The #1 son has a problem with school lunch on Fridays. It is always pizza or nacho chips. He used to eat it. But I suppose now that he's had it fifteen weeks in a row, he has grown tired of of the faux Italian/Mexican duo.
For the last two Fridays, he has raided my classroom in search of sustenance. To which I can only advise: too bad, so sad. He should have packed a lunch, as The Pony and I do. Since my lunch time rolls around at the crack of 10:53 a.m., my meal is long gone when #1 accosts my mini-fridge at 11:54. From there, he assaults the file cabinet. That's where The Pony stashes his after-school snacks for when he hops off the bus from Basementia.
Don't forget that I'm in the middle of a lesson when #1 barges in. The freshmen gaze in slack-jawed awe at the legend who scored a 34 on his ACT last month, and who shaved his chinny-chin-chin goatee to be Harry Potter at the NHS Halloween dance, and has already grown it back.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
"I came to get food."
"There is no food."
"I know where he keeps it."
"He'll be upset."
"Yeah, yeah. Hmm...M & Ms or mini Chips Ahoy? I'm taking the Chips Ahoy."
"The Pony will cry. He told Grandma just this morning that she didn't need to bring him any more snacks--he had a full bag of Chips Ahoy."
"I'm opening them. I'm going to eat a few, and then pass them around to my lunch table."
(OOOOOH!)
"Somebody didn't raise that boy right."
#1 reappeared at the end of the lunch shift and my class to put the remainders back in the file cabinet.
"I only ate half the bag."
"That's good. Then your brother will only beat you within HALF an inch of your life."
Friday, November 11, 2011
Thursday, November 10, 2011
The Pony Is Lame
No. I'm not making a statement about The Pony's personality. That would just be cruel. He is actually lame. In the stone-bruised-hoof sense of the word.
Last night he complained of foot pain. That is not like The Pony. He's a hardy little fella. Two broken elbows, barely a peep. So when The Pony talks pain, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom listens. He said that the middle of his foot hurt. And his baby toe. Seems he hopped off the stage yesterday in PE after rescuing a volleyball.
I'm hoping he just strained some ligaments between his metatarsals. This morning, he said it didn't hurt quite as much. I told him we'd give it a couple of days to see if there was improvement. Now that there's a new convenient care clinic in town, I can trot him down there in a hot Hillmomba minute to get his hoof checked out.
They treat ponies, don't they?
Last night he complained of foot pain. That is not like The Pony. He's a hardy little fella. Two broken elbows, barely a peep. So when The Pony talks pain, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom listens. He said that the middle of his foot hurt. And his baby toe. Seems he hopped off the stage yesterday in PE after rescuing a volleyball.
I'm hoping he just strained some ligaments between his metatarsals. This morning, he said it didn't hurt quite as much. I told him we'd give it a couple of days to see if there was improvement. Now that there's a new convenient care clinic in town, I can trot him down there in a hot Hillmomba minute to get his hoof checked out.
They treat ponies, don't they?
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
A Harbinger Of Winter
Winter is coming!
I know, not because The Devil insists on hawking Christmas wares already, but because the Newmentia cafeteria served chili for the first time this year. Chili! The kids love it. The teachers love it. But this year, not so much. Because we are peanut-butter-less, you see. Sure, it's a grand thing to keep a kid or two from kicking the bucket. But we really, really liked the peanut butter and syrup sandwiches that accompanied the chili.
A lunching companion bravely took a tray. The rest of us are still smarting from the lunch increase of over a dollar. But the daring, intrepid colleague bellied right up to the tray-sliding bar and asked for some sour cream for her chili. To hear her tell it, "They acted like I had asked for a packet of GOLD! They brought out ONE packet, slid it across the counter, and said, 'The kids don't get that!' Do I look like I would give it to the kids? The kids bring ME stuff." Sure enough, three packs of chips were dropped on our table in the time it took her to tell her tale.
I can't wait for her to review her itemized lunch charges, and see how much that packet of sour cream cost her.
I know, not because The Devil insists on hawking Christmas wares already, but because the Newmentia cafeteria served chili for the first time this year. Chili! The kids love it. The teachers love it. But this year, not so much. Because we are peanut-butter-less, you see. Sure, it's a grand thing to keep a kid or two from kicking the bucket. But we really, really liked the peanut butter and syrup sandwiches that accompanied the chili.
A lunching companion bravely took a tray. The rest of us are still smarting from the lunch increase of over a dollar. But the daring, intrepid colleague bellied right up to the tray-sliding bar and asked for some sour cream for her chili. To hear her tell it, "They acted like I had asked for a packet of GOLD! They brought out ONE packet, slid it across the counter, and said, 'The kids don't get that!' Do I look like I would give it to the kids? The kids bring ME stuff." Sure enough, three packs of chips were dropped on our table in the time it took her to tell her tale.
I can't wait for her to review her itemized lunch charges, and see how much that packet of sour cream cost her.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Coming Soon, In A Sideshow On The Midway Of A Carnival Near You
The thing about taking your kids to school where you teach is that your fellow faculty can fill you in on their shenanigans.
This afternoon, TheParkingSpotUsurper informed me of the antics of young Mr. The Pony J. Hillbilly. Seems her class was having a discussion of inherited characteristics versus those credited to the environment. Mr. TPJH entertained his classmates with his vast array of talents, including, but not limited to:
*the ability to roll his eyelids
*the disconcerting clicking sound that ensues when he snaps one of his previously broken elbows into hyperextension and back, quickly
*the loosey-goosey status of his kneecap when he moves it to and fro just for fun
*the uncanny ability to lick his own elbow
That boy is a regular dog-and-pony show. Minus the dog.
This afternoon, TheParkingSpotUsurper informed me of the antics of young Mr. The Pony J. Hillbilly. Seems her class was having a discussion of inherited characteristics versus those credited to the environment. Mr. TPJH entertained his classmates with his vast array of talents, including, but not limited to:
*the ability to roll his eyelids
*the disconcerting clicking sound that ensues when he snaps one of his previously broken elbows into hyperextension and back, quickly
*the loosey-goosey status of his kneecap when he moves it to and fro just for fun
*the uncanny ability to lick his own elbow
That boy is a regular dog-and-pony show. Minus the dog.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Such Sweet Slumber
Ho hum. I am dragging tonight. Nobody has done anything particularly entertaining or aggravating. So I'm headed to my sweet, sweet recliner to watch some Food Network. That's my story. In all actuality, I will nod off before the first commercial.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Jack Frost Is Not Yet Nipping Noses
Hey! Guess what! No, that's not it. Guess again. Nope. Looks like I'm going to have to tell you.
WE HAVE OFFICIALLY KICKED OFF THE CHRISTMAS SEASON!
I know. Seems like only yesterday that retailers had the common sense to wait until after Thanksgiving to set up their Christmas displays. Not so in Hillmomba. The Devil accosts customers as they enter the door with a giant, decorated Christmas tree. It's just at the end of the bargain carts full of Halloween accouterments clogging the entryway. There is also a double aisle stocked with stocking-stuffer Christmas candy. And aisles near the front with gift ideas like tool boxes and drill bits and such. I didn't look close enough, but I'm sure there's an aisle of bath beads and decorative soaps as well.
Has the Devil lost his mind? I think not. He recently reinstated his layaway policy (surely you've seen the commercials with the idiots who can't read a big friggin' sign right over their heads proclaiming LAYAWAY). Because The Devil jacked up his prices by at least 50% over the last couple of years. and gas has not only shot up in price, but seems to be of a lower grade than what is proclaimed on the pumps, regular folks can't afford Christmas unless they pay in installments. That's a cryin' shame. Dang that dirty Devil! I don't know his layaway policies, nor do I care to read them. But I guarandarntee you that The Devil will not lose any money on items that are put back, paid on, and left unpurchased because some poor, hard-working, honest sap gets his electric bill just before making the layaway payoff and can't cough up the final payment.
Criminy! It's 70 degrees in Hillmomba today. November 6th. And The Devil is rushing the yuletide season.
At least he stopped short of pumping out Christmas carols. For now.
WE HAVE OFFICIALLY KICKED OFF THE CHRISTMAS SEASON!
I know. Seems like only yesterday that retailers had the common sense to wait until after Thanksgiving to set up their Christmas displays. Not so in Hillmomba. The Devil accosts customers as they enter the door with a giant, decorated Christmas tree. It's just at the end of the bargain carts full of Halloween accouterments clogging the entryway. There is also a double aisle stocked with stocking-stuffer Christmas candy. And aisles near the front with gift ideas like tool boxes and drill bits and such. I didn't look close enough, but I'm sure there's an aisle of bath beads and decorative soaps as well.
Has the Devil lost his mind? I think not. He recently reinstated his layaway policy (surely you've seen the commercials with the idiots who can't read a big friggin' sign right over their heads proclaiming LAYAWAY). Because The Devil jacked up his prices by at least 50% over the last couple of years. and gas has not only shot up in price, but seems to be of a lower grade than what is proclaimed on the pumps, regular folks can't afford Christmas unless they pay in installments. That's a cryin' shame. Dang that dirty Devil! I don't know his layaway policies, nor do I care to read them. But I guarandarntee you that The Devil will not lose any money on items that are put back, paid on, and left unpurchased because some poor, hard-working, honest sap gets his electric bill just before making the layaway payoff and can't cough up the final payment.
Criminy! It's 70 degrees in Hillmomba today. November 6th. And The Devil is rushing the yuletide season.
At least he stopped short of pumping out Christmas carols. For now.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
The Hillmomba Mean-Fueled Wars
The #1 son says NHS is having a Nerf gun battle. News to me. And a questionable activity for a school-sponsored club, in my opinion. But if you can't trust the school's brainiacs to shoot at each other willy-nilly with semi-soft projectiles...who CAN you trust? Anyway, I've only heard it from the boy. So he might be exaggerating a bit. Or waxing purposefully deceptive. Because this morning, he had an agenda.
There was The Pony, kneeling in front of the La-Z-Boy for me to apply medication to his forehead, when #1 reared his bullying head. He picked up a giant rubber band and stretched it like a working single mom's budget, aiming at The Pony's head. The defenseless, stock-still Pony. I ordered him not to shoot. Next thing The Pony knew, he had a stinging pain in his back. He retaliated by grabbing two pairs of rolled-up socks from the floor behind him, where I toss them for #1 to harvest and take to his room. Pow! Pow! One direct hit upon the face of #1, and one high over the back of the couch.
At that point, #1 fetched a Nerf six-shot pistol from his room. The Pony went to the basement and wrestled a giant, Aliens-worthy behemoth of Nerf artillery (with detachable weapons) up the stairs. Only to lose it to #1 who said, "Hey, let me see that." The Pony really must learn to be more wary of people. Especially sworn enemies.
I drew the line at The Pony being used for target practice. So #1 laid down with his weapons to fire at various targets about the living room, selected by The Pony, with darts fetched by The Pony. I suppose the gratitude of not being the bullseye made The Pony giddy with generosity.
Last I heard, they were wondering what happened to those humongous yellow revolving-dart-cartridged Nerf guns that I took away two summers ago.
I'll never tell.
There was The Pony, kneeling in front of the La-Z-Boy for me to apply medication to his forehead, when #1 reared his bullying head. He picked up a giant rubber band and stretched it like a working single mom's budget, aiming at The Pony's head. The defenseless, stock-still Pony. I ordered him not to shoot. Next thing The Pony knew, he had a stinging pain in his back. He retaliated by grabbing two pairs of rolled-up socks from the floor behind him, where I toss them for #1 to harvest and take to his room. Pow! Pow! One direct hit upon the face of #1, and one high over the back of the couch.
At that point, #1 fetched a Nerf six-shot pistol from his room. The Pony went to the basement and wrestled a giant, Aliens-worthy behemoth of Nerf artillery (with detachable weapons) up the stairs. Only to lose it to #1 who said, "Hey, let me see that." The Pony really must learn to be more wary of people. Especially sworn enemies.
I drew the line at The Pony being used for target practice. So #1 laid down with his weapons to fire at various targets about the living room, selected by The Pony, with darts fetched by The Pony. I suppose the gratitude of not being the bullseye made The Pony giddy with generosity.
Last I heard, they were wondering what happened to those humongous yellow revolving-dart-cartridged Nerf guns that I took away two summers ago.
I'll never tell.
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