Thursday, December 13, 2012

Quick! Somebody Haul Russell Dalrymple Out Of Davy Jones's Locker!

What a day. So much of nothing happened, I would swear it could be a Seinfeld episode. Except I don't have such colorful friends hanging out in my apartment, waiting to be offered a Snapple.

The day began with a future recipient of a Tim Whatley regifted Label Baby Jr. asking to go brush her teeth. On MY time. No. Not happening. "But Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! I know my breath stinks. I need to brush my teeth."

"You should budget your time better. Do it before school, or do it after class. But not on my time. Put that toothbrush away. You are NOT going to brush them dry in my classroom."

She was the last to leave after the bell. "Hey! Why don't you hustle on out there and brush your teeth now? I could smell your breath all the way over here at my desk!"


"You're right. I didn't smell it. I'm just messin' with you."
On my plan time, I had happily gnawed through one-fourth of the two pieces of delicious gift fudge that I took to school. That's half a piece gone, for you folks who don't like word problems. I was on fire, typing up questions for a Common Core practice test I'm giving on Monday. That's right. No need to get things done too early. In fact, I might as well put it off until the weekend, what with the world ending Friday and all. Anyhoo...I was interrupted by a visitor, so I had to visit. The day went kind of downhill from there. I never regained my typing stride, and here I am at home entertaining the masses rather than working on that test.
Third hour I was graced with some words of wisdom from an urchin wise beyond his years. "THAT'S what I got on the test? Let me see the ones I missed. Oh. I only missed the ones I didn't know." I daresay he finds missing items in the last place he looks for them, too.
Lunch was filled with talk of reindeer games, a finale to our school talent show next Wednesday morning. And the cooks served chicken with a bone in it! That has not happened nigh on twelve years now.
Fourth hour, a girl patted me on the back while I was writing on the board. Necessitating a command of "Please don't touch me." It's not that I fancy myself the Queen of England. Nor that I have sensory issues. I just don't think it is proper. It is overly-familiar. And above all, it makes me feel ooky.
Fifth hour was a battle royale of science knowledge. I fought the class, and the I won. It was an online Jeopardy style contest from the Scholastic Science World website. Of course, some may say I had a tiny advantage, what with science being my profession and all.
Sixth hour I hung seven tests with scores of 1005 on my Wall of Fame.
Seventh hour I had to tell all the kids who think they are OH SO CUTE that I don't find them cute, and that by this time in the afternoon, my tolerance level for cuteness is very low, so jumping out of your chair and knocking it over to run at me, rather than raising your hand like other volunteers who would like to pass back papers, is not a sound judgment call.
I waited on The Pony to finish academicking for an hour after school, and finished a performance event series of questions for my test, complete with data table and graph.
At our post-school invasion of The Devil's Playground, I was seventh in line. A perky young checker came out another aisle and said, "I can help you on Lane 7." Woe were the pitiful people trapped in mid-line. I wheeled my cart right on over to Lane 7, feeling a little bit bad that I had just walked up and was being served first. Yeah, right.

Had I been in the middle of the line, I would have elbowed those waiters out of my way faster than George Costanza knocking over old people after smelling smoke at a child's birthday party.


Sioux said...

Whoa, Nelly!

You got chicken with a bone in it in a school cafeteria lunch?

I have only dreamed of such a day...a day when the heavens would smile down on me, basking my flesh in its light, transforming me into a watercolor masterpiece.

We--in BigCityLand--have NEVER EVER gotten those two things together in the same room: fowl and bone.

We are salivating with anticipation, hoping that this strange trend will drift our way. No more nuggets of dubious origin. No more "chicken balls," those balls that made darling Nicole wail with glee (she is too young; she knows not what she wants).

Chicken. With a bone in it. I can hardly wait...

Hillbilly Mom said...

YES! I could hardly believe my eyes! I saw the Saw Man munching on a chicken breast. And then the Storyteller came out with three legs! So different from the day before when he had a really large wiener.

I don't know what's going on with this new trend. But I DO know that the cooks should have saved those piles of cheese dumped on the tray with the chili dogs the day before for the bone-chicken day to put on the blanched broccoli. It was almost see-through, bereft of color. I'm surprised the kids were not drinking the broccoli water for the vitamins.