Have a Kool summer!

I gave Kool-Aid and straws similar to these to the 21 kids in my class. I found the idea on Pinterest and thought, "I'm going to be so clever with this cute little pun! My kids will love it!"

I should have known I'd get knocked down a bit; pride is, after all, one of the seven deadly sins. After distributing their summer gift bags, one precious little boy approached me and said, "Mrs. D.? You spelled 'cool' wrong." It wasn't nearly as "Kool" when I had to explain it.

Half a dog

I'd say "only in Oklahoma," but I think we were actually in Arkansas when we saw this truck with a dog's rear end hanging out the back window. And this was traveling at 70 miles per hour down the highway!

Teacher record day

For all of the children in our town, summer break began today. But not for teachers. I began my day at 8:30 with a faculty meeting and breakfast in the Media Center (the library, for those who haven't stepped foot in a school this century.)

Afterward, I was then required to:
*clear up disk space in my computer
*reset my screensaver
*clean up my emails
*wipe my SMARTBoard
*put my remotes, microphones, and SMARTBoard pens in a bag with my room number on it
*turn in my calculators and listening center
*file my report cards
*turn in my data sheets and grade book
*turn in my RTI and DIBELS books
*turn in my keys
*clean off my counters
*cover the shelves with butcher paper to keep out dust

As I am also reorganizing a few things, I hope to complete my checklist tomorrow. Summer may begin next week - just in time for me to start Spring cleaning at my house!

Daft

SuperD and I love British comedies, also known as BritComs. We've been watching old reruns of four shows on PBS for years on Sunday nights. Especially funny is The Vicar of Dibley, about a female vicar who comes to serve in a small village. She inherits a young verger, Alice, who is completely daft. There were only 24 episodes of The Vicar, and the following scene is my favorite.

Alice: You know that stuff that they're selling now at the local shop?
Vicar: Which stuff?
Alice: "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter".
Vicar: Oh, yes.
Alice: Well, you know, I can't believe it's not butter.
Vicar: Yeah, well, I believe that is the idea, yeah,
Alice: Then yesterday I went to Crookenden, and I bought this other stuff, like a sort of home brand. You know.
Vicar: Yes.
Alice: And, you know, I can't believe it's not "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter".
Vicar: Hmm. I'm losing you now.
Alice: Well, you know, "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter"?
Vicar: Yeah, yeah yeah. You think it is butter?
Alice: No, no. I mean, you know the stuff that I can't believe is not butter is called "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter"?
Vicar: Probably. Yeah, yeah.
Alice: Well, I can't believe the stuff that is not "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" is not "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter". And I can't BELIEVE that both "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" and the stuff that I can't believe is not "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" are both, in fact, NOT butter. And I BELIEVE they both might be butter . . . in a cunning disguise. And, in fact, there's a lot more butter around than we all thought there was.
Vicar: Yeah. You see, I don't know what you're talking about. But I'm sure God does and is intrigued by the whole thing.

Derailed

C: [stumbling from the hallway, where the laundry train was boarding] Wow!
SuperD: I know! That's a lot of laundry your mom does every week, isn't it?
C: Wow! Who knew you could trip on a bra?!

An Easter Anecdote

I awoke my son this Easter morning with, "He is risen!"

My groggy son replied, "Not yet."

Nightmares

My nightmares usually involve someone chasing me. I know once I am caught, I will die. That's scary.

But I just awoke from a nightmare that was so disturbing that I can't get back to sleep.

I arrived at school early one morning. I had left early the day before because I was sick. When I turned the corner into the 2nd grade pod, I could tell that things were not the way I left them. Someone had removed my students' work from the wall outside my classroom door. For President's Day, my kids had made campaign posters based on a four-square writing activity. Each student had written about qualities that they have which would make them a good president.

I was so proud of their work! They had used fabulous handwriting, corrected their spelling errors before the final draft, and used convincing arguments to get their constituents to vote for them. They had even made paper doll representations of themselves. (This assignment really does currently hang outside my room, and I am very proud of each poster.)

My students' work was now gone, and in its place was work from another 2nd grade class. I was livid. One of my team members had done this to me while I was at home sick! Worse yet, the wall outside her room was blank. How come she didn't use her space? Why did she invade mine? (As is the case in many dreams, things are not quite as they are in real life. This particular teacher is not really on the second grade team, but she is at my school.)

I threw down my purse and briefcase, climbed the ladder which still stood next to the wall, and began removing the other class' work. Despite my anger, I was being gentle with the artwork because I didn't want to destroy it.

A mom of one of my students yelled, "Wait!" She told me that she wasn't finished hanging the work yet. I asked her who had told her to take down the campaign posters. She mentioned the other teacher. I then began yelling at her. I screamed that she had no right to remove my kids' work from the wall. That wall is for my use, not anyone else. I ranted about how I had spent an hour with a hot glue gun, hanging each one with care. Those posters had only been there for two days before she carelessly took them down. I demanded that she put everything back the way I had left it. She had no right to do that to me, especially not was I was home sick.

I stomped into my classroom to plug in the glue gun. When I returned, she had a proud smile on her face and her daughter's campaign poster in her hand. She hadn't realized that she had been removing my students' work. She apologized. She was so sorry. Of course, I felt HORRIBLE for having yelled at her. I never display such anger. She was simply being helpful. And I had been extremely rude. How would she ever forgive me?

It was with this feeling of shame that I awoke. Some nightmare, huh? I guess in my subconscious, shame ranks right up there with fear. My conscience is often disturbed during my waking hours when I feel I have offended someone with my words or actions. I don't feel at peace until I put it right and apologize. I know it was just a dream, but my spirit is disturbed because I hadn't made it right before I woke.