When Gifted Kids Pass Notes

This is a note I picked up from my students mid-year, but I never got around to sharing it with you.  Technically, I didn't take it from them: they surrendered it to me willingly.  I think they were rather proud of themselves. The text of the note reads....

 What must I do
for a Blue Mountain Dew?

There's nothing to do
The Dews not for you

Y Not
How much u got?

Just enough for me!
So please let me be!

Don't make me bawl
I'm having withdrawl!

My heart wouls sure sink
If I gave away my blue drink

Why give it away
if cash I pay?

It would cost you alot, an arm and a calf
or maybe a dollar, a dollar and a half

Maybe a dollar?
change is a bother

You have a deal.
In this not, please conceal.

That's what Dillon owes me
If you want a dollar, ask he,
Unless you take credit
because I have debit.

At you I must scoff
The deal is now off

Maybe two dollars on Tuesday
I swear I'll pay!

I do not concur
No dew for you, sir.

Huh! Looka that.

You know, I just love to know what other people think of the weird things that I (or my Jim) happen to stumble across. (Remember that awful movie UltraChrist?)

I mostly just like to hear what other people's reactions are... because I can't be the only one thinking what I'm thinking, right?! (Not that I'm going to tell you what that is.)

So here is an item that makes me say, "I just am not sure how I feel about that." (Wait! I just told you!) On one hand it's cute; it's funny in an adorable I-bet-you're-just-like-your-daddy sort of way. On the other hand... well, listen to the audience.

Check out this little guy.
(He is cute, though, isn't he? and good, too! he's really really into it!)

So what do you think of the little preacher man? Thumbs up or thumbs down?

That was great!

My son is a storyteller. He's not a good storyteller, though. His stories tend to end with the saying "That was great!" and are usually something like this:

"Hey, Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember that one time when we were at the store and the stuff fell off the shelf but nobody had touched it and we all looked at it and I was like 'Wow! Did you see that? That stuff fell off the shelf without anybody even touching it!' and Annie was like 'Yeah I saw it too. It fell right off the shelf and nobody was anywhere near it' and then you just looked at us and said 'Pick it up.'?"

"Yeah."

"That was great!"

I like to find stuff

Way back, once upon a time, I worked for Dunder Mifflin Infinity. I was part of the Beaumont, TX branch.

One of the features was message boards: games, contests, general chats, stuff about The Office, stuff about random stuff... The one that surprised me was all about random things that you find on the floor: notes, lists, pictures, anything that's readable, basically, is fair game. Now, I had never heard of anyone else picking up those things and saving them.

Yes, I said "anyone else". Because, my friends, that is EXACTLY what I do. Everywhere I go, I have one eye out for stuff that people have dropped. Then I pick it up, and if it's interesting and not just some wrapper or receipt, I keep it. Think of it as people watching taken to the next (non-creepy) level.

Do you do this too? What have you found?

My latest find comes from Senior Slave day at the school where I teach. It is a student's typed instructions to her new Senior, freshly purchased for a day's "labor". The name has been changed for courtesy's sake. Everything else has been faithfully recreated, spelling, caps, punctuation, text size, and all.

----------------------------------------------------------
Rachel's To DO List

• RACHEL YOU ARE TO carry all my books.
• Write all my notes for class
• When I am entering a classroom you need to say The Beautiful, Lovely, and Wonderful Techira is coming!
• When I need to ask a question I will write it down then you will say: Techira needs to ask a question. And then proceed to ask the question
• Before I sit down you will wipe all seats.
• You also need to pass out my valentines' day grams to whoever I point to and say: Techira Smith has chosen to give you a valntine candy enjoy and love her forever
• Whenever someone says my name you have to say Queen Techira someone is calling you
• The number one rule is HAVE FUN

----------------------------------------------------------

This is just a sample of the insanity that makes up Senior Slave day. One of my other students had to put on geisha makeup and a kimono and carry a small paper fan. He - yes HE - also had to shriek in fear whenever the bell rang, and scream, "The Huns are coming!"

I love my job.

Check your advertising demographics, please.

Dear Sport Court, Incorporated -

While cruising my Facebook profile - posting snarky comments on my friends' status updates, sending flair, harvesting crops on my virtual farm, and generally wasting time - your ad on the side caught my eye.

Now, as far as I've been able to tell, the Facebook ads are fairly controlled. They're matched to me, my profile, sometimes my friends, or our interests. That's fine! I've seen some interesting ads and visited some nifty websites.

How the heck did your ad end up on my Facebook?

"Bring the Game Home," reads your slogan.

"Ok," I think. "Why not?" So I click on the link, expecting to find a sporting goods website - bats, balls, hoops, nets, HOLY GOODNESS!!!!!

The page opens...

"Ooooooooooh."

You sell courts: backyard sports courts: basketball, volleyball, badminton, soccer, putting greens, batting cages, any combination of beautiful goodness I could possible imagine!

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I think. "This MUST be a mistake - this must be a corporate site." But, no, this is a site for me - homeowner with yard.

Screech to a halt, please, Sport Court! How in the world did I end up in your demographic?! Just because I live in an expensive area doesn't mean I'm rich! Just because I own a house+yard combo doesn't mean I can afford your courts or have a place to put one! Just because I was talking with my husband about putting in a basketball hoop doesn't mean I...

Have you been spying on me?

I'm suspiciously eyeing that random unidentifiable hole in the back wall of my closet ... is that where you're hiding?

How did you know? Have you been hanging out with the Ministry of Privacy?

hmmmmmmm...

I remain, suspiciously yours,
- Mikki


PS. Perhaps you didn't hear? Most of us don't have money.

No, wait. She's 11.

It is so freakin' hard to remember that my little Annie is only 11.

We have conversations about her advanced math class and the boys in gym class and fashion and what-not. She keeps asking to read the books I'm teaching my high school students. She goes to youth group now. She washes dishes, wants to cook dinner (or at least helps), does her own laundry, and feeds the dogs (sometimes without any prompting).

And then...

She spends 5 straight hours watching Hannah Montana.

She reads Junie B. Jones and Mr. Men books.

She runs screaming through the house, yelling, "CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESE!" while the dogs and her brother chase her for the sheer fun of it.

After all, she's only 11.

The danger of randomly browsing NetFlix

I was cruising Netflix - the "Watch it Now" section to be exact - and I pulled up "Action and Adventure", then the subcategory "Superheroes and Comic Books".

This was among the offerings.

I haven't actually watched it, but here's the movie description:

"What would Jesus (Jonathan C. Green) do if he returned to Earth and discovered he was wildly out of touch with modern trends? Don a Spandex costume and fight sin on the streets of New York City, of course! But as always, he faces several obstacles: a disapproving Father (Don Creech); the Antichrist, in the guise of the New York City Parks Commissioner (Samuel Bruce Campbell); and the temptations of a beautiful seamstress (Celia A. Montgomery)."

Sounds pretty freakin' awesome, right? At the very least, this could make my favorite awful movies of all time list! You know, right up there with stuff like Water World and Godzilla v. Space Godzilla. (Both of which are truly amazing in a train wreck sort of way.)

The top rated customer review begins, "I'd basically describe this as good-natured blasphemy". My other favorite comments are (in order of appearance on NetFlix)...

• The low budget enhances rather than detracts from the hilarity.
• You know, overall this film is not bad. Cheesy? Yes. Funny? Yes. Religiously absurd? H--- yeah.
• ...if you want to see blasphemy that is in good taste (if that even makes sense), then you can safely watch this.
• I found Ultrachrist to be a laugh out loud good time. ...and it wasn’t even that blasphemous.
• If you dig Mel Brooks and Howard Stern, this film is up your alley. Funny thing though, you gotta know some religion to get the jokes.

Then I read this comment: "If you laugh at the trailer for this movie, you'll laugh at the movie." So, being the good YouTube-r that I am, I zipped over to watch the trailer.

...um. ... ... ... Yeah.

So, the Red Wings won today. 2-0. And did you SEE those weird powder blue Penguin uniforms? What was up with those?

Jealous

Oh, yes. Yes, we do. We have a two hour school delay for this:

Lookee here, all you critics! I don't care if you DO have the backing of the President! That white stuff is dangerous! It just falls from the sky and sticks to things! What if it's diseased? What if it's radioactive? What if it's something toxic that fell out of an airplane?

We. Could. All. Die.

I mean it! REALLY!! Just LOOK at the road in front of my house! It's trouble waiting to happen. It is.


You're just mad 'cause you're jealous.

I still remember how I had to walk to school in two feet of snow. And it really WAS uphill both ways. Ask anybody from Leslie. They know.

Who me? Never!

Turns out that I am SO addicted to comments, that when you don't put comments on my blog, and I check my email, and it is empty, that it makes me sad.

I feel ignored.

LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!
--sigh--

I need some non-digital friends.

...or more interesting blog posts. Hmmm.

I'm a Hater

It's true! You know what it is that I hate? (Forwards and "Make me a list of _____" requests)

Now, don't feel bad if you're one of the many people who send me forwards and/or list-making requests. I don't hate YOU, just please, please don't be sad if I don't make the list or send that chain forward to 10 people who are _____ and also back to you to show you that I care and/or support the troops and/or am religious.

Because I do care, I do support the troops, and I am religious!

Also, sometimes, when I sigh and open the forward, I am pleasantly surprised by stories like this little gem from my college advisor/friend, Leigh:

You'll have to imagine the note sent home with the little darling that drew this, but the parent's reply follows the picture.


Dear Mrs Jones:
I wish to clarify that I am not now, nor have I ever been, an exotic dancer. I work at Home Depot and I told Sarah how hectic it was last week before the blizzard hit. I told her we sold out every single shovel we had. Then, I found one more in the back room, and several people were fighting over who would get it. Sarah's picture does NOT show me dancing around a pole. It's supposed to depict me selling the last snow shovel we had at Home Depot. From now on, I will remember to check her homework more thoroughly before she turns it in.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Smith

*****************************************************

Final thought: With stuff like this it doesn't even MATTER if it's real or not. It's just too funny to pass up! So, keep sending me forwards and list requests! I'll keep on hating, just not quite every time.

Wait. She did what?

There comes a time in the life of every young girl when you realize she probably needs to live inside a ball of bubble wrap. That realization comes in the form of a little orange wristband.


When Annie, now 11, was 4, she was accepted into the Headstart program. It was so fun dressing her up for school and seeing her off on her tiny little pre-school bus!



But I don't remember her lessons or her crafts from that year. You see my daughter is a klutz, just like her mommy. She was always running into stuff or falling down, getting paper cuts, dropping dishes. You name it, she did it. We would hear a thud or a crash or a fwump and then... "Sorry!" or "Can I have a towel?" or some such.

One day my cute little Annie came home with an orange wristband and a letter.

"What a pretty bracelet," I said, lifting her hand to look at it. In big black letters were typed the words "HEAD INJURY". --gasp!--

She handed me the letter, which was just a form with the date and the time and the details. She'd tripped and bumped her head. No big deal. I was relieved to say the least.

By the time she'd come home with a couple, we realized that they were just being extra careful with the little ones... I guess we underestimated the strength of her clumsiness! One day, she came home with a band, a letter, and a headache . I gave her some Tylenol and opened the letter, expecting the usual. What would it be this time? A chair? The wall? The swingset? Another kid?

Two words: "Please call."

What the ....?! Annie was no help. She couldn't figure out why I was supposed to call. I figured it was because of the headache. She said it was a sore bump. Maybe someone had been ON the swingset this time...

So I called. (fast-forward through the niceties)

Teacher: Thanks for calling! I just, I wanted to tell you this one in person. I was worried that you might be upset because Annie seems to get hurt so much here at school.

Me: Well, I guess it does seem like a lot (inwardly I was thinking of all the stuff she ran into at home...she WAS in an awkward stage after all)

Teacher: (she was starting to sound nervous) Well, you see, she had a bit of an accident today...

Me: uh, huh....

Teacher: um, I wasn't sure you'd believe me if I wrote it down.

Me: uh, huh.... (???)

Teacher: well, you see, she has 2 bumps.

Me: Two?

Teacher: Um, yes. Two. Um, she was crossing the room, you see, and she wasn't really watching where she was going?

Me: uh, huh...

Teacher: And, a friend called to her, so she ran towards her friend, but...

Me: she was running?

Teacher: (glad to have something positive to say) oh, yes, but we talked about how that was a real bad idea, you see, because of what happened.

Me: and what happened, exactly?

Teacher: oh, um. She ran into the door.

Me: What? That's it?

Teacher: No, well, yes, but, um, the door was open at the time.

Me: Open? But? How did she...?

Teacher: She ran into the narrow side of the door. You know, the skinny edge?

Me: (sounding super intelligent, I'm sure) The skinny edge.

Teacher: Yes. (I think at this point she was just glad to be almost done with the story because she finally sped up.) She was running to her friend, but she hadn't looked up first, so she ran straight into the skinny edge of the door, but because she was running, she hit the door pretty hard, and she hadn't seen it coming, you know, like I said, and so she fell down, too. Backwards. So that's the two bumps. The one on the front from the door, and then there's one on the back from the floor.

(dead silence on both ends. I was processing all the confession. I think she was probably worried I was going to throw a fit.)

Me: um. The skinny edge? The skinny edge. And the floor.

Teacher: Yes.

Me: Oh. Ok. Well, I guess that explains the headache. Thanks for telling me. (What a lame answer, right?)

Teacher: You're welcome. Thanks for calling.


I hung up the phone, and tried to picture it in my head --the skinny side?-- and suddenly, I realized I was a bad parent. A bad, bad, baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad parent.

Because I giggled. It was like a bad slapstick routine, and despite my best efforts, I giggled! No way could she have run into the edge of the door. How could she do that? It must have just looked that way. No one runs into the skinny edge of a door... not for real.

So I went to hug my little Annie, and check on her. She was fine, playing and laughing. I looked at her forehead to see if she would have a bruise, and then I turned into an even worse parent.

I laughed. So help me I laughed right out loud. I shook and rocked back and forth. Because, there, smack in the middle of her noggin, were two parallel bruises about an inch and a half apart.


Go ahead, I dare you. Go measure the skinny edge of your door.

It was great! I almost died!

(No, I am NOT preoccupied with death.)


Today is Sunday. Today is the day I get to go to church and be with all my little lovely kids. It's been a little quiet there the last few weeks through the holidays. We have a fairly young church group, so many, many people go away to visit moms and dads and families. They go home.

Some of them also go on trips or vacations, of course, like WE did last year (Disney Christmas 2007!).

One of the families at our church came back from a cruise this week, and their darling daughter bounced up to the Kids Church table to pick up her name tag and announced, "I went on a cruise!"

"And how was it? Was it fun?" I asked her.

"It was great!" she was bouncing up and down. "I almost died! There was this wave, and it tackled me!"

Mom smiled (a smile I can TOTALLY empathize with, by the way) and said, "Yes, we had our own personal life guard at the beach...." I smiled back.

I heard that story twice more that day as the little girl told others at church about it. She's so cute!

Why I can empathize: My lovely son.

Water is not really his best friend, but he thinks it is. He has nearly drowned so many times that I have lost count. We bought floaties. It didn't help. We went in with him. It didn't help. We taught him to swim. It didn't help.

I'm not exaggerating! It's happened so many times, in so many places, under the supervision of so many different people, that it's become a family joke: "It's not vacation if Jimmy doesn't drown."

Because, you see, Jimmy didn't come home when he was littler and say, "I almost died," like the little girl from church did. He would come home and say, "Guess what? I drowned on vacation! Twice! The lifeguard had to jump in once, but once he wasn't there, and then insert family member's name here told me that maybe I'd better just sit in the baby pool, but that wasn't any fun. Next time, I'm going to go in the DEEP end!"

--sigh--

The last time he drowned, he had gone to a friend's house. That friend took him to another friend's to go swimming. He pulled his regular I-can-swim-so-it's-ok-then-I-drown routine. Enter friend's mom's panic attack at nearly killing the pastor's kid. His response? "Don't worry, Mrs. ___, I drown all the time. Mom's used to it."

--sigh--

I remember when he was afraid of the water. Those were good days.

Of Stupid Dogs and Headaches

Today, I had a Headache. It was not quite a migraine, as it responded to the Alieve that I took, but still worthy of a capital H.

You know those Headaches: they're the ones that color the rest of the events of your day. It's never a pleasant color either, nothing sweet like "Prince Purple" or "Periwinkle" or "Puce". No, it's more like "Parsnip" or "Puke". Yup.

Where was I?

Oh, yes, my dog puked on the floor today. Twice. Because she's dumb. Not sick, just stupid. Apparently she chewed on a bone until it splintered, then ate the splinters, then ate a pine tree branch, then ate a few rocks (maybe she thought she was a chicken?). How do I know this? Because my canine mulch making machine left me a pile of it. Twice.

I love my stupid, stick eating dog Bill. She's the best.

So where was I?

Oh, yes. So when your dogs are dumb and irritating, AND you've a Headache, AND the garbage men refuse to change their schedules to match your Headache's whims, life is blech-y. Tomorrow is garbage day, and the tree must go. I have a Headache. Jim (ever-loving husband, for you new readers - welcome!) has a Headache and a half. The tree must go.

So.... we pile the ornaments in a sheet to contain the glitter, bundle it up, and put them in a chair. We detatch the tree stand and take the tree outside to remove the lights. We unwind maybe a third of one strand, look at each other, and I say, "You know, we could always buy new lights next year...." (I couldn't believe I said it. Me! The queen of don't throw that away! I can use it for ... uh ... something!)

"No! We just bought these."

"Ok. Well, here, unwind some more."

We try. The cord gets stuck. He pulls. I pull. We figure out it's wrapped on a branch somewhere, but we're both wearing gloves because the tree is so darn dry and pokey, and we can't figure it out. Our eyes meet over the tree again. "You know..." he starts.

"Yeah," I said.

We took the tree to the curb. I sheepishly tried to tuck some of the lights back in so maybe the garbage guys won't notice tomorrow that the lights are still there.

--sigh-- I need another Alieve.

What do you need?

I totally stole this idea from today's featured blog over at SITS: Just Say Julie at Keeping up with the Chreste's. She decided to find out (according to Google) what it is that she needs, so she pulled up the magic Google home page and typed in "Julie needs".

Impressed by her magic list, I decided to give it a try. I figured my list probably wouldn't be as good, because I don't have as common of a name. I may like my list even better, though! According to Google, here is what Mikki needs:

1. Mikki needs your support. (on the suicide/sexual abuse recovery website - yikes!)
   
2. Mikki needs to turn 1 more or gain 2 more Vampire points to reach the next level! Mikki should get out there and bite some people! (yum?)
   
3. Mikki needs 2 be ur #1 on the top 8... (and don't you forget it!)
   
4. Mikki needs to do a 3 1/2 toe loop
   
5. Mikki needs to be proud of the music (s)he and the band created
6. Mikki needs to go to someone who has a lot of time and patience (hey... what are you insinuating?)
   
7. Mikki needs numbers
   
8. Mikki needs no introduction to you London East End Ravers
9. Mikki needs lots of style and flair (getting a little personal now, aren't you?!)
10. Mikki needs to be moved for almost anything we can get, and as soon as possible. (WHAT?!?)
11. Mikki needs to quit complaining and just follow the game plan. (WHAT?!?!?! I... I just... WHAT?!?)
12. Mikki needs to see that she's Ok. (I don't feel Ok)
13. Mikki needs to know that although others think negative, we think positive (I think I feel a little better)

I swear, I'm not making these up! This is even the order in which they appeared on Google! It's pretty awesome. Give it a go and see what you "need" to do.

Have fun.

It's Monday

Remember back when lightbulb jokes were popular? I've been thinking of them lately, and then I heard one referenced on a show that I watch, and now it's all I can think about.

For example:

Q: How many therapists does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: None. The lightbulb will change when it's ready.

Q: How many college football players does it take to change a light bulb?
A: The entire team! And they all get a semester's credit for it!

Q: How many thought police does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: None.... There never *was* any light bulb, don't you remember?

Q: How many mystery writers does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: Two: One to screw it almost all the way in and the other to give it a surprising twist at the end.

Q: How many existentialists does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: Two: One to screw it in and one to observe how the light bulb itself symbolizes a single incandescent beacon of subjective reality in a netherworld of endless absurdity reaching out toward a cosmos of nothingness.

Q: How many divorce lawyers does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: 3 - one to argue for the rights of the old lightbulb, one to argue for the rights of the new lightbulb, and one to argue for the rights of the light socket.

Q: How many senators does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: Two to sponsor the bill and thirty-three to constitute a quorum.

Q: How many Dan Quayles does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: One, but it has to be a pretty dim bulb.

Q: How many admin assistants does it take to change a lightbulb ?
A: None. I can't do anything unless you complete a lightbulb design change request form.

Q: How many civil servants does it take to change the light bulb?
A: 45. One to change the bulb, and 44 to do the paperwork.

Q: How many anarchists does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: All of them. (Notes : An anarchic society has no one in charge; each must do for theirself. Perhaps it would help to say, "All of them. Or, none of them. Or several." BTW, I prefer "theirself" to any other construction.)

Q: How many amoebas does it take to change a lightbulb ?
A: One. No, 2. No, 4. No, 8. No, 16. No, 32.......

Q: How many anglers does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: Five, and you should've seen the light bulb! It must have been *this* big! (Gestures with arms...) Five of us were barely enough!

Q: How many archaeologists does does it take to change a lightbulb ?
A: Three. One to change it and two to argue about how old the old one is.

Q: How many preservation society members does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
A: One, but it takes a year to find an antique Edison light bulb so it'll be architecturally accurate.

Q: How many women with PMS does it take to change a light bulb?
A: One. Only ONE!! And do you know WHY it only takes ONE? Because no one else in this house knows HOW to change a light bulb. They don't even know the bulb is BURNED OUT. They would sit in this house in the dark for THREE DAYS before they figured it OUT. And once they figured it out they wouldn't be able to find the light bulbs despite the fact that they've been in the SAME CUPBOARD for the past SEVENTEEN YEARS. But if they did, by some miracle, actually find the light bulbs, TWO DAYS LATER the chair that they dragged from two rooms over to stand on to change the STUPID light bulb would STILL BE IN THE SAME SPOT!! AND UNDERNEATH IT WOULD BE THE CRUMPLED WRAPPER THE STUPID @*!#$% LIGHTBULBS CAME IN! WHY?! BECAUSE NO ONE IN THIS HOUSE EVER CARRIES OUT THE GARBAGE!! IT'S A WONDER WE HAVEN'T ALL SUFFOCATED FROM THE PILES OF GARBAGE THAT ARE 12 FEET DEEP THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE HOUSE. THE HOUSE!! IT WOULD TAKE AN ARMY TO CLEAN THIS... I'm sorry...what did you ask me?

Special thanks today to the following website for cataloging some of these and so many, many more!
http://www.eyrie.org/~thad/strange/lightbulbs.html