Magical Evening

Every so often you have one of those nights where the stars are aligned and magic happens. My boys and I went to the IndieFest concert and experienced good music, fine company and no tornados. Son #2 got some merch: a CD and a keychain, plus some ice cream from the ice cream truck, so he was hap hap happy. He couldn't believe that he was only 3 feet away from the guy he bought the CD from when they were on stage -- his eyes were wide and his heart was open to the music, and my favorite local band did not disappoint. We were down front in the mosh pit and were all singing the chorus as the winds whipped and the lightening threatened off in the distance.

It was glorious. Son #1 was there -- he's here for a whirlwind 14-hour visit, she says sarcastically. I'll take him whenever I can get him, and I'm glad we had a good time, but damn I'd like to see him more. But if you want quality, we had it last night.

And as the lyric goes, "I sold my soul, for a gallon of gasoline."

Phone Calls and Saturday Tunes

I've got to go in Monday and call all the kids who need to come in and work on the yearbook. I should send home schedules again too and put some heavy pressure on those long-lost kids.

Why do I worry about them all, even my editor-in-chief, on a Saturday? Ranae is great and wonderful and too damn busy. She's in charge of a pool at a country club, and the storms blew out her pump, so now she deals with that all the time, at the expense of yearbook. Plus, she's in love it appears and stays up too late. But it is summer, and what did I do the summer after I graduated high school? Had a torrid love affair and worked my ass off -- and I have some wonderful rocking chair memories of that summer...

So what should I do? Do the work myself? No way...that goes against all that I've been taught and all that I believe in. I am the "adviser" spelled with an e on purpose. That's what journalism teachers are: advisers -- not student workers. Even the state free-speech law says that "students shall assign and edit the news."

Kick their asses is what I'm gonna do.

But first, I'm going to pick up Son #1 later and head to an outdoor concert of local bands. Local Indie bands, that is. That should be fun, and the storms are supposed to surround us but stay away until tomorrow.

Teenage Analogy: Teenalogy

I hang out with teens all the time. Have been for 31 years, since I myself was a teen.

I've also lived without electricity off and on my whole life, during power outages and storms.

And therefore I'd like to propose this Teenalogy: A teenager's brain: the electricity being out::being bored: being bored.

I've lived it. I have experienced what it is like to be in a teenager's brain with a cell phone in your hand when you are truly bored, which is all the time. Yesterday, our power was out and I went nuts. Hubby was sick with a flu bug and we escaped to a hotel. But in the interim, while he was passed out and the boy was playing outside, I texted 10 former students this "Power out. Bored. Entertain me..." and they did! I sent 50 texts and got 45 back within about an hour. It was righteous fun. And, at 1:30 in the morning when tornado's were headed our way, I got 3 texts and a voicemail message and a call all warning us to take cover. Powerful technology.

So this Teenalogy is designed to help all of us beyond-peter-pan-age adults to remember what it's like to be a kid and to give them a break when they seem to live with their cell phones in their hands. Join in the fun.

Me and My Big Mouth

I'm like the love doctor. I taught sexuality education for 3 years professionally, and kids learn that. They tell me things. I see dead people.

I learned that one of my students has just been tested positive for a STI. I feel so badly for them, and wish I could change places with them. I've been there, and it's no fun.

I learned that one of my students is getting yanked around by their ex, and can't move on with life. I feel so badly for them, and wish I could change places with them. I've been there, and its no fun.

But sometimes, when they reach out to me, I say stupid things. I help a bit, I hope, but I can be judgmental when I try not to be. It's hard when it comes to love and sexuality. I wish I could write THAT book. But not now. When I'm free, I'll feel more free to flap my big mouth.

Hail, Floods and Pestilence

Well, we got a good old-fashioned summer thunderstorm to start our day today: the official first day of summer vacation.

To celebrate, we woke up at 5:30 a.m. as usual. Tried to make the coffee but were almost out. Tried to read the paper but it wasn't here yet. Tried to get on the computer but the power kept flickering.

And now we're trying to get ready for the teacher's perfect summer vacation -- going into school! Hubby is teaching summer government, so he's in the shower getting ready to go. I'm working on the yearbook still every day, so I'll be heading out about an hour after him. Glamorous, eh?

So now we got hail and flood warnings. The pestilence is the current presidential election -- the Democrats have their heads up their rears and the Republicans could capitalize on that.

Happy Summer!

Mother of All Phoons

Well, Jedi did it. He bagged the perfect phoon. I've had it enlarged to a 24 x 36 poster to hang in my classroom, and bought a 10 x 15 for him. He's going to come in and do a slide show of his Caribbean vacation this week and I'll surprise him with it.

See, when you work so intensely with kids in extracurriculars, you develop these parallel relationships, as a colleague penned them. You get close and you share life and it's all cool. His wonderful girlfriend suffers from depression also, and I've tried to give him some tips on how to cope with it all. But he's a great guy and already knew it all.

He's going to school for neurosciences and journalism here close to home, and I'm sure we haven't heard the last of him. I'm so lucky to make acquaintances with young adults like him.

And Ranae has been running wild lately and I haven't seen my yearbook editor-in-chief much. But she promises to rectify that beginning tomorrow.

It always comes back to that damn yearbook.

Cat Shit

I woke up this morning to find cat poop in my purse. Previously, I have found cat poop on my computer bag, and on 3 other purses. I think our old female is trying to tell me something.

We have 4 cats now, and we have 4 litter boxes in the basement. You'd think that would be sufficient, but oh no, that little bitch has to mark my territory as hers. It's war now: I'm just in the right mood to put her down for not being able to control her bladder. She is probably sick somehow, but she's old and would medical treatment really be effective at her age? She's quirky as hell, but aren't we all?

These decisions are not fun. I know the animal rights groups would tell me to take her to the vet and spend lots of money on her. I know that others would say it's cruel to let her live like this; she doesn't enjoy defacating on my purses.

Is this the circle of life? Shit in inappropriate places then you die?

Too early in the morning for this shit, that's for sure.