It's The Principal Of The Thing

It was cold this morning. Cold and raining. I considered myself fortunate because I heard tell that some places in this glorious state of mine might get snow. However, feeling that I was fortunate did nothing to make me less cold.

I arrived at school (late, although how that happened I don't really know) to find it rather chilly inside the building. We have two boilers. You'd think that two boilers would be enough. But it wasn't. Mostly because both of them were broken.

By the time the guy came to fix the thingie that broke (twice) we were all near to hypothermia. The clanking, grinding and pounding of radiators coming to life roused us a bit but not for long. Returning to school after a long weekend is always rough. Coming back to chairs that give you frostbite of the tuchas is just too much to bear.

I think that's how I ended up in the office at the end of the day exchanging witty banter with the principal and one of the guidance counselors (the one who had a horrible food allergy reaction this weekend and is still on massive doses of antihistamines). My staff will tell you that I just wandered off again. While I admit to sometimes doing this, I honestly think I had a purpose in going to the office this afternoon. I can't quite seem to recall what it was, though...

Mr. Principal: (waving from the far end of the main office) Ms. Sheep! Ms. Guidance Counselor! Wait right there!

Ms. Sheep and Ms. Guidance Counselor are startled and look at one another in order to size up the chances of laying blame for whatever may have caused this spate of administrative shouting

MP: (rushing over) I have a question for you.

MGC: Yes, sir. We are here to serve. Just remember that I've got a bit of an antihistamine high going on...

MP: Are you aware that everyone is wearing brown today? Ms. Sheep is wearing brown. Ms. Guidance Counselor is wearing brown. (Continues listing the names of staff wearing brown. It is a lengthy list.)

MS: Wow. That's really....something?

MGC: (too deep in her antihistamine haze to really be able to process this) Um...

MP: Why brown? Why?!

MS: I wear brown a lot.

MGC: Me too. I like brown.

MP: So you don't think it's some sort of collective expression marking a downturn in the overall mood?

MS: Well, yeah. I'm sure it is. It's a Tuesday/Monday, after all. But you probably shouldn't attach too much meaning to it.

MP: Wait right here!!!!!

Ms. Sheep and Ms. Guidance Counselor are, once again, afraid to move. A direct order is a direct order, after all. Even if it is sudden and doesn't necessarily make sense. Mr. Principal goes into a small room just off the main office and can be heard rummaging around. He periodically calls out for them to remain where they are.

MP: (emerging from the little room) Here you go! Chocolate! It's brown just like everyone's outfits today!

MS: Whoo-Hooooooo!!!!!!!!

MGC: Um...does this have nuts in it? I don't want to sound ungrateful, but the doctor says that nuts might kill me.

Mr. Principal snatches the offending candy bar from her hands and rushes off to the little room to find one of a less lethal variety. Ms. Guidance Counselor digs in eagerly. Both Mr. Principal and Ms. Sheep remain close by while she eats it just in case chocolate is the allergy trigger. You never know, right?

Having gotten chocolate as a reward, I was more willing to remain in the office. I could hear the sounds of restless children from my classroom at the top of the stairs. I could also hear my Cheerful Teaching Assistant pacing around up there and I knew I should probably be getting back. But there might be another mini chocolate bar for me. It was worth giving it another minute or two. I'm like a stray cat with chocolate. Feed me once and I'm slinking around for days until someone turns the hose on me. The conversation turned to movies.

Ms. Sheep: I saw Zombieland this weekend. It's good!

Mr. Principal: I'd like to see that one! Why, I may go this weekend. I think we'll go to dinner first then the movie.

MS: You should do it in that order. You probably won't want to eat after.

MP: Is it really that gory?

MS: Actually, it's not that bad. You don't have a weak stomach do you?

MP: (looking almost offended) Ms. Sheep, I have given birth to a baby daughter. I have seen the worst things anyone can see and survived.

Ms. Sheep and Ms. Guidance Counselor both want to point out that he did not give birth. There is a significant difference between being present at a birth and actually doing it, but they decide to let it go. Stumped for what to say next and still hoping for chocolate, Ms. Sheep does her best.

MS: You make it all sound like such a miracle, sir. That was beautiful. Like poetry...

I didn't get any more chocolate. Not even the dark stuff that no one else will eat. Maybe the poetry part was a little over the top. I dunno. I went back to my classroom with my one little candy bar and ate it in front of the children. That made me feel a little bit better.

I blame the cold. I don't think so clearly when I'm chilled. Maybe next time I'll wear a couple of extra layers and have the wherewithal to wax philosophical in the office until everyone is overcome with the urge to shower me with peanut butter cups.

Until then, I'll just sit here with my hot water bottle. It is all snug inside the new cozy I knit for it and helping to raise my core temperature to something resembling warm blooded. It's not the same as free chocolate from the principal, but you take what you can get on a chilly Tuesday night.

Tomorrow, I'm going to see if I can get into that little room. I'm curious how much chocolate he has in there...

SA

That Warm, Happy Feeling

I was late getting my classroom set up for this school year. I'd planned to go in two weeks before the first day, get everything done and then have the last week of vacation free. The best laid plans are often thwarted by the weather...

With temperatures well into the 90's, I knew I couldn't spend even an hour in my third floor classroom. The very idea of moving desks and whatnot in that kind of heat made me wilt. I waited and did it the following week.

When I arrived at school to begin this dreaded task, I made a point of stopping in to see the school secretaries. They are nice to me and a bright point in my otherwise dreary working day. Only one secretary was in, though. That was OK. She made up for the lack of greetings in stereo by coming around the counter and hugging me like a long lost child. Mrs. Secretary At The Front Desk and I are kind of like kindred spirits. She "gets" me. The first time I casually tossed out a movie line that fit the circumstances if not the company, she knew exactly what I was trying to say. Not many people do and I cherish the folks who don't look at me like I missed the morning medication rounds.

She is also very well-versed in the art of zombie lore. Not quite as well as I. At the risk of sounding pompous, I think I can claim to be something of an expert in that area. But she is darned close to thinking at my level and always willing to learn more. She is on the short list for Sheepish Annie's A Team when the dreaded zombie apocalypse arrives.

Sometimes she sends me articles about zombie ants that she found on the internet. She keeps me up to date on things like zombie parties and fun zombie games. And sometimes she even brings in a movie she's found on the clearance racks that she knows will tickle my zombie-hating fancy.

Not many teachers can claim to have been loaned a copy of Planet Terror while administering the state achievement tests. But I can. And I feel that I am a better person for having a school secretary in my life who knows that long weekends are meant for movie exchanges with like-minded co-workers.

I'm a lucky woman...

Movie watching is also quite good for knitting. Even better for knitting is the change from unbearably hot to surprisingly chilly temperatures. I am always surprised by how motivated a knitter can become when suffering from frozen toes. And fingers. And everything else.

Sure, the interwebs may chuckle. I don't blame the interwebs. I'd laugh too were I on the other side of the monitor. The yarn-based intentions were enough to elicit some giggles, but the very thought of me making up a pattern on the fly should have had everyone laughing until summer temperatures return to my corner of the globe. It's funny.

But I'm not laughing now. My self-designed hot water bottle cozy was finished in a nick of time and has proven invaluable as the mercury drops.

I probably should have just used one of the billion available patterns to make this, but you know how I am when I get a bee in my bonnet. Sometimes I just have to prove I can do it. Even if I can't.

Thankfully, this time I could because my toes are really, really cold. Essentially, I wanted a thin covering with little in the way of lumpiness. The idea wasn't to insulate the bottle, rather to give it a snuggly quality. I also didn't think that knitted cable or seed stitch impressions on the various parts of my body where this thing will be held would be all that attractive. When one is already using a hot water bottle, one is perilously close to looking a bit matronly anyway. It's best to not add further divots to the skin. The bit of ruffling at the top was probably overcompensation on my part after all that plain stockinette. But I'm keeping it. A few ruffles never hurt anyone...

In fact, I like my hot water bottle cozy so much that I might just include it in the backpack when the time comes to flee the approaching zombie hordes. Packing light doesn't mean you have to give up every creature comfort, does it? I'm still not sure, but bringing my new cozy along is on the table for discussion.

I'm going to school early tomorrow to see how the school secretary feels about it. I'll get back to you.

SA

Go Limber, Go Light

I am generally opposed to zombie movies that make light of the whole nasty matter. I feel that these films will only serve to keep people from realizing the severity of the situation when the impending zombie apocalypse finally does rear its ugly, slavering head. This will be a very serious time, indeed. Do we really need to waste time trying to think up witty banter while the undead shamble towards us?

I'm not without some flexibility on this matter, though. Frankly, we are probably going to need to relearn the art of levity while we puzzle out how to run to the store for a quart of milk without becoming The Catch Of The Day. Hence, I was looking forward seeing the latest in survival cinema: Zombieland.

It did not disappoint. From the brilliantly shot opening sequence featuring super-slow-mo zombie attacks to the final battle fought across an amusement park, Zombieland was beyond awesome. There isn't much beyond awesome. There are black and white cookies. There are long weekends. There are those amazing stretches of lace knitting that flow along seamlessly even if you forgot the lifeline. That's about it.

I especially appreciated the protagonist's reliance on carefully compiled rules to survive in the new world order. When Columbus spoke of things like "cardio" and the importance of checking the backseat, I fairly cheered aloud. Knowing that somewhere out there another human being understands why I always check my exit points brought me near to weeping. I chuckled along with everyone else when he demonstrated how to limber up before investigating the back of a truck but, deep down, I was taking mental notes. I can use that later, I'm certain of it.

I know that some rules will be tough. Traveling light sounds good, but I don't know a single knitter who isn't going to justify dragging along the entire stash. If asked, each will assert that they simply want to ensure having something with which to wile away the hours should they be trapped in a phone booth by ravenous hordes of flesh eaters. That will be a lie. There are no phone booths anymore, at least not enough to make them handy hiding places. Even if there were still places where you might deposit change in return for a few minutes of phone time, they wouldn't be all that secure.

The truth of the matter is that no one will be able to bear the thought of zombie knitters getting their oozy hands on the yarn.

And seatbelts? Columbus and I may agree on the need for this sort of thing at the end of the world, but I doubt that anyone else will. It has long been my belief that, once the dust settles, the majority of deaths will not be zombie related. They will be more along the lines of "stupid." Scraped knees, untreated fevers, and poor driving habits...that's what's gonna get us.

That and random needle pokes because we refuse to drop the socks-in-progress when sprinting is required. It's hard to hear, I know. But I take my role in Zombie Preparedness Training seriously and I must set aside my usual nurturing tendencies in order that you might fully understand the seriousness of this topic.

If nothing else, won't you be embarrassed when you arrive at the pearly gates and find yourself having to explain how you got there? Do you really think that everyone who shuffled off their mortal coils as part of a zombie buffet will be amused to hear that you were undone by your belief that an airbag would be enough? I think they might be a bit miffed at your carelessness!

Zombieland gets a thumbs up, both as a training film and as pure entertainment. Even if you aren't the traditional fan of the genre, I'd still suggest you make the time to see it. Funny? Oh yeah! And if you happen to pick up a few survival tips in the process, so much the better.

I can't wait for this one to make it to dvd so I can include a copy in my growing collection of training films. In the interim, I'll spend some time updating my own "list" and double check the existing rules to see if they still apply. It's a never-ending job, but I do it willingly. You can never be too prepared for the coming zombie apocalypse. That's rule #1.

I have some thoughts on light travel. We could just leave my Absurdly Gi-normous brother behind. It's not because I hate him. It's just good survival thinking is all...

SA

Obligatory WNBP: It Would Be Better With Cookies

It was a near thing tonight. Sheepie is all tuckered out and almost said, "To heck with The Wednesday Night Bullet Post!" But when I decided to pull back a bit on the blogging routine last summer, I made a few promises to some people. The WNBP was one of them so I shall suck it up and dispense this week's dose of random brain burps for your consideration.

When all is said and done, I always feel better after a brain burp. I think it is very therapeutic.

*Everyone should know that I worked out this afternoon.

*You should clap and make lots of approving noises because I was very tired and had no interest in picking up heavy things or pedaling my way to nowhere.

*You! In the back! Yeah, you. I said CLAP!!!!!!!!! That was not a suggestion. I am an amazing human being for working out this afternoon and not eating chocolate chip cookies like I wanted to.

*If nothing else, you should clap for my recent nomination as the neediest human being on the planet.

*I also knit on the hot water bottle cozy while I was riding the little exercise bike.

*You don't have to clap for that. It's just a weirdly shaped hot water bottle cozy.

*Let's not be the sort of people who clap for just anything...

*Baby Panda Update:

He's getting really big! It seems like only yesterday I mistook him for a naked mole rat...

*Tomorrow is Flu Shot Day at school!

*Yay!!! I'm going to get mine, then go to the back of the line and get another one!!!

*We who fear the flu think of Flu Shot Day the way other people think of birthdays and Christmas.

*We who are trapped in a classroom with leaky children all day are downright reverent about it.

*The school nurse says I can't get an extra shot even if I go to the back of the line and wear a clever disguise. She blathered on about limited supplies of vaccine and people not needing double shots.

*I think she is trying to deny me my right to double flu protection and am going to try anyway.

*No one will think twice if someone in a nun's habit who looks just like me shows up for a flu shot. It's foolproof...

*Sometimes when a student is telling his teacher about the latest in a series of things that have gone wrong, she can't help but reflect on how his choices got him to this place. In fact, she knows that everything happening right now is his to own and that consequences happen for a reason.

*But sometimes she sees in his eyes that, for just a second, he knows this. He knows it right down deep. It's a brief moment because he will soon start frantically finding ways to justify all that happened or blaming others for his predicament. The moment of knowing is just too much for most people. Even adults find it uncomfortable.

*Even though the teacher knows that this student was arrogant and blatantly disdainful of the rules the rest of us have to live by, she will be heartbroken for him in that moment. She shouldn't feel sorry for him...but she will.

*Of course she still has to make him take his state assessments and do his math papers. This will restore the balance. The student hates taking tests and doing his math and will no longer be quite so tragic a figure to his teacher.

*The average tragic figure doesn't skewer his math pages with his pen and then fling them around the room. They're usually a little more conscious of the need to maintain an air of quiet dignity.

*Sometimes I fantasize about a world where it rains chocolate chip cookies.

*Then I remember my fear of "outside food" or "things that have touched the ground" and realize that I couldn't eat the cookies.

*That would be a painful existence for me. Everyone else would be out splashing in the cookie puddles and I'd be inside with my sad, little nose pressed against the glass, looking all wistful.

*Maybe I'll make chocolate chip cookies this weekend...

*Speaking of which, it is a long weekend. I believe I've mentioned that fact already this week.

*But it's always nice to say it again.

Wednesday is done and Thursday is soon to make an appearance. I'll make it through the last day of 8th grade assessments and get me a couple of nice flu shots. I probably won't eat any chocolate chip cookies because that is not the sort of thing I do during the week. But I'll think about them a lot and eventually the weekend will arrive. Then it will be all cookies all the time!

SA

Half Is Better Than Nothing

That's it.  I've had it.  State assessments have officially lost their charm for me and I doubt that we will recapture that special magic.  Ever.

Today we inflicted the last two sections of the math test upon the hapless students and they did not take kindly to this.  My earlier bribes of candy and free time in exchange for minimal effort on these tests are no longer effective.  Resorting to threats of an extended school year and the loss of gym or music because they have to go to the math lab during those times isn't working either.  They are done.  And we still have two more writing tests left to go.

It begins with one student losing all patience with the process and putting his head down.  (The first to fall today was the boy who is Gauged And Aerodynamic.  He and his holey lobes barely lasted half an hour)  This signals the first stage of the mutiny.  Eventually, he will begin tapping his pencil loudly.  Soon he will snap his state-issued protractor and his calculator will need to be removed before it suffers a similar fate.  Ms. Sheep will have no choice but to end his test session because it is clear he can go no further with it and she doesn't want the other students disturbed.  

But it's too late...

Soon, everyone will be affected by the I Hate Testing bug and it is only a matter of time before they have all decided that this is a waste of a perfectly good morning.  It's Game Over.  Worse, we can do nothing until the official testing time has passed and this leaves an hour and a half of dead time.  During this endless parade of minutes, the kids are no longer testing.  They are resting.  Granted, there will be repercussions, but those are very far away.  In that moment, they have beaten the test.  

Fine.  That's how they want to play it?  I hate these tests, too and am just as cranky.  I have weapons at my disposal.  When they pull this stunt tomorrow, I'll be ready with math worksheets instead of dead time.  I no longer have to wait to start classes.  I'm also going to sit there and eat all the candy.  I'm going to do this whilst making very loud "nom-nom" noises and I'm going to wave the wrappers right under their noses so they can get teasing whiffs of taffy that will never be theirs to enjoy.  

I might even use my laptop to play that motocross game they all like to play and announce my score every five minutes.  Loudly.  Or I might not.   I'm still considering that course of action.  I want to torture them, but not at the risk of my dignity.  I'm not very good at that game...

I'm just cranky.  I promise I'll be more mature about this when the time comes.  I will just take lots of deep breaths and remember this morning when Gauged and Aerodynamic asked, "Is Friday a half day?"

My original answer to that was in the negative since I didn't have an early-release day on my calendar.  However, a quick check with my Organized Teaching Assistant revealed my error.  The students do have a half day on Friday.  Sure, the staff have to stay for workshops but I can live with that.  The place isn't half bad without all those pesky children running around.  We can order out for lunch and talk about boys.  It'll be a nice way to kick off the long holiday weekend even if I do have to attend workshops.

All I have to do is make it through two more days of 8th grade testing.  I can do that.  If an early release day, lunch and a long weekend of knitting are being dangled before me, I can do anything.

And the first person who mentions to me that 7th grade testing starts next week will not be getting any taffy.  I'm not kidding.

SA

Being Tested

I knew that today was going to be a long one. I also suspected that it might be trying at times. Mondays are always a bit of a gamble, even when you have all your ducks in a row. But when you add in a few wild ducks, you have to prepare yourself. They'll be quacking and getting underfoot all day.

Neither of my teaching assistants were scheduled to be in class today. Both needed to present themselves for mandatory training at the high school. There were other training dates on the calendar, but I'm the one teaching those and then who would look after the children? It made sense to just have my staff go together today and be done with it. This left me alone to man the fort and to carefully monitor my intake of fluids because 7 hours without a break is a very long time.

To add to my delicate situation, state mandated assessments continue. The fact that today was the first math test did nothing to improve the situation. Math is not the favorite subject in my class.

You do what you have to. I brought in a big bag of candy and promised to be liberal in its dispersal if only they would try to answer a few questions. I further promised a movie in the afternoon if they put forth even the smallest effort at making this day something along the lines of bearable. Everyone agreed and the day ran pretty smoothly, although I really wish I'd declined that second cup of coffee.

There was one problem, though. Being the only adult in a room full of teens means having no one with whom to share the disbelieving eye-rolls. Today was a good day for eye-rolling. And I was all alone. Here's an example:

State Assessment Victim #1: Hey, Ms. Sheep! Don't forget to put me on the make-up list for tomorrow. I won't be here to take the next two tests.

Ms. Sheep: You have to be here. This is Very Important Testing.

SAV#1: (in exasperated tones) We've already talked about this, like, a billion times. I won't be here.

MS: We talked about this? Really?

SAV#1: (pointing across the room) I also told you that State Assessment Victim #2 isn't going to be here either. We're..whaddaya call it? Oh yeah! "Co-defendants."

MS: I need the test administrator manual...

SAV#1: We're carpooling. I hear that parking at the courthouse is murder.

MS: OK. I've checked three times and there is nothing in the "Accommodations And Exceptions" section on court appearances. I don't suppose...

SAV#1: Nope. The paper they sent me said I have to go because of something called "failure to appear."

MS: (begins eating the candy she brought for the children)

Later that same day after the testing is done and everyone is just killing time between candy-eating and lunch:

State Assessment Victim #1: This whole town is full of rednecks.

Ms. Sheep: Really?

SAV#1: Oh, yeah! My dad is one.

MS: You seem pretty sure of that.

SAV#1: Yup. You should see him mowing the lawn. Beer in one hand, wandering around the lawn...

MS: That's not redneck. I see people doing that everywhere.

SAV#1: Yeah, but it's not our lawn.

MS: Not your...

SAV#1: I think he just gets off course sometimes.

MS: (digs through the candy bag looking for the last of the strawberry flavored taffy) I really miss my staff right now...

A few hours later, the movie is done and the dismissal bell is taking its sweet time about ringing:

State Assessment Victim #1: Can I go to my locker before homeroom?

Ms. Sheep: Not yet. We still have ten more minutes before that stupid final bell. You have time.

SAV#1: No, I don't. I have to go to my locker to get my sweatshirt. Then I have to go to my friend's locker so I can put my sweatshirt in it and get my other sweatshirt because that one is clean.

MS: What about the one you keep leaving in the classroom?

SAV#1: That's a spare for emergencies. It's also kind of stinky.

MS: You don't need to go to your locker. You can wait. I know how this goes. You visit all 75 lockers and then you start wandering around. You have to chat with everyone and then you end up getting into trouble and I get a call which will probably end up with me getting into trouble for letting you out early. It's a vicious cycle that could end up with me losing my job. I'll have to live in my car and feed the cats out of the cup holder...

SAV#1: (shaking his head sadly) I know what you're doing. You're stalling. Don't you know by now that this never works?

Teenagers make me tired. Very tired. They suck the life force right out of me and I still don't know how to classify an assessment make up if the kid is in court, although I suspect that the state testing officials would go toe-to-toe with the judge on this matter if it came to that. I'm also now going to be looking at every beer-holding, lawn-mowing dude I pass on the way home and wondering if he is, in fact, mowing his own lawn.

Is it any wonder I am now obsessed with knitting hot water bottle cozies? By comparison, this makes perfect sense.

SA

The Most Dangerous Time

All knitters are subject to the cycles of crafty inspiration. Sometimes we are simply overcome with the power to wield the sticks and the will to make the yarn sing. It might be that we are knitting up lots of little somethings like dishcloths and hats. Perhaps we are in a focused mode and able to spend hours on intricate lace or complicated Fair Isle patterns. Either way, production is impressive.

Other times, the muse deserts us and we struggle along with that one thing we absolutely have to finish on a deadline or we start multiple projects, none of which satisfy us for very long. In these times, we despair just a little bit and wonder if we will ever again be able to call ourselves Knitters. (the capital "K" makes a difference...you know it as well as I)

These things happen to all who knit. It is that unifying factor. We are understanding when a fellow knit-blogger starts to spend more time prattling on about the cats or the morning commute. We forgive. We know that it is only a matter of time before it is our turn to distract the masses with random bits of non-knitting blog fodder. Every knitter knows that this is just the way of things.

And then there is me. I like to take it to a whole new level.

With the end of my summer vacation, I expected a downturn in the knitting production. This isn't surprising since I'm back at school and have other things on my mind. Things like fire drills, lesson plans and the need to repeat every single thing I say forty-five times before anyone deigns to hear me always take their toll. I don't expect myself to knit like I do during the summer months when it's only the cats who aren't listening to me.

Hence, when I lost all interest in anything currently on the needles, I didn't really panic. I knew that it would happen and I simply knit when the mood struck. Sooner or later, the muse would return and poop all sorts of happy, woolly thoughts upon my noggin. I know me. I know how I operate.

Except that I always seem to forget about Stage Four. That's the stage that comes after Knitting Bliss, Waning Interest and Spurts Of Random Knitting Behavior. Any of those stages are manageable. The other stage, commonly known as I Can Do Better, is the dangerous one and you'd think I'd remember to note the symptoms after all these years. I never do, though. I guess it's denial or something...

In the ICDB stage, I suddenly begin seeing knitting opportunities everywhere. There is not a single thing within my range of vision that I don't believe I could either reproduce in yarn or, at the very least, cover in wool. My current obsession appears to be hot water bottle cozies.

I'm sure that your first inclination is to say, "Fear not, Sheepie! Your time of trial is over. For I have the perfect pattern for just such a thing and it's funny you should mention it because I was just knitting up fifty of them myself!" If this weren't the ICDB stage, that would handily solve my problem. But it is. So it doesn't. If only it were that simple.

The first sign of impending ICDB is the downloading of patterns. I somehow managed to pass right through that portion of the festivities without even noticing the high rate of printer ink consumption. I also failed to take note of the second symptom, the one characterized by disdainful snorting as each pattern is read and then discarded as not being "quite right." If you miss that warning sign then you are doomed. Trust me. I know.

Now I am fully enmeshed in ICDB and there is nothing to do but ride it out. I have somehow managed to convince myself that I can just make up a pattern that will revolutionized the world of hot water bottle cozies and make me a hero amongst hot water bottle cozy knitters for all eternity. The fact that I am not a technical knitter, have little use for such pesky things as gauge and math skills that are, on my best of days, unreliable does not deter me in the least. Those issues may have thwarted me in the past, but surely I have learned a few things from my mistakes. I can't possibly go wrong here. In fact, I'll probably knit three or four hot water bottle cozies before the weekend winds down!

I'll show you. Just let me rip off this last attempt (which was really just for practice anyway) and then you'll see something truly amazing! I'd invite you to sit while you gaze in wide-eyed wonder, but all the chairs are covered in yarn since I had to pull out every skein I own in order to find one that fits my vision. And be careful where you step. I wouldn't want you to trip on any of the needles currently strewn about the floor because none of them would behave in a manner befitting such knitterly grandeur.

I know. It's not pretty. Frankly, I think that ICDB is harder for the onlooker than it is for the afflicted. The good news is that Stage Four only lasts about 48 hours and then the symptoms begin to abate. Good sense is realized, the yarn is returned to storage and the knitter resumes work on the Invisibility Shawl like she should have in the first place. It's rough and there is no known cure other than time and the willingness to rewind a whole lot of yarn. But the recovery is quick and there are no lasting ill effects.

Until I suddenly decide that I can free-knit cat sweaters or toilet seat covers. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

SA

WNBP: Live From The Fields

Sheepie is tired. Sheepie somehow managed to use up every last ounce of energy before noon today. My classroom was filled to the rafters with children who chose today to either lose their grip on what little control the middle school years have afforded them or to have personal crises rivaling that of Job. Acting as ego functioning for 6 other people is tiring. Especially when you must also bolster your staff who are doing their best to help contain the mass misery.

I'd given some thought to posting a picture tonight. I've been a bit weak with the snaps of late. Maybe a nice shot of the Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty in all his massive glory or pictorial proof that The Invisibility Shawl still lives and grows.

I don't have it in me. I'm too tired to take pictures. I also can't take any pictures until I vacuum the carpet. You'd be wondering why I don't plant flowers and vegetables in that barren field and not realize that this is my living room carpet. I also don't have the energy to do any landscaping tonight.

I'm just going to go with the regular Wednesday Night Bullet Post. You can use your imaginations. I think it is good for the brain to imagine stuff. It's like neural sit-ups.

*I've already mentioned The World's Neediest Classroom. That doesn't bear repeating.

*I figured out that two repeats on The Invisibility Shawl is the same as about 35 minutes on the little exercise bike. That is either a good thing to know or a bad thing.

*Sometimes it's better to not know how far you have left to go when you are pedaling a little exercise bike.

*Sometimes it's better to have a reality check.

*Little Exercise Bike Time can fool you. Five minutes can feel like five days...

*After my very long day, I came home to find that someone had been going through the kitchen cupboards.

*There was a time when I would have called the police and counted my valuables.

*Now I just shake my finger at the Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty and make disappointed sounds.

*He purrs happily throughout.

*Tomorrow we begin state mandated assessments with the 8th graders.

*Please feel free to think good thoughts for all those children with individual angst and control issues. They are going to need to act like kids without life challenges for a week.

*I can't see anything that could possibly go wrong with this plan.

*I do not even want to think about how my one 7th grader (aka The Kid Who Doesn't Have An Off Button) will deal with the need for quiet during testing.

*I'm very much in Oh, How Bad Could It Be? mode.

*At the end of the day, my staff told me that they'd been visited by a union rep and informed that layoffs and furlough days are possibly in the works.

*I am planning on chaining my teaching assistants to the radiators just in case.

*Strategic Emergency Planning.

* I spent ten minutes wrestling my pajamas away from the AGK.

*Mommy Sheep always said, "Pick up your clothes off the floor."

*She was trying to prepare me for life. I should have listened.

*A wise woman, my mom. However did she know that I would end up a middle aged woman with a cat who lives life large?

*I ended up distracting him with a pair of clean sweatpants then running away with my jammies before he realized he'd lost them.

*Once again, I am flabbergasted by the direction my life has taken...

There's the day in a nutshell. I think. I'm very tired so I might have missed some stuff. I don't smell smoke so I'm guessing that nothing caught fire in the immediate vicinity and my car looks to be in pretty good shape. I'm reasonably sure nothing big happened while I was daydreaming about retirement.

Goodbye Wednesday. Thank you for being so very interesting. I'm certain that Thursday will be boring by comparison. At least I hope this is the case. I might even find the energy to vacuum the field.

SA

Women And Children First...we think.

After yesterday's evacuation drill, you'd think the poor teachers would get a little break in the action, if only for a day. Not so. This afternoon we needed to attend an extended faculty meeting in order that we might discuss the upcoming achievement testing process. The state is using a new assessment this year and, while it's not all that different from the old one, it still requires the obligatory Power Point Presentation. What's a test without bitter staff people, after all?

Actually, it's good that we are getting the information. It always feels like I'm unprepared when new tests are required and I really should appreciate the effort our administration is making to keep me in the loop. I'm just cranky is all. Staff meetings are long and Power Point Presentations give me the hives. This one came with a soundtrack which didn't make it any more entertaining.

To make matters worse, I didn't even have my knitting. I usually try to have a little something woolly in my bag to keep the agenda from sapping away the last of my spirit. But I didn't have anything suitable or portable so I went into the meeting in what can only be described as a state of Knitting Knakedness. There was nothing to do but watch the Power Point and curse my lack of planning.

To add to my misery, some of my colleagues love the chance to add their thoughts to the proceedings. The agenda is kept a bit flexible and there is always someone who is overcome with the need to emote. It's like Open Mic Night with a limited talent pool. Every once in a while, though, a gem can be seen sparkling amongst the piles of scheduling complaints and announcements that could have been ignored in our email instead of in person:

Teacher With No Concept Of Time And Place And The Effects Of Power Point: Mr. Principal? I have a question.

Mr. Principal: Yes Mr. TWNCOTAPATEOPP?

TWNCOTAPATEOPP: It's not about the Power Point...

MP: That's just find and dandy! We would hate to restrict questions to anything relevant. That might get us out of here before 5:00 and it's not like we start our workdays at 7:00 or anything.

TWNCOTAPATEOPP: I was thinking about yesterday's evacuation drill and got to wondering. What about those of us who are working outside with the kids right now? However will we know to flee? Or where to flee? Or why we are fleeing? We should really have a plan for that.

MP: We do have a plan for that. It's in your Binder Of Very Important Stuff That No One Reads. You are to report to the office when you leave the building and pick up a walkie talkie. Should there be a need to evacuate or if a lockdown is required we shall call you on the walkie talkie and say the following:

RUN!!! RUN AWAY!!! RUN INTO THE WOODS AND HIDE!!!!!!!

Is this clear, Mr. TWNCOTAPATEOPP? Does anyone else have any questions?

We did not. At least none that was voiced. I'm sure that there were a few. I know I was wondering about whether or not I am supposed to take the kids with me when I run pell-mell into the woods or if we are expected to follow the Every Sheep For Herself Rule. That wasn't made very clear, in my humble opinion.

I didn't ask about it, though. I'm not one of the teachers who wants a meeting to run any longer than it has to and I could see the debate on whether or not it is a good idea to hide in the woods with children lasting for hours. I'm just going to trust that, when the time comes, I will somehow intuit the best choice.

I hope I remember my knitting on that day, though. Being stuck in the woods for God knows how long waiting for someone to give the all-clear could be worse than a Power Point Presentation...

SA

There Should Be A Stirring Song Or Poem...

Today was the day. I know you all look forward to it. You probably didn't sleep much last night wondering how it would all come together. It's kind of like Christmas Eve except for the presents, carols, food and happiness...

Every year certain schools in our district must perform Evacuation Drills. In the event that we ever need to flee the building to safety, it is important that we know how to walk five thousand children in a line down the road. So we practice it.

There is a great deal of pre-evacuation activity prior to the actual forced march. We get a lot of emails and reminders. This does no good since we all forget about the drill until ten minutes before it is time to drag the kids down the road. Then we have to close all the windows, shut off our computers and try to figure out how to adjust our lesson plans to account for the lost time. Grade level teams will change their schedules at the last minute and no one will know where they are going for the rest of the day.

Today's drill did not go badly if you put it all in perspective. Frankly it's the perspective that keeps me from dodging into the woods and running until I can run no further. First, we all assemble in the parking lot with our respective students. We stand there for a while until someone decides we should start marching and then we begin the trek down the road to the Grade 5/6 school. Some staff people are given bright orange vests and red signs. They have to stop traffic so passers-by can all get a nice view of us huffing and puffing along.

These people are also part of the perspective process because getting that job would be the last thing this school district would ever do to me. Right after they handed me my vest, I'd be locked in the bathroom trying to drown myself in the toilet.

We make a fine sight, all moving along in coordinated chaos and with the school nurse bringing up the rear toting her emergency kit. We march down the road, yell at the children to get out of the road, cross another road (thanks to the vested people and a police car complete with flashing blue lights) then we traverse a dirt road. From there, it is a short hop to the parking lot of the other school and another long wait in the gymnasium where all children in wet sneakers will use them to make piercing squeaky sounds on the freshly waxed floor.

When it has been determined that we have not lost any of the children in spite of our best efforts, we exit the gym and begin the return trip. We make our way through the parking lot, travel the dirt road so the kids can find the puddles they missed on the first trip and cross the street where traffic is now hopelessly backed up and drivers are getting cranky with the vested people. Now we are back on the first road and, after a fashion, the middle school is in sight. All that is left is a short trip to our own gymnasium where we are told how we did.

There is a time limit on this, you see. We get 48 minutes. If we fail to manage this exercise in pretend panic within the stated time frame, we have to do it again on another day. A day which we will forget about as quickly as we did the first one. The final review is a tense thing indeed.

You will be pleased to know that we met our deadline and are now fully approved to drag children down the road to safety should the need arise. The community breathes a sigh of relief knowing that their children are protected from all possible harm unless they keep walking in the middle of the road during evacuation drills like we kept telling them not to.

We were almost back at the middle school when the Cheerful Teaching Assistant commented that this might replace going to the gym today. I quickly agreed and began recounting all the ways marching down the road with middle school students could benefit the body. I was really just looking for a diversion at that point. My sandals were giving me a nasty blister and my stomach had begun making gurgling noises which could only be described as ominous. I knew that my tummy pills were waiting for me in my purse back at school and that I could make it if I just didn't think about it all too much. A little lecture on the benefits of enforced cardio during the workday was just the thing.

Even with the extra walking I did today, I still came home and rode the little exercise bike, though. My tummy troubles were over thanks to the little pink tablets and I really didn't have a good excuse for not doing it. I also wanted to knit another repeat on the Invisibility Shawl and the little exercise bike is quite inspiring for that. I'm stuck pedaling away for thirty or forty minutes and need something to do that will help me forget about the exercise.

There are no people in vests or children running into the road to distract me when I ride the little bike, you see. I'm not complaining about that, mind you. I'm just making the point.

SA

A Factual Departure

I have an affection for my blog. I love it for what it is and also for what it simply isn't designed to do. I made it and I like it. More to the point, I've made it a somewhat less than controversial space. I have enough of the conflict in my regular life. I decided that my blogging existence would be a thing of happiness and peace.

Yet every once in a while, something comes up and I feel the need to speak to it. I usually give it a week or so to see if the feeling goes away. If it doesn't, then it is probably something I want to address. This is one of those times.

I will ask of you only a few things. First, please read the full post before scampering off to the comments to share your thoughts. There are some ground rules here. Some topics can inspire differences of opinion and I'm a great fan of diversity. What I don't tolerate is disrespect. As much as I love a spirited debate, it would be rather easy for hastily written words to create discord in my carefully crafted happy place. Please feel free to respond, but do so respectfully. I have gone to great lengths to write this post in that same spirit. Any and all comments designed to incite hurt or anger will be summarily deleted. Most (in fact, I might even say all) of my known readers have always been kind in the comments so I see no reason to worry but one never knows, does one?

OK. So here's the thing:

Maine residents will soon be casting their ballots on the matter of Question 1 and determining the fate of Marriage Equality in our state. As expected, this has created much in the way of feeling. Also as expected, that feeling has led to expression. It's part of the process. Recently, we have been seeing an ad that will probably be somewhat familiar, at least in content, to those who have had similar voting decisions before them in their own states. In this spot, those who oppose the law allowing for same sex marriages put forth a number of reasons why it should be repealed. It features a man in a suit. I have mixed feelings about men in suits. They represent polar opposites. Sometimes they show up at your house with balloons, a camera crew and a big check that lets you take early retirement. Other times, they come bearing a tax audit. For the most part, though, we tend to trust men in suits. This makes them a little dangerous.

The Suited Man in this advertisement focuses a bit more on one concern than the others from his list. He makes it a point. It is hard to miss. Essentially, he says this: If same sex marriages are granted continued validation under the law, then schools will be teaching this version of the union regardless of parental consent.

This year marks my 22nd year as a Maine educator. That is certainly enough time to see a number of changes in culture, economic trends, technology and the practice of the craft. I've taught many subjects and my classrooms have been comprised of students ranging in ages from 5 to 55. I've watched laws governing how we teach change to reflect the times and have worked with my colleagues to develop curriculum that meet the new needs. There is very little I have not experienced during those 22 years and in the variety of settings, both public and private, where I've worked.

What I have never taught is marriage. Ever. Nor has it ever been asked of me. Not once. In 22 years, marriage has not been a part of any school curriculum that I've been required to teach. Further, I do not recall it ever being an elective course or something students might study in-depth as part of an after school activity.

That's not to say that it doesn't come up every now and again. Of course it does. Children like to talk about their families and share stories. The odd wedding tale is bound to crop up in discussion. Sometimes one of my colleagues is engaged and the upcoming nuptials will invariably be mentioned. In my own classroom, the Cheerful Teaching Assistant is planning a wedding and we are being rather shameless in our efforts to recruit a couple helpful students to stuff the goody bags she's giving out as favors. Marriage is a fact of life and part of the culture. Kids are aware of the concept.

Mostly, though, they just want to know how to spell it. That's pretty much the extent of marriage education. Any questions I've asked regarding whether or not there are plans to add this to the report card have been answered in the negative. There will be no marriage classes in the foreseeable future.

When the day comes for me to head to my own voting booth, I think I will be waiting in line with two types of people: those who vote based on conscience, conviction or personal belief systems and those who vote based on their understanding of the facts. As to the former, I do not feel it is my place to forcibly impart my own belief system on anyone. That is not my way and, while I don't always agree with what others define as "moral," I will respect their right to express that belief on a ballot. I expect the same in return. I think that anyone who knows me can safely predict where I stand on this issue and how I will be voting. My own code of conduct is a personal thing and something for which this blog is not a forum. I will sit on my hands and keep my mouth closed on such matters as faith and morality.

However when voters are basing their decisions on fact and I see information that is falsely presenting itself as such, then I am obligated to speak. To the best of my knowledge, marriage by any definition is not currently being taught in the Maine public schools. Of course I cannot claim to know every curriculum in every school, but I do feel pretty safe in saying that my own experience has been similar to that of most in my profession. This is not an issue upon which to base a decision so serious as Marriage Equality and should be kept out of the debate.

On a personal level, I feel angry and hurt that the work I do could be so grossly misrepresented for the purposes of swaying a vote. It was irresponsible and disrespectful. As I said earlier, I do not tolerate disrespect. True to form, I sat on this for a while to see if I really needed to speak to it.

Turns out I did.

SA

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

Wait...What?

You guys are probably sick of me not knowing what day it is. I would imagine that it was cute at first but wore thin pretty darned fast. You think you've got it rough? Try to picture the view from my side.

I seriously thought it was Thursday for a while there. I even got a Friday vibe at one point. This was painful on a variety of levels because the realization that it was neither of those days hit me several times over the course of this Wednesday.

I'm just going to launch into my regularly scheduled Wednesday Night Bullet Post and then go lick my wounds. I'll probably eat a entire box of those little low-cal ice cream thingies I keep in the freezer, too. That's what they're there for. Emergencies.

Although eating the whole box will probably defeat their low-cal function in this life...

*I managed to stop for gas and still get to work on time this morning.

*That may not seem like much to you, but it is a victory worthy of its own holiday in my world.

*I'm just desperately seeking out any and all holidays.

*September, 23=National Sheepie Gets Gas Day.

*Banks will close and you won't get any mail that day.

*The exchanging of gifts will probably be optional because of the whole "gas" issue.

*People are going to misunderstand the meaning behind the day and who wants The Gift Of Gas?

*I was on time getting to school this morning, but was late getting home.

*That seems unfair...

*I didn't do the weight training portion of the workout today.

*I rode the little bike for 30 minutes and knit another shawl repeat.

*In our school, classes like art, music and PE are called "Globals."

*I spent an hour straightening out an issue with a kid's schedule today. The changes they wanted to make would mean he'd have to change his Global and he didn't want to do that.

*The Boy Who Has Been In My Class Since He Was Six Years Old was rather insistent on the matter.

*Ms. Sheep felt a disturbance in The Force and knew that measures needed to be taken.

*And hour later, I'd fixed everything and managed to keep his Global exactly the same.

*No differences.

*Just like he wanted.

*When it was time to leave for Globals, he refused to go.

*Somehow, over the course of the previous hour, he'd decided his Global was boring.

*I told one of my colleagues as I was leaving the building today, "It's really kind of a miracle that I don't throw myself out the window more often."

*She looked puzzled, but that has never stopped me from making a point.

*"In fact," I continued, "I should be throwing myself out every available window on a regular basis pretty much every day."

*She said, "You really do look kind of stressed out most of the time..."

*Understatement of the year.

*My Other Favorite Librarian opened the library early for me today.

*I wanted the next two Chris D'Lacey books.

*They have multiple copies in the library.

*But I was seized with panic over the thought of my not getting them.

*My Other Favorite Librarian understood perfectly and let me in to check out the books.

*Well...she wrote it down anyway. The computers weren't even on when I got there.

*Neither were the lights. I had to find the books in the dark.

*But I got 'em!

*Note to self: The back of the book contains spoilers. Do not read the back of book 4 unless you've already read book 3. You will be in possession of information that will upset you and make book 3 an angst-ridden experience.

*Good way to live one's life. I may make that my motto if I can shorten it up a bit. Make it a bit more snappy and easy to recall.

*Remembering stuff is hard when you are racing around a dark library while the librarian tries to helpfully shout out directions so you don't knock over half the biography section.

It is Wednesday. Not Thursday. Not Friday. OK. Deep down, I knew it wasn't really Friday. There was just a little moment where it kind of felt that way. But the publishing of the WNBP means that the day is over. The real Thursday is right around the corner and life will soon make sense again.

That's kind of comforting. But I still think I deserve a few window jumps. Maybe just from the first floor. Or at least my own holiday...

SA

A Darker Truth

My Cheerful Teaching Assistant was sick for a week straight. She missed some work. When she was on site, she sniffled, snuffled and hacked for hours at a time. She is still not quite up to par. During the worst of her illness, I tidied up her desk for her, got tissues when she needed them and was virtually at her elbow should she have a single unmet need. I love my CTA. (enough to exaggerate a little bit about how incredibly helpful I was, but I did do stuff...honest!)

Yesterday I was at a Safety Procedures Training and one of my classmates was quite ill. She went through about a billion tissues and drooped ever further towards her desktop as the day progressed. I inquired as to her well-being several times and even stayed a bit after everyone else left for the day to make sure she was OK to drive home. I didn't once use hand sanitizer after we were required to make contact while practicing physical restraints. At least not in her line of sight...

Today The Charming Boy Who Gets Away With Way More Than He Should was sick. Not just a little bit sick. A lot bit sick. He could barely remain upright in his seat. His color was off and the best he could muster in the way of speech was a helpless croak. I patted his back twice during the day and checked his brow for fever. I couldn't really do much else. The CBWGAWWMTHS loses about five years from his true chronological age when he is sick and I am helpless in the presence of his sad face. I let him sleep in the unused classroom area for most of the day. He made a lot of snuffly noises back there.

I was kind to these people. I cared. Their welfare was of interest to me and I expressed my concern with great sincerity. But I'd be lying if I said that was my primary emotion. I wish I could say that I was a selfless being while those around me labored beneath their burdens.

Mostly, though, I was thinking about how I'd like to wrap these people in protective plastic.

I feel badly about it. I don't like to think of myself as the kind of person who puts herself first. But I'm so horrified by the number of germs circling about me these days that I can't help it. I can only hope that I didn't let it show while I was faking generosity...

If you need me, I'll just be over here bathing in hand sanitizer and boiling the knitting needles. I can't boil the knitting because that is wool and I think we all know what a bad idea that is. But everything else? Fair game for the boiling.

I wonder if any of the plague carriers will bring me a tissue or wipe my fevered brow once I've contracted their various diseases. Or if I'll see the same look of horror in their eyes that is currently in mine...

SA

Running In Place

I swore a blood oath that I would not be teaching the Safety Procedures class this year. I swore it loudly and sometimes with actual swear words. I took great pride in my oath and trotted it out at every available opportunity.

Then I realized that if I didn't teach the course, I was going to have to take it. That, upon reflection, seemed worse because there was no guarantee that the person teaching it would have my general attitude towards the stupid role playing activities. They might actually make me do them. I stuffed my oath in the drawer and stepped up to teach the class again. This meant I'd need to take that trainer recertification course. Again. For the third time. Today.

Workshop and training days are kind of a mixed blessing. On one hand, it is a break from the routine and a day spent with adults instead of children. On the other, departures from the norm never seem to go smoothly for me.

I have never had a particularly good relationship with Time. We are uncomfortable with one another. I feel like Time never really lives up to its potential and that its promises are often more dazzling than the reality. Time thinks I don't appreciate it and that I take it for granted. We go through long periods of not speaking to one another.

This morning, I was happy to have extra time. My training didn't start until 8:30 so I had oodles of extra minutes in which to dawdle about. I thought of all sorts of ways to make this morning extra-special. I probably overreached, though. Before I knew it, the time had come to leave and I wasn't quite ready. The usual morning scramble began anew, just like a regular day instead of a special one.

Note: I still ended up arriving at the high school training site stupidly early. That meant driving around for a while so I wouldn't look like an over-eager teacher's pet. But I drove around too long and was almost late...

Then there was the knitting dilemma. Long workshops require something of a knitted nature in the bag. It can't be just anything, though. It has to be something that can be set aside quickly during those times when you have to get up and demonstrate your ability to successfully extricate yourself from a rear choke hold. (a normal workshop occurrence, right?) You need something very, very mindless and straightforward.

I have two projects on the needles right now. Of the two, The Invisibility Shawl is my favorite, but that one requires counting. I didn't think the trainer would appreciate hearing me whispering, "1-2-3-4, slip, knit....wait, that's not right!" over and over again. That wasn't going to be the right choice.

The other project is a sock. Socks are usually great for workshops except that this one is perilously close to the heel flap stage and that isn't anywhere near straightforward knitting. There is counting involved, albeit the simple variety. I can knit a heel flap pretty easily, but I hate to assume...

In the end, though, that's what I went with. I figured I could probably knit up the heel flap and call it a day. I don't believe in picking up stitches in polite company. Stitches and noses...they both remain pick-free when I'm out and about. I knew I wouldn't get much further than the flap. It wasn't the optimal solution, but it was better than nothing.

However, once I got myself settled in at the training, I remembered that this course is rather firm in its policy regarding hobbies. They don't care for them. They insist on rapt attention. I don't teach it that way when I'm set free to run my own program, but I didn't think that the dude overseeing the class was going to be of the same opinion.

All that decision making was for naught. The poor, flapless sock remained in the bag.

It was a long day. Time disappointed me again and ticked by slowly instead of behaving normally. The group of people willing to teach this course is now down to 6, less than half what it was originally. Those of us left were, for the most part, either sick or injured. The sound of sniffling could be heard from various corners of the room all day. The endless crackling of various joints led one participant to question the wisdom of having a group of six middle aged women teaching this class instead of our younger colleagues. They hardly ever crackle when they get up off the floor.

In spite of all this, I made it through another year of certification training. I passed my test, I did my stupid role play activity and I only nodded off once during the lecture phase. That's pretty good, I think.

I drove home tired and sore but feeling victorious. The next things on the list of stuff to do included hitting the exercise bike, catching a little missed TV on the interwebs and knitting a bit.

This time, I went with The Invisibility Shawl because no one cares if you are counting and doubting yourself in the privacy of your own home.

For the record, time spent working out is also deceptive. It is waaaay longer than regular time. Even longer than workshop time. But not as long as workshop time when your knees are crackling and you can't knit...

SA

The Fire Still Burns. (just not the needles)

You may remember last September when I reluctantly packed up my lunch and my will to survive so I could head off for my first day at The Bad Job At The Middle School That No One Else Would Take. Due to a drop in student population and a disastrous situation in the 7th and 8th grade classroom, I was transferred into a new position. I wasn't particularly happy about it. In fact, I was rather miffed about the whole business. They took away my Cheerful Teaching Assistant, gave me two Less Than Cheerful Teaching Assistants and plonked me smack dab in the middle of a mess. They wished me well, promised all sorts of helpful support then went happily about whatever business it is that "they" do during the course of a day.

If ever there was a time to look at the bright side, that was it. I remembered how lucky I was to have a job given the state of the economy. I told myself that many others in my position were out of luck once they hit a certain step on the teacher pay scale. Most of the students were familiar to me, some I'd even had in my class since they were in Primary School. If things got really dicey, I'd repeat such trite mantras as, "At least you have your health..." and call it a day.

It was tricky. Fortunately, the room next door to mine happened to be one of the nicest places in any school: the library. I like the library. I like librarians. People tell me all the time what a wonderful human being I am for becoming a special education teacher. That's all well and good, but hear me now: The worst librarian in the whole wide world is still a better person than I am. That you can take to the bank.

The middle school librarian was not the worst one in the world. She was right up there with the best of 'em. She was the stereotypical version that we all tend to think of when the job title is mentioned. She was in her sixties, soft-spoken, cardigan-clad and wise in the ways of media, both print and digital. I loved her on sight. Stereotypes are bad except when they are comforting and then they are nice. This is even more true when you are transferred into The Bad Job At The Middle School.

We got to be good friends over the course of the year. I spent a great deal of time in the library and never once did she make me feel like I was wearing out my welcome. She helped me find new titles to try and always kept a TV/DVD player ready in case I needed it for particularly bad days. When the history of librarians is written, My Librarian will get a whole chapter if I have anything to say about it. She was a gem. Sadly, I only had her for a year.

When I say it that way, it sounds like she died, which was not the case. That would have made a good plot for one of the angst-ridden teen tomes shelved amongst the books she so carefully tended for almost thirty years. In real life, though, it was less dramatic. My Librarian looked around and noticed that kids had changed a great deal over the years. The job wasn't quite the same and the world had moved on in ways both good and bad. Time was marching forward and doing so more quickly than it had before.

It finally boiled down to two decisions:

1. The economic climate was really not conducive to retirement. Ideally, a couple more years would be needed to fatten up the portfolio comfortably.

2. #1 didn't really matter. The economy will always recover and lost monies can be found again with enough effort. Lost time is gone forever, though. You don't get that back.

She retired. I understood and supported her decision. I even encouraged it, although it broke my heart to do so. I would miss My Librarian but couldn't stand the thought of her not doing all those things she really wanted to be doing. I don't hug people often, but I hugged My Librarian on the last day of school.

One day in the spring as I was passing by the library, I happened to see My Librarian with the woman who would become her replacement. I took a deep breath and reminded myself of the bright side before I started having dark thoughts about this interloper. I knew I should give her a chance. I am, after all, an adult. I even went so far as to enter the library so I might introduce myself and give a somewhat sincere welcome. And that's when I saw...

My Other Librarian!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, it was true! My former school was no longer able to support her position and My Other Librarian was being transferred to the middle school. She was nervous and so happy to see "a familiar face" that it warmed my heart. Maybe I wouldn't have My Librarian anymore, but My Other Librarian is just as good, although she is not nearly as stereotypical. That's OK. I don't need the comfort quite so much now that I have a full school year under my belt. My Librarian was there when I needed her and now I can be there for My Other Librarian.

This, of course, is a rather lengthy way of saying that I didn't knit today. I should have knit. I have a workshop on Monday and the first half of it will be frightfully boring if I don't get that stupid sock past the heel stage so that there is a bit of mindless knitting for distraction. But I didn't even pick up the needles. Not once.

I was too busy reading The Fire Within and wondering how I might get the condo association to agree to my getting a dragon of my very own. This is what happens when you have your very own librarian. Knitting goes out the window and you start clearing off a shelf for your dragon.

If dragons need socks, then I am in trouble. I wonder if My Other Librarian can recommend a book on dragon care....

SA

Thursday Can Be Wednesday If I Want

I have no idea what day it is and I don't expect anyone will feel the least bit sorry for me. This is the first full week I've worked since June and I know better than to whine about that. I'll just say that it is very confusing to me and that there is an adjustment process involved.

Last night was Open House at my school. For those of you unfamiliar with this concept, the theory is as follows: Parents will enjoy working a full day then going home to scarf down an early dinner so they can be at their kid's school by 6:00 to participate in a simulated student schedule pared down to an hour.

It's not a bad idea. Except for the school at night part. Everyone has a pretty good sense of humor about it, though. We all know that we're doing it for the kids and we paste on matching smiles so that the young folks feel like we are enjoying the whole thing. Every adult in the building, be they parents or teachers, is having a bonding-through-misery experience.

Meanwhile, I missed the Wednesday Night Bullet Post because I was too brain dead after a twelve hour school day to even speak, much less type. I also didn't have a single parent visitor to my classroom so I'd been sitting around playing first person zombie shooter games at taxpayer expense long enough that the very sight of a computer was painful to me.

How about I take advantage of my scheduling confusion and WNBP guilt? I'll just do yesterday's bullets today. That should work, right?

*I brought knitting with me last night.

*Forgot I had it.

*I complained about not having any knitting to several people.

*It was right there. The whole time.

*Today as I was searching the school building for the papers I set down somewhere and forgot about like I do sixty-five billion times a day, I passed through the office.

*The papers weren't there.

*I announced to several people, "I cannot believe that I am allowed out of the house without a helper monkey."

*There was staring.

*I never found my papers.

*Don't even remember what they were now...

*Last night, the Big, Fluffy Kitty was gnawing on something while I was trying to go to sleep.

*It was annoying.

*Tonight, she was gnawing and drooling.

*A lot.

*I wrestled her into submission and opened her mouth.

*Figured there was a crunchy something stuck in the toofs. Maybe a poorly chewed treat that didn't make it down the gullet.

*The BFK has a very fluffy goatee.

*Six inches of it were stuck in her teeth and down her throat.

*I removed it. Sort of.

*It was still attached to her chin. She did not see the need for a haircut of any sort.

*She ran away.

*With the Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty racing alongside her and trying to catch the chin dangles.

*My life is a little surreal sometimes.

*The matter has been dealt with and the BFK is no longer gnawing and dangling.

*The AGK looks despondent over the whole matter.

*Kitty drool...

*GAH!!!!!!!!!!

*I remain obsessed with the panda cam. It's like a sickness.

*Here's one of baby panda from my ever-growing file of screen shots:

You are permitted to make cooing sounds if you so desire, but you might want to save your breath.

*Seriously. I'm giving you fair warning.

*You are about to collapse from the cuteness and I don't want anyone suing me over any resulting contusions.

*I'm not kidding.

*Brace yourselves.

*Take a deep breath.

*Call your insurance carrier if necessary.

*Ready?

*OK.

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Don't say I didn't warn you...

I'll just leave you with that. Hope that this Thursday edition of the Wednesday Night Bullet Post didn't overly tax your relationship to the time/space continuum. Frankly, I thought it was Wednesday all day so it is kind of nice to realize that tomorrow is Friday. And I've managed to solve a few problems before the weekend even starts! The kitty isn't drooling. The other kitty isn't chasing a sodden mass of chin fur that doesn't even belong to him.

And I've spread a little panda love before it completely overwhelmed me. Not bad...

SA