For the first time in several years, I had homework over the weekend. That's what happens when you have two new textbooks, and miss a day of school, and people drop in to chat with you during the two hours you stay after on a Friday afternoon to catch up on work because you will be gone a day the following week.
That's how finely-tuned my routine is for staying abreast of my responsibilities. I don't walk such a tightrope that a single day off, or one afternoon of gossip, will derail my well-honed weekly schedule. But more than one anomaly will. Especially when a pile of work from two homebound students is found in my mailbox after my plan time, a yearly teacher evaluation appears on the near horizon, and I devote four days to the computer lab for science project research and typing. The parking lot duty before and after school on Mondays, along with the first Monday of the month faculty meeting, are just icing on the Keep Mrs. Hillbilly Mom Hoppin' cake.
Of course, none of this will enter my mind between May 16th and August 14th.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Good News, Bad News. The Juno Edition.
I have good news and bad news. Which would you like to hear first? Because I assume you're like my students, I'll pretend you're all a-hollerin', "Give us the BAD news first, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. Just get it over with already!" So I will comply.
Bad News-
My adolescent, rescued doggie Juno has a new annoying habit. When I get in T-Hoe and open up the garage door to back out, Juno runs off the porch, around the garage, and through the door. That's not proper canine etiquette at the Mansion.
Tank used to have the audacity to come in the front door and chow down on the pan of dry cat food. Heck, Tank used to slither through the cat door on the other garage door, and eat up all that cat food while we were at school. Farmer H just thought we had really hungry cats. They entwined his legs crying for food when he arrived home. There were bottomless feline pits. So he concluded that a possum was coming in the cat door and eating their Meow Mix. I saw Tank's beagle butt disappear through the cat door one morning as we left. So much for Farmer H's theory. Tank has always been a naughty boy, most likely due to being allowed to keep his family jewels. But at least he knows when he's in trouble, and slinks off to pout for a couple of days. He rarely makes the same mistake twice.
Thursday, my sick day, I was headed back to school to pick up The Pony from academic team practice. As I was getting ready to push the button to close the garage door, I saw Juno's tail whipping back and forth. She was at the cat pan. I put down my window and hollered at her to get out. You know that didn't happen. She turned to look at me, then went back to munching. I had to get out and chase her around the garage until she left.
Good News-
Juno pulled the uninvited guest trick again Saturday in the garage. And again, I hollered at her to get out. But here's the good news. She was ashamed! She went to the other garage door and sat down and hung her head. Which still didn't get her out of the garage.
This part Juno may not consider good news. I grabbed hold of her bright red collar (so stunning on her black wavy fur) and gave her two swats with my hand on her right haunch. All while sternly spouting, "No! Bad dog!" I dragged her to the open door and pushed her out.
You may think this cruel. But I ask you, would Juno rather be spanked and chastised, or have her head crushed under the tires of T-Hoe when she runs in while I am backing out? Even though Juno can't talk, I think I can say she would prefer the spanking.
The even better news, which may be only temporary, is that today, Juno stood beside the garage door and watched it close. She's still in the danger backing zone, but at least she's out in the open where she has a chance to run away from the tires, and not be trapped by the garage walls.
There may be obedience hope for out little gal yet. And Mr. Shocky has still to make an appearance.
Bad News-
My adolescent, rescued doggie Juno has a new annoying habit. When I get in T-Hoe and open up the garage door to back out, Juno runs off the porch, around the garage, and through the door. That's not proper canine etiquette at the Mansion.
Tank used to have the audacity to come in the front door and chow down on the pan of dry cat food. Heck, Tank used to slither through the cat door on the other garage door, and eat up all that cat food while we were at school. Farmer H just thought we had really hungry cats. They entwined his legs crying for food when he arrived home. There were bottomless feline pits. So he concluded that a possum was coming in the cat door and eating their Meow Mix. I saw Tank's beagle butt disappear through the cat door one morning as we left. So much for Farmer H's theory. Tank has always been a naughty boy, most likely due to being allowed to keep his family jewels. But at least he knows when he's in trouble, and slinks off to pout for a couple of days. He rarely makes the same mistake twice.
Thursday, my sick day, I was headed back to school to pick up The Pony from academic team practice. As I was getting ready to push the button to close the garage door, I saw Juno's tail whipping back and forth. She was at the cat pan. I put down my window and hollered at her to get out. You know that didn't happen. She turned to look at me, then went back to munching. I had to get out and chase her around the garage until she left.
Good News-
Juno pulled the uninvited guest trick again Saturday in the garage. And again, I hollered at her to get out. But here's the good news. She was ashamed! She went to the other garage door and sat down and hung her head. Which still didn't get her out of the garage.
This part Juno may not consider good news. I grabbed hold of her bright red collar (so stunning on her black wavy fur) and gave her two swats with my hand on her right haunch. All while sternly spouting, "No! Bad dog!" I dragged her to the open door and pushed her out.
You may think this cruel. But I ask you, would Juno rather be spanked and chastised, or have her head crushed under the tires of T-Hoe when she runs in while I am backing out? Even though Juno can't talk, I think I can say she would prefer the spanking.
The even better news, which may be only temporary, is that today, Juno stood beside the garage door and watched it close. She's still in the danger backing zone, but at least she's out in the open where she has a chance to run away from the tires, and not be trapped by the garage walls.
There may be obedience hope for out little gal yet. And Mr. Shocky has still to make an appearance.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Hillbilly Mom: There IS No Substitute
Perhaps I expect too much for my $75.00. And it's not even my $75.00. But still. A sick day to me is worth $20.00 when I retire or leave the district. That's what my employer will pay, up to one hundred days, maximum. But a substitute teacher in Hillmomba earns $75.00 per day. And believe me, I use the term earns loosely.
We have had some good substitutes on our list. But they are few and far between. I'm thinking of the post-septuagenarian who liked to golf in his spare time, who would follow my lesson plans to the last detail, and grade papers, and offer to prepare materials if he was going to fill in for an extended time. Now THAT, my friends, was a sub! And I'm pretty sure this lady would never let me down.
However...some substitutes are severely lacking in the common sense department. I don't mean to disparage an entire group. Perhaps I'm expecting too much from recent high school graduates with sixty hours of college credit and a clean criminal background check, or somebody's formerly stay-at-home mom.
I used to leave detailed plans with actual assignments that I would have given had I been there. But those days are gone. Now I leave busywork that must be turned in that day for credit. Silly me. I actually thought that my sub would pass out a set of Science World magazines, and the assignment sheet right next to them. Seemed simple enough to me, especially with those exact instructions and the location of the magazines and papers in the printed instruction sheet I left on top of my sub folder. And first hour actually turned them in as planned. What happened the rest of the day, I'm not sure. Because there was no summary. No notes jotted about who was absent, who misbehaved, or whether things went as planned. Even though my folder contains forms for just such comments.
Maybe it's just me, but if I spent the day in somebody else's classroom, I would be sure to leave things as I found them. Including the teacher's chair. For instance, I would not leave it at shin level if it was mid-thigh when I first sat on it.
Other things I would not have done:
*rearranged the classroom furniture, including student desks
*taken roll, then walked to the library to read magazines until time for the next class
*told dirty jokes to sixth graders, with the explicit instruction, "Don't tell Mrs. Hillbilly Mom!"
*left the class to their own devices while I strolled around the parking lot enjoying a cigarette
*eaten the students' reward candy stored in the bottom right desk drawer
*taken the class for a walk around the campus instead of doling out the assignment
*logged on with another teacher's name and browsed the internet all day looking at wedding dresses
*turned the thermostat up to 80 degrees
*let the students write their names all over the board with the dry-erase markers
*told the students the plans were stupid, and held a gossip session all hour
Lucky for me, all of these instances did not happen in one day. Or even to me, exclusively. But each incident occurred in our district over the past ten years. Scary, huh? That's why I hate to be gone.
Well...that, and OCD.
We have had some good substitutes on our list. But they are few and far between. I'm thinking of the post-septuagenarian who liked to golf in his spare time, who would follow my lesson plans to the last detail, and grade papers, and offer to prepare materials if he was going to fill in for an extended time. Now THAT, my friends, was a sub! And I'm pretty sure this lady would never let me down.
However...some substitutes are severely lacking in the common sense department. I don't mean to disparage an entire group. Perhaps I'm expecting too much from recent high school graduates with sixty hours of college credit and a clean criminal background check, or somebody's formerly stay-at-home mom.
I used to leave detailed plans with actual assignments that I would have given had I been there. But those days are gone. Now I leave busywork that must be turned in that day for credit. Silly me. I actually thought that my sub would pass out a set of Science World magazines, and the assignment sheet right next to them. Seemed simple enough to me, especially with those exact instructions and the location of the magazines and papers in the printed instruction sheet I left on top of my sub folder. And first hour actually turned them in as planned. What happened the rest of the day, I'm not sure. Because there was no summary. No notes jotted about who was absent, who misbehaved, or whether things went as planned. Even though my folder contains forms for just such comments.
Maybe it's just me, but if I spent the day in somebody else's classroom, I would be sure to leave things as I found them. Including the teacher's chair. For instance, I would not leave it at shin level if it was mid-thigh when I first sat on it.
Other things I would not have done:
*rearranged the classroom furniture, including student desks
*taken roll, then walked to the library to read magazines until time for the next class
*told dirty jokes to sixth graders, with the explicit instruction, "Don't tell Mrs. Hillbilly Mom!"
*left the class to their own devices while I strolled around the parking lot enjoying a cigarette
*eaten the students' reward candy stored in the bottom right desk drawer
*taken the class for a walk around the campus instead of doling out the assignment
*logged on with another teacher's name and browsed the internet all day looking at wedding dresses
*turned the thermostat up to 80 degrees
*let the students write their names all over the board with the dry-erase markers
*told the students the plans were stupid, and held a gossip session all hour
Lucky for me, all of these instances did not happen in one day. Or even to me, exclusively. But each incident occurred in our district over the past ten years. Scary, huh? That's why I hate to be gone.
Well...that, and OCD.
Friday, February 3, 2012
HM's Odd Requirement
I love me some down and dirty reality TV. And Sunday night, February 12, is the season premiere of My Strange Addiction. Oh yeah! From the commercials, this year's crop is mighty strange. Even more hard-core than the gal who chowed down on her sofa cushions. I'm sure you've been seeing the promos. If not, here's what you have to look forward to:
The Car-F*cker
This dude has no shame. ON CAMERA, he is seen laying on his back under his car. His hands are nowhere to be seen. He has a glassy look in his eye, and he is french-kissing the front bumper of his cherry-red auto. That car no longer has a cherry, believe you me. And the worst part is...it's not even a good car! I don't know my cars like Barrett-Jackson H, but that's no Lamborghini, Porsche, Rolls, Mercedes, or Ferrari. Not even a Cadillac. It reminds me of a Chevy Cavalier.
The Ear Gouger
Woman! Never put anything smaller than your elbow in your ear! That includes the largest pair of scissors I have ever seen that are not some specialty class, such as tin snips. There she is, a-diggin' and a-grinnin'. Okay, so maybe she's not grinnin'. Maybe she's in the throes of an eargasm. Maybe she needs to be introduced to the Car-F*cker.
The Nail Polish Imbiber
Young lady says she "drinks" nail polish. But the commercial shows her painting her tongue with it. Black. Natch. She hasn't heard that Goth is out.
The Cat-Snacker
No. She doesn't eat cats. That would be too normal for this show. She eats cat snacks. I'll bet she never hacks up a hairball. Old Mother Hubbard, feline division, would not be comfortable in this house. The cupboard is far from bare.
That's all I can remember. Isn't that enough? You can bet I'll be watching, even if I have to record it to savor later.
The Car-F*cker
This dude has no shame. ON CAMERA, he is seen laying on his back under his car. His hands are nowhere to be seen. He has a glassy look in his eye, and he is french-kissing the front bumper of his cherry-red auto. That car no longer has a cherry, believe you me. And the worst part is...it's not even a good car! I don't know my cars like Barrett-Jackson H, but that's no Lamborghini, Porsche, Rolls, Mercedes, or Ferrari. Not even a Cadillac. It reminds me of a Chevy Cavalier.
The Ear Gouger
Woman! Never put anything smaller than your elbow in your ear! That includes the largest pair of scissors I have ever seen that are not some specialty class, such as tin snips. There she is, a-diggin' and a-grinnin'. Okay, so maybe she's not grinnin'. Maybe she's in the throes of an eargasm. Maybe she needs to be introduced to the Car-F*cker.
The Nail Polish Imbiber
Young lady says she "drinks" nail polish. But the commercial shows her painting her tongue with it. Black. Natch. She hasn't heard that Goth is out.
The Cat-Snacker
No. She doesn't eat cats. That would be too normal for this show. She eats cat snacks. I'll bet she never hacks up a hairball. Old Mother Hubbard, feline division, would not be comfortable in this house. The cupboard is far from bare.
That's all I can remember. Isn't that enough? You can bet I'll be watching, even if I have to record it to savor later.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Messin' With Sasquatch
A couple of days a week, kids walk into my class and declare, "It smells like fruit in here." Which is not nearly as disturbing as some of the things they could say it smells like. Such as a monkey house where the primates smoke cigarettes and fart at will. But that's in the afternoon. The fruit-smellers appear just after my plan time. I generally roll my eyes in an exaggerated manner (not exactly a stretch), and say, "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't smell anything."
What I don't tell them is that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom enjoys, on a regular basis, a few Starbursts, the mid-morning snack of champions. You know. Starburst fruit chews. What they don't know won't hurt them. I'm careful to bury my wrappers deep in my personal deskside wastebasket. Sweet Gummi Mary! It's not like I'm Cameron Diaz in Bad Teacher, sneaking swigs of airline-bottle vodka from my bottom desk drawer.
Even crueler on the long list of Mrs. HM's transgressions against her charges was the great cracker crumb caper. It was many years ago. I imagine the statute of limitations has expired, so it's safe to discuss here in the blogosphere.
Perhaps some of you are old enough to remember the days when students did not hang around after school. There were no remedial programs, no open libraries, no killing time sitting in the cafeteria for two hours before athletic practice. There was a place for every student, and every student was in his place. Which was home. Or running sprints in the gym.
My teaching buddy, Mabel, and I enjoyed this quiet time in our brand-spankin'-new high school building, Newmentia. We used the empty halls for our exercise regime. It was ideal. Cool in Indian Summer, warm in winter, flat, dry, no wind, well-lighted. Mabel had figured out the mileage (a math teacher was she), and we walked two miles every day after school.
Mabel's plan time was 7th hour, so she was always ready ahead of me. I had to tie up loose ends after my last class, and was often still changing my socks and shoes when Mabel came to my end of the hall to collect me. I kept my walking gear in my cabinet, so I pulled out a chair next to it and changed my footwear right there. A couple of quick yanks on the shoestrings, and I was ready to join Mabel.
The chairs were dark blue hard plastic. My legs were white and scaly, due in part to lack of lotion, with the added bonus of a failing thyroid. When I removed my socks, a fine shower of skin particles fell onto the chair. If Mabel had not yet arrived, I dusted off the chair when I was done. If Mabel appeared abruptly, I forgot.
This was back in the days when I taught only the at-risk classes. I never had more than ten students in one section. Most often, nobody sat by the cabinet. They preferred the back of the room, or the area near the windows. But one girl made it a habit to sit in that very seat I used for changing socks and shoes. She was wound up one day about another issue, and threw her books down on her desk as she entered. "And if that's not bad enough, I have to come in here and sit where somebody keeps leaving their cracker crumbs!"
The answer to your question? Of course not.
What I don't tell them is that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom enjoys, on a regular basis, a few Starbursts, the mid-morning snack of champions. You know. Starburst fruit chews. What they don't know won't hurt them. I'm careful to bury my wrappers deep in my personal deskside wastebasket. Sweet Gummi Mary! It's not like I'm Cameron Diaz in Bad Teacher, sneaking swigs of airline-bottle vodka from my bottom desk drawer.
Even crueler on the long list of Mrs. HM's transgressions against her charges was the great cracker crumb caper. It was many years ago. I imagine the statute of limitations has expired, so it's safe to discuss here in the blogosphere.
Perhaps some of you are old enough to remember the days when students did not hang around after school. There were no remedial programs, no open libraries, no killing time sitting in the cafeteria for two hours before athletic practice. There was a place for every student, and every student was in his place. Which was home. Or running sprints in the gym.
My teaching buddy, Mabel, and I enjoyed this quiet time in our brand-spankin'-new high school building, Newmentia. We used the empty halls for our exercise regime. It was ideal. Cool in Indian Summer, warm in winter, flat, dry, no wind, well-lighted. Mabel had figured out the mileage (a math teacher was she), and we walked two miles every day after school.
Mabel's plan time was 7th hour, so she was always ready ahead of me. I had to tie up loose ends after my last class, and was often still changing my socks and shoes when Mabel came to my end of the hall to collect me. I kept my walking gear in my cabinet, so I pulled out a chair next to it and changed my footwear right there. A couple of quick yanks on the shoestrings, and I was ready to join Mabel.
The chairs were dark blue hard plastic. My legs were white and scaly, due in part to lack of lotion, with the added bonus of a failing thyroid. When I removed my socks, a fine shower of skin particles fell onto the chair. If Mabel had not yet arrived, I dusted off the chair when I was done. If Mabel appeared abruptly, I forgot.
This was back in the days when I taught only the at-risk classes. I never had more than ten students in one section. Most often, nobody sat by the cabinet. They preferred the back of the room, or the area near the windows. But one girl made it a habit to sit in that very seat I used for changing socks and shoes. She was wound up one day about another issue, and threw her books down on her desk as she entered. "And if that's not bad enough, I have to come in here and sit where somebody keeps leaving their cracker crumbs!"
The answer to your question? Of course not.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
A Proper Explanation
Perhaps you didn't miss me last night. I'm a phantom like that. I wasn't here, then I was, at an untimely hour for Mrs Hillbilly Mom. This ol' blog could just run itself if I banked up enough future posts. But my comments were left hanging. That's because I was physically at the emergency room with my mom, who was having nosebleed issues. It was her second trip to the ER that day. The first one being around 9:00 a.m., when she didn't want to bother anybody, so she drove herself. I know. That's totally unacceptable. So I told her if it happened again, she was to call me, no matter what time it was.
I had no sooner arrived home than the phone rang. Mom was spouting hemoglobin again like a city fireplug spouting water in the midst of a ring of children during a heat wave. So I took off to get her. Latter-decade septuagenarians on blood-thinners should not dilly-dally around with leakage of their life-force. That's what the ER people said, anyway. Twice.
Mom is fine for now. Both times, it stopped after about an hour. But she called me at school again this morning to report a new flow. I told her to sit quietly and see what developed, since she reported that it was not so severe as yesterday's bloodwaters. She got it stopped, and I called her every hour. The ER folks didn't really do anything for her. But told her to come back if it got any worse. I'm taking her with me tomorrow on my sick day when I go to the hospital for lab tests. Her doctor is off, but somebody needs to get to the bottom of the bottomless pool of blood. If this keeps up, they're going to have to cauterize something up in her nose deeper than her elbow, or change her blood-thinner.
********************************************
My apologies to labbie for not posting her question-and-answer dealy-bobber. I had every intention. But you know what they say: Life is what happens when you're planning blog posts. I had half of them written down on paper, from stolen moments at work when I could squeeze in one or two, and now I can't find the paper. I'm just not up to 33 questions and tidbits of hidden info about myself. Though that would be my favorite subject, of course.I Shall Return
Dear Readers,
Please excuse Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's absence from posting. She spent part of Tuesday night at the ER with her mother. Mom is fine now. Mrs. HM will get back to her regular daily posts and catch up on her comments as soon as possible, probably Wednesday evening. She will be mildly chastised for not having a post scheduled ahead of time like she did on her fancy schmancy other blog.
The Management
Please excuse Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's absence from posting. She spent part of Tuesday night at the ER with her mother. Mom is fine now. Mrs. HM will get back to her regular daily posts and catch up on her comments as soon as possible, probably Wednesday evening. She will be mildly chastised for not having a post scheduled ahead of time like she did on her fancy schmancy other blog.
The Management
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