Juggling Life

I’ve Got Something in my Pocket, It Belongs Upon my Face . . .

I was a Girl Scout for close to half my life. Social Butterfly was a Girl Scout for 8 years. So what was our response to the news that the truck Mr. Fix-it was driving had a broken axle and tie rod from the collision?

We looked at each other, smiled and burst into song:

You can’t ride in my Little Red Wagon!

Front seat’s broken and the axle’s draggin’!

It must be a regional thing though—we always sang “chugga, chugga, chugga chugga choo-choo” while the videos I found mostly do an “Oompah” thing.

What camp song will you never forget?

Juggling True Life

MTV has this series called “True Life.” Some of the titles have been “True Life: I Have OCD,'' “True Life: I’m Looking for my Sibling,” “True Life: I’m Homeless,” and “True Life": I’m a Gambler.”

Sometimes it’s riveting; sometimes it’s trashy.

Social Butterfly was watching an episode, but she left the room. The TV was still on, but nobody was really following it.

Grownup Girl: What’s this show about?

MVP (who has been on the computer, not even watching the show): It’s “True Life: I Need to Wash my Hair.”

It was actually “True Life: I Have Broke Parents,” but they really did need to was their hair.

Also, if you’re a 17-year old guy and your mom is broke you might want to take out the lip and nose piercings, wipe off the thick black eyeliner and look for a job yourself. Just a thought.

One Step Forward

My class had a very large assignment due Friday—research essays on teen pregnancy. True to form many students are going to be a day late, but many did get everything done—and done well.

One of the really cute girls who thinks it’s impossible to be  both pretty and smart (while gazing lovingly at her at the stark black words on the crisp white pages of her freshly-printed paper—and seeming especially admiring of her first MLA-formatted Works Cited page): Mrs. Juggling? Could I print another copy to show my mom? I don’t want to have to wait until it’s graded.

Mrs. Juggling: Sure you can. Are you proud of what you accomplished?

OOTRCGWTIITBBPAS (a little surprised): I am!

Mrs. Juggling: I’m proud of you, too.

Anti-Gleek

Social Butterfly and I were trying to introduce MVP to the unadulterated joy that is Glee:

MVP: I’ve seen dumber things, but not on national television.

MVP (As Rachel starts singing Poker Face with her biological mother): What the hell? This seems like a very inappropriate song to sing with your estranged mother.

He might have a point on the second one.

Hmmmm . . .

Social Butterfly and I were headed into Rubio’s for a bite to eat when she realized she didn’t have shoes. She was right in the door when the manager said, “Please put on some shoes.”

I ordered and we ate at an outside table.

Social Butterfly: That rule really confuses me. I washed my feet last night in the shower, but I’ve never washed my shoes.

Hmmmm . . .

TGIF

Mrs. Juggling (sighing): TGIF

Student: What does that mean?

Mrs. Juggling: Thank God It’s Friday

Student: Cool! Did you just make that up?

Mrs. Juggling: Nope. A restaurant chain thought of it first.

He Does Not Condone This

As the BOSSY fiesta was in full margarita-fueled swing, Danger Boy came into the kitchen and was pouring himself a glass of juice. Cameraman Scott swung his camera toward DB and asked what he thought of all of this.

Danger Boy’s deadpan response? “I do not condone this.”

Accented

Most of my students are Mexican and though my Spanish is muy poquito, I do have a passable accent. I consider it a sign of respect to call people by their given names as pronounced by their parents. If possible—there are some languages where that is not possible; please don’t ask me to do umlauts. But Spanish names? That I can do.

Boy 1 and Boy 2 are beefing back in forth in a joking manner.

Mrs. Juggling: What’s the problem here guys?

Boy 1: He doesn’t like me because I’m not Mexican.

Mrs: Juggling: I doubt that’s the problem—he likes me and I’m not Mexican.

Boy 2: That’s because even though you’re not Mexican you say my name right.

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

The Friday before spring break I had a party for all my classes to reward them for the good work habits they’d developed since I took over the class. Specifically, it now takes about one minute from the time the bell rings until everyone is seated, with their materials out and reading from the novel we’re working on. This is down from about 10 minutes when I first got there. Sometimes a little bit of “the carrot” really works. Where carrot = candy.

On Thursday  night I went to the nearby Costco and ordered and paid for the eight pizzas I needed. Mr. Fix-it picked the pizzas up and brought them to the school. I had a couple of the students meet him in the office to show him the way and help carry the pizzas.

There was lots of activity as I was stacking the pizzas, putting out the plates and napkins, etc. Plus, someone was delivering a pass for one of the kids. Hectic would be the word.

Mrs. Juggling to Mr. Fix-it: Thanks! I’ll see you at home.

Mr. Fix-it (eager to get back to his work day): Bye!

He leaves and a loud chorus arises from the girls.

“That’s it?! See ya’ later? No hug? No kiss good-bye? Where’s the love, Mrs. Juggling?!”

I felt bad for a wee minute. Then I remembered that these are 14-year old girls for whom a passing period of 5 minutes is the appropriate place and time to both declare your undying love for your boyfriend and gird yourself for an separation of an hour.

Neither Rain, Nor Sleet, Nor Tropical Breezes . . .

I assigned a Response to Literature Essay on Tuesday. It was to be completed in class on Tuesday and Wednesday and was due by the end of class on Thursday.

Football Player Dude: I’m not going to have time to finish this, so it’s a waste of time for me to even start.

Mrs. Juggling: Why won’t you be able to finish it?

FBD: I’m going to Hawaii tomorrow.

Mrs. Juggling: Umm, taking off school to go on vacation does not mean you don’t do the work.

FBD (in genuine shock): It doesn’t?

Mrs. Juggling: It doesn’t. Get started today and you can email it to me.

FBD: I don’t think anybody is going to take a laptop.

Mrs. Juggling (heads to her desk and then returns): Here’s an envelope with my home address on it. It’s a 5 or 6 hour plane trip. Finish it on the plane and mail it to me. It needs to be postmarked by Friday.

FBD: You’re . . . not . . . kidding?

Mrs. Juggling: I’m not kidding.