Feeling good about this....for about a minute

Have I mentioned I have dipped my toe back into the work world? Since doing so I have been fortunate to get to sub a time or two here and there. But this week was the Mother of all sub jobs - a whole week - well what constitutes a full week now here in the Polar Vortex - 4 days in the same place for the same Teacher's Aide.


It was invigorating and exhausting.  I was part of the 5th grade in the morning and the 6th grade in the afternoon and in between I did lunch duty.  Overall I feel very enlightened.  I am not quite ready for Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader? because obviously I am not.  (Just ask the poor girl who got a big fat goose egg on her math assignment after asking me for help.)


By the way my teacher friends, What the #%$&$ happened to the Answer Key? I thought your book was suppose to have questions with the answers written in red type underneath! At least they did when I was cheating in school.  What? Who said cheating? I said meeting, meeting with my other good holy pals in our good little catholic where we never ever cheated one little bit.


Lunch duty was the biggest challenge this week. I remember lunch being the only time that we were more or less unsupervised.  You could let your knee socks down even if it was only 20 minutes. But now they are monitored (by me?) and they have to file into the tables in the order of their line, raise their hand for everything because they can not get out of their seat, and then be dismissed by table to file back out of the cafeteria.


So on my first day of duty I kinda took a Norma Rae approach to 6th grade lunch.  The kids would raise their hand and from across the room I would say "Whatever you need - get it! Your old enough to take care of yourself."  When an awkward girl who I am sure would have been the object of tortureress barbs sat down in the middle of the jock table I went over and said "Why don't you move over here, I think you would be - have, have a little more room." Her eyes wide with fear at my lack of respect for the lunch room rules and the jocks all staring in total disbelief, I picked up her tray and moved it to a more suitable location.


By the end of my first day as 6th grade lunch monitor, the cafeteria was in total chaos and pandemonium.  There was more food on the floor than the food fight scene from Animal House.  One child ate nothing but crushed Doritos off the floor and another drank two cans of smuggled in Mt. Dew.  It was so loud that I actually had a headache after it was all over.  The Janitor just lurks in the corner with a mop half in and half out of sight.  He doesn't talk, move or smile that I have seen. Maybe he is there for intimidation because he scares the hell out of me goodness knows the kids must be terrified.  He sorta looks like a cross between a serial killer and one of the guys from Duck Dynasty.  Or is that redundant?


Needless to say I was not alone the following day.  The school secretary who is no shrinking violet stood watch with a walkie-talkie. She is a very nice lady (so I don't want to make her mad) but she could definitely take you down without breaking a sweat.   I'm still not sure who she would talkie with since she's suppose to man the office and everyone but the nurse came out to help restore order to the cafeteria.  The Assistant Principal staked out a spot and the Principal and Guidance Counselor both made an appearance.  The Janitor came out of the shadows and stood there front and center staring us all down.


I felt bad.  The looks on the children's faces was, well, if looks could kill I surely would have been dead.  I could almost hear them saying things like, "Thanks a lot lady.", "Now look what you did.", "No taste of freedom would have been better than this!"  Actually, that's exactly what they were saying, out loud, to me.


I felt awful.  I wanted to apologize.  I did apologize quietly as I went around to those who raised their hands for help.  I would smile and say "How can I help you?" and then under my breath whisper,  "I am sooo sorry about all this, I didn't know!."  That warm wonderful feeling that I had the day before leaving the cafeteria was gone. Replaced by a gnawing in my gut, thanks a lot Sally Fields! Well so much for Lunch room liberation. Maybe I'll stick to cheating. I meant teaching!! (damn autocorrect)


All characters in this blog have been changed to ensure maximum humiliation of only the author and none of the staff or students of the wonderful elementary school that is willing to employ me, for actual money.

5th graders

I've tried to think of very witty and clever title but I got nothing today. Just 5th graders.


My ten year-old is at that point - I remember this point -  when you have finally mastered the Double Entendre, usually involving poop or butts. And you start testing the waters of sarcasm. (God help us there because his mother has a degree from SU. Sarcasm University)


He came home from school the other day walked into the kitchen and stood behind me then proceeded to say, "Mom. I'm talking behind your back." At which point he could no longer contain himself and cracked up laughing.  The seven year-old just starred at him trying to figure out what part was suppose to be funny.  I smiled and said, "That's a good one." But what was cute was he didn't stop there.  He explained it to me, three times.


He had an Orthodontist appointment recently and missed lunch time at school so after they checked his retainer I said we could go grab lunch. He chose Jimmy Johns because "They are Freaky Fast Mom! I can get back to school faster." It was raining outside and he decided he didn't want to get out of the car so I just said fine tell me what you want.  "I want a number 2. I love number 2."  he said. I laughed first. Slowly he started laughing. By the time I came back out to the car he was in full hysterics. But what was cute was he explained it to me, three times.


Last night after a late soccer practice he still had homework to do and he was hungry again. No surprise to those of you who have lived with a ten year-old boy.  They can eat dinner at home and then go to a friends house where they were eating dinner and eat again as if they have never seen food before. Sickening.


He started his homework and I made a hot ham and cheese sandwich and put it in front of him.  He was scribbling spelling words with one hand and shoving the sandwich in his mouth with the other when my husband (who can still eat two dinners in a row by the way) says to our son "You can't do homework and eat at the same time."


Thank goodness my son was too busy eating and scribbling to respond.  I however, was more than happy to respond to that statement from the man that spent the end of our college career with food in one hand and a text book in the other.  So I said "Really? I seem to remember someone in college who could do just about anything and eat at the same time." To which my husband responded, "You did? Who?"  That is when my son choose to respond with, "She means you dad. It's called sarcasm. See-" But what was cute was him explaining sarcasm to my husband.


But wait there's more! So my husband says to our son "But have you ever noticed how much your mother puts me down? Do I ever put anyone down?" Oh grasshopper, ask the question and you shall now receive two smartass answers.  One from your wife and one from your son.  The ten-year-old replies calmly, "Yep. Me. All the time." Horrified my husband says WHAT! I don't put you down, what are you talking about I tell you I love you I tell you how great you played.... I was already laughing because I could see where this was going, damn I'm one proud sick mother.
"Dad. You put me down all the time. Like yesterday - you put me down so hard you almost broke my back. Then you sat on me and gave me a rug burn on my face."  The puzzled luck for those three seconds on my husbands face were priceless, then I could see the, "Why you little" look set in.


"I was talking about when we wrestle. See Dad - " Yep - you guessed it, he explained it, three times.  God I love 5th graders.

Sorry kiddo - we're just C's

As a mother there are many things that you hope that you do not pass onto your children: mental illness, diabetes, severe acne - averageness.


My ten-year-old son was invited to a birthday party at an indoor water park yesterday.  He came home so excited and talking a mile a minute about his experience.  He talked about how cool the water slides were, they had a lazy river, and that they had pool basketball which would have been good enough.


Just before he went to bed, as fatigue was setting in and the depression from watching the terrible butt kicking the Denver Broncos were getting in the Superbowl, he started to get melancholy.  He was lamenting his luck.


"Mom I am just not lucky. Like, I never win anything. You know like tickets and stuff like arcade games.  I had like 92 tickets and Jack had 230 and he wanted a watch so I just said 'here take mine' because the only thing I could get was the crap like a tootsie roll or one army guy. It just stinks."


Oh my. It does stink. And you got this from me. Sorry. If you put my husband and I in the same March Madness pool, poker game, or raffle he is guaranteed to walk away a winner. Me - not so much. 


When he travels he gets that "Ooopps" we need to put you in first class. I get the "Ooopps" we had a problem with the toilet that you are sitting next to Missbut it is closed for use during this flight. We apologize for the smell.


When we go to a restaurant he will get the "Sorry" we forgot your order we will take that off your bill and get you a dessert Sir. If I go out it is never sorry, it's just a forgotten meal that comes out cold and then gets overcharged. Why - just because!


If we walked into a store together I swear to you he would be the "LUCKY 100th Customer - You Win!"


But I am not bitter, much.  I have come to realize that there are people who always score the A and those of us who will always score the C. I can live with that. It could be worse? It could be a big fat F.


So I hope that helps you my beautiful boy.  Because I know it took me 40 years, or so. Oh heck - Hang tough it gets worse before it gets better, but at least we are in this together.

Me and Mama - peas in a pod

If you thought this was a mommy and me commercial you would be wrong -
Mama -pronounced (maw'maw) from the Midwest region, a name you call your grandmother.


My father's parents were Mama and Papa.  My Mama was born and raised on a small meager country farm.  She was taught to cook and sew and save everything. And she did.  She even saved her garbage in a  half gallon milk carton in the freezer, but just until garbage day. She didn't want it to stink up the garage. (smart right) But can you fit a week's worth of compostable garbage in a half gallon milk carton?? She wasted nothing.


We often gave our Mama a hard time for keeping so much stuff.  From used margarine containers and canned soup to Great Aunt Rosie's hats. She collected stamps and material for quilts and everything we ever gave her made by our own two hands.  And not in that hoarder kind of way.  Everything was labeled and organized and easily accessible.  She never threw out a baby food jar and 90% of them housed nuts, bolts, and screws.  A lesson I wish my husband would have learned for goodness sake.


When she passed away I was glad that my sister had stayed to help clean out the house.  I couldn't and to this day haven't gone near the house because the next owner remodeled it.  If you asked me where Mama kept something I can tell you.  The house is preserved in my head along with everything she had in it.


But when we needed something, she was gold.  Buttons! Holy Hat Trick Batman that woman had buttons.  Sewing room closet bottom left hand corner look for two small and one large Danish Cookie tins.


But if you asked me if I collected things I would say emphatically NO. But I do.  I realized yesterday while I was at the library (third time this week) that I collect words. More specifically other peoples words on paper. Cookbooks, How-to's, Poetry, Children's books, Novels, Self-Help, Magazines - It doesn't matter I love them all!!!


When I was a temporary worker after college and usually worked downtown I would get so excited to be close enough to take my lunch hour at the Main Library Branch.  Walking up to the doors my heart would beat a little faster and every single time I would hear a voice say, "Books are your passport to the world." I think it was a Schoolhouse Rock episode?


Sometimes I would go in on a mission like if my husband and I had a big fight it meant a beeline to the self-help section for a book on marriage.  Or a dinner rut meant straight to cookbooks for some new ideas.  My first nephew meant finding a toddler chair in the corner so I didn't look too crazy and read every board book they had on the shelf.  Other times I just walked in and got lost in an area or a stack that I had never seen before and that always produced something fascinating.  Like the day I read three chapters of a Physics text before I realized I hadn't understood a damn thing.


I don't think a day goes by that I don't think of Mama and how very much alike we are, and how very much I miss her.  And how very glad I am to have her love and life lessons to live on, like eating baby food just to get the jar.  I'm on it Mama!!

"I've been going a long time"...

My beautiful little seven-year-old boy.  I have to thank the universe everyday for this gift because along with all the "Oh no you didn't!" moments there are many "I love you!" moments.


Last week I finally got a call to sub in the elementary school nurse's office and it turned into three days of work.  All three days the only three days that there was school last week due to the Artic hurricane that passed through the Mid-west.
I was surprised how well Mom going to work was going over with both boys. Wednesday they were both supportive and even kind of of excited to send me off to work.  The seven-year-old was ecstatic because he sent me to school with his lunchbox and made the tough sacrifice of eating in the cafeteria that day - Pizza.


But by Friday the seven-year-old was over it and came into our room at 6:15 (my husband is already at work mind you) and says to me "I don't feel good".  Now you have to understand this is a daily, make that multiple daily occurrence - for this child.  Whenever he is called on the carpet "I don't feel good" whenever he has to step up "I don't feel good" and every morning before school "I don't feel good". So the child has to show serious signs of physical distress because otherwise I'm not paying attention.


Only this day he took it to a whole new level - "Mom, this is the worst that I have felt in...in...in 7 years! My whole life - its that bad."  Oh brother. Lay it on thick son cause that's all you got!" (needless to say we both made it to school on Friday)


My beautiful little man, started early for Monday - 9:30 Sunday night when I got home from a girls night I went into kiss him and he sat up in bed to say "I don't feel good." He was over dressed for bed so I took his socks off and his PJ bottoms and said to him, "That should help go to sleep." and then again at 4:30 this morning I feel a little face right in front of mine "Mom - I don't feel good". Oh lordy day child.


I let him get in bed and snuggle up, mainly because I am too tired and lazy to discuss anything with a child at this hour of the morning.  But I knew we were going to have quite the morning.  He was persistent, tenacious, relentless.  I finally went into my bathroom to escape for 5 minutes giving everyone their marching orders before I disappeared.


The next thing I know there is a little tap tap tap on the bathroom door.
"I'm going potty honey go get dressed."
"Mom, I REALLY don't feel good."
"OK. Get dressed we'll talk when I'm finished."
"I can't, I just can't . Mom. I have gone to school a lot of days."
"You only went three days last week you were suppose to go five."
"No I don't mean THAT I mean like a lot of days like two years." I didn't laugh out loud - I swear. I said under my breath, well there is not end in sight my friend. and from the other side of the bathroom door I hear, "You're telling me!"

A new twist on an old classic...

Twas the week before Christmas and all through my house, every creature was fighting including the mouse.  Their stocking were dirty and thrown without care, no one thought ole St. Nicolas wouldn't stop here.

The children are wrestling and no one's in bed, one just got hurt and one yelled $#!@ head.  But dad is at work and mom's little night cap, has settled her in for a long winter's nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, someone should really go and see what is the matter!
Then right threw a window it flew like a flash, it tore off a shutter and threw up the sash.

But what to my neighbors sore eyes would that be? but my children screaming like Irish banshees.
I knew in a moment we must look a hot mess, so I dashed in the house to get myself dressed.

Now Jones, and Foxes, and Curry and Wales, now Richards and Norton and Bertke and Gails.
Go back to your porches! Go back to your homes!
There's nothing to see here just leave us alone.

And then in a twinkling I heard in my ear, the screaming of each of my children so near.
As I grabbed my head from that terrible sound, they started again and both hit the ground.

Their eyes little slits and their faces red as a rose, and the snot pouring out of each of their nose.
Their mad little mouth draw drawn into a crease, neither one going to give up or release.

They were both crying and yelling, "Where did you throw the Elf!"
That I just had to start laughing, in spite of myself.

Then I spoke not a word but went straight back inside, to find the damn Elf and make him go hide.
Then using my finger to signal like this, (not THAT signal) they both came to me Alexander and Chris.

Then I sprang into action and sent them to bed, and they flew up the stairs afraid I'd lose my head.
But they heard me exclaim as they ran out of sight - "If you don't shape up soon ther'll be NO Christmas night!!!"

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.