A Teen Girl's Guide to Handling Parents Who Embarrass

(This is not really guest posted by my 16 year old daughter. That would be too embarrassing for her.)

If your parents love to act weird in public, like mine do, here are some tips that can help you avoid or at least ease your embarrassment.

The Perpetually Embarrassed Teenaged Daughter

1. If you are in a clothing store manned by a hot, young, male clerk, and both parents, in their best Scottish accents ask the clerk where the kilts are, busy yourself with an urgent problem on your phone and slide surreptitiously  away. If both parents then put their arms around you and tell the clerk, "The wee lassie has always wanted a bonnie kilt, " pretend you haven't heard them at all,  and in fact that you don't even belong to them.

2. If in a Mexican restaurant while you and your parents are being serenaded by strolling mariachis, and both parents punctuate the end of the last mariachi song with a grito, (which "is similar to the yeehaw of the American cowboy, except with added trills and an onomatopoeia closer to  'aaaayyyyeeee'. The first sound is typically held as long as possible, leaving enough breath for a trailing set of trills," ) use your long hair to cover your face quickly, a la Veronica Lake. You might just become unnoticeable if your entire face is swathed by your dark hair.

3. On an out of town trip, when your mother finds a truck stop bathroom so truly beautiful that she takes pictures of it and asks you to pose for the same, spin quickly around before she can get a snap of your face *gasp* INSIDE A BATHROOM.

Moms just don't understand that the only appropriate pictures taken in the bathroom and posted on Facebook are the ones you take of yourself with your new outfit and hairstyle in your OWN bathroom mirror.

4.  When you and your mom are waiting in the car for your cousin in front of the high school and your mom has the front windows lowered, make sure you have enough space to hear outside noise around your ear buds. Because when your mom spots a cat with several small kittens walking nearby and begins to MEOW at them through the open window, you will need to drop down quickly into the floorboard and blend in with the floormats. 


5.  When your mom and dad chunk up the deuces at each other and at you in the mall when you are with your friends, pretend to your friends they are hearing impaired and are using sign language to communicate with each other.

6. If one of your teachers is good friends with your mom, make sure your mom does NOT exit the car when she comes to pick you up after school, especially if she has been home sick and is wearing pajama bottoms with yeti slippers. You do appreciate the kids in your group who politely look away, though, if she does, because they understand your pain.

7. When your mom discovers text speak and starts to post things on your Facebook wall using it, make sure first of all you are quick to check your wall and even quicker to delete things on it. Then, educate your mom about what some of those abbreviations really mean.

8. But most of all, love your parents. They can't help being goofy and they love you with every molecule of their beings. Just love 'em.







I Am a Weirdo

And I say it with restrained pride. My friend Pearl likes to say, "Everyone is someone's weirdo." (If you click on her name, you can be instantly transported over to her hilarious weirdness post.) I may be a little weirder than most, though. 1. I unconsciously pick up into my own speech patterns the accents and verbal nuances of whomever I am talking with. Like conversational Silly Putty, I will lift your speech patterns and make them mine if we ever talk. And I don't even realize I'm doing it until it's too late. 2. In the locker room of my gym, I don't touch anything with my bare hands. Although it is a very clean, new locker room, I must use a paper towel to directly touch any handle or surface in there (or any locker room). 3. Bulls, large horses, and various wild animals don't bother me at all in close vicinity. However, should I spot a roach or mouse,  I will break any land speed record and leave my dignity in the dust. Just be sure to get out of my way. 4. I take my own pillow when we stay in hotels. I just can't sleep if I don't have it. 5. I like to leave little notes inside books in libraries and books stores for others to find. Just for the fun of it.

6. I talk with animals in what I imagine to be their language. That means I meow with cats, woof with dogs, moo with cattle, and whinny with horses. I even squeal with guinea pigs. And usually they talk back to me. 7. Even though I have read Where the Red Fern Grows with my students each year for 29 years and know it well enough to have large chunks of it memorized, I still cry at the end. 8. I like to dance, and much to the horror of my 16 year old daughter, if a good song comes on in the mall or grocery store, I will bust a move. 9. Even the thought of ingesting shrimp, coffee (which I've never tasted), or bananas absolutely makes my stomach turn. 10. I can and have spoken in front of a couple of thousand people without nervousness, but sometimes talking on the phone with someone I don't know makes me tremble. 'Fess up. What makes you a weirdo?

Excuses, Excuses...

Back in the days of antiquity before electronic communication obliterated the fine art of the handwritten missive, I regularly received notes from parents, usually excuses for undone homework and absences. A few gems from my collection:

*All names have been changed, but otherwise the notes are transcribed verbatim.

1. "Please excuse Mark. From being at school. He had the sh*ts all night. And then I got them to."

2. "I couldn't properly oversee Mary completing her homework last night because I was incarcerated briefly, unfortunately. While driving past a policeman parked near Darcy's Olde Time Pub, I was so taken with the beauty of a stately tree that I accidentally swerved my car once or twice. Said policeman WRONGLY assumed I was inebriated and arrested me. Therefore Mary did not finish your assignment. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to call me at xxx-xxxx. (But please do not call before noon. I feel generally unwell, so I will be in bed.)"

3. "Can't make the parent conference Friday. Supposed to be ovulating then. Please reschedule me for next week."

4. "If John acts up in class again, you have my permission to hit him. Just give him a swat and he won't give you any more problems."

5. "Rhonda did her homework last night, but when we got up this morning we saw the goat had ate it. I tryed to pull it out of her mouth, but she swallowed it right up."

6. "Jim was absent yesterday because he was sick. I enjoyed talking with you at Open House. Are you free Friday night? Maybe we could meet for dinner."

7. Chip won't be at school tomorrow. We are castrating some bulls and I need his help."

8. (While I was holding a wet book a student had just handed me, he gave me this note) "I am sorry your book got wet. Sammy left his backpack in the restroom last night and after he used it this morning and flushed, the whole toilet overflowed and soaked his backpack. Your book was in his backpack, and that's how your book got wet."

Exploding Possums and the Like

(While this story is not about me, it is about a relative. We still speak of this incident...and laugh heartily when we do.)

She was a city girl, born and raised in the urbane Dallas metroplex, all glitz and high fashion. He was country through and through, running a South Texas ranch that had been in his family over five generations.

He was uncomfortable in the city, but a range management seminar in the Fort Worth Stockyards was enough to make him drive his 4x4 Ford long bed straight through, eight hours, to the city. After the seminar, his plan was to get a good steak at a well known watering hole and head home.

She was there, too, enjoying an after work outing with friends when he walked in, lean and tall in starched indigo Wranglers, brown boots, and tooled leather belt. His taut biceps flexed involuntarily at his unease in the midst of so many people. He took off his wide brimmed Stetson and placed it carefully upside down on the chair next to him, apparently oblivious to the flat line impressed in his hair by the hat.

She was hooked, she later told him, from that moment on. As wild love stories usually go, they rode ups and some downs until they married and she ended up a new bride on that 4,000 acre South Texas ranch.

She took a job as a teacher and put her all into learning rural life skills. She was determined to prove to everyone she could be a real ranch woman, just like those pioneer women she used to read about when she was a girl.

Her lessons came quickly.

She learned to keep a rock just inside the front door of the sprawling ranch house he'd built for them. With no one looking, she'd toss it out first before stepping out, to frighten away any snakes that might be lurking nearby. She learned to keep the rooster at bay in the chicken house with a small chair, like a matador with a cape as she plucked the warm eggs out of the nests.

She also learned quickly high heeled fashion boots weren't suitable for any length of time in a stirrup, and that thick but plain Levis were better protection in riding through barbed brush than the expensive designer ones she brought with her from the city.

When he told her of an overnight trip he needed to take to a cattle auction in West Texas, she assured him she'd be fine. She had the dogs with her, and she wasn't afraid at all, she told him, although inside, her heart did shiver a little.

He made sure everything was secure before he left her with a kiss. She got home from work that afternoon, fed the dogs near their cozy homes in the back yard, and settled in for the evening.

Her first clue something was not right was when the dogs began barking ferociously. Panic rose in her like steam in a tea kettle, but she forced herself to believe it was some small critter they were after. After all, pioneer women faced much worse, she told herself.

She was relieved the next morning when she tentatively stepped out and saw nothing, nothing that is until she veered into the back yard to check the dogs. They happily greeted her with yips and jumps and then she saw what had stirred them in the night.

It was a possum. A dead possum. A dead possum already bloated and in rigor mortis.

She sighed. If she left it there, the dogs would create an even bigger mess. She looked down at her pressed slacks and silk blouse and shook her head. She could do this. This wouldn't phase her, not in the least.

She trudged off to the barn and located an impossibly heavy shovel. Her plan was to scoop the possum onto the shovel and heave it over the fence into the pasture, away from the dogs.

She felt empowered as she lifted the distended carcass upwards. This was going to be a great story to tell her man when he got home! A regular pioneer woman, she was!

She used all her might to quickly swing the shovel around and upwards, to give it enough heft over the fence.

Her arms, though, lost a little lift, the tiniest bit of power, as she struggled to make the upwards arc with the shovel.

The possum flew off the end and reality swerved cruelly.

Instead of lofting easily over the fence, the tightly stretched, swollen cadaver hit the top rail, bounced awkwardly back and landed smack against her midsection.

Exploded would be more accurate. Exploded against her midsection.

And when the Pioneer Woman certificates are awarded, she will receive hers with an additional gold star.

Shelly's Laws of the Gym (With Apologies to Murphy)

I go to my gym on a university campus five or six times a week. I enjoy it. However, like Murphy's Law, there are several, irrefutable laws that hold true each time.

1. The Sweat Flinger Law: This mandate was specifically written to ensure the man who sweats the most profusely will, in a row of empty machines, end up next to you and will be sweating so exuberantly that his sweat droplets cascade upon you like salty rain.

2. The Racing Woman Law: An intriguing piece of legislation, this calls for a woman, preferably no older than 19, who is speedy and in incredible shape, to notice each time you head to the track to run your 3.5 miles. She will then immediately stop what she is doing, head to the track after you to race you without your knowledge or consent. The law stipulates she must exert herself as if she is overtaking Usain Bolt, even though it is only the two of you on the track. A provision in the law allows you to award her a medal for repeatedly showing up a middle aged woman on the track, if you so choose.


3. The Familiar Audience Law: The beauty of this law is it guarantees that ONLY when your trainer has pushed you to the brink of death and you are whimpering with exhaustion that a group of college students who used to be your middle school students will take places in the bleachers next to the court where you are doing the last set of boot camp exercises to watch because they are so happy to have found you at the gym. A last minute rider gives bonus points if they also shout encouragement and applaud while the last vestiges of your dignity evaporate as you complete a plank exercise your trainer calls, "humping the floor" .

4. The Annoying Flirty Man Law: This law dictates that Annoying Flirty Man will continue to pelt you with his attention, even though you clearly wear your wedding ring, you do not speak to him, you do not make eye contact with him, nor do you even acknowledge his existence as you run on the treadmill. An added bonus of this law includes the man must wear tank tops and have a forest of hair peeking out of the collar and arm holes.

5. The Towel Assimilation Law: Years of unregulated towel usage necessitated this legislation. The mandate covers those times when you drop your gym issued blue towel, identical to all the other blue towels issued, beside your mat as you work on core exercises. It requires other users of the area to plop their sweat soaked towels in a pile with your towel and ignore the vast open spaces near their own mats where towels could be segregated. When you reach behind your head for your towel without looking, it ensures you will also grab the other wet towels with your own. An amendment also allows for people with the same brand bottles of water as yours, partially filled, to place their bottles so near yours that it is impossible to distinguish one from the other.

Do you have irrefutable laws of life that govern your life?

A Tumble in the Family Rankings

"It's in the old phone book in the far right drawer of the credenza, " my mom instructed. "You know, in the list."

I nodded, even though we were talking on the phone. "I remember- I'll get it and then call you."

My dad was recuperating in the hospital in a nearby city from a knee replacement surgery (and doing well) and my mom had asked me to find the phone number of their air conditioner repairman and call her with it before we headed to the hospital. She feared a leak was beginning somewhere in the ceiling with the new system they have.

As I drove to their house, I thought about the old phone book. Since my childhood, there has been some version of that book in that same drawer she described.  My parents are smart; my mom is a retired teacher and my dad is a retired school superintendent, and normally they are well organized in all they do. Except...except for the phone book.

Rather than get a PDA, or even a formal address book, they use one of their phone books to write in phone numbers; phone numbers of people in descending order of importance to contact in case of emergencies, phone numbers of out of town people belonging to various organizations they are in, phone numbers of various repairmen and tractor parts stores, etc. Thus, my trek down to find the number of their air conditioner man.

Although I hadn't seen the book in years, I went right to the drawer where I knew it would be and pulled out the latest incarnation of the book. I scanned the inside the front cover and saw the names and numbers of people from their church and from their 50th high school reunion. Other numbers were written in the margin, but not the one I was looking for.

I flipped to the back inside cover. There was the "Emergency Contacts" list. It was so long it was stapled on and consumed several sheets of paper. Before I even read it, I puffed up a bit, knowing that I would be at the top of that list. After all, I am the oldest child in my family, I gave them their first grandchildren, I am the executor of their will, I went to their alma mater...

However, at the top of the list was my husband's name and number, followed by that of my children. Then, my siblings' numbers as well as those of their families. Then, my aunts and uncles and some cousins. Hmmm.

I kept reading. Their doctors' numbers were next, then their pastor's number, then the neighbor five miles down the road. Then came the tractor salesman, the number of the neighbor of the Amish enclave where they buy chickens, and the number of a man who does custom hay baling. Now, we were bleeding over onto another page.

There was the vet's number, the feed store number, the Dell hotline number, and then the one I was looking for; the air conditioner repairman's number.

But where was mine??? I reminded myself this didn't matter. My parents make it obvious they love us all equally. This was nothing in the grand scheme of things. I continued.

There was the number to the Help Desk at Walmart, the customer service number at NetFlix, and the garden supply store. A number for a scrap metal place and one for the local cotton gin followed.

I continued scanning until I eventually spotted mine, wedged between the number for Subway takeout and the automated line for movie listings.

And. my. name. was. misspelled.

Instead of Shelly it was "Selly".

I am puffed up no more! Prideful of my first born position no longer! But I did leave one change in the book. When they open it again, they will find SHELLY written in one inch block letters at the very top of the list. In red. And underlined. Not that it matters or anything...

Here We Go 'Round the Jury Pool...

Not allowed to speak during the voir dire of the jury selection process. Confined to 1930's era seating with less leg room than most coach airline seats. My knees jammed into a decidedly unladylike position at the opposite edges of the curved, metal seat back in front of me. Long hours ticking away. My attention drifts to the fellow, unnamed jury panel members around me...

1. Ms. Perfect Hair- Your waist length hair is gorgeous. I would like to transplant your hair onto my head. I imagine all the ways I would style it should it magically appear on my head someday.

2. Mr. Rebel With a Death Wish- The unamused judge has already admonished us sternly about switching cell phones to off. Do you really think this is the 7th grade as you sit several down from me in our third row, holding your phone nonchalantly under one leg and firing off texts? You won't get a detention slip if you get busted. That Goliath sized bailiff with the shiny handcuffs at his belt won't hesitate to show you the real meaning of detention.

3. Ms. TMI- We're all a little nervous at being grilled by the already contentious defense and prosecution teams, but I feel really badly for you at the depth of detail you disclosed in a torrent of words when asked how you knew a certain witness. I'm pretty sure they didn't need to know all that...and THAT...and ESPECIALLY...t-h-a-t.

4. Mr. Tattoos R Me- I've had extended hours over two days to copiously study the anarchy A tats on your earlobes, the full sleeves on both your arms, and the fresh, albeit slightly crooked YOLO inked on the back of your neck. The way your skin reddens when you startle from your slump as the D.A. asks you if you are awake provides a vibrant backdrop to this acronym for You Only Live Once, which according to the Urban Dictionary is mainly used to "defend doing something ranging from mild to extreme stupidity." Ahem.

5. Ms. I Have Great Taste in Shoes- Those are killer heels. I ITCH wanting to find out where you've gotten them. (Uhmmm, considering the nature of this trial, perhaps I should use another adjective for the heels.)

6. Mr. I Love to Firmly Hold My Junk in My Hand- You are sitting right next to me.  I built a mental wall to block you out of my peripheral vision. It's not like it's going to run away, you know.

7. Mr. I'm a Good Daddy- I melted when I saw two tiny heart frames with pictures of adorable kids in them attached to the key chain hanging off your belt loop.

8. Mr. I Defy Description- You are one of the older members of the jury panel, and I am intensely curious about your back story. Your long, gray hair is pulled back into a sparse ponytail and you wear a pair of khaki, ankle length shorts topped by a multi-hued cowboy shirt with shiny pearl buttons. Your lime green Crocs- do they make a statement about your personal style or love of comfort? You are unflappable as you surreptitiously work the New York Times crosswords, neatly folded on a clipboard you've pulled from your boxy, metal briefcase.




As we are finally released like weary dandelion seeds into a stiff wind, I thank you, fellow jury panel members. Life is only boring if you choose it to be.

Riding on the Boy Bus

It had to happen. Just as when you haven't been picked for jury duty for years, and the summons is on its way in the mail... it's that little feeling that tickles at the base of your skull, near the pituitary, and works its way up. Your turn's next.

I had that feeling before I even got to the buses. On larger field trips, the students are separated by gender: boys on one bus, girls on the other. The girl bus is rank with privilege: good smells, lady-like laughter, and enjoyable conversation about shoes, makeup and clothes. The boy bus is...well...jammed with 13 and 14 year old boys. On this field trip to visit area universities, I drew the boy bus. My turn had finally found me.

I love my male students and female students equally. I enjoy the direct communication style of boys; their take charge attitudes, and their budding gentlemanliness. But the boy bus is...well...the boy bus. I was to be the only female on board this day on a lengthy field trip. I had some misgivings, but I pasted on a smile, even as I glimpsed my colleagues jovially laughing on the girl bus, and resolved to make the best of it.

I learned some things.

On the boy bus:

1. In your instructions to the boys as you are leaving the school, as you try to delicately broach the subject of controlling body odors (because of a prior bus incident found here) and fumble for words, the straightforward boys will understand when one raises his hand and says, "Oh, you mean for us not to fart too much?"

2. In preface to a question as to why a certain girl might act like she does, a boy across the aisle asks you, "You used to be a girl, right, Mrs. M.?"

3. The boy who is sitting immediately behind you begins his conversation with you like this, at approximately 30 decibels louder than normal conversation,  "IgotupSUPERSUPERearlythismorning!Howhasyourmorningbeen?Huh?Huh?OMG!OMG!WearegoingtohaveSOSOSOmuchfunonthisfieldtrip!!!" You see three Venom drinks in his open backpack (super-caffeinated energy drinks) and the empty cans of another two. You pick up the three and hide them away.

4. The boys have won a behavior incentive and get to choose the radio station that will be playing on the bus stereo system. They have chosen a heavy metal station whose catchphrase is "Loud and Proud, 24/7" and covers even the 7:30 AM hour. The air guitars and air drums being played all over the bus do provide a respite of entertainment from the battering ram active inside your head.

5. As you near the first university, a faint odor whiffles past your nose. It is only moments later, though, when a runaway train of smells barrels through your sinuses. Behind watering eyes and a narrowing throat, you investigate and find at least 12 boys liberally spraying themselves, their arm pits, and even their shoes with all manner of manly body sprays and colognes. Hair gel is being passed around and all variations of spikes are coaxed from short hair styles. In answer to your choked inquiry as to why, they smile and one answers, "College girls!"

6. On the return trip, allow yourself to become an active participant in conversations about Hemi diesel engines, which rims are the best for a Ford F150 truck, and how much torque is required to really pull a trailer up the hill near the school. Wantonly sprinkle the conversation with words like head gasket and turbocharger without regard or knowledge as to even what part of speech they are.

7. You imagine you are swimming in a sea of testosterone while they talk excitedly about the newest line of Case tractors, the great scope one of the dads got for a hunting rifle, and why A-Rod costs his team too much money. Look at your cute shoes and let your mind longingly spin what you could have been talking about on the girl bus, all the while nodding your head and pretending to understand what they are talking about.

8. Smile when one boy tells you he's glad you rode the bus with them because, "You're cool!" and other boys nod, smile, say thank you, and express their appreciation on the way out of the bus.

The boy bus...is...well...maybe not so bad after all.

Bits O' Wisdom

There is wisdom in everyday life we often miss. These are tiny bits I've gleaned here and there I hope will enrich your life.

1. In the dark of the early morning, when you step out the back door into the pitch darkness, make sure the sweet cat you are talking to in your meow voice and reaching down to pet is actually a cat. It's a different feeling altogether when the large, fuzzy shape rubbing near your leg turns out to be a POSSUM instead of the cat.

2. Realize that when you read a poetry passage to 8th graders that includes the phrase "city shapes", it is all too easy to switch the first sounds of the two words if you are reading rapidly. Your 8th graders will never forget that poem, either.


3. When in a clothing store with your friend, and she picks up a top and makes a very bawdy joke that has something to do with anyone wearing it needing to find employment as a streetwalker, have a convenient hole to crawl into when a third friend walks out from a rack just behind you two and is wearing the same top.

4. It is the twelfth hour of a two day, 12 hour school board workshop on school finance, and you have actually dropped into a quick doze while sitting at the table. Be snappy with the explanation that you were just meditating on the previous point when the presenter asks you for your opinion on the point of law he's just covered. Your fellow school board members will awaken themselves quickly enough to agree with you.


5.  When you are running with your middle school girls' fitness class along the country roads surrounding your school, and you spot a still-wrapped condom on the side of the road,  don't congratulate yourself too quickly when you covertly kick it into the ditch as you run past. Don't be surprised, either, when at the end of your run as you are talking with the principal in the gym, an innocent 6th grader comes up and says, "Ma'am, you dropped this on our run, " and hands you the same condom you kicked into the ditch.


What bits of wisdom do you have for us today? Don't be shy!

Show and Tell

Just as surely as the elephant herds migrate through the Serengeti, the teachers began their daily trek from the cafeteria across the playground back to the classrooms after lunch. The new first grade teacher, Amy, lingered behind, feeling the effects of eating a yogurt and salad in 19 minutes flat, the full teacher lunch period.

The middle school boys enjoyed their rowdy game of football near the sidewalk. Amy jumped to the side to avoid an errant pass. "Boys, be careful!" she called. Her stomach felt queasy, and another tiny flutter at her belly gave her pause. She kept moving, though, glad that show and tell was next on the agenda after lunch instead of an involved lesson.

The fluttering at her belly gave way abruptly and she felt an odd weight at her ankles. Her horror at what lay at her feet was amplified by the large crowd of teenaged boys chasing around her. There, puddled at her shoes, was her black, lacy slip, newly bought from the lingerie department at JC Penney.

Her languid thought patterns erupted to full strength in a nanosecond. Before any of the middle school crowd saw, she kicked the slip under the bushes to her right, hardly breaking stride. She'd have to retrieve it much later, after school, when no one was around.

Amy rounded the corner to her room and heaved a sigh of relief and thankfulness that she'd dodged that bullet. What a day. Fridays always seemed veer in different directions than the other days of the week.The first graders soon flooded into the room. She checked the roster of who had something for show and tell this week.

First, there was Samantha, who told a tale about her chubby baby brother. Then there was Mikey,  as unpredictable as a tornado. Still in recent memory was the time he brought one of his dad's hidden magazines for show and tell.  Amy leaped higher over a desk than she thought possible that day to intercept it just before Mikey unfurled the centerfold. This time, though, he only had a shiny toy truck to display.

Teresa was next and showed how her mom had French braided her hair. Brandon was the final one. Brandon was a forgetful yet imaginative boy who often came to school with his hair pointed in wild directions, looking as if he had just rolled out of bed. He usually forgot to bring anything for show and tell, so Amy asked, "Honey, did you remember to bring something today?"

Brandon nodded excitedly, clutching his backpack tightly to his chest. "Yes, yes, I have something really special!" he exclaimed. He stepped carefully to the front of the room. All eyes were on him as he set his backpack down and slowly reached into its depths. Like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, he drew forth his prize with a flourish and held it over his head for all to see.

"It's a pirate ship flag! I found it by the bushes on the playground! They must have lost it!" he happily shared as he waved it over his head, to the delighted oohs and ahhs of his classmates.

It could have been.

It could very well have been a flag for a pirate ship, if pirates used lacy, black nylon fabric with an elastic waistband for their flags.

Midnight Cowgirl

Ahhhhh. Friday night.

Hubby is at work and you have nothing on the agenda after your run. All that's left is to take Teenaged Daughter into town to watch a movie with her friends and you are home free to read to your heart's content, an unfettered luxury. You savor your steaming shower, don your softest , fluffiest pajamas and set out your book and a mug for hot tea, then arrange the pillows on the sofa for optimum reading pleasure upon your return from town. You take a deep breath and love the way your hair smells after the deep conditioning treatment you've just given it.

Teenaged Daughter is ready to go and you slip on your old flip flops and you both hop into the car. As the garage door opens, you are taken a little aback at the coolness of the air, crisp as a ripe apple, but no worry because your journey will not even cause you to exit the car. You silently giggle inside as you enjoy the ride into town with Teenaged Daughter. It's been many months since the last Friday night date you had with a good book.

Clouds darker than the night sky cloak the stars and moon and you are even more thankful on your way home you will just have to jump out of the car and into the house. If this evening had come gift wrapped, it could not be better.

Without the natural nocturnal illumination, things are dark indeed, you think as you turn into your long driveway from the farm road leading to your house. You know every turn and bump in this road so are not paying special attention to your surroundings when you realize something is not right. Off to the left of the driveway there...something is moving; something large.

Your breath becomes snagged in your throat as you see not one large shape, but many, all moving on the west side of your front lawn. Your headlights pan over the group and it is a sizable portion of your cattle herd, escaped from the pasture, making merry in your newly planted beds of bluebonnets.

Your brain quickly computes. If the cattle make it down the driveway and into the road, it could be days before they are caught again and the oil trucks that routinely ignore the speed limits on the road could very well have disastrous encounters with them. Your parents, who are your closest neighbors, are away. The next closest neighbors live miles away, too far to help now.  Hubby's work is an hour away. You are the only hope for righting this situation.

You see the bull who is acting as the leader of this group. He is slinging his head and trotting, looking as though he was born for insurrection. You jump from the car and run through the dark in your weak plastic flip flops to cut off his path to the road. One shoe comes off your foot, but you plow on through unknown rocky ground.

He sees you and turns away from the road, racing past you with the whole group chasing him, galloping like a bunch of teens who have just rolled a house. You bare foot brushes against a cactus in the chase and the sting of the needles forces you to pause and grimace. The stragglers at the back of the herd are just running past you now and several of them stomp hard in a bog of loose mud that liberally showers you.

Miraculously, you step on your lost shoe in the dark and slip it back on. You have to get to the closest gate and open it before they get there. You take the shortcut through the back yard and although your aching foot is slowing you, it is not stopping you. You see something creeping in the grass about 15 yards in front of you but can't tell what it is and continue your mad dash.

Too late, you see the white stripe down its back. You are already far enough past it that you do not take a direct hit when the skunk unleashes its defense against the chaos, but the proximity of the stink causes you to gag. You do not break stride, though, and grab the gate just as you see the bull rounding the turn in the road.

You rip at the chain, losing three of the French tipped acrylic nails you got at the salon the day before. The gate swings open and you step back to allow them to run through, which they do, gradually slowing. Your heart is still beating a blistering tempo as the last one disappears into the blackness of the pasture.

You wipe your mudspattered face and limp back to the gate to secure it. Just as you reach it, your foot slides forward with crazy quickness and you are completely upended. Your head is cushioned by something soft when you hit the ground. It takes no more than a split second to realize you have landed in cow poop, which now coats your posterior and the back of your head, providing a contrast to the darker mud which has decorated your front. You don't even bother to pry the errant flip flop from the cow patty as you spot the break in the fence that allowed their escape and apply a temporary fix as best you can.

Limping back down the driveway to the house, you noticed the still night air has only amplified the skunk's pungency as you head to the water faucet to try and clean up. You have not even started when your cell phone rings, signaling Teenaged Daughter is ready to be picked up from the movies.


Ohhhh. Friday night.

Middle School Wisdom

Words of wisdom from middle schoolers who have been there, done that. Listen wisely, Grasshopper, lest you repeat the same errors.

1. If you are crazy hungry, and chocolate is your thing, be careful if you find the librarian's stash of chocolate brownie Fiber One bars. When you take four of them and eat them all at once during the passing period, your sins will betray you soon in the form of multiple and urgent trips to the bathroom.

2. Dye a wild blue streak in your hair. When your principal sends you home with the admonition to not come back until it's a natural hair color, dye it  blonde. Then, when your friends tell you "it just doesn't look like you", dye it jet black. Do not let it surprise you when your hair that is now the texture of aged straw falls out in chunks. But don't despair. The bald look might become the new in thing.

3. You see rappers on MTV who have shaved sections of their eyebrows off. You replicate their deed, because come on, face it, rappers are the shizz and the arbiters of high fashion. You get to school and are pulled into the principal's office. Your dad arrives at school after the principal's call to him. He has strong words to say about your rappers. He asks the principal for a black Sharpie marker. She gives him one. Your dad then colors in your eyebrows with the black Sharpie. It is a risky move to let your dad color in your eyebrows when he's angry because now you are a dead ringer for Groucho Marx.

4. You know your teacher has serious rodent trauma. She's told your class how she freaks when she sees one. Do not be surprised, then, when you decide to prank her by putting a realistic plastic rat on her desk chair that she steps on both your feet  hard as she runs screaming past you out the classroom door.

5. You sneak a forbidden cell phone into class and hide it in the left side of your bra. You congratulate yourself in first period math class because you even remembered to turn the ringer off. Think quickly when you realize the phone is set to vibrate and that it does so repeatedly until the teacher stops teaching and stares at you. Tell her you had a heart pacemaker installed over the weekend and that's what is actually doing the vibrating. Those teachers are gullible. They'll believe anything you tell them.

6.  Become aware after class has started that someone around you has stepped in dog poop on the way to school. People are sniffing and contorting their faces in disgust. Crack a loud joke about what kind of a loser steps in dog poop and doesn't even know it. As the teacher tracks the dog poop from the door straight to your desk, peek at the bottom of your shoe and  realize that loser is YOU.

7.  You are naive and you look up to your older brother who is full of worldly knowledge. When your teacher assigns the class to write a poem near Valentine's Day, ask your brother's help in finding just the right word to describe a unique present a boy can give to a girl to win her love. When you read the poem in class and the teacher turns red and gasps and some of the other kids snicker in shock, take the time to realize you shouldn't have been so trusting. Your teacher hands you a dictionary and you know then your prankster brother has actually given you a word that describes a very specific sexual act.

Learn from the stories of those who have gone before you, wise middle schoolers. Ignore not the lessons from the past.

The Mice Who Fell From the Sky

The dream always begins the same. I am on a steeply inclined road, laboring to ascend. It gets harder and harder to scale, and as I move upwards, the sun quickly sets and leaves me in near darkness. I feel movement on the ground, although I cannot see what it is. The movement continues up onto my feet and climbs up my legs. I pull something off and reel in horror as I meet its beady eyed stare. They are mice, columns and hordes and undulating masses of gray, naked tailed mice. They begin to rain down on me from the sky, and I startle myself awake.

I've never thought this nightmare was prescient, but I am considering changing my mind.

Last month, I was with my class in the workroom area of our main building, built as part of FDR's New Deal in the 1930's. It is full of character, but also full of little holes in the ceilings and baseboards. We were picking up some supplies to take back to our room when I heard a scratching, scattering sound from above. A dark, furry blob dropped from a small hole in the ceiling and a mouse exploded to life on the counter in front of me. Like a spinning top on jet fuel, it zipped willy nilly up and down and all around. My students told me later the mouse scaled the wall  back up to the little hole it dropped out of and disappeared. I was not there to witness it as I was already running down the hall faster than I ever imagined I could in heels.

Two days ago, I stepped out of my building. The wind blew gustily and I was glad I was wearing warm boots. Something no less than the goodness of God made me pause at the top of the steps. A dark object plummeted millimeters past my nose and plopped to the ground between my boot toes. It didn't move, which made me think for a moment it was a rock or something that had blown off the roof of the building. That idea was dispelled, though, when the little MOUSE picked it self up, did a woozy little circle between my feet and scooted off into a hole under the steps. The last part, though, I could not verify from my new vantage point atop the highest stair railing.

I hope to dream of Manolo Blahnik shoes tonight. Because, well, you know, if the things in  my dreams are going to be dropping on me from the skies...

Poop Happens

Warning: There is a gross element to this story. I hesitated to write this, but find it oddly fascinating  the lengths some people will go to in order to achieve their misbegotten goals.

Holiday shoppers had already packed the Hobby Lobby, even though it was barely 8 AM on a Saturday morning.  My usual plan was in force- get in and get out with everything I needed as quickly as I could.

As I rounded the corner near the floral arrangements, I noticed a woman dressed smartly in white capris and an expensive top. Her jacket was also quite chic. I squeezed past her and the others in the aisle to make my way to the check out area.

Long lines already clogged each register, so I settled in to wait and watch the folks around me.

As I idled in line,  loud voices resonated from the back of the store. They seemed to be getting closer. Probably people getting irritated with each other in the shopping crush, I thought.

My line had just begun to inch forward when the cacophony spilled out of an aisle near me and escalated. To my surprise, it was the woman in the white capris arguing loudly with a tall man who had a store manager tag on his shirt. "Ma'am, you must come with me, now!" he said firmly.

"I will NOT go anywhere with you!" she screeched, pulling her arm away from him. She clutched her other arm across the front of her now zipped jacket.

"Ma'am, we saw what you took. You are not leaving this store. You must come with me to security now!" He put a firm hand on her elbow.

"Get your hands off me! I'll have you know my husband is an attorney and we will sue you!" As she yelled in his face, a glue gun dropped out of the bottom of her jacket.

He clasped her arm tighter and began pulling her with him. Another manager came to help. More craft items spilled from her jacket as she dug in her heels and refused to follow.

"Let go of me!" she demanded. "My husband is a very important person- I'll have you arrested!"

"Ma'am, please don't make this any more difficult on yourself. We have you on tape," he said evenly.

Several unpainted wooden reindeer toppled out of her jacket onto the floor.

His grasp on her arm momentarily slipped as a couple of fluffy snowmen fell out, too, and joined the reindeer on the floor.

She took this opportunity to make a dash for the front door. The taller manager was quick and grabbed her around the waist as she struggled. "I'm calling the police," she howled.

"We've already called them ma'am, and they're on their way," he said calmly as she worked to free herself from his grasp. Several crystal ornaments dropped from the bottom of her jacket and broke on the floor.

She was petite, but her physical strength in this wrestling match amazed all of us in the now quiet store. She made one last desperate heave to pull herself free, lost her balance, and took both of them to the floor. The manager still kept his hold on her as she flailed and kicked. The other manager stood like a deer in the headlights at the sight.

She pulled one last, toxic weapon out of her arsenal. Red faced and cursing, she stopped struggling for a moment. Onlookers stared in horror as a large brown stain appeared on the seat of her capris and leaked onto the floor. She wailed, "Look what you made me do!" She thrashed again, coating the front of the manager's shirt with it.

Despite the virulent attack, he maintained his clench with her until the police arrived. After they took her out in handcuffs, the manager straightened his glasses, took a deep breath, and looked down at his soiled shirt and the mess on the floor.

I don't know who started it, but first one customer, then a few more, and then most of us loudly applauded as he walked to the intercom and said, "Clean up to the front of the store."

To Catch an Elf

Caleb is 23 years old and has Down's Syndrome. He works as a grocery clerk and is fastidious about the excellence of his work.

A charming aspect of Caleb is that while he is very rooted in the real world and understands handling his money, taking care of himself and being a productive citizen, he also still loves the fantasy part of childhood. He has known the truth about Santa Claus for many years, but continues to believe in his heart of hearts that Santa really does exist and that his North Pole workshop is a busy place all the year round.

Caleb decided earlier this year that it was time for him to experience life on his own. He dialogued with his parents for months about having his own apartment. Initially reluctant, his parents painstakingly worked out a plan for Caleb and spent another several months going over all the aspects with him. When they were satisfied this was going to be a viable lifestyle for him, his mother reminded him of her most important rule. "Caleb, when I call you, you have to answer, no matter what. I will be very worried about you if I call and you do not answer the phone."

"Mom, don't worry about me. I will always answer the phone for you," he assured her.

Caleb had been in his new apartment less than a mile away from his parents for several weeks and the transition was amazingly smooth. He answered promptly every time they called, took good care of himself and his apartment, and continued to work very hard at his job.

One Saturday morning, his mother called Caleb and the phone rang until it went to voice mail. She waited 15 minutes, called again, and had the same result.  Growing concerned, she waited another 15 minutes, and when she called this time and still had no answer, she grabbed her purse and headed to the car to drive to his place.

On the way over, she called him again. This time, he answered.

"Caleb, what is happening? I've been so worried! I've been calling you and you haven't answered!"

Caleb was a little breathless but sounded in high spirits. "Don't worry, Mom. I'm OK. I answered it now."

"What were you doing?" she inquired with some worry.

"Well, Mom, I was busy. I was catching an elf," he informed her.

His mother knew all too well of Caleb's firm belief in the real Santa Claus and his helpers.

"An elf? Caleb, are you sure?"

"Yes, Mom. I caught an elf," he repeated.

"I'm almost there, son. We'll talk more then."

His mother could not imagine what scenario would be awaiting her, but it gave her comfort that Caleb sounded well and happy.

The first thing she noticed upon arriving at Caleb's apartment was that the front door was slightly ajar. Her heart raced a little faster as she pushed it opened. Her stomach did a flip flop as she walked into the living room and saw complete chaos. Furniture was overturned, a lamp was broken, and paper was scattered on the floor.

"Caleb!" she yelled.

"Mom, I'm in the kitchen fixing a sandwich. Come on in, " he called back to her.

She zipped into the kitchen and her heart fell even further when she saw the disarray there. A chair was upside down, some plates had fallen to the floor, and the table was catty corner to its usual position.

"Oh, honey, what has happened?"

Caleb turned from the counter where he was building his sandwich. His blond hair was disheveled and he was sweating. He grinned. 'I told you, Mom, I was catching an elf! He's supposed to be at the North Pole right now, so I wanted to keep him safe for Santa."

His mother's mind raced, trying to make sense of the scene and his words.

"Can you explain to me a little more? I'm just not understanding," she implored.

Caleb put down the sandwich and took his mom's hand gently, as if she were a small child. "Mom, I caught an elf. It was a lot of work, and now I'm hungry, so I'm making a sandwich," he explained to her slowly.

Deciding to go with the flow, his mother asked, "OK. Then where is the elf?"

Caleb pointed to the closet, which had a chair jammed under the door handle. "He's in there, Mom!"

His mother eyed the door warily. She drew closer and heard muffled noises from within and the door knob rattled.

"Be careful, Mom. He's fast for an old guy."

She took a deep breath and pulled the chair away from the door. She pulled it open.

There, red faced and in a corner of the closet, was an older man who was a dwarf. He had a white goatee. He was also spitting mad.

The story that unfolded was that this man had been knocking on doors and passing out tracts for the Jehovah Witnesses. He asked Caleb if he could come in and that's when the action commenced.

After much explaining and talking, the elderly dwarf was convinced not to press charges. Caleb now knows that elves have to go free and will find their way back to Santa on their own.

Caleb chuckles when people try to explain to him that Santa isn't real. He's had the proof right there in his kitchen. Sometimes the regular people in his life aren't too swift, but he loves them anyway.

The Quirks Have Taken Control

My mind has its quirks, there is no doubt. Usually, though, I can contain these quirks with the aim of living a useful and polite life. Sometimes, though, sometimes, the quirks overtake me and reveal themselves.

Yesterday, I was delighted to not have a long wait at the nail salon. The woman who does my nails is wonderful at her job, but does not usually visit or socialize with her clients other than to find out only the most necessary information. She spends most of the time she works on my nails talking on the phone. I have no gripes with that, as she is an excellent nail artist. I cannot understand what she is saying on the phone as she is speaking a language I assume to be Vietnamese or Cambodian. It is a lovely language, full of soft blends and gentle consonants. Yesterday as she worked on my nails, I let my mind wander to what she was speaking.

It sounded like this, "Whum sha fo shum sh*t sh*t." Huh? my ears perked up and I listened carefully.

"Shu sha lo hum sh*t sh*t," she warbled into the phone.

Her tone took a serious turn. "Hu fo shem li sh*t sh*t SH*T!" she spat.

Then I felt it, The quirk was taking over and I couldn't stop it! No, no, not now, you quirk!

I tried, but the quirk was more powerful than I. It started deep in my belly and before I knew it came out of my mouth with an almost deafening roar. "BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!"

And then I couldn't quit laughing. It startled her enough that she put the phone down, stopped the work on my nails and quietly looked at me.

That made the quirk even stronger and I laughed and laughed until tears squeezed out of my eyes. I was breathless and red faced by the time the quirk acquiesced.

Embarrassed is not a deep enough word to describe how I felt in the aftermath.

This is not the only time the quirk has overtaken me.

In grad school, I took a linguistics class at night.

This class was important to my degree and I knew I was privileged to be in this class because the professor only took on a small number each semester and was a well known scholar. I wanted to wring every bit of knowledge I could out of this class.

Apparently the professor came to this class immediately after he ate his supper. He had a habit of belching, not burping, but BELCHING whenever he felt the gas from his meal rising up through his digestive tract.

"Tonight we will be discussing *BELCH* the rise of the Indo-European *BELCH*...."

 I'm sure you get the idea.

The first few times it happened, I was shocked and embarrassed for him. The next few times, I looked around at my classmates to see how they were reacting. They obviously wanted to stay in his good graces because they showed no reaction at all, their faces painted with pseudo-Mona Lisa smiles a jackhammer couldn't have chipped off.

One night midway through the semester, after almost three straight hours of listening to the belch-speak, my quirk started to exert control. What had seemed disgusting to me before now seemed more and more humorous.

I imagined painful things, like walking barefoot through burning, broken glass to try and distract my quirk. My belly jumped in tiny spasms. I put my hand over my forehead and leaned into it, rubbing my temples in a last ditch effort to assuage the quirk.

"Don't forget, *BELCH* your midterm *BEEELLLLLLCCHHHHH*..." and with that last extended expulsion, it was over.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!" my quirk released from me. I couldn't stop.

My classmates didn't share my mirth at the situation. They sat, open mouthed, in feigned shock at my rudeness. If small Puritan hats had been available that night, I'm sure they would have rushed to don them, so great was their righteous indignation at my outburst.

Their pinch faced disapproval at my laughing spell only infused strength into my quirk and I hee-hawed all the harder.  I finally regained control by leaving the otherwise completely silent room.

I would have left the building completely, but my purse and my books were still in the room. When I finally worked up a serious enough face to go back in, my professor looked me in the eye and said, "I suppose I should eat dinner earlier. My apologies."

I wanted to dig a hole in the floor and remain there the rest of the semester.

I try to keep control of my quirks, but sometimes they overpower me.

What about you? Do you have any quirks that cause you social discomfort?

How to Entertain Your Teacher on a Field Trip

Dude, listen up. If you're a teenager going on a field trip, especially a 13 hour one, here are some cool things you can do to entertain your teachers. Those teachers work hard for you, and they deserve some fun in their lives.

1. In the dark hours of the morning before the sun has come up, open the sack lunch your mom made for you. Pry open the sandwich, see that it is tuna, decide you don't want it, and stick the sandwich under your seat. Later on in the day, when the temperature is over 100 and the bus air conditioner has quit working, your teacher will have a great time searching for what is creating that crazy smell.

2. With a group of your friends, sing The Lazy Song by Bruno Mars over and over and over and over and over again until it sticks so well in your teachers' brains they cannot get it out of their heads and are haunted by it. They need good music in their lives, too.

3. Especially if you are male, engage your other male classmates in a silent-but-deadly fart off contest. It is automatic disqualification if any one makes a noise with it. Your teacher will appreciate you keeping those around you quiet.

3. In the restroom of the museum, wait until your teacher is fully engaged in her stall. Then, loudly yell out, "OMG! Annie just walked out of the museum with a strange man!" Annie is your best friend in the 8th grade and you don't want to see harm come to her. When your teacher bolts out of the bathroom stall, wild-eyed, and Annie walks out of another stall in the bathroom, just shrug and say, "Oops, my bad. Must have been someone else." Teachers need more excitement in their lives.

4. In the middle of a freeway you and your class are having to cross on foot in one of the largest cities in the U.S., stop in the center of the freeway, place your folder between your knees and take your jacket off to readjust it. Move slowly when your teacher implores you to hurry. Your rural upbringing has made you savvy to the ways of traffic in large cities and you want your teacher to know you are mature enough to handle it.

5. Repeatedly motion to passing 18 wheelers to honk their loud diesel horns. This will break up the monotony of a quiet bus and your teacher will appreciate you keeping it lively.

6. If a classmate in the back of the bus throws up in the aisle, stare at it as it sloshes past long enough so that you throw up, as well. Your teacher will be happy that her lesson about empathy for others has taken hold in your heart.

7. When your bus driver drops your group off at a Jack in the Box that is a gathering place for scary/homeless/tranny/crackheads, smile widely at some of the citizens therein while your teachers organize the back of the line. When one approaches you and begins talking nonsense, remember your teacher's admonition to you not to talk to strangers. Reach in your backpack and find the information paper on the field trip you were supposed to have given your mom, you know, the one with your teacher's personal cell phone number on it. Give it to the crackhead tranny, because this person probably just wants information on your trip.

8. Later, on the bus ride home, when your teacher's cell phone rings and she becomes agitated, hangs up, and asks who gave a crackhead her phone number, let her know that it is probably the cool person you met at the Jack in the Box. She's been teaching you all about characterization, and she will be happy that you found a very interesting person to write about.

9. Write a note of thanks to your teachers for taking you and your classmates on the field trip and get everyone to sign it. You've had a great day and you want them to know it.

10. Smile widely when you see how much it has melted their hearts.

Teacher Gaffes

In honor of school starting this month in many places, I'm including some real, unadulterated gaffes by teachers I have known. Certainly, none of them would have been made by me...ahem...well, I'm not telling. You'll just have to make a guess as to which one is mine and mine alone.

1. A high school senior English teacher had only a few minutes to run to the restroom between classes. She hurled herself into the bathroom and got the job done speedily. She congratulated herself that she took pantyhose to be a literal meaning and didn't have panties to pull up, thus saving even more time. She hustled down the hall and was relieved to see she made it back on schedule. She flew into her lesson with gusto and noticed the students seemed to more animated than usual. She took it to mean she was truly inspiring them, and that fed her Shakespearean fervor.

She soon noticed that every time she turned her back to the class to write on the board students in the front began gasping and turning red, while others covered their mouths with eyes stretched wide. At that point, another teacher came in to deliver a paper. The second teacher quickly grabbed her arm and jerked her outside into the hall. The English teacher said, "What's going on?" The second teacher disappeared behind her and strongly tugged at the English teacher's skirt. It was only then she realized the entire back of her skirt was tucked into her pantyhose, giving her seniors a whole new meaning to backstory.

2. Another teacher went along as a sponsor on a field trip which took students and teacher for a lunch break at a pizza establishment. It was resplendent with the latest loud video games and arcades as well as giant slices of pizza. It was so noisy that when it came time to depart the teacher had to get behind each student at the games and almost yell into their ears that it was time to go. Finally, one student remained, a fellow with some emotional problems. He required much coaxing and responded well to gentle, sweet talk. This teacher always peppered her speech with Honey, Darlin', and Sweetheart when she spoke with him to keep him calm and compliant.

She got up close to his ear and said, "Come on, darlin', it's time to get on the bus with me. I've got some really fun things planned for us, sweetheart. You are going to be so excited to see what comes next! Hurry, honey, don't make me wait!" He turned around with a huge grin on his face and it was then the teacher realized this was not her student but a small man who had been playing the video games. He continued to follow the teacher and seek out the good time he had been promised for as long as the teacher remained in the pizza place.

3. Slam Books are an ugly harbinger of adolescence. In these homemade books, someone will write the name of a different student at the top of each page and other students will then write a comment about the student underneath, sometimes nice, but most of the time not.

A teacher confiscated one of these and read through it after class.  She noticed many cruel comments and was aghast. It made her feel better, though, when she came to one page for a student named Danny. It warmed her heart to see that so many comments were about his pet.

"Danny plays with his weasel all the time," and "He's obsessed with his weasel," and "Danny's always got his hand around his weasel." She had never known a student to have a pet weasel and was intrigued.

The next day when Danny came to class, the teacher told him she'd heard he had a pet weasel. "Danny, I've never known anyone with a pet weasel and I hear you take such good care of yours. Could you bring it to class one day to show everyone? It must be pretty tame because you handle it so much. I'd really like to see it." Danny's horrified expression and the outburst of raucous laughter from the class made her realize she'd stumbled onto a new euphemism.

And now for the final story, dear readers.

4. A social studies teacher spiffed herself up for picture day, wearing a lovely white blouse that she felt accentuated her curvy figure. She took care not to spill anything on or stain the blouse all day, even avoiding mishap with the spaghetti the cafeteria served at lunch. She came out of lunch pristine. The picture time for her class was soon coming up. She had just enough time to pick up the posters they'd been working on. She went to each desk and carefully held the posters so as not to bend them. They were artfully decorated maps, emblazoned with color.

She was pleasantly surprised when one student, who normally did not have his work ready, handed it to her with a smile. He must have finished this at lunch, she knowingly thought as she held his purple creation. At least it's finished, though!   A student moved to get past her in the aisle and she backed away and pulled the posters close to her so they wouldn't get bent.

She set them on her desk and lined her students up to head for the picture taking session. She led her class to the photographer, who motioned for her to come first for her picture. She positioned herself beside the large crayon prop and looked at the photographer for further direction. His eyes were round and his mouth was slightly open as he stared at her.

She thought perhaps her pose was perfect and waited for him to snap the picture. He continued to stare until finally she asked, "Is something wrong?" He could only bring himself to vaguely motion at the front of her blouse.

She looked down and saw on her crisp white blouse two large nipples of purple color anatomically placed on her chest, and underneath her left breast, the backwards, black words New Zealand.

There you have it, my friends. These are some of the untold, hidden stories of teaching. Do you remember anything amusing involving a teacher from your school days? We're a tough lot; we can take it, so share away! 

Entertaining Myself While I Run

My Ipod is out of battery, which bodes poorly for me to keep my motivation going during the long run I have planned. That music really helps me to keep my knees pumping, my breathing steady, and my mind off the fact that running is UNCOMFORTABLE in 102 degree heat.

I decide to entertain myself the old fashioned way- with my mind and imagination. I enjoy running through our back pastures (I May Not Dance With Wolves, But I Run With Cows) where there is plenty of room and exquisite peace and quiet.

I love to imagine what things were like in the past, so I start with the very land I am running on. If I move back more than 15,000 years, I am in the ancient sea that was here then. I am running underwater where giant, toothy sea creatures abound. They are too toothy for me, so I quickly jump forward to the next epoch.

Now, there are woolly mammoths, mastodons, and saber- toothed tigers roaming this land. Some of them have even chosen convenient places to die, ensuring their bones are captured and turned into fossils for us to find. I imagine the cows that chase me as I run are actually these behemoths. If I squint just right, they turn into a herd of those hairy creatures pursuing me instead of just confused cows.

Nearing the fourth mile, I am lonely for people. I think of the first humans to occupy this space, a fierce band of indigenous people called the Karankawa. At a time when most Native Americans in this area were under 5 1/2 feet tall, the Karankawa towered over others at an average height of 6 feet. They also coated their bodies from head to toe with mud, so the whites of their eyes were often the only things visible. If this isn't enough to strike a note of fear, the early Spanish explorers soon found out the Karankawa were not just passionate fighters, they were also....CANNIBALS. They've left a few of their arrowheads for me to find.

The whites of their eyes are getting too close, so I move ahead to the white man settling this land. I see the wagons getting stuck in quicksand like mud when they move through after a rain. I see cowboys rounding up vast herds of longhorn cattle for the journey to river boats on the Rio Grande.

I move ahead some more in time and see a young man doing the backbreaking labor of clearing this very brushland to be a farm. I see him, often working with his schoolteacher wife, milking cows, hunting down predatory animals, and building their very own house. They are my grandparents. I pass by that house they built as I as run and smile, as it is now the house I live in with my family.

I near a creek and see three little boys with fishing poles, each trying to be the first with his line in the water. It is my dad and his brothers, enjoying their time together after the chores are done.

Moving on, I can almost feel the rumble in the ground as tractors plow the earth to plant hundreds of acres of cotton and grain. I see a little nine year old girl driving one of those tractors. It's me, proud that I can now plow a furrow as straight as anyone (almost).

I see by my watch my run is almost over. I haven't missed my Ipod at all; not one bit.

My Spectacular Fall

It was one of those days where everything was RIGHT. The sun shone, the birds chirped, and I knew it was going to be terrific. I was especially pleased with the way I looked. My hair was having a great day all unto itself, I was wearing a new, flippy, white skirt that I loved and a pair of fierce heels that boosted my height to over 6' tall.

I wanted to look my best because after school I would be presenting some information to a group of area superintendents. Confidence oozed from me.

I looked out my classroom window between 2nd and 3rd periods and saw raindrops. I remembered I had left the window cracked a bit in my car and breathed a prayer of thanks I had just enough time to get to the parking lot and get it rolled up before my next class came in.

I took off at a trot towards the parking lot. Not five steps out the door, my fierce heel caught on the edge of the sidewalk. The momentum of my trot stole my balance and I knew I was going down. It wasn't a dainty, drop to your knees fall. Not even close.

I drove myself headfirst into the dirt and grass on the other side of the sidewalk, Superman style. My knees dragged on the sidewalk while my feet flailed in the air. My hands and face plowed a furrow in the newly watered grass. My face became my anchor, slowing my slide through the grass and mud.

At the precise moment my slide stopped, five of my 8th grade boys turned the corner to where I was. By now, I had picked up my head. Streaks of mud marked my face and grass fell from my mouth. Part of my skirt was arranged somehow now around my waist. The top two buttons on my blouse had separated themselves from the fabric.

Both knees were bleeding, staining the bottom of my white skirt a bright red. I was stunned. They were equally as stunned.

They all dropped their books and hopped from one foot to the other. They each lost the power of speech momentarily. Their eyes were wide and their mouths agape.

The first one to regain his voice could only say, "Oh oh oh oh!"

The others just continued to jump in panic. I managed to roll myself over and sit up.

Finally another one choked out, "Uhhhh, ma'am, did you fall?"

Most of my students have seen me after the the after-school Insanity workouts I lead in my classroom for other teachers. It is a time when I am drenched in sweat, hair askew, and not looking my best. However, this  took looking bad to a whole new level.

They were sweet and quite concerned for my welfare. Perhaps they thought I had lost my hearing and mental capabilities in the fall, because they talked to me loudly and slowly. "LET....US....HELP....YOU...GET....UP."

By now, I had picked myself up off the ground and tried to wipe off the mud, grass, and blood. "Thanks, fellows, but I'm OK," I replied.

"WE...CAN...CARRY...YOU...TO...THE...OFFICE," another emphasized, stretching out his bony arms.

"No, thanks, I can make it there by myself," I reiterated.

"YOU...FELL," a third one explained to me.

"ON...THE...GROUND," the fourth intoned, nodding slowly.

"Yes, I know, but I'm OK."

Finally, I convinced them I was going to be fine and they could go on their way.

Somewhere in that dirt, along with my blood and bits of my skin, is a large piece of my dignity. Fierce heels, you won't be going with me to school anymore.