Thumbs Down

Knitting? In my condition? Oh, I think not! It won't go well. There is a...complication.

Apparently, the power went out yesterday. I knew this because I am a highly intelligent sort of gal and the clues, while not obvious to the average person, were glaring to me. I am incredibly skilled at seeing the little things, those tiny differences so easily missed by less keen eyeballs.

I happened to notice that the microwave display said, "RESET." I realize that seeing gigantic, glowing capital letters isn't necessarily something to put on my junior detective resume, but I am feeling fragile right now and I want something in my life that makes me feel superior.

The one thing I failed to notice (probably because I was exhausted from all the earlier noticing) was that the alarm clock in the bedroom was also flashing. I never bothered to reset it, hence it did not go off at the appointed hour this morning. Fortunately, I have a backup alarm clock and that one is battery operated. It is also a bit on the slow side, so I was running late.

As I was rushing about, I happened to notice a small card in the kitchen. According to this card, I had a doctor's appointment this morning. I could not go to the doctor today. I have many children, all displaying varying degrees of behavioral issues, who prefer it when I show up. Actually, they don't so much prefer it as they take advantage of it. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I have two staff members who prefer it when I show up...

I called and cancelled the appointment. I called again to reschedule it for a more convenient time. I will probably have to pay for the missed appointment. Unless I do that begging thing I do so well. I don't have anything else upon which to depend. My arguments on the matter of not receiving a reminder call were quickly defused by the receptionist insisting that she did call me and that the machine wouldn't pick up.

Power outage...

I slogged through the day. This was made even more difficult by The Kid Who Doesn't Have An Off Button. He began winding up shortly after arriving at school and we were near to disaster by lunchtime. I feared for the furniture. I didn't fear for the pens and pencils because I didn't have time. He broke most of those before I could really get around to any decent worrying.

Finally, he went to lunch and peace was ours. All we had to do was teach a couple of 8th graders who were still waiting for their lunch time to roll around. They were less than enthused about Science. They were hungry.

In fact, the boy I like to call The Great Debater was so starved that he began noshing on one of the few pens left to us after TKWDHAOB was done with his expressions of opinion. I got him some crackers. I didn't have enough pens for him to be chewing through them out of hunger.

What I failed to realize was that TGD had chewed rather far into the pen. The Black dots all around his mouth should have been a clue, but I was tired by then. (Remember I'd been doing all that other noticing the day before so I wasn't really in good shape to notice stuff right before second lunch) Since he had ink to spare, none of which was well-contained within the pen, he did what anyone would do under the circumstances. He made polka dots. On the desk. On his science papers. On his notebook...

All I saw was the lack of science progress. I picked up his paper to offer him some of my pearls of scientific wisdom. His polka dots had not dried. In fact, I do not believe they have dried as of this moment. I do not believe they will ever dry because ink that is released from a pen in big, thick polka dots is highly resistant to moisture release.

That is a scientific fact and something I could have told TGD had I remained in the room. Alas, I did not. I had to go to the restroom to wash my hands. They were covered in thick, goopy ink. I washed. And I washed. I scrubbed. And I scrubbed. The ink spread and spread.

It was a mighty battle of wills. There was no clear victor. I believe I can claim the hands as my spoils of war.

The ink can claim my fingernails.

I calmly told the classroom residents that I would be in the office checking on a few things until everyone went to lunch. It was my belief that it would take about twenty minutes for this situation to become funny. I didn't want to risk discussing the matter until I was a little closer to a state of "appreciation." Besides, the office is where one might find the supply closet and we really needed some pens if the educational magic was going to continue.

I think that the fingernail ink is dry, but I'm taking no chances. The Invisibility Shawl can just sit tight until I am less coated in black pen drizzle. Some days you just need to accept that things are bound to go wrong and that the kids are going to eat pens no matter how many crackers you give them. This is the safest course.

I wonder if I can convince my doctor that it is a weird fingernail rash. And if she'll write me a note so I don't have to go to school for a week.

SA