never ending story

Okay, lemme start by saying that I like my boss.  Real personable guy, friendly, helpful, cares about people... But omg, I'm here thinking up strategies for work later today.

Since it's summer semester, we've got some downtime and time to organize and converse.  On one of my first days on the job, Boss and I were talking and something regarding hockey came up.  He asked if I followed hockey.  

"Nope, not at all", I truthfully responded.

And THEN, he went on with this long monologue having to do with the college hockey team back in his home state and related tangents.  I swear it went on for hours but was probably more like 15 minutes.  

Yesterday, a similar thing happened.  One minute, one of my coworkers and I were discussing religion -an interesting topic - with Boss, but then hockey somehow entered the chat.  Boss then went on with yet another long drawn out story about the Russian hockey team and the 1980 Olympics, and oh. my. god.  Weren't we just talking about Jesus?

I tried to act like I was interested and listening, but I SO wanted to just turn away and do something - anything! - else.  My coworker who was in on the Jesus discussion did, in fact, turn away and do something else mid Russian hockey, leaving me stranded.  Was it because I listened to the whole story of the college hockey team that other time?  Am I the now the designated hockey audience??

As I said, I like Boss, and his talk of hockey has been a way to get to know him a little.  I enjoy conversing with people and learning about them through their interests, but these long monologues suck away bits of  my soul.  

I think that's why I like to read blogs.  They are a way for people to get their stories out, uninterrupted, and to connect with others with similar interests.  I can read them, latch on to parts that interest me, make and read others' comments... all on my own time.  

Is it just me?  I've found myself in similar situations with others who like to tell long stories without pause.  I like dialogue.  Monologue, not so much.  In fact, I would feel weird going on with a long story where I'm the only one talking, not stopping for thoughts or comments.  

I mean, I have a blog for blathering on, right?  I don't need to do it in real life.

Maybe I'll encourage Boss to start a blog, a hockey lovin' blog.  I'd read it.

No I wouldn't.

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Linking up this week with MamaKat for the prompt:

5. Pet Peeve time! Write about something that makes your blood boil.

the unfeverish

As with most workplaces that are open and operating, ours has a check-in station just inside the front entrance.  Sign in, take your temperature, declare yourself hale and hearty, don the daily facemask, etc...

One day last week, I went through the usual morning screening.  The thermometer indicated my temperature at 94.6F, which has been pretty typical lately.  A nurse happened to be following me in, and he noticed my sign in.  

"You should get that up to at least 96.0. 94.6 seems inaccurate."

Oh, okay, I'll just turn my heat dial a little more to the right.  What did he mean, "get that up"??  Like I can just regulate my body temperature on demand?  And what about "seems inaccurate"?  The company-provided thermometers are inaccurate, and somehow that's my fault? Was he asking me to lie on the sign-in sheet?  

I explained that I'd just ridden my bicycle in, and outside temps were in the low 20s, end of story.  I continued on in to work.  What was he gonna do, tackle me because my temperature was too low?  I kinda wish I'd asked him if he'd like me to lie about my temperature.  Yeah, that's what I shoulda said.

I'm recalling that now as I'm currently waiting for the outside temperature to "get up".  

I have an errand that I intend to run on my bicycle, but it's still quite chilly out. 


Come on, Earth.  Can't you get your Northern Hemisphere temperature up higher and faster?

Wolfgang borrowed one of our cars yesterday to go skiing.  His Jeep was having some work done at the shop, hence the borrowing.  He'd ridden his bicycle here on Saturday and left it when he got the car.  When he returned, it was dark, blustery, and cold out, so we loaded his bicycle into the car, and I gave him a ride back to his place.

After I returned home, we had the following long-winded text exchange:

Yep, we'd loaded up the bicycle but forgot the helmet - the helmet he'd intended to wear on his ride into work this morning.  Luckily, he has a spare helmet, so I plan to just deliver the left-behind sometime today once it gets warmer.  

But that pic... does the helmet look rather tiny to you?  I've noticed that effect a few times before when I've taken photos at arm's length of something I'm holding.  The thing I'm holding looks tinier than in real life.  

To me, this maybe looks like a helmet for a baby.  Maybe I really am abnormally inaccurate, and that nurse has me pegged.

And yes, I realize the photo was not necessary to get my point across.  But I'm of the generation that doesn't text at lightning speed.  A pic and an "Oops" says it.  Use the technology, that's what it's for.

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Linking up (a little late) with Mama Kat for the prompt:
6. Pick up your phone, tell us about the last text exchange you had.

stood up, lied to, spit out

I had the morning off and had arranged a meet up with this guy.  As the appointed time approached, I prepared for his arrival - cleaned myself and the house up a bit, took the dogs out back so they wouldn't interrupt the liaison.  

The appointed time arrived, but he did not.  "Maybe running a little late", I deluded myself.  Surely, he was on his way.  He'd even sent an email to confirm we were still on.

We'd met online through - I guess you'd say - a mutual interest.  He wanted to check out my unruly bush, as he was apparently into such things.  

Well.  I had plenty to offer.  I'd even given my bush a once over earlier that morning, to make sure to impress.  

So, where was he?  At ten minutes past, I decided I'd check in.

A woman answered.  What?

I explained the situation, and she said she knew of our scheduled meetup.  She would find the man and call me back.

A few minutes later, it was the woman on the phone again.

"He said he was there and rang the doorbell and knocked, but no one answered, so he left"

"But... but... my bush?", I stuttered.  "Will he be coming back?", I asked pathetically after confirming they had the correct address.

No.  He had other places he needed to be, but I could arrange for another time....

What the hell?

First of all, the he-was-there-but-no-one-answered story was ridiculous.  (A) I specifically watched for him as I value people's time. (2) the dogs will bark if someone approaches our house, and they were quiet the whole time, and (Last but not Least) we have a freaking Ring®️ doorbell that records all the comings and goings to and from the front door, and there was a whole lot of nothing since I walked in at about 6am.

He was a no show.

So I'm all, look, if you don't want the job of removing the juniper bushes from the front yard, just say so.  Don't make me block time out for you, then not show up, and try to make it look like it's my fault.

Spurned, I went on the prowl.

I arranged another meetup at the university, with a young college student, no less.  He was punctual and gave me exactly what I'd (ordered earlier online for curbside pickup) needed.

Before returning home, however, I made one more stop.  The pet store.  The exertion elation was almost indescribable (35-lb bag of dogfood) as the burly man well met my needs.

So yeah, I feel better after a couple of competency fixes.  But you're not off the hook, Davey Tree.

Did she lie to me?  Did he lie to her?  Were they both out smoking a bowl in the truck?  We'll likely never know, but he's not gonna touch my bush.

A woman scorned and all that.

two %$^@#$ doors down

I don't know them.  I'm not sure how long they've lived there - one year?  A little longer?  Our neighbors two houses up the street.

They've made nice improvements on their yard, giving their home nice curb appeal.  Laid down some fresh sod, put in tastefully-sized rock gardens including pleasing plants, the driveway is clear of debris...

Since the weather's gotten nice, we're all outside more, including myself.  In fact, two weeks ago, I spent most of my "recreational" time working outside in order to turn that big pile of tangled downed tree limbs into a manageable pile of easy-to-haul tree limbs. 10 yard garbage bags later, some blisters and possible carpal tunnel syndrome, I had this masterpiece:

I'm counting it as my major summer accomplishment.  I hired some guys with a big truck to haul it away and don't miss that pile one bit.

So, yes, I was working outside quite a bit that week, enjoying the various sounds of summer:  birds chirping, dogs and kids playing, expletive laced shouting...

Yeah, that last thing.  It happens quite frequently from the nicely landscaped house two doors up the street.  The first time I heard it, I wondered if there was a "domestic situation" in progress.  But since then, I've heard it with such regularity.  Maybe this is their normal??

I'm really wondering, though.  I mean, it's not just an occasional "oh sh*t", or such.  Here's a few example quotes:

• "Get the F*CK outta the way!"
• "I'm trying to F*CKING help you!"
• "Move your F*CKING ass and quit being so F*CKING lazy!"

etc. on a pretty much daily basis.  This morning, while cleaning our dog restroom facilities:

• "If you're not going to F*CKING work, get the F*CK out!"

This coming from their back yard, which I imagine is immaculately landscaped. Always from the same guy, and I never hear any other side of the "conversations".  Is he speaking to his wife? Kids? Work partner(s)?

I've rarely seen them to exchange neighborly pleasantries, and those instances were just in passing while they were focused on working on the front yard landscaping.  However, the week I was hacking away at those tree limbs, the neighbor guy came to our house during an intermission from swearing loudly.

Our mail carrier had erroneously delivered one of our vehicle registration renewals to Expletive Man.  Expletive Man came down and rang the doorbell to give it to me.  I didn't hear the doorbell because I was out back hacking up tree limbs.  I later found the renewal mailing wedged in our door, and footage from the Ring®️ doorbell showed Expletive Man politely bringing the renewal, waiting, and then wedging it in the door.

I thought it was a friendly gesture on his part.  He could've left it for the mail carrier to fix, he could've put it in our mailbox, he could've thrown it away.  He appeared calm and friendly, about mid-30s in shorts, t-shirt and cap.  He didn't seem annoyed in any way.

So, what to think?  He obviously takes pride in his home and property and has an eye for aesthetics.  He nicely takes time to correct an erroneous mail delivery.  He loudly cusses out someone or several people on a regular basis, seemingly not caring who hears.  I'm two houses down, and there are homes all around.  I'm sure I'm not the only neighbor who's heard.

I really wish I would've known and answered the door that day he came with our mail, to try to get a feel for what makes this guy tick.

Is it a bomb?

Ever overheard something violent/questionable/abusive going on at a neighbor's?  Did you act?  Anything come of it? 

a note from the boss?

I've read some theories on why cats leave dead things on doorsteps.

While some believe it's because the cats love us and want to give us "gifts", another theory states that the cats are trying to teach us inept humans how to hunt.

It's their way of saying, "See this?!  This is what YOU are supposed to be doing!  Quit messing around with that lame stuff in cans and bags!"

I know I've gaggingly cleaned up my fair share of dead rodentia.  Were they gifts?  Or were they lessons?

I may have gotten clue.

Last week, I told of the Scrubjay couple currently making the cat's life a living hell whenever he's outside.  The saga continues.

Recall that I also confessed to sometimes lobbing a lacrosse ball at the annoying birds to scare them off.  The cat seems very appreciative of my tosses and often "asks" me to not only let him outside, but to also accompany him.

But he can't pay me enough to be his 24-hour bodyguard, and I typically leave  him to suffer through it.

Yesterday, I came upon this:

It's the lacrosse ball, sitting prominently on the back doorstep.  I asked Magnum if he put it there, but no.

Clearly, Napolion put it there, and it's probably a message to me, much like a dead rodent.

"THIS is what you're supposed to be doing!"

what's in a name?

Me:  What's the special today?

Head cook:  Chicken Cordon Bleu

Me:  Wow, we're getting pretty fancy!

Head cook:  Not when you see it...

Despite her modesty, it didn't look all bad and was actually quite tasty.  But no, we're not cooking at The Broadmoor.  And we know it.  We're middle school lunch ladies.

Most of the people I work with are moms who gave up careers to raise their kids, then fell into lunch ladyness because of the perfect schedule.  There are a few ex-teachers, ex-managers, ex-business and financial types, and yes, even some cooks.  Lots of volunteer moms.  Plus, it's a good way to get some operations experience on the dusty resume'.

We've all heard Adam Sandler's "Lunch Lady Land", and a couple of weeks ago, the special was actually sloppy joes.  We found we couldn't just say, "sloppy joes".  It always came out in song

SLOPPY JOE, SLOPPY SLOPPY JOE...

What's the special today?

SLOPPY JOE, SLOPPY SLOPPY JOE...

We're all out of ketchup?  Why?

SLOPPY JOE, SLOPPY SLOPPY JOE...

What's that spill near the cash register?

SLOPPY JOE, SLOPPY SLOPPY JOE...

and so on.

I recently read an article about job title makeovers.  In it "Lunch Lady" was instead "Education Center Nourishment Consultant".

Here are some others:

• Five a Day Collection Operative – Fruit Picker
• Media Distribution Officer – Paper Boy
• Petroleum Transfer Engineer – Gas Station Attendant
• Transparency Enhancement Facilitator – Window Cleaner
• Front Line Customer Support Facilitator – Call Center Worker

What's your specialty?

communication skills

Do you leave your phone on all the time?  Is it near you when you sleep?  I was having this conversation recently with some people, and the overall majority said they sleep with their phones.

They had reasons:
"It's my alarm"
"I get called into work early in the morning"
"What if... happens?!"

Unless Meego is out late somewhere, I typically turn my phone off at bedtime.  Yes, we have older kids, but they're technically adults and pretty self sufficient.

Tuesday morning I turned on the phone and as it booted up, I had two texts from Chaco:

"J took me to the hospital, but I'm better now"

"Wolfgang knows the details"

Okay, so that was slightly better than the time he texted me that he'd been hit by a car while on his bicycle to his place from our house and nothing more.  Slightly.

I eventually got the scoop.  Chaco and his girlfriend were at a rock climbing gym.  As Chaco was climbing, he was gripping a hold with his left hand and his feet slipped from the wall, leaving him dangling from the hold with his left hand.  In hindsight, I guess he should've just let go, but who would do that?

Since he didn't just let go, he dislocated his left shoulder.  The crew in the ER, with the help of some good drugs, put him back together.

As I talked to him, I told him I'd turned off my phone around 10:00.

"Ha, I texted you at 10:06"

Figures.

Other than THAT, it's been a great week.  I got in my last days at that old  high school job, and feel I'm leaving on a good note.  I like the kids and the staff, it was the job itself that sucked 😝.  And there was some silly drama - from a few of the adults! - that I didn't care to be a part of. 

They still have one more week left of school before winter break, but it's half days for finals.  I'm out.  That last class on Friday took FOREVER!  I swear time stopped.

What time is it?  Where's your phone?

Mother Nature and Trump broke my phone

"The Donald" Trump is visiting our fair city.   In fact, I think he may still be talking as I type.  He's speaking at the university campus, which in itself, has stirred controversy.  Some students and faculty don't like that the university is hosting him.  The university says it is not backing any particular candidate and respects everyone's first amendment rights and regularly offers up venues for events (in exchange for cash money), particularly during the summer months.

I agree with the university's response to the hubbub, although the timing isn't so hot.  Lots of testing and final projects and stuff going on right now for summer students.  The campus is pretty inaccessible today, what with all the protesters for both sides and all the security.

A news team was on campus yesterday reporting on the upcoming Trump visit, and got some comments from a few students, one of whom was our Wolfgang,

which was really my main reason for mentioning Trump's visit.  I'm not political here, remember?  And no, Wolfgang doesn't have a weird soul patch.  I just made a screenshot from the news video, so that dark blob on his chin is the play button.

Wolfgang didn't say anything controversial, just said something like, "I was gonna come to campus to study on Friday, but everything's gonna be closed and there'll be security everywhere, so ... guess not"

I told him his hair looked good and that he must have a talented barber.

Not my hands, not my hail

In other news, last night we got a bludgeoning from Mother Nature.  Not "We" as in this particular household and property, but south and east of us took a walloping.  Look at the size of these hails.  And I know that's not proper grammar in referring to hail, but they're just so enormous, it seemed appropriate.

I understand hail is mainly in certain parts of the country.  We get lots of it.  If you live somewhere that doesn't get hail, know that it can really hurt and really damage property.  Kiss your flower garden good-bye.

This morning, I got a text from Chaco:
"Might have to open an insurance claim on the Civic... quite a few dents from hail"

Yeah, he lives south and east of us.




In other other news, something's up with my phone.  Here's a tidbit about me:  I don't like talking on the phone - possibly a subject for a later blog post - but just know that I don't like to. Sometimes it's necessary and useful, and in those situations, I appreciate phone talking, but  I don't seem to currently be able to.

My phone rings.  I answer.  The following conversation, or something similar, ensues.

Me:  hello?
Phone person:  hello?
Me:  hello?
Phone person:  hello?

Well, you get the gist.  It seems I am not being heard.  I'm tempted to go to the phone store right now and see what's what, but this just started  happening in the last 24 hours, so I don't want to go there and find out my phone works fine.

That's what's going on around here.  Don't call.

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speaking in tongues

I've concluded that the outdoor temperature is in direct proportion to the length of our dog's hair.  I swear, every time I take her for a grooming, the temperature drops to unseasonably chilly.  Every.  Time.

The weekend was a hot one, close to 100 on Sunday.  I was feeling smug that I'd booked a China grooming appointment for yesterday - perfect timing!  It was already getting hot when I took her shaggy self over at around 9 a.m.  When I picked her  up about 3 hours later, the clouds were moving in, cooling things off nicely.  They hung around.

This morning, it was 59 degrees at 5 a.m. - pretty typical.  It is now after 10 a.m. and still 59 degrees.  I'm wearing long sleeves.  Long sleeves!  And I feel like I should cover the dog up since I took her coat off.

Anyways, Meego was with me when we pulled up to get the freshly shorn China from Wag 'n' Wash.  He says, "When you started bringing China here, I thought it was 'Wag 'n' Wash".

I says, "It is 'Wag 'n' Wash'".

"No", he says, " I thought 'WAGON Wash', like why would you bring a dog to a wagon wash?"

And that reminded me of a few years ago when the kids and I went to get a Christmas tree.

Me:  Let's go get a tree

Chaco:  Where we going?

Me:  Phelan Gardens.

Chaco:  Felon Gardens?!?!

Me:  Yeah, it's a nice place, what?

Chaco:  I don't think we should get a CHRISTMAS tree from Felon Gardens!

Me:  ???

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Then there was that one "Hat Day" at school:

Wolfgang:  Can I have a dollar for Hat Day?

Me:  Okay, what's Hat Day?

Wolfgang:  We can wear a hat to school if we pay a dollar.

Me:  Oh, what does the school do with the money?

Wolfgang:  They donate it to charity

Me:  "Charity"?  There are a lot of charities, that's kinda vague.

Wolfgang:  What kind of egg?

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... Wait, what?

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reluctant tweeter

I first met Julie back behind the school.  No, we weren't sneaking cigarettes or anything.  We were back there waiting for our kids to emerge among the manic mass streaming from the school after the afternoon bell.  She has a daughter who graduated with Chaco and another that is one year older than Meego.  She was also a familiar face at various volunteer events at the school, but I mainly got to know her at the back fence.

Since we've both evolved from elementary school mom status, I haven't really kept in touch with her, but she was an easy friend.  Always smiling and cheerful, easy to talk with about anything, but not big on superficial small talk (which I hate).

On Saturday, Magnum and I were out taking China for a beauty walk.  I looked up ahead on the sidewalk and saw Julie with her familiar pooch.  She was talking with the man who lived in the corner house while her dog Jake and the guy's dog Harvey did some socializing.

As we approached, I hailed her and we stopped to chat a bit.  During this, I sensed that something was "different" about Julie.  I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something seemed changed.  She looked the same, for the most part, other than her hair was shorter and curlier than our days at the back fence.

I just got this sense that she wanted to have a more real conversation with me, but we just shared some pleasantries, introduced Magnum, Jake, Harvey, China...  I wanted to catch up more with her too, but we had Magnum, the neighbor, the dogs, so the "good to see you's" signaled the end and we all moved on.

The short encounter preoccupied me somewhat for the rest of the day.  What was it?  Something in her eyes told me she'd been through some "stuff" since I last spoke with her.




Yesterday, I decided to look her up.  I couldn't find her on f_book, but her last name is rather unique and I wasn't sure I was spelling it correctly.  So I googled to see if anything came from that and something did.  A blog, in fact.





The title of the blog was the name of the street she lives on, so I thought it was a neighborhood blog for the neighbors to keep up with each other between block parties or such.  But I clicked the link and found that it was a blog "to update family and friends on our journey through Julie's breast cancer".

SHOOT!! (or something like that)

I read a few entries to get the gist of the situation.  The diagnosis was nearly two years ago now.  She's been through the surgery, the reconstruction, the chemo, the medications, the side effects...  So I was really wanting to get back in touch with her after our short casual chat on Saturday.




I found her on twitter.  I do have a twitter account that I never use.  Years ago, my boss wanted all us tutors to get an account so he could easily send out workshop info and such.  He ended up not caring for it, and I never got around to deleting my account.  I just never used it.





Until now.
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what's your name?

I remember seeing Fabio on a talk show once.  Might have been Ellen, and Ellen asked, "Just what is your job title?"

"Fabio", he answered.

"No really", Ellen continued, "when you do your taxes, what do you write in the box for 'occupation'?"

"Fabio".








Do you like your job title?  Do you think it adequately describes what you do?

I belong to a few tutoring discussion groups, and this came up recently in one of them.  Someone thought that "tutor" had a stigma attached to it.  He felt something more like "Personalized Learning Consultant" or "In Person Instructor (IPI)"  would be more appropriate.

At first, I thought surely he was joking.

But then, no.  I think he was actually serious.  I was glad to see most of the replies indicate that they were fine with the title of "tutor".  Some starting out with phrasing like, "I don't know what it's like where you live, but..." or "What's in a name?"  One guy, who is a bit of a group clown, replied, "Wizard".

To me, having some high-falutin' adjective-adjective-noun job title gives the impression that the title holder is trying to overcompensate for something.

I used to be an "Instructional Paraprofessional", but I sure felt more like a "teacher's aid".  Either way, it was the worst and most boring job I ever had.  Sounded good, though, no?

And for the record, I'm quite satisfied with "Crossing Guard", although if I were in the UK, I would get to be a "Lollypop Lady", and that would be awesome!

Looking for a fresh title?  Go [here].    

Then there's [this article] that makes me wonder, "really??"

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lost in space

I pulled into the parking space, then had this sinking feeling.  My phone.  Did I remember my phone?  I checked the pocket of my bag.  The pocket I reserve for my phone.

SHITAKE  MUSHROOMS!  I'd left my phone at home.

Have you done that?  Realized you're "out there" without your phone, and suddenly it feels like you're spinning aimlessly through space, no way to reach Ground Control?  Or for Ground Control to reach you?

Okay, I told myself.  No biggie.  Just carry on.

I was meeting with a student and was planning to swing by Chaco's dorm afterwards.  He'd left his winter jacket, so I'd brought it along so I could drop it off since his dorm was on my way home.  I would just text him when I was on my way.  Oh, sure, I'd remembered to bring the jacket!

I went into the library and thought, what if my student is running late?  Or has some other reason to get hold of me?  I have no phone!  I'm aimless in space!

She showed up right on time.

After tuting, I considered my options.
(a) Just call Chaco from the payphone, let him know I'm on my way.
(b) Just go to the dorm, have someone let me in, then go to his suite.
(c) Go home, get the dang phone, text him, and bring the jacket.

(a) was out of the question because I don't actually KNOW anyone's phone number anymore!  They're all saved in my PHONE - the phone that was then sitting on the dining table in my house - why should I save them in my brain too?!

Next, I quickly concluded that (b) would be committing Chaco's social homicide.  Picture explaining to the other dorm kids that Chaco's mommy was there with his winter jacket.  "No, really!  I just forgot my phone!"

I decided that (c) it was, only after trying (b minus).  I called my phone.  Magnum was home.  Maybe he'd answer.  It would have made more sense to call Magnum, but we got rid of our land line a long time ago, and recall that I don't actually KNOW anyone's phone number anymore!

I eyed the public library payphones.  When was the last time I used a payphone??  I couldn't remember.  I eyed them some more.  Then I looked around at the downtown library patrons.  At the time, they appeared to be a collection of bathless and/or flu ridden.  I'm sure they were all very nice, my perceptions were just a little off.

Warily, I picked up one of the receivers and dialed my number.   It kept ringing.  I was pretty sure Magnum was aware of it ringing, but wasn't picking it up because it wasn't his phone.  Caller ID would be useless.  Voicemail.  I got my own voicemail.  Such a lonely feeling.

Fine, (c) it was.

I got my phone.  Chaco got his jacket.  I wrote down "important people" numbers on a piece of paper to stick in my wallet.

Temperatures have been in the 50's ever since.  I doubt the jacket has budged since I dropped it off.
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Christmas candor

Meego and a couple of his friends were playing a video game in the Man Cave while I was at my estrogen island known as the giga desk.  These friends are twin brothers, about 3 years younger than Meego.  They were about 6 or 7 years old at the time.

Twin1:  I wish we had  a PlayStation2
Twin2:  Maybe we should ask Santa for one
Meego:  Santa's not...
Me:  *COUGH*COUGH*HACK*COUGH*HACK*shutup!*COUGH*HACK*

It was the Christmas season, touchy times.

I think it's safe to assume that Magnum and I are in the minority among families that celebrate Christmas, but have never done the Santa thing.  I don't remember having much of a conversation about it.  It's not like we were still in the dating stages and...

"Do you want to have children someday?"

"Oh, yes absolutely!"

"Will you tell them there's a Santa Claus?"

"Gosh NO!!"

It wasn't an issue, we just "didn't go there".  Neither one of us felt comfortable lying to them, even if it made Christmas less "magical".




Of course, our kids were never so isolated as to not know about Santa Claus.  He's on TV, he's at the mall, he's on the dang wrapping paper, after all.  We just told them that it's all a sweet Christmas story, for fun.

And we added the rule:  do NOT tell your friends!!





That part hasn't always been easy.  I guess with them thinking of Santa Claus as a story and nothing more, it was difficult for them to get that their friends believed.  Those years I did the daycare?  Serious damage control was necessary at Christmastime.

When I was little, I believed in Santa and got presents from him at Christmas.  I knew the guy at the store or the Christmas party in the cheesy beard and fake boots, whose lap I sat upon, was not Santa.  But the one on TV at Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade was really him.

I don't remember any traumatic revelation, I just know that at some point, the Santa story became just a story.  It was probably Guano's fault.

And I would never tell someone else's children that Santa doesn't exist, anymore than I would explain to them where babies come from.

Apparently, a couple of teachers don't feel the same.  I came across this story, and I admit it bothered me.  When my kids go off to school, I hope they have mind-expanding lessons and interactions.  But tell a group of 5-year-olds that there's no Santa?

Shut UP!

Epilogue:  Santa brought the PS2.
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attention deficit

Today, I go to the Post Office. Wednesday is now official Post Office Day.

I go to the Post Office each Wednesday to check our Post Office Box. A few years ago, we got a Post Office Box for financial type things we didn't want coming to our street box. These identity theft days, you can't be too careful leaving that stuff laying around. At the time, we also had an autistic boy neighbor who would occassionally go "play" with people's mail, so enter the P.O. box.

They're relatively cheap at $5 a month, plus the branch office where ours is located is a pleasant couple miles bike ride away. As it was, I only visited the box when we were expecting something of importance in there. Such was the case a few months ago. I arrived, key in hand, and went to open the box.

Nothing.

Key would not turn. I fiddled with it, I rattled it, I checked the number, I fiddled some more.

Nothing.

It was as if the lock had been changed. So I came back home and called the post office - that was actually the quicker alternative to standing in line - and learned that, yes, the lock HAD been changed.

The lock had been changed because we didn't pay our 6-month's rent. We didn't pay our 6-month's rent because I wasn't aware that it was due. I wasn't aware that it was due because I hadn't kept track of when it was due. I hadn't kept track of it because the post office had always sent me a bill a couple of weeks before it was due. They sent me the bill via...

... our P.O. box.

which I couldn't get into because the lock was changed because we didn't pay the rent because I didn't know the rent was due because the due notice was put into the box which I couldn't get into because.... well, okay.

So last Wednesday, I rented us a shiny new box. And now Wednesdays are Post Office Days. I'm not really expecting anything of importance, but I just want to get myself into the habit of paying the lonely box a weekly visit.




I hope there's at least a Lego catalog awaiting me.
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profiler

Okay, so I got this e-mail. It was highly personal. I know that because it started out:

"Dear Colleague:"

It's from a group at the national level of the place I work. Apparently they are revamping the website and "online center"and want to include biographies of us teachers on there. The e-mail was asking me to click a link to fill out the survey for my info to be included in this sleek new "online center". The results of the survey are for "professionally-crafted profiles for perusal by prospective and current students"

Okay fine.

So I clicked the link, filled in a couple of rudimentary questions and then scanned some of the other questions. There were forward and backward buttons so I figured I could move around before submitting my survey.

Well, turns out I couldn't.

I clicked the forward button and got that "THANKS FOR COMPLETING OUR SURVEY. YOUR ANSWERS HAVE BEEN RECORDED" page. No going back, no reset button, just pretty much "thanks, goodbye, dear colleague".

Perhaps it will elicit my coming across as one of the more mysterious teachers. The intrigue my sparse profile will bring about will have prospective students signing up for classes left and right! What a great marketing ploy!

Or not.
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werdz

Bi*SLA*ter - 1. Acknowledgement given to another who is leaving and who you plan on seeing again soon. 2. Acknowledgement given to another whom you are departing from and whom you plan on seeing again soon.


Ha*MAN*chies - Grilled ham and cheese sandwiches.

Mmmhmmmmnnnn - 1. Answer to a yes-or-no question that means neither yes nor no.

Skoonch - 1. A meal purchased and eaten at an educational institution.


Squeet - 1. Notification to a pet that it is dinnertime.


Wash*YANDS - 1. Notification to a human that it is dinnertime.

-------------------------

"Welp, I'm going to school. Bislater!"

"Do you have your lunch?"

"Actually, I'm having skoonch".

"What's for skoonch?"

"Hamanchies"

"Have you fed the cat?"

"Mmmhmmmnnn"

"Better feed him, washyands"

"C'mon Cookie, squeet!"

"Okay, bislater."

"Bislater! Lovietu!".
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