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.

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.

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.

The Days Of Rats And Poses

Anybody out there still watch Survivor?

I admit that I am hooked. The only season I couldn't stomach was the one with Fireman Tom as the winner, Survivor Palau. That season was like watching paint dry. Or golf on TV. Sucky team Ulong lost every immunity challenge, until that unlikeable Stephenie was the only member who remained to "merge" with Koror. And was summarily voted out at the next Tribal Council. I couldn't stand any of those people. Not even Ian the dolphin trainer. I checked out portions haphazardly. I think I only watched the first two episodes in their entirety. Survivor Amazon was also a stinker, with that stupid Missouri teacher gal dropping her undies while standing on a platform in the river for some Oreos and peanut butter. Way to go, Heidi. Besmirch the reputation of both Missourians AND teachers.

This year I have issues with the travesty that Survivor has become. Remember way back to Survivor Borneo, the original season, won by crook Richard Hatch, who formed an unlikely alliance with old man Rudy, the ex-SEAL? And Rudy proclaimed, "I love this guy. But not in a homosexual way." And what about Susan Hawk and her "snakes and rats" speech for Richard and Kelley Wigglesworth? The "...if you were dying of thirst in the desert, I wouldn't give you a drop to drink" speech. Or Team Pagong, who ate a rat. Or Survivor Australia, after the flash flood, when Elisabeth Hasselbeck looked like she was starving to death before our very eyes.

Oh, how the standards of "surviving" have dropped. This year, every contestant HAS A FREAKIN' DESIGNER BAG that they carry to challenges. That's what it looks like, anyway. It probably contains water and several individually wrapped gourmet snacks in the event they become a mite peckish while away from camp. And camp! I've never seen so many bananas and coconuts. They're always chowing down. They're probably gaining weight this year. Little Brandon-Russell doesn't look like he's lost an ounce. And Coach's ponytail is as glossy as ever. They have won taro, flint, blankets, pillows, a hammock, a mat, cookies, chocolate, coffee, powdered milk, tea, sugar, three chickens, vegetables, spices, bread, meat they bit and spit out in a challenge, a picnic lunch at a waterfall slide, and a screening of Jack and Jill with unlimited movie snacks. I'm surprised they're not living in a prefabricated mansion purchased at Lowes. Or the sponsor of their choosing.

I want to toss in the towel. But there are too many contestants to hate on right now.

It's All About The Credentials

Some days, blog posts are handed to me, already written, proofread, wrapped up with ribbon and topped with a beautiful bow. Today was one of those days.

Once there was an elderly lady who bred wiener-dogs as a hobby. Of course we all know they are properly called Dachshunds, but in Arkansas, they're wiener-dogs, even to an elderly AKC breeder.

The old gal was downright proud of her pups. She loved to take visitors to the kennels and pick up various bloodlines to show off. Cradling a pup in her arms, she would roll him over, stretch out his hind legs, and boast, "Look at those credentials!" It wasn't his legs she was referring to.

The person relating this tale embellished that Old Gal had been married three times. I could not hold back.

"I guess she kept trying for better credentials."

All Work Makes Mrs. HM A Happy Camper

After an abbreviated school day, we had two hours of TIME TO WORK IN OUR ROOMS!

Imagine that. A teacher workday where teachers actually got to WORK! We all did the Snoopy dance with glee. All of us at Newmentia, of course. For the other poor downtrodden faculty in Basementia and Newmentia had organized, compartmentalized instruction in various and sundry educational necessities.

We're simply folk, really. It takes so very little to make us happy.
In this case, it took nothing at all.

It's Deja Vu All Over Again In Hillmomba

Seems like only yesterday that we had a short break from the students. Oh, that's right, it was two days ago, when we had an early out on Thursday, Friday off, and a glorious weekend.

Tomorrow we have another early out. Yep. And Friday we're having a choir assembly. Don't think Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is complaining. M O O N. That spells, "Mrs. Hillbilly Mom ain't complaining."

But perhaps next year, the calendar committee can at least give us a full week between outings. You know. So we can appreciate it more. Savor the time away from students. The work away from work. Because it IS a teacher in-service day.

I do not yet know what service we will be performing. I'll keep you updated. In about 24 hours.