, and she tells me she has a fever and the air coming out of her nostrils when she breathes is firey hot.


So, the kids are served their sandwiches and chips and soft drinks and cheese-flavored popcorn that tastes weirdly like dish soap, greasy cookies, waxy frosted cupcakes, and proceeded to completely ignore the homemade tasty treats.  


Her Boy sat at the front of the classroom, facing the classroom, and for the better part of an hour coughed and spewed germs out of his head holes.  About 10 minutes before party over time and AFTER the delivery of about 8 Valentine-Daygrams she’d bought for him (reckon that’s why she hauled the germ festival up there to share?), well, THEN she decided that Her Boy felt soo bad she better take him on to the house.

So me and the Girl Scout Cookie Mom cleaned up.  

OH.  Know what else?  Room Mother Lady, the one who was sick and running fever…well, she is the one who put all the sandwiches together and lovingly cut them into heart shapes.

Let’s just read that ‘she made 24 little petri dishes of germiness to feed to the class…with mayonnaise.’

I’m sure some of you have already figured out where I’m going with this.

and you’re right.

At about 12 today my phone rang.  Seems My Boy is in the office complaining of a headache and chills.  My Boy who I have managed to this point to keep well and out of the doctor’s office all year has a headache and chills.  


So, the Mr. ran up the street to retrieve the poor thing and he promptly changed into PJ pants and his sheik robe and has been asleep on the couch with Belle the rest of the afternoon.

Would the fact that Room Mother Lady and I had at least a 10-minute conversation about how inconsiderate it is for people with sick kids to go ahead and send them to school?  How it is a pain in the ass to us when their kids make our kids sick…would that be irony?

Well, Room Mother Lady, I just want to say thank you.  Thank you for sharing your germs with the Boy.  He really needed a long weekend of beng sick anyway.  I hope Your Boy enjoys his red carnaton and white carnation and pencil and keyring and paper heart and stuffed cat and stuffed penguin from his “secret admirer.”  I really hope it was totally worth potentially infecting the other 25 people in the classroom yesterday. 


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 So, ya’ll know how the Sub has been subbing pretty much on a regular basis since she graduated from college with a Bachelors Degree in Marketing and Business Administration and hasn’t been able to land the dream job.  She likes it enough that she’s decided that if said dream job doesn’t come down the pike pretty damn fast she is going to go ahead and get her teaching certificate.  It’s a plan and I’m all for it.

Except for day’s like today when she comes home from school and says she pretty much just wants to take a shower and scrub her skin raw and then just go to bed so this day can be behind her since The Kid who Asked Her to Homecoming the first time she subbed, then gave her his school picture with his phone number, then continually bothered her about it every time she subbed out there wrote under the lab table a vulgarity about her anatomy and was making nasty hand gestures about her. 

Apparently not soon enough, this time she wrote him up and sent him to the office and will have to file an incident report.

She’s tried so hard to ignore it in hopes he would finally stop.  He didn’t.

Today was sexual harrassment, plain and simple.  By an 8th grader…

When I was in 8th grade, Zeke didn’t even have the balls to ask another 8th grader “to go with” him.  No, he’d have Drexel go ask her.  And the whole time you were “going out” with Zeke, the actual amount of interaction amounted to passing notes in the hall and maybe sitting by each other on the rock wall during “break.”  

Oh, there was an occasional lethario like Paul, a transplant from a Carolina who had the prettiest mouth and the softest lips I have ever kissed, who DID have the balls to handle his own love life.  Oh hell no, Paul didn’t need his buddy to do his talking for him.  Paul would just come right to your house and do it his ownself.  

There was this one time, the summer between 8th and 9th grade, when he came calling to my house…

Yeah, he had lovely lips.  Ah, a fond memory but I digress.

What I want to know is how in the hell is it that an 8th grader has the balls to act the way this kid has with the Sub.  Yes, she is pretty.  Yes, she is young.  Yes, they are boys.  Yes, I know that 14-year-old boys are nasty little creatures who constantly think about sex and boobs and sex and cheeseburgers and boobs and sex.

But man… Seriously?   Nasty hand gestures about the Sub right there in front of the Sub?!?!?  

I know…I know.  I haven’t parented a 14-year-old boy yet, but lemme just tell ya this.  If I EVER hear tell that the Boy treated a woman in such a disrespectfall manner, it will take him days to remove my boot from his ass.  

And that’s a promise you can hold me to.

Wait…a…minute.  A thought occurs to me…

Perhaps the problem lies not with these disrespectful children but with the parents who didn’t teach them TO respect.

What do y’all think?  Is this a case of “boys being boys,” or is it straight up sexual harassment?  Am I just being naive about “how boys are” or what?

I do know this.  Whether she is 22 or not, my mom instincts make me want to call his mother or kick his ass myself, one or the other.


But I won’t.

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What a soggy, cold, uneventful day here at the Casa…clear up until the Sub (RCG’s new name) calls me and tells me that her campus is “pretty much in lockdown,” because there has been a bomb threat next door at the high school and all however many high school students we have are walking en masse to stand around over at Wheat.  Not inside, but outside.  For an hour.  It’s 39 and feels like 36. 

This has been the first time, to my knowledge, at least since 2002 (when the Sub entered high school) that there has been an actual evacuation.  Just a tad unsettling.

The Sub:  I mean, surely the people who threaten to blow up stuff aren’t the ones who actually do, right?  I mean, the ones who actually wanna blow stuff up are the ones who just do it…right?

Is the pat answer yes? 

While I realize the probability that it was some punkass kid who wanted to get out of 5th period, it still makes me want to run up there and snatch the Junior up and bring her home and home school her til she graduates college.  

Last year there was a little racial skirmish that she told me about one morning as I was dropping her off.  Turns out that a lot of parents that day opted to keep their kids home.  I opted not to give in to that inner terror that lurks just below my surface and has ever since I became a parent.  


Makes me long for the days of fire drills in high school where we would stand on the lawn for the required 5 minutes, in orderly lines, and joke about what if it really was on fire and how funny it would be we’d miss our 5th period English exam.

Last week our kids, on every campus, had not fire drills but DISASTER drills.  I’m sure they still have them, but I’m sure Dane couldn’t tell you the last time they had a fire drill, but I’ll tell you what…he’ll remember his first DISASTER drill for a while…and not in large part because he got to sit by Amanda on the DISASTER drill bus ride.

The Junior just called.  They didn’t find anything.

Makes me wanna kick some punk ass for throwing a kink in my lovely Monday off Afternoon.

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When Casey and Reagan were in elementary school their principal was Mr. Riley Dunn a.k.a. the most amazing principal ever to walk the earth.  Be it in rain, sleet, snow or 115-degrees in August, that man was out in it helping load the kids in the afternoon.  He wasn’t one to sit in his office, either.  He’d be all over that school, interacting with every child he met with a high five.  At award ceremonies he would always start by saying how important it was to work hard and that even though not everyone can be a straight A student or even an AB student, everyone can do their own personal best.  He was also very forthcoming about how he had struggled in school.

At the time, with those two girls, I usually just sat through this and sort of quietly rolled my eyes on the inside.  whatever, I thought.  

Well, three weeks ago I came to understand a little better what he meant.  Three weeks ago we found out that Kelly a.k.a. The Junior was failing Algebra II.  She had a 63 that had to be a 70 in three short weeks.  One week in and it was a 65.  Next week 67.  The Algebra Teacher No One Wants to Get told her last Thursday that if she passed the test on Friday, it would bump her to passing.  Kelly made a 75 on the test.  But apparently TATNOWTG told her yesterday it wasn’t good enough.  She failed the six weeks with a 68.  She’d have to sit out of band/color guard and miss UIL competition and Birdville.  

She was crushed yesterday when she came to the car.  

When Dr. Phil says you can only be as happy as your saddest kid, he is speaking the truth.  My guts hurt.

Because see, here’s the thing.  She worked HARRRRRD.  No MySpacing.  No internets.  No sleepovers.  She studied and studied and did practice problem after practice problem.  She seemed to sorta get it (by the way, this class is more like how to work a very expensive calculator than how to do Algebra II, so we can’t even really help her).  She left band early in the mornings to go to tutoring with TATNOWTG and she stayed for tutoring AFTER school BEFORE evening band.  

I’ve always been one to believe that if you do the crime you do the time…suffer the consequences of your actions, except when she got in the car this afternoon and told me that TATNOWTG let a senior football player retest so that his grade went up 2 points so he could play FOOTBALL my eyes just about bugged outta my f-ing head.  I almost said the F word right there in the car with my children present.

Leave it to a senior football boy to tell that around.  At any rate, Kelly and this other band kid who also has a 68 are going to have a chat with her tomorrow and inquire as to why it was that she lets some retest to raise their grades and not them.  It should be interesting.  Her dad tore up there yesterday and probably didn’t help much, so I’m glad she is going to be her own advocate.  

At any rate, what kills me most is that I never got to see the show.  I always like to wait til they have the whole thing down before I get the big reveal.  I feel bad that I let stupid f-ing work dictate my Saturday last weekend.  But I was going to go this weekend.  But there isn’t going to be this weekend.  And that makes me sad.  Just not as sad as her.

I think it would be easier if she hadn’t tried so hard.  If that makes any sense <insert frowny face here>

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I don’t know what is with all the nostalgia swirling around in my head of late.  Maybe it’s because the kids are getting older, but for whatever reason I feel this compulsion to remember and tell them stories from “back in the day.”  Maybe I want them to be reminded that even though we have struggled, they have had a heckuva lot more than I did.  I want them to remember that so that I don’t feel so bad for not being able to give them more…I suppose.

Here in Texas, high school football is THE BIG DEAL.  And while the football boys are all testosteroned up over the big homecoming game, every Texas girl dreams of being asked to homecoming so that she’ll get to parade up and down the stands in her mum and be the envy of every girl who didn’t get asked and didn’t get a mum. 

<insert the story about how when I was in high school the student council took orders for mums for 2 weeks before homecoming and the day of homecoming said student council members would deliver the mums to the girls in the classrooms.  All day.  So for those of us who DID NOT get a mum, it was one longass day of not hearing your name called out and being handed a big long white box tied in a big red ribbon>

Where was I going with this.

Oh yeah.  So it’s homecoming week here in small town Texas.  Big goings on all around.  And the Junior doesn’t have a boyfriend.  And no random boy has asked her to Homecoming.  So, on occasions such as this, Superdad has always made sure his girls were bestowed with a proper mum.  And let me tell you, these suckers can be EXPENSIVE.  These poor boys poor boys’ parents pay upwards of 80-100 bucks for a silk flower, a ton of ribbons, and gold or silver plastic googaws and cowbells.  At any rate, the Junior apparently told dad she was fine going to Homecoming sans mum.

What she didn’t know was that the RCG already had in mind making her a veritable replica of the most awesome mum she ever got from a boy named Frankie who was not even her boyfriend.  She’s working on it right in front of the Junior, only the Junior thinks it is for another girl in band whose parents commissioned the RCG to make it.  RCG is doing an amazing job and it is going to be absolutely gorgeous.  So many googaws and tinkle bells and cowbells and gold plastic footballs and homecoming stickers and leopard print ribbons and gold glitter shelac.  The look on her face is going to be priceless.

<insert the story about how one year my sweet mother apparently got wind of this whole mum hubbub and decided to order her gal a mum.  I might have been 14.  Which meant I’d had 3 years of torturous homecoming Fridays where every other bitch in the class got a mum except me.  Anyway, mother, never having attended a high school homecoming game didn’t even know what the hell they were, much less how to order all the bells and whistles.  So, imagine me sitting there that year and for the first time ever hearing my name called to come to the door to get MY HOMECOMING MUM.  My gosh, I was like Charlie when he found the Golden Ticket for pete’s sake.>

So yesterday when the RCG was showing me all the fancy bows and bells and glittery ribbons she’d put on the Junior’s I told her the story of the year I got a mum in high school and come to find out when I opened the box that mother hadn’t known she had to order the plastic footballs and cowbells and jingly things and Homecoming 1979 ribbons.  What I saw in the box was a plain white mum with 6 red ribbons and 6 white ribbons.  No glittery letters that spelled my name.  No sparkly anything.  No plastic footballs.  No we’re number 1’s.  Like I told the RCG, ‘look at THAT mum you are holding and take EVERYTHING pretty and sparkly and dangly away and THAT is the mum I had in a box.’

We were laughing so hard we were both crying.

See, her daddy and I were together while I was still in high school.  He was way older and not into ‘taking me to homecoming,’ so even though I “had a boyfriend,” my junior and senior year I still had to sit through that day-long ordeal of every other bitch getting a mum.  But in the back of my head I always though that maybe, maybe he’d go ahead and get me one this year.  Of course, I never asked for one.  I never asked for anything. 

But later, during our exit talks before I moved out, he and I would chat about how that, though so insignificant, was something that stayed with me.  Not so much that my mother got me a plain, ugly mum I had to fuss over AND WEAR, but that he hadn’t really known me enough to know how much a stupid flower with ribbons and glitter would have meant to me.

And that is why, I believe, he makes sure his girls have glittery, jingly, sparkly mums every year.  

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Sept. 18, 2007

Do y’all remember the days and weeks following September 11, 2001?  We all drove around with our lights on and every car and house was sporting an American flag.   We all seemed more patient with one another, more tolerant, more forgiving.  Our world was so rocked, it seemed stupid fighting over a parking spot.  

Well, let me tell ya, we here in C-Town are well past that tolerant, let’s all love one another through this horrible time crap.  This afternoon I saw 3 cases of bonafide ROAD RAGE, complete with rolled down windows and profanity and fists flying.  I find that sort of crap entertaining in a ‘wow look at that idiot’ sort of way.  

Besides, what else do we have to entertain us as we sit in traffic that is moving at a snail’s pace because our city leaders, in their infinite wisdom, thought it a good idea to make the 5th and 6th grade campus next door to the high school into a junior high school, consisting of 6th, 7th and 8th grade…RIGHT next door to the high school, where their are no lights, just 4-way stops, and a bajillion numnutt teenagers in their SUVs and Mustangs hell bent on being the first one out of the parking lot.  

And then you have the morons who are above actually going into the parking lot to get Junior.  Them bitches just pull over to the side of this congested, hate-filled avenue, causing everyone behind them to have to pass them in the turning lane, which means that the cars that need to turn into the high school don’t have a turning lane


our commute to school?  1 mile.

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Random Bullet Tuesday

I can’t for the life of me put a cohesive post together, so we’re going the random bullet direction:

  • My gosh, how good does it feel outside this morning???  This is the kind of day that I remember that the good Lord Baby Jesus does really love the people of the world and summer is nearly over…until next week when it is 100 again.

  • Yesterday, my RCG went and did a wonderful thing that will, no doubt, increase the quality of life at the Casa for countless people.  You see, for years we’ve only had the internets on one computer…mine…the one I work on.  This meant that every time anyone other than me needed to:  check their bank account/myspace/livejournal/email, they would circle around me like buzzards over roadkill possum.  So, yesterday being my Supine Monday, RCG decided to take advantage of the fact I wasn’t on this machine and she found one of the routers we’ve bought in years past to network this machine with the Boy’s but could never get it to work, and SHE GOT IT TO WORK.  So now, not only is the Boy able to gamezone.com his heart out while I pound out the keystrokes over here, but we gots the WIFI, which means RCG can check her bank balance/myspace/AIM/Ebay/YahooMessenger/  look for a J-O-B from the comfort of her dorm room the living room.  This made yesterday RCG Day here at the Casa.  That squeal of delight you heard yesterday around 4 p.m. was the Boy when he saw these words on his computer monitor:  youtube.  This is monumental.  We fed her amazing food and served it to her while she updated her iTunes and I think the Boy might have brought her a burnt offering of some kind later…or a brownie.  Dang.  Lengthy bullet.

  • Okay, so Sunday afternoon the Mr. drops the Junior off at church for choir.  When I go back to pick her up an hour later, she comes out with Shifty-Looking Girl.  “Uh. Whatcha doing, Junior?”  I said.  “Oh nothing, Shifty-Looking Girl is going to come to our house and then go over to Dad’s later.”  uh. ok.  Of course, I immediately think…well, I hope SLG doesn’t need to use the litter box restroom while she is here because I don’t care if I don’t know her from Adam, I’m embarassed for her to go in there.  But, I smile graciously and drive because I can tell something is fishy.  Long story shorter, she is 17, pissed off at her old, disabled parents, and has decided since the first of the summer that crashing at various friends’ places is better than staying home.  She also uses for effect that she “lives behind the Walmart.”  The Juniors dad has let her stay there, but when the Junior is here, I hate to say it, but we just don’t have any room at the Inn.  Also, according to her, she has “sexuality issues, has been in the insane asylum twice, and has met Pete Wentz.”  I’m calling bullshit on this one.  The Junior realizes she may have bit off more than she can chew with this and we are all hoping that her Dad takes care of it.  I just don’t have the time or patience to deal with that kind of drama when I’m trying to keep my own ship afloat.

  • That verse in the Bible that says “a child shall lead them”…it’s so not lying.  The Mr. and I, Boy in tow have had our tails in a pew 3 of the 4 past Sundays.  This is stellar.  Trust me on this one.  Not stellar enough to take first bullet, but stellar nonetheless.

  • OHHHHH.  I got the coolest wind chimes for the backyard.  Just in time for the winds today.  If you’re thinking tinkly tinkly wind chimes, stop.  The longest of the “chimes” is probably 45 inches long.  These are windGONGS.  They sound beautiful.  We have a lovely spot all picked out to hang them over by the gate 😉

  • annnnnnnnnnnd…I think that brings Random Bullet Tuesday up to date.

  • No, wait.  since we chatted last, we’ve had three birthdays at the Casa…well, not AT the Casa really, but the Boy is now 9 and is loving 3rd grade and liking his first man teacher, the Longhorn turned 20 and the College Freshman is now 19, and we officially get to put an end to Birthday Season until January. 

  • ok. now that’s all.

  • Hearts and Flowers, folks 🙂

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