I have a bone to pick with a certain faculty member of the gymnasium persuasion. He outed me to my class of techies. HOW DARE HE!
We were in the midst of a discussion of why I would not put in a good word with the ParkingSpaceStealer for one of the problem children. Actually, I was in the midst of taking roll for this multitude of techies, but I can multitask. Problem Child has an accomplice who acts as his attorney. I declined to put in a positive comment, as I have daily trials and tribulations with Problem Child. Problem Child asked, "Wouldn't I make a good lawyer, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom?" His accomplice said, "Here now. I am the lawyer." I told Problem Child, "Actually, you make a better..um...uh...criminal." Just then, the female hyena-laugher sitting behind Problem Child and the Attorney said, "Client?" Yes. "That's the word I was looking for."
The nature of Problem Child's problem with ParkingSpaceStealer was that he said something about her. To her face. About her age. Oh no he di'n't! He is not known for his common sense, our Problem Child. So I told him I most certainly would not defend him, what with merely two years ago having someone (I turned to look at Professional Victim, sitting in the front row) tell me that I was so old my Social Security # was '1'. And furthermore, that if anybody told me to act my age, I would drop dead. Uh huh. This is why I need summers off. Several students (and I use that term loosely) remembered that exchange.
It was at that time that the GymRat walked in to give a jacket to Mr. Sneaky. I filled him in on the ageist political incorrectness that was running rampant. All he had to do was play along with my point that it's not proper to mention a lady's age. I'm always happy to ensnare a classroom visitor into my web of faux outrage. But no. GymRat said, making his exit, "Well, she was teaching when I was a student here."
OK, that's technically correct, but he was very young! The kids mouths dropped open. Just two weeks ago, one of them guessed that I am 35 years old. So I said, "Of course, Coach GymRat was talking about Mrs. ParkingSpaceStealer." Some of them bought it. Some of them didn't. Some of them said, "He's crazy."
Why'd he have to do me like that?
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
Boy Geniuses
The #1 son's academic team placed 2nd in the conference tournament last night. He didn't get home until 10:45, which is not right for a middle school child. Whoever decided that tournament would run over one night needs to be deprived of sleep and locked in a room with 30 middle school students who have also been deprived of sleep.
#1's team received a bye the first round, then played games at 5:15, 6:30, and 7:45. I don't know what went horribly wrong, but #1 called his dad at 9:15 and said they were starting the 4th quarter. There were probably teams that arrived late for the first round. Too bad, so sad. Keep the thing on schedule. Maybe a forfeit would assure their punctuality next year. We've had teams show up over 30 minutes late this year. That is just irresponsible.
The #1 son also ferreted out the information that the genius kid on the team who beat them has entered the Physics division of the regional science fair. My boy has won the Physics division for the past two years. This year, his project is in the Engineering category. This is the genius kid's first entry in Physics. I think they both breathed a sigh of relief. The genius won the overall title last year.
In other boy genius news, Basementia Buddy has ordered me to FOIL my son thoroughly this weekend. The conference math contest is on Tuesday. FOIL means how to multiply problems such as (4 + x)(3 - y). I've got it covered. First, Outer, Inner, Last. That's how you multiply to get the answer of 12 - 4y + 3x - xy. I don't know why kids think this is so hard. It's much easier than slope, which my boy says he has mastered, but which I have some mental block about, because I always have to consult Math Mabel, even though I remember her motto of "You have to rise before you can run."
On the horizon, we have math contest, all-district choir, freshman orientation, science fair, academic banquet, and athletic banquet. Not to mention all of MY stuff. The school year is starting to fly. Finally.
#1's team received a bye the first round, then played games at 5:15, 6:30, and 7:45. I don't know what went horribly wrong, but #1 called his dad at 9:15 and said they were starting the 4th quarter. There were probably teams that arrived late for the first round. Too bad, so sad. Keep the thing on schedule. Maybe a forfeit would assure their punctuality next year. We've had teams show up over 30 minutes late this year. That is just irresponsible.
The #1 son also ferreted out the information that the genius kid on the team who beat them has entered the Physics division of the regional science fair. My boy has won the Physics division for the past two years. This year, his project is in the Engineering category. This is the genius kid's first entry in Physics. I think they both breathed a sigh of relief. The genius won the overall title last year.
In other boy genius news, Basementia Buddy has ordered me to FOIL my son thoroughly this weekend. The conference math contest is on Tuesday. FOIL means how to multiply problems such as (4 + x)(3 - y). I've got it covered. First, Outer, Inner, Last. That's how you multiply to get the answer of 12 - 4y + 3x - xy. I don't know why kids think this is so hard. It's much easier than slope, which my boy says he has mastered, but which I have some mental block about, because I always have to consult Math Mabel, even though I remember her motto of "You have to rise before you can run."
On the horizon, we have math contest, all-district choir, freshman orientation, science fair, academic banquet, and athletic banquet. Not to mention all of MY stuff. The school year is starting to fly. Finally.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Random Thought Thursday 3-05-09
HH the scavenger called me this morning while I was trying to make breakfast for myself and The Pony and wake the #1 son from his catatonic slumber. "Guess what I found in the middle of the road?" OK, I'm playing this game...NOT! That's fine, because without skipping a beat, HH let the cat out of the bag. "It's a concrete saw. I bet it costs several hundred dollars." I asked the unnecessary question. "Did you pick it up?" Does a chicken at the Mansion fly out of the dog pen on the very first day and get chewed up by the hounds and then later get used as a weapon to flog said hounds? You bet your a$$ HH picked up that saw. He didn't feel the least bit of remorse. "It probably fell off the truck of somebody who cuts through here. If I didn't pick it up, someone else would." More on this later.
I asked my students about the sub yesterday. It's a little game I call I Can Make You Confess Your Crimes Even Without Any Evidence To Use As Leverage. Perhaps I need to shorten that name before I turn it into a board game and market it at teacher's conventions. "Does anybody have anything they want to tell me before I read the note the sub left me? Anybody? Are you sure?" The sub left me a note that only mentioned one class as being 'a little loud'. I figured everything went well, because the room was not trashed, and nobody tried to tell me a dirty joke that the sub told them. The problem children of the techie variety sang like canaries, especially after I told them, "The sub left me a note with two names on it. Who do you think they are?" All the usual suspects were mentioned. One even confessed that the sub didn't like it when he laid down on the floor to take a nap. Without a doubt, this has got to be the most immature group of 11th graders I have ever encountered in my life. Anyhoo...after major confessions, I filled them in that the two names on the note were the two students who were absent yesterday. Nobody complained. I think they admired my shady tactics.
I had to rename my at-risk class today. I only found this out after I had searched through my old flash drive and found some 4-year-old course descriptions, and updated them, and printed them out, because the principal told me the counselor needed them right now. How dare the State of Missouri take my old course name initials and make a new statewide test by that name. Fie on you, DESE! How very dare you!
I love a good dill pickle.
LunchBuddy said that when the principal brought in her check this morning, one of the kids yelled out, "Do you think gay people are born gay, or they make a choice to be gay?" Apparently, it was a discussion they were having before he walked in. I don't think he gave an opinion. I said, "Well, of course they're born that way. Who would make a choice like that?" LunchBuddy said that's what the kid believed, but his girlfriend argued that "God wouldn't make a person gay." He said, "Why not? God makes people who are handicapped." Then LunchBuddy added that sometimes WE cause people to be born handicapped, according to things we do when we're pregnant. I don't know what she was getting at. Is there a vast conspiracy dedicated to making people gay? That's one I haven't heard about yet.
HH was only concrete-saw rich for a few hours. When he got home, he drove the Scout around asking the neighbors if they lost anything valuable. The neighbor right across the road from us, in the old LandStealer's house, said he lost a concrete saw. Poor HH. I think he is still tasting that sausage from the pot-bellied pets he 'found'.
I asked my students about the sub yesterday. It's a little game I call I Can Make You Confess Your Crimes Even Without Any Evidence To Use As Leverage. Perhaps I need to shorten that name before I turn it into a board game and market it at teacher's conventions. "Does anybody have anything they want to tell me before I read the note the sub left me? Anybody? Are you sure?" The sub left me a note that only mentioned one class as being 'a little loud'. I figured everything went well, because the room was not trashed, and nobody tried to tell me a dirty joke that the sub told them. The problem children of the techie variety sang like canaries, especially after I told them, "The sub left me a note with two names on it. Who do you think they are?" All the usual suspects were mentioned. One even confessed that the sub didn't like it when he laid down on the floor to take a nap. Without a doubt, this has got to be the most immature group of 11th graders I have ever encountered in my life. Anyhoo...after major confessions, I filled them in that the two names on the note were the two students who were absent yesterday. Nobody complained. I think they admired my shady tactics.
I had to rename my at-risk class today. I only found this out after I had searched through my old flash drive and found some 4-year-old course descriptions, and updated them, and printed them out, because the principal told me the counselor needed them right now. How dare the State of Missouri take my old course name initials and make a new statewide test by that name. Fie on you, DESE! How very dare you!
I love a good dill pickle.
LunchBuddy said that when the principal brought in her check this morning, one of the kids yelled out, "Do you think gay people are born gay, or they make a choice to be gay?" Apparently, it was a discussion they were having before he walked in. I don't think he gave an opinion. I said, "Well, of course they're born that way. Who would make a choice like that?" LunchBuddy said that's what the kid believed, but his girlfriend argued that "God wouldn't make a person gay." He said, "Why not? God makes people who are handicapped." Then LunchBuddy added that sometimes WE cause people to be born handicapped, according to things we do when we're pregnant. I don't know what she was getting at. Is there a vast conspiracy dedicated to making people gay? That's one I haven't heard about yet.
HH was only concrete-saw rich for a few hours. When he got home, he drove the Scout around asking the neighbors if they lost anything valuable. The neighbor right across the road from us, in the old LandStealer's house, said he lost a concrete saw. Poor HH. I think he is still tasting that sausage from the pot-bellied pets he 'found'.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
The Omens
I went to the hospital for some tests today. That would be all I needed to say, if Hillbilly Mom led a normal life. But no. Nothing is ever simple for Hillbilly Mom.
To start things off, on the normal way to school at the normal time, to drop off my spawn for a day plumb chock full o' learnin', I encountered a bicyclist. You don't understand. Around here, people don't ride bicycles. Not unless they drive their bikes up to the 11-mile trail at the state park, and park at the parking lot where students tell me gay guys meet, and that you know who is looking for some action because they back into the parking places. Which makes me regret the times I used to park there and walk the trail, carefully backing my car into a slot.
Anyhoo, the point is that I was on the old road by the lake, and it is downhill for about 3 miles, and nobody in his right mind would push a bike up a 3-mile hill just to ride it back down later. This is curvy, hilly, two-lane, no-shoulder blacktop without even a center line, though at one time I think one existed, because sometimes I get a faint glimpse of faded yellow paint down the center crack. I popped up over a hill and rounded a right-hand curve, and there he was, smack-dab in the middle of my lane, with a car coming in the opposite direction. I slammed on my brakes, hoping the dude in the metallic blue dually who was tailgating me could stop in time. The pedestri-cyclist yanked his bike into the ditch where there should have been shoulder, and I proceeded. Talk about a bad omen...
The kids were dropped off without further ado, and I proceeded to my mom's house, because she had volunteered to drive me. I saw that her car was out of the garage, and that she had the windows open, which was kind of odd, since the temperature was 28 degrees. We got in, and she started laughing, and said, "I guess you noticed." Thinking that she was referring to my big-mouthed children's yakking about how, "Mom says your car stinks like a barnyard, but you just say 'Oh, it's that new car smell' even though you've had this car for 8 years," I told her I knew why she had the windows down. She then commenced to tell me that, "I went out to the garage to move the car, and I thought, 'What is that SMELL?' Then I recognized it. It was from that perm I got yesterday. Boy, did it stink! I knew you wouldn't like it, so I rolled down the windows." I let that one go.
At the hospital, I looked over the counter past the palsied hand of the old man volunteer, and saw that I was scheduled for TWO tests, one at 8:30 and one at 9:30. This was not what the doctor's secretary had told me over the phone. She had stated that depending on the results of the first one, they might want to do the second one. So that put me off right then and there. What am I, some kind of cash cow with two insurances? Don't answer that. I consider it another bad omen.
The first test was given right on time, by a short blond lady who I think is the aunt of one of the Basementia teachers, as I've had her before for a lab tech. She took a super long time to process the results, and said she was taking it to the radiologist, and was gone another good long time. She came back and said there was currently no doctor available to read the results, and that it was not yet time for my second test, because the other tech had another patient. She draped me in not-quite-clothing and sent me packing back to the waiting room.
This I did not like. Sure, it was a 'private' waiting room, but there are six chairs, and I've been there when it was packed. My mom and I enjoyed about 10 minutes of privacy and then it happened. The lights started flashing and a hideously LOUD buzzer sounded for about 30 seconds. There was an announcement over the PA system, "Mrs. Red is at the ER desk." Gosh-darn that Mrs. Red! How dare she demand so much freakin' attention! I told my mom there must be an emergency that needed all responders possible. Then that little blond lady came to the outside door of our waiting room, and said, "I'm just going to close this door. We're having a fire drill." Great. At least they didn't make me trek outside without even a coat (because my loving mother dropped me off at the door and then parked and dodged the little trolley man) with all my bits and pieces hanging out. How many of you have ever been subjected to a freakin' fire drill at a hospital. Bad omen.
At the stroke of 9:30, my other lab tech, 'Sharon', came to get me. She told my mom to stay put, told me to bring my clothes, and took me into her lair across the hall. A pleasanter lab tech you'll never meet than Sharon. She made just the right amount of small talk, performed her duties, reperformed her duties, told me that they never know when they're having a fire drill, discussed the hospital benefits system, professed that kids these days need to learn how to follow the rules or get the paddle, explained how their computer records system forwards lab info straight to the doctor's computer, told me to expect my results from the doctor within 48 hours, said that I could pick up a copy of the records for myself on Friday but that it would cost me unless I was picking them up to take to a doctor, nudge nudge, then held the door open for me, and whispered behind her hand, "I wouldn't lose any sleep over this."
Sharon ROCKS!
To start things off, on the normal way to school at the normal time, to drop off my spawn for a day plumb chock full o' learnin', I encountered a bicyclist. You don't understand. Around here, people don't ride bicycles. Not unless they drive their bikes up to the 11-mile trail at the state park, and park at the parking lot where students tell me gay guys meet, and that you know who is looking for some action because they back into the parking places. Which makes me regret the times I used to park there and walk the trail, carefully backing my car into a slot.
Anyhoo, the point is that I was on the old road by the lake, and it is downhill for about 3 miles, and nobody in his right mind would push a bike up a 3-mile hill just to ride it back down later. This is curvy, hilly, two-lane, no-shoulder blacktop without even a center line, though at one time I think one existed, because sometimes I get a faint glimpse of faded yellow paint down the center crack. I popped up over a hill and rounded a right-hand curve, and there he was, smack-dab in the middle of my lane, with a car coming in the opposite direction. I slammed on my brakes, hoping the dude in the metallic blue dually who was tailgating me could stop in time. The pedestri-cyclist yanked his bike into the ditch where there should have been shoulder, and I proceeded. Talk about a bad omen...
The kids were dropped off without further ado, and I proceeded to my mom's house, because she had volunteered to drive me. I saw that her car was out of the garage, and that she had the windows open, which was kind of odd, since the temperature was 28 degrees. We got in, and she started laughing, and said, "I guess you noticed." Thinking that she was referring to my big-mouthed children's yakking about how, "Mom says your car stinks like a barnyard, but you just say 'Oh, it's that new car smell' even though you've had this car for 8 years," I told her I knew why she had the windows down. She then commenced to tell me that, "I went out to the garage to move the car, and I thought, 'What is that SMELL?' Then I recognized it. It was from that perm I got yesterday. Boy, did it stink! I knew you wouldn't like it, so I rolled down the windows." I let that one go.
At the hospital, I looked over the counter past the palsied hand of the old man volunteer, and saw that I was scheduled for TWO tests, one at 8:30 and one at 9:30. This was not what the doctor's secretary had told me over the phone. She had stated that depending on the results of the first one, they might want to do the second one. So that put me off right then and there. What am I, some kind of cash cow with two insurances? Don't answer that. I consider it another bad omen.
The first test was given right on time, by a short blond lady who I think is the aunt of one of the Basementia teachers, as I've had her before for a lab tech. She took a super long time to process the results, and said she was taking it to the radiologist, and was gone another good long time. She came back and said there was currently no doctor available to read the results, and that it was not yet time for my second test, because the other tech had another patient. She draped me in not-quite-clothing and sent me packing back to the waiting room.
This I did not like. Sure, it was a 'private' waiting room, but there are six chairs, and I've been there when it was packed. My mom and I enjoyed about 10 minutes of privacy and then it happened. The lights started flashing and a hideously LOUD buzzer sounded for about 30 seconds. There was an announcement over the PA system, "Mrs. Red is at the ER desk." Gosh-darn that Mrs. Red! How dare she demand so much freakin' attention! I told my mom there must be an emergency that needed all responders possible. Then that little blond lady came to the outside door of our waiting room, and said, "I'm just going to close this door. We're having a fire drill." Great. At least they didn't make me trek outside without even a coat (because my loving mother dropped me off at the door and then parked and dodged the little trolley man) with all my bits and pieces hanging out. How many of you have ever been subjected to a freakin' fire drill at a hospital. Bad omen.
At the stroke of 9:30, my other lab tech, 'Sharon', came to get me. She told my mom to stay put, told me to bring my clothes, and took me into her lair across the hall. A pleasanter lab tech you'll never meet than Sharon. She made just the right amount of small talk, performed her duties, reperformed her duties, told me that they never know when they're having a fire drill, discussed the hospital benefits system, professed that kids these days need to learn how to follow the rules or get the paddle, explained how their computer records system forwards lab info straight to the doctor's computer, told me to expect my results from the doctor within 48 hours, said that I could pick up a copy of the records for myself on Friday but that it would cost me unless I was picking them up to take to a doctor, nudge nudge, then held the door open for me, and whispered behind her hand, "I wouldn't lose any sleep over this."
Sharon ROCKS!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
The Butcher, The Waker, The Graduate Maker
I will be absent from school on Wednesday, what with some medical testing to be done. Those lab techs have the NERVE to work regular nine-to-five hours. How dare they! And not even a rousing rendition of The Esteemed Miss Parton's Nine-To-Five will they be singing during my testing.
Everybody knows how much Mrs. Hillbilly Mom hates to miss work. Mabel knows especially well. It is she who declares that after Mrs. HM is gone, people will not say, "That Hillbilly Mom! She never missed work!" Nope. Mabel swears they will say, "Who's Hillbilly Mom?" She's good for my ego, that Mabel. She encourages me to wake up and smell the coffee. And she even volunteered to take one of her own sick days to accompany me to the butcher shop--er--hospital. Isn't that sweet?
My own dear mother, she of the 4-year-old ranch dressing Thanksgiving faux pas, volunteered ahead of Ms Mabel, so I regretfully declined the offer. I swear, sometimes, that Mabel is nearly a Mother Teresa.
Here's some top secret news. Shh...don't tell anybody. Only two people know right now, and one of them is ME. It's not set in stone yet, but there is talk that next school year, my schedule may be different. Different as in better for me. Different as in only one prep instead of three. You heard me! Virtually a 67% reduction in preparation for my classes, with my salary staying the same as ever. Can't beat THAT with a stick, huh Bean, my dear old friend with an appreciation of colloquial vernacular?
What brings about this change, you ask? A small class moving ahead through the ranks, for one. Not as many sections are needed, and common sense says why split the remaining sections between two teachers? Also, we're looking at a new direction that is actually a U-turn in the old direction in helping At-Risk students. We have OH SO MANY options to help them these days, but apparently none has had the success of our old At-Risk program. Soo...not to toot my own horn, but my opinion was asked, and I gladly gave it, and there just might be a return to the old way of making these kids utilize their time under my watchful eye and demanding regime so that they do not fail from lack of effort. It's a re-structuring, if you will, a return to the general in lieu of the specific. A reversal of the double dose theory, reverting back to the four-core extra help, extra time, extra accountability model.
Yeah. And why was I the lucky recipient of this program? Perhaps because I've done it before with success. Perhaps because some people work better with this type of kid than others. Perhaps because I can be a student's best asset or worst nightmare.
I'm ready to take on the challenge again. It's only for two classes. I'll still get my four sections of freshman physics. It's the perfect balance.
Keep your fingers crossed.
Everybody knows how much Mrs. Hillbilly Mom hates to miss work. Mabel knows especially well. It is she who declares that after Mrs. HM is gone, people will not say, "That Hillbilly Mom! She never missed work!" Nope. Mabel swears they will say, "Who's Hillbilly Mom?" She's good for my ego, that Mabel. She encourages me to wake up and smell the coffee. And she even volunteered to take one of her own sick days to accompany me to the butcher shop--er--hospital. Isn't that sweet?
My own dear mother, she of the 4-year-old ranch dressing Thanksgiving faux pas, volunteered ahead of Ms Mabel, so I regretfully declined the offer. I swear, sometimes, that Mabel is nearly a Mother Teresa.
Here's some top secret news. Shh...don't tell anybody. Only two people know right now, and one of them is ME. It's not set in stone yet, but there is talk that next school year, my schedule may be different. Different as in better for me. Different as in only one prep instead of three. You heard me! Virtually a 67% reduction in preparation for my classes, with my salary staying the same as ever. Can't beat THAT with a stick, huh Bean, my dear old friend with an appreciation of colloquial vernacular?
What brings about this change, you ask? A small class moving ahead through the ranks, for one. Not as many sections are needed, and common sense says why split the remaining sections between two teachers? Also, we're looking at a new direction that is actually a U-turn in the old direction in helping At-Risk students. We have OH SO MANY options to help them these days, but apparently none has had the success of our old At-Risk program. Soo...not to toot my own horn, but my opinion was asked, and I gladly gave it, and there just might be a return to the old way of making these kids utilize their time under my watchful eye and demanding regime so that they do not fail from lack of effort. It's a re-structuring, if you will, a return to the general in lieu of the specific. A reversal of the double dose theory, reverting back to the four-core extra help, extra time, extra accountability model.
Yeah. And why was I the lucky recipient of this program? Perhaps because I've done it before with success. Perhaps because some people work better with this type of kid than others. Perhaps because I can be a student's best asset or worst nightmare.
I'm ready to take on the challenge again. It's only for two classes. I'll still get my four sections of freshman physics. It's the perfect balance.
Keep your fingers crossed.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Skipper Learns A Lesson
We had our next-to-next-to-last faculty meeting today. It's always the first Monday of the month. Seven down, two to go! The school year is creeping its way toward the end. It shuffles along in stretched-out slippers, its toes hanging over the front sole, scuffing its way to graduation like an old lady in assisted living stumping next door, the tennis-ball-covered feet of her walker whispering along the dull, stained linoleum, on a relentless mission to scam some horehound candy from the Alzheimer's patient next door.
The perception of time should now allow for the old adage: The School Year Is Almost Over, You Know! With testing and banquets and deadlines approaching, time will shed its dog days of winter training wheels, pump up its tires, taxi out onto the runway, whistle for Orville and Wilbur, and take off into the sunset of the 2008-2009 school year.
But today, this instant, we're still rooted to the ol' terra firma. An in this reality, Mrs. HM is grounded. She has a bone to pick with her #1 son. The son who was sick last week, but went to school, and was allowed to skip one academic team practice and one math contest practice. He was truly sick, and crawled into his Mansion bed and slept upon arriving home, requiring an awakening for sustenance when the evening meal was served.
However...he did not work on his math packet over the weekend as he promised. He stated this morning that there was no academic practice after school, and was told to check and make sure, and call Mrs. HM if he needed to stay. During 6th hour, Mrs. HM called Basementia to check with the academic coach on the time of the conference tournament on Thursday. Our team has lost only one game, and is anticipating the second seed in the tournament. It was during this conversation that Mrs. HM found out that there was academic practice today from 3:00 to 5:00. She informed the coach that #1 had not called, but that he needn't panic after school, as now Mrs. HM knew about the practice, and would come pick him up at 5:00 after her next-to-next-to-last faculty meeting.
Upon arrival back in her room at 3:45 after the meeting, planning to get some work done over the next hour, Mrs. HM was informed by The Pony that #1 was in the computer lab with his buddy. Mrs. HM was not pleased, and if, perhaps, the word 'ballistic' flits through your mind at this time, rest assured that it is fitting. Mrs. HM called #1 and commanded him to report for sentencing.
#1 must have rehearsed his story en route up the long, long hallway. He said that he didn't KNOW there was practice, since nobody told him, except for the Lefthand Man on academic team just one minute before the bell. Never mind that Basementia has phones that (gasp!) can communicate with Newmentia. Never mind that #1 was specifically told this morning to check and see if there was practice.
Mrs. HM told #1 to gather his stuff--she was driving him back to Basementia for the last hour of practice. #1 was having none of that, declaring that practice was stupid, and that HE didn't need to practice anyway, since they were just two-year-old questions that would not be asked at the tournament. Mrs. HM promised to call the academic coach and explain that #1 would not be allowed to go to the tournament on Thursday, since he had intentionally skipped practice. #1 did not think that promise would be kept, but was more unsure of the follow-through on the second promise to require him to sit in the (GASP!) living room all evening instead of in his room with all its electronic glory. He gathered his things and away we flew to Basementia.
#1 pretended not to follow the line of reasoning about the star of the basketball team not skipping practice even though he was the best, or the question about whether Mrs. HM could simply skip the next faculty meeting, since she knows everything anyway.
Life is OH SO FULL of teachable moments.
The perception of time should now allow for the old adage: The School Year Is Almost Over, You Know! With testing and banquets and deadlines approaching, time will shed its dog days of winter training wheels, pump up its tires, taxi out onto the runway, whistle for Orville and Wilbur, and take off into the sunset of the 2008-2009 school year.
But today, this instant, we're still rooted to the ol' terra firma. An in this reality, Mrs. HM is grounded. She has a bone to pick with her #1 son. The son who was sick last week, but went to school, and was allowed to skip one academic team practice and one math contest practice. He was truly sick, and crawled into his Mansion bed and slept upon arriving home, requiring an awakening for sustenance when the evening meal was served.
However...he did not work on his math packet over the weekend as he promised. He stated this morning that there was no academic practice after school, and was told to check and make sure, and call Mrs. HM if he needed to stay. During 6th hour, Mrs. HM called Basementia to check with the academic coach on the time of the conference tournament on Thursday. Our team has lost only one game, and is anticipating the second seed in the tournament. It was during this conversation that Mrs. HM found out that there was academic practice today from 3:00 to 5:00. She informed the coach that #1 had not called, but that he needn't panic after school, as now Mrs. HM knew about the practice, and would come pick him up at 5:00 after her next-to-next-to-last faculty meeting.
Upon arrival back in her room at 3:45 after the meeting, planning to get some work done over the next hour, Mrs. HM was informed by The Pony that #1 was in the computer lab with his buddy. Mrs. HM was not pleased, and if, perhaps, the word 'ballistic' flits through your mind at this time, rest assured that it is fitting. Mrs. HM called #1 and commanded him to report for sentencing.
#1 must have rehearsed his story en route up the long, long hallway. He said that he didn't KNOW there was practice, since nobody told him, except for the Lefthand Man on academic team just one minute before the bell. Never mind that Basementia has phones that (gasp!) can communicate with Newmentia. Never mind that #1 was specifically told this morning to check and see if there was practice.
Mrs. HM told #1 to gather his stuff--she was driving him back to Basementia for the last hour of practice. #1 was having none of that, declaring that practice was stupid, and that HE didn't need to practice anyway, since they were just two-year-old questions that would not be asked at the tournament. Mrs. HM promised to call the academic coach and explain that #1 would not be allowed to go to the tournament on Thursday, since he had intentionally skipped practice. #1 did not think that promise would be kept, but was more unsure of the follow-through on the second promise to require him to sit in the (GASP!) living room all evening instead of in his room with all its electronic glory. He gathered his things and away we flew to Basementia.
#1 pretended not to follow the line of reasoning about the star of the basketball team not skipping practice even though he was the best, or the question about whether Mrs. HM could simply skip the next faculty meeting, since she knows everything anyway.
Life is OH SO FULL of teachable moments.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Not Notable News
The 2-4 inches of snow that was forecast for our region did not materialize yesterday. The folks in the Winter Storm Advisory counties acquired only two of their promised 5-7 inches. What up, weathermen?
I found four clean, crisp, crinkly dollars in the dryer this morning. That's after four loads of laundry. I suppose a small tip is better than none.
At the Trivia competition last night, our team took 3rd Place. That's a money position, people. Not bad for four adults and three teenagers. The Unwritten Book of Trivia Etiquette states that "Thou shalt cheerfully donate all proceeds back to the sponsor of the event." That is OH SO HARD for kids to understand. It was actually the #1 son's team, and he asked me and Basementia Buddy and she asked another Basementia denizen and then a former Basementian joined us when a child dropped out. The #1 son had said several weeks ago, "I'm so glad we have you guys on our team. Now we won't get the dead last sign on our table. If we win anything, we're not giving it back!" The other adults and I declared that we would give OUR part of any winning back, but the kids could do what they wanted. After it was over, I was handed an envelope with the winnings. I told the boys to divide $50 by seven, and that's how much they each would get. They came out of the money zone muttering, "We had the wrong envelope! We were only supposed to get $25 for 3rd place." I told them I looked in the envelope, and there were two twenties and a ten. After conferring with the head honcho, the boys went back to the money zone and gave back their portion, explaining the mix-up. They decided not to keep any money, because $3 wasn't worth it, and besides, it was a fundraiser. Somebody raised those boys right.
That's an issue I have with Trivia--the handing back of the winnings. Granted, our event was a small one. It's $10 per person to play. That's $80 per team if you have a full team, which everyone but us did. The prize money totaled $150. So there were still funds raised off the event. I would donate my winnings back anyway, because you don't even get back enough to cover your entry fee if you win 1st Place. But still...people should have a choice, and not feel obligated to give the money back. Same way with the 50-50 Drawing. The winner is pretty much expected to donate it back. What's the fun of winning if you have to give it back? That's why I stopped buying a 50-50 ticket. Why not just bring around a jar and ask, "Would you like to donate more money to our fundraiser?" Because that's all you are doing, really, and the ones who buy the tickets would still donate. The winner last night could have kept his $74, and the sponsor would still have had the other $74. This is where the Catholic Trivia event differs. They have oodles of teams. I don't know their prize distribution, having never won anything there, but they command winners to wait until people have left the building if they plan to donate their winnings back. Oh, and they sell beer, too!
On March 20, the Hillbilly family has tickets to see a Master Hypnotist. That's another fundraiser, at $10 per ticket. I'm hoping HH will volunteer to be hypnotized. Basementia Buddy and I would like to see him act like a chicken.
I hauled out the income tax info this morning. No need to rush to send it in. We have a regular Christmas here at the Mansion, not a Redneck Christmas on refund day. What I found was that the annoying new payroll company that HH's work uses has a major malfunction with the W-2 forms they sent out. You know how the instructions say 'Tear at perforation and attach to Federal Tax Return' or some such nonsense, like you wouldn't be able to figure that out? Be careful about following the directions. They had their printer set all funky, because if I tear at the perforation, the entire first line is left on the other half of the perforation. That is kind of an important first line, as it includes HH's social security number and wage info. I'll be using scissors to snip that bad boy. The ones lower down the form, especially the last one for employee records, are fine. Incompetency does not make the world go round. What a sorry lesson the world is learning lately.
I found four clean, crisp, crinkly dollars in the dryer this morning. That's after four loads of laundry. I suppose a small tip is better than none.
At the Trivia competition last night, our team took 3rd Place. That's a money position, people. Not bad for four adults and three teenagers. The Unwritten Book of Trivia Etiquette states that "Thou shalt cheerfully donate all proceeds back to the sponsor of the event." That is OH SO HARD for kids to understand. It was actually the #1 son's team, and he asked me and Basementia Buddy and she asked another Basementia denizen and then a former Basementian joined us when a child dropped out. The #1 son had said several weeks ago, "I'm so glad we have you guys on our team. Now we won't get the dead last sign on our table. If we win anything, we're not giving it back!" The other adults and I declared that we would give OUR part of any winning back, but the kids could do what they wanted. After it was over, I was handed an envelope with the winnings. I told the boys to divide $50 by seven, and that's how much they each would get. They came out of the money zone muttering, "We had the wrong envelope! We were only supposed to get $25 for 3rd place." I told them I looked in the envelope, and there were two twenties and a ten. After conferring with the head honcho, the boys went back to the money zone and gave back their portion, explaining the mix-up. They decided not to keep any money, because $3 wasn't worth it, and besides, it was a fundraiser. Somebody raised those boys right.
That's an issue I have with Trivia--the handing back of the winnings. Granted, our event was a small one. It's $10 per person to play. That's $80 per team if you have a full team, which everyone but us did. The prize money totaled $150. So there were still funds raised off the event. I would donate my winnings back anyway, because you don't even get back enough to cover your entry fee if you win 1st Place. But still...people should have a choice, and not feel obligated to give the money back. Same way with the 50-50 Drawing. The winner is pretty much expected to donate it back. What's the fun of winning if you have to give it back? That's why I stopped buying a 50-50 ticket. Why not just bring around a jar and ask, "Would you like to donate more money to our fundraiser?" Because that's all you are doing, really, and the ones who buy the tickets would still donate. The winner last night could have kept his $74, and the sponsor would still have had the other $74. This is where the Catholic Trivia event differs. They have oodles of teams. I don't know their prize distribution, having never won anything there, but they command winners to wait until people have left the building if they plan to donate their winnings back. Oh, and they sell beer, too!
On March 20, the Hillbilly family has tickets to see a Master Hypnotist. That's another fundraiser, at $10 per ticket. I'm hoping HH will volunteer to be hypnotized. Basementia Buddy and I would like to see him act like a chicken.
I hauled out the income tax info this morning. No need to rush to send it in. We have a regular Christmas here at the Mansion, not a Redneck Christmas on refund day. What I found was that the annoying new payroll company that HH's work uses has a major malfunction with the W-2 forms they sent out. You know how the instructions say 'Tear at perforation and attach to Federal Tax Return' or some such nonsense, like you wouldn't be able to figure that out? Be careful about following the directions. They had their printer set all funky, because if I tear at the perforation, the entire first line is left on the other half of the perforation. That is kind of an important first line, as it includes HH's social security number and wage info. I'll be using scissors to snip that bad boy. The ones lower down the form, especially the last one for employee records, are fine. Incompetency does not make the world go round. What a sorry lesson the world is learning lately.
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