A Musing Mother 6

  It started with a glimpse of a teacher trying to not be seen. I ignored him since I was overwhelmed, anyway. That was a mistake. He pranks offices. His favorite prey are in the counseling section. Small things were amiss. Half hour in, I realized my clock was upside down. Many days I'd find my framed photos upside down or backwards. Any time I found something wrong in my office, half of the school could hear me screech, "Daniel!" He sneaks up behind us, gets close to our ears before he makes a comment, startling us into a scream. Then one day he went too far.  All my framed photos were backwards and askew. My bulletin board was all wrong. The most egregious act of mischief was what he did to my bucket of candy bars. He'd spilled them across my desk, computer, and some fell on the floor. It was war. One day he'd done a particularly good job of vandalizing and I knew I would be stepping it up a notch. Poor Daniel is also O.C.D. about order. He has everything pl

Last time it was for a newsletter for a local attraction. She won a photo contest aaannd (drum roll, please) a year pass worth $170, thankyouverymuch. This one has no monetary award.  Just an immense amount of parental pride. She did this by herself and told me afterward. The magazine contacted me and requested permission to publish. If you don't subscribe to The New Era, WHY NOT?! If you heard a thump, that was my foot stomping. Because look at what she did this time . While I'm in the mood, remember that Christmas card I sent out that peripherally mocked long winded and boastful Christmas letters? Don't I feel self-righteous? I did. For a minute. But now... My oldest daughter has been offered full scholarships to four of the colleges/universities she applied to, has been accepted into a university that many applicants don't, and we're still waiting on more. My oldest son is playing in a basketball tournament this week and his team is undefeated. Except for on

Great pick me up. Hope you end up smiling by the middle of this, too.

My tension headache was already beginning to throb and it was only 8:45 a.m. I had been at work for one hour. This was day 3 of individual student educational occupational plans. I had met with well over two dozen parents who were insisting their child was going to be a doctor, lawyer, or professional athlete. I'd witnessed children arguing with parents that they changed their minds and they did not want to be a radiologist anymore while the parents insisted they most certainly did. One parent was in tears because she feared her child was not on track to complete A.P. calculus and statistics. Every parent I'd met with wanted to know the exact particulars to scholarship applications. This, my friend, is 8th grade. I'd also slept very poorly because I'd dreamed that zombies were chasing me and trying to eat my brain. Given my first paragraph, I don't think it takes a psychology degree to interpret that one. I used my calm voice  and, we might as well add, who knew I h