Stand Back

You know how sometimes, you get the most scathingly brilliant idea of what you want to blog about, and then something else happens, and that reminds you of an incident, and before you know it, you have a whole list of witty vignettes to share with your thousands of readers?

This is not one of those times.

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is having rage issues. The unkindest cut of all is that there is no catchy name for what ails her. She can't have road rage, because she's not on the road. She can't have 'roid rage, because, well, she doesn't inject steroids to build 10 pounds of muscle each week. But come to think of it, she DID have a mild case of Noid rage when Domino's Pizza had the nerve to air that ad campaign about avoiding the Noid. He was some strange mutation of a human and a rabbit, that Noid. It was not a pretty sight.

I don't have elaborate goals. No champagne wishes and caviar dreams for me. I just want to get to work on time, stay caught up with my planning and grading, walk for 30 minutes after school for exercise, and plop down at my computer after supper, and not have to do my boy's algebra homework. I teach my own subject, thank you very much. Not every child has a built-in algebra teacher in the basement. I'm going on strike. Maybe I'll require my students to do research that will win a Nobel Prize. That's it! Then I won't have to teach them anything. They can work at their own pace. At home. A great distance from ME.

And while they're working on that research, they won't have time to hang around after school and try to talk to me while I'm walking, like I'm their very own personal entertainment center. Let them glom onto their after-school professional who's getting paid to spend time with them. Not free Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, who would have written a Career Ladder plan if she had wanted two hours of direct student contact after school. She is only paid to be civil to you kids from 7:50 until 3:10. After that, you gotta cut the apron strings. And RUN.

LET ME BE! I am not a nanny. I am an animal. A persnickety, spiny, porcupine of an animal. Don't poke me with a stick. I poke back.

Ahh...now I feel better. I can go back to being my rainbowy, unicorny, gumdrop-and-lemonade self tomorrow. I just needed an outlet to vent my steam. It was up to 10 psi. Thank goodness I didn't blow. (Though some might argue that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's blog has been known to blow).

Tune in tomorrow for more sunshine and light from this ol' cockeyed optimist.