Joy in being ‘smrt’…

I like to think I am intelligent, thoughtful, curious, bright.  But today, I realized that even those who think they are the smart ones have a little foolish going on.  For starters.  I have not yet been able to remember and sort out the right names for the seven students in my room.  That’s right- I have seven students.  My kindergartners think I am a few fries short of a Happy Meal.  But cut me some slack-  several of their names sound the same phonologically- that counts for something, right?   But even then.  I got my own daughter’s name wrong this morning and called her by her sister’s name.

It happens.  Whatevs.

Carry on.  I have been having some Alzheimer’s tendencies when it comes to my teaching.  We started the year off with me telling the students that autumn, or as I say it- fall was coming.  In my mind, I believed summer turned into fall on September 21st .  Isn’t it usually the 21st of each month when the seasons turn?  So, I started the first week of school- building up the momentum towards fall.  Telling those precious, trusting little souls that fall would be arriving on September 21st.  And I meant to google it- just to be sure.  But I forgot.  So, we arrived there today at school, and one bright little guy- who had listened to me go on and on all month about fall- piped up that today was FALL because it was September 21st !  And of course I thought to myself, “Darn it- is it already fall?” followed by another quick thought, “… I forgot to google that…” And so of course I said, “You’re right, Johnny!   It is certainly fall!”  And we believed it all day.

News flash.  It is not yet fall.  Fall begins tomorrow.  To which I ask this: does it really matter when summer turns to fall?  I think not.  And besides.  It will be fall on Monday when we return to school, at which point everyone will have forgotten that it wasn’t really fall on Friday.

So later on this lovely autumn-ish afternoon, I am downloading pictures for a curriculum programming.  I accidentally disconnect the keyboard from the hard drive.  I know there is a problem because the icons are not showing up on my screen.  But I keep clicking.  Desperately.  Hoping that maybe the 25th try at the keyboard will produce some results.  Of course it does not.  So, I leave it for the rest of the afternoon. And pretend this never happened.

I choose rather to focus on the technological successes I have accomplished, those being that I have downloaded pictures from my cell phone to the computer all by myself.   At the end of the day, I proudly tell my on-site computer tech that I was able to download these pictures- and I can feel it: the pride.  I am so proud of myself.  I am so smart.  I tell my tech guy that I even found that DMCI thingy (or whatever that’s called) on the P drive.   I am sure even he cannot do what I have done.  Pure brilliance on my part.  Then, because I am going on and on about my phone, he asks me what kind of phone it is that can work this magic.  I am dumbfounded.  I don’t know what kind of phone it is.  Who cares?  I hardly ever use this phone- thus partly why I am so excited that I could find pictures on it today.  And as I usually forget to plug it in, the battery is dead half the time anyway.  Who can fault a person for not using a phone when the battery is always dead?  Right?

I lie.  The only phone name I can remember is Virgin.  My phone is NOT a Virgin, but that is the only thing I can think of at the moment.  I sincerely WISH it was a Virgin.  I then try to describe the phone- telling him what size it is.  As if that would help him decipher what kind it is.  Spiral down, baby.

Anyhoo, we move on.  I am still rattled about my keyboard not working.  I tell him that there is this problem with my keyboard. He explains to me in such a nice way that there is a cord.  The cord has only one connection.  In fact, I later come to realize it is COLOR CODED.  How very kind of them to color code computer parts for those of us who are computer illiterate.  I do not explain to my colleague that I tried plugging that stupid plug into every nook, cranny and crevice I could find in the nether parts of the hard drive, but rather I smile sweetly and assure him I can handle this one.  It seems almost too easy.

And I go back to my room, and I realize- that the PURPLE connector really does fit into the PURPLE outlet.

Some people are so smart.

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It is a joyful, crazy life…

Ever had one of those days when you think you have all the time in the world, and then you discover you’ve forgotten something particularly significant?  As in, picking up a child attending an after- school program?  Yeah, me neither.  But, let’s just say that “were” this to happen, it might go down like this:

If it were to ever happen that I forgot someone so essential, so important, as a child, I would probably have left work earlier than usual; and as I never really allow myself relaxation time, I might have given in to the fatigue and had a forty-five minute visit with my friend who also happens to babysit for us.  I just might have left her house at 4:30 p.m. so as to get home in time to make supper.  But, as I would be nearing our driveway, I would notice my son’s Robotics Instructor driving into the driveway of our next door neighbor’s house.  Strange, I might think to myself, but who knows?  Maybe he has made a new friend in the quiet grandmother who lives in the house next to ours?   She could use the company.

I would then pull into the lane leading up to our house, and I would just be about to get out of the vehicle when my cell phone would ring.  Then, the Robotics instructor also would pull in beside me at precisely the same time as my cell phone is ringing.    I would probably not have to worry about the fact that everyone in the country side would be aware that I had forgotten my child (as all my emergency contact information would by now have been called) because I would not know this small detail until much later on. It would turn out,  in this imagined scenario, that my son would be stranded at the school with only the principal and janitor for company, and he would have been waiting for me for at least 40 minutes, prior to my grand entrance with hungry, tired siblings in tow.

As I would pull into the school parking lot, I would then make a feeble attempt at an apology to the principal, who would be waiting on the bottom of the steps with my son.  His reply to me would be this, “It will make for good writing material for your Huff Post column.”

Thankfully, I am not notorious for forgetting my children in all manner of places as well as being late for pretty well everything I am involved in.  And if I was, I would certainly not admit it on Facebook.

So, needing a bit of a break from my day dreaming, I quickly throw supper in the oven tonight and sit down for fifteen minutes of further mindless entertainment, otherwise known as creeping people’s Facebook statuses on my homepage.

To say this is a mistake is a bit of an overstatement.  Let’s just say this:

Supper was stellar tonight. Who knew that cooking food at 475 degrees would actually not only save time, it would also ruin appetites?  What with the burned chicken fingers, the four bar-b-qued hotdogs leftover from Sunday and the corn that arrived half-way through the meal, as I had too many items lined up for the microwave to cook in time for the meal’s commencement, it was a burnt offering at best.  Part way through the feast, a little one jumps up and makes a run for the toilet.  Minutes later, same child calls me from the bathroom.

“Moooooooom, I’m dooonnne.”  I look at my plate with its meager portions.  Growing colder by the minute.  More pitiful under the light of our candelabra, minus its two burnt-out bulbs.  And I decide that eating it cold makes no difference.

In the bathroom, I try to hurry up the job as quickly as possible.   Wiping at any time of the day is not my forte.  And as it all vaguely resembles something on my plate, particularly now that the darkened chicken was charred beyond recognition, I am also trying not to inhale the fumes.  Unfortunately, I drop a wad of used toilet paper on the floor, soiled side down.

So now I have to clean the floor too.  Just great.

And so it goes.  And so it goes….

“It might be a crazy life” (a.k.a. Jon and Kate Plus Eight), but if there was ever any financial offer made and a reality television show to boot that would pay us to video tape our lives for an audience of millions, I’d do it all over again.