My own personal cheerleader, Ian, completed his focused mission of getting Every.  Single.  Person.  to get their saggy buttocks behind the boat & into the tube.  His effort earned him 6 extra rides more than his brother, FTW  (for the win).  I told him while we bounced along that tubing felt like a constant spanking.  But I could NOT stop laughing.

When my next bounce partner requested me, how could I say no to this face?

Or this one?

As Hostess S pointed out, when you’re in The Tube with your bounce partner, you’re in your own little world.  There’s a special bond forged.  Sort of like a super short-term room-mate.

Over the last 3 years I have done my fair share of venting/complaining/worrying-out-loud to these mamas regarding my teens & tweens.  And do you know what my crazy kids did?

Wrestled.  Offered laps.  Shared Skittles.  Woke up early.  Told stories.  Made me SO proud.  Reminded me how great they are.

Thank God for friends who bring out your best.

Well, of course it is!

I discovered on Get-Ready day that I was the lone staffer with no employee email therefore, I had missed receiving Several Important Attachments, passwords, Log-Ins, a name tag and such.  Off to a great start.

However, I scrounged for what I needed, one of which was the Most Important Document…the class list.

I quickly discovered that I had two students whose names started with Zy—.  One I thought may be pronounced a little like that short guy in the tree in the Bible whose house Jesus says he’s coming to today.  The other one has what I thought to be an apostrophe after the Zy and before the rest of his name.  When I pointed to the mark in his name after he wrote it himself I asked him.

“What is that thing called?”

He said, “A slash.”

Well alrighty then.  Maybe this will be a new trend in names—keyboard strokes.  You heard it here first.

Day One was as crazy as you would expect, despite the constant soothing intercom reminders to make sure you know how everyone’s getting home.  Simultaneously meeting, corralling and assessing 15  young First Grade Hopefuls is no small task.  There are about 20 teachers, 3 per grade level, and one Assistant in our school.  One.  Which is GREATER THAN the number of  pencil sharpeners I can access in my room.  Crayons it is!

Day Two had the added dimension of throw up.  This particular girl was complaining as soon as she got there about her tummy-ache.  Clearly motherhood has jaded me for the complaints of young children.  When I taught Kindergarten before, I wasn’t yet a mom (yes, it was THAT long ago).  Now I am of the “suck-it-up” mentality unless, as I tell my own kids, you have a fever or are spewing bodily fluids, you’re going to,  AND STAYING AT school.  This Sweetie came in a bit whiney–as is every other kid that would rather be sleeping or spending quality time with SpongeBob.  I nodded sympathetically when she said her tummy hurt.  I told her to move away from the air conditioner when she complained that she was cold.   I pointed her towards the water fountain when she said she was thirsty.  But she finally got my full attention when she ran over to me (and away from the bathroom) as I was giving a reading assessment to another student and said,  “MYMOUTHFEELSFUNNYITHINKIMGONNATHROWUP”  Well, at least now she wasn’t whining.

After the dramatic episode and my lame attempt to redirect the pint-sized rubber-neckers, one sweet over-helper student was brave/kind/disillusioned enough to be willing to walk Sick One  3.25 miles to the nurse’s office.  When Helpful Smurf returned from her epic journey, she reported that Sick One had yet another event in the hallway before they reached their destination.  Sucks to be her.  Moving on.

During a fun language arts activity where students were supposed to discuss with a partner their favorite toys, one student refused to talk with the girl next to her saying “I don’t KNOW her” complete with head bobble & eye roll.

Uh, Sweet Pea?  That’s how you GET to know her.  You make friends in our class.

“I GOT friends.”

Heavy sigh.

This is the conversation that prompted me to survey the other teachers for their 2011 discipline plan.  Because Toto?  We’re not in 1991 any more.

Day Three:  While Mission: Discipline Plan is going into effect, the computer specialist is discovering that my classroom computers need to be re-imaged and I do, in fact, need the non-existant password that has eluded me for three days–both for my teacher computer as well as for the student computers.  She is hooking me up while I’m explaining to my young Jedis that earning treasure=good, moving shapes=bad and she pops in later as we jump to the words of our weekly poem about Favorite Toys.  Add to the mix providing sub plans for the following week and you have one spent teacher by 11:00 am.

3 days down, 18 to go!

Black button down shirt.

Khaki pants.

White tie.

We had to try on the khaki’s last night because he had two pair to choose from.  However, one was now two inches too tight in the waist & too short at the ankles.  They are from last Easter.

I made him tuck in his shirt and raise his arms up over his head to “untuck” it just a smidge.

Then as I adjusted his tie I had a thought which I did not say outloud:

It will not be that long from now when I will possibly adjust his prom tie.  Then his wedding tie–for one of his siblings’ weddings & then eventually for his own.

And it feels like 2, 3 days ago that I was taking his 1st-day-of-Kindergarten picture.

And maybe a week ago that I was delivering him out of my body.

*heavy sigh*

For the past few weeks I have been watching him “turn into a teenager” and pounding furiously on the brakes of time which refuse to catch.

So I take a deep breath, try not to stare and pray him through.

We’re proud of you, Bo!

I signed up to participate in a creative tweeting assignment…tellling the Easter story in 140 characters at a time.

For my non-twitter-inclined friends (and confused facebookers) here’s how it went down:

@MMag:  funny thing happened @ Bethany baptism today…a dove landed on that 1 guy and then…did any1 else hear that??  #weird

@MMag: SisMarth & I asked, “Teacher!  Where u staying?”  He goes, “Come & you will see.”  #sowedid  #becameBFFs

@MMag: SisMarth #memberthattime u were all “Make her help me!” & @Rabboni was all “Mary has chosen better?”  #thatwasawesome

@MMag:  Overheard Rabboni explain the widow’s 2 small coins > wealthy “make it rain” offering.   #whatcanIgive?

@MMag: Seriously!  I don’t have 2 coins to rub together.

@MMag:  Looking…looking.  All I really have of worth is this perfume…

@MMag:   It was given to me when I was young & alive & pure.  #re-gifter

Monday

@MMag:  Everyone should get 2 hear Rabboni #onTour but my brother/ his pal @Lazarus is jacked up sick!  #needhelpSTAT

@MMag:  Two days=#nothing  Four days= #toolate

@MMag:  #angry  #mourning #cantstopcrying

@MMag:  SisMarth goes to meet him…I’m staying here.

@MMag:  SisMarth says “He asks for you Sis”  ITS.ABOUT.TIME

@MMag:  He asks, “Where have you laid him?”  We say, “Come and you will see.” #dejavu

@MMag:  I can NOT believe my tear-streaked eyes… He lives!  He lives!  He commands us 2 take off the grave clothes and LET HIM GO

@MMag:  FROM #overwhelminggrief TO #unbridledjoy

Tuesday

@MMag:  I know  just what to do with this perfume.    #extremegratitude

@MMag:  Maybe I should wait until Passover/Feast-o-flatbread #timingiseverything

@MMag:  SisMarth says that the gang is eating tonight @LeperSimon’s #shouldIstayorshouldIgo

@MMag:  What in the world would Jesus want with perfume? #secondthoughts

@MMag:  They’ll think I’m crazy.  #partycrasher #notaREALdisciple

@MMag:  I’m going now.   It’s the right thing.  He deserves it.   All of it.

@MMag:  #notaword #onlyfragrance&tears #ignoringthehaters

@MMag:  Heard what happened when Peter got HIS feet washed & by whom.  #WOW #lastshallbefirst

Wednesday

@MMag:  I don’t get it…in a little while we will see him no more? #confusing

@MMag:  …and then after a little while we WILL see him? #huh?

@MMag:  He says we will weep & mourn while world rejoices…then grief will turn to joy.   #beenthere/donethat

@MMag:  He prays out loud for those who will believe in him through our message  #whodoesthat?

Thursday

@MMag:  Arrested?  My Rabboni??  In the olive grove?  Whatever for?  #absurd  #longnight

@MMag:  CRUCIFIED?  You have GOT to be kidding!  #thiscantbehappening

@MMag:  Oh, God.  There he is.  Right.  In.  The.  Middle.  #dontlook  #cantlookaway

@MMag:  I am with his mother.  She’s not leaving.   I’m not leaving either.  #wearefamilynow

Friday

@MMag:  MaryMom remembers his swaddling clothes as we watch @Arimathea_Joe wrap his body in strips of linen.

@MMag:  We can smell Nicodemus’ spices from here.  He spoke of his burial when I washed his feet just the other night.

@MMag: We watch @Arimathea_Joe put him in his own new tomb.  Nicodemus helps roll the heavy  stone.

Saturday

@MMag:  Sabbath day of rest.  We can do nothing until after sundown

@MMag: #angry #mourning #cant.stop.crying #AGAIN

Sunday

6am  @MMag:  Didn’t sleep a wink. Guess I’ll just take spices to the tomb since my perfume’s all gone.

630am  @MMag:  How are we supposed to get in there?  We’ll figure something out.

7am  @MMag:  Good grief! Someone has moved the stone?  But WHY??  #what.in.the.world.is.going.on

730am  @MMag:  From bad to WORSE.  THE BODY IS GONE!

8am  @MMag:  I dropped the spices & ran as fast as I could.  @Peter will not believe this  #overwhelminggrief

830am  @MMag:  I was outside the tomb crying.  Someone asked me why.  #whydoyouthink

9am  @MMag:   “They have taken my Lord away.  TELL ME WHERE HE IS.” #thought.it.was. the.gardener  #hysterical

930am  DM @MMag:  “Mary.”

10am  @MMag:  I looked up… “Rabboni?  TEACHER!?!”

1030am  @MMag:   FROM #overwhelminggrief TO  #unbridledjoy AGAIN

11am  @MMag:   I can NOT believe my tear-streaked eyes… He lives!  He lives!

1130am  @MMag:  He commands me to LET HIM GO  #gotellthebrothers

12pm  @MMag:  As I run, I realize I am the disciple that Jesus loves!  #trembling/filledwithjoy

1pm  @MMag:  My thoughts as I run=I am the apostle to the apostles!  Sent by the master with a special message!

130pm  @MMag: RunningThoughts= I am the first of many to spread the good news!

2pm  @MMag: RunningThoughts  HE IS RISEN!  HE IS RISEN INDEED!

230pm  @MMag:  All out of breath, all I could say is “I…have seen…the LORD”   They didn’t even look up.

3pm  @MMag:  They, like me, each had to see for themselves, individually.

330pm  @MMag:  He led us back towards home, blessed us, & gave us work to do

4pm  @MMag:  Oh, and one more thing…a promise…

430pm  Rabboni:  “Surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

I told him to either pick me back up at 9:00 after the game or text me an updated plan once he spoke to his dad after guitar.

I watched him drive away.  In the only car we have that can hold the entire family.

We worked a plan for me to get picked up by Hubby after work.  New Driver promised he’d be home by 9:30.   We were willing to negotiate, but that was his call.  What a noob.

We thought our New Driver would be home by the time we got home, car safely parked in the driveway at 10:15.

He wasn’t.

We called.

He didn’t answer.  The plot thickens.

We knew where he was so Hubby came up with a brilliant idea.

An awful idea.

The Grinch got a terrible awful idea…

Can’t you just see his smile?

You’re a mean one, Curfew Grinch!

“Let’s just drive over to That Chick’s house and pick up the car.  I bet we’ll hear from him then.”

Thank God New Driver was where he said he would be.  Had he not been, I would have been getting terrible/awful ideas of my own.

So we pulled up, I got in (it was locked) and drove away.

We placed bets on how we thought he’d come home.  Will he get a ride?  Run?  Call?  And which one of us will he call?  And when??

I then proceeded to mentally pace around the interior of my brain until the phone call o-shame finally  came about 11:00.

He called my number.  I knew it.

So I made his Dad answer my phone.

It was awesome.

“Uh…dad…(voice shaking) can I talk to Mom?”

“What time did you say you were going to be home?”

“Uh…9:30″

“Oh.  It’s 9:30 already?”

“Uh.  Sorry I’m late.  Can I please talk to Mom?”

“O.K.  Here she is.”  (stifling laughter)

“WHERE ARE YOU?”

“I’m at G’s house.  I’m trying to come home right now.”

“What do you mean you’re trying…”  (so.  hard.  not.  to.  laugh.)

“Well…(long pause)…I locked the car and went in.  (Heavy sigh)  ((long pause))  (((dread)))  Gone.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘GONE??!!’”  I ask him what he means A LOT.

“I mean it’s not here.”  (both of us stifling laughter/he’s trying not to cry in front of a girl)

“Here.  Tell your dad what you just told me.”

He thinks we’re crying.

We KNOW he is.

“So how are you getting home.”

“Can you come pick me up?”

(pause)  ”I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”  hangs up

“Are you taking the allegedly-stolen-mobile?”

(Grin.  Nod.)

I have to imagine the look on New Driver’s face when his dad pulled up in the “stolen” vehicle.

Then later:  ”That was the BEST lesson you ever taught me.”

That it was April 1 was just an extra added bonus.

I have one sister, but I grew up around boys in my neighborhood.

They were fascinating to me then, and now that I have two of my own, (and a husband) I still find them fascinating.

I love how they don’t mind getting a scar or dirty or ripping their clothes.  In fact, it’s a badge of honor.

I like how “hat-hair” isn’t devastating to them.

I like how they see the world–what’s right in front of them–instead of being distracted by what happened yesterday or  next week or who said what to whom.

I like discovering what their “treasures” are.  For one it’s baseball cards.  For another, sports statistics.  For another, skateboards.  For another, stock market trends.  For another Star Wars characters.  For another, chewing tobacco.  For another, rocks or shells or bugs.  Usually it doesn’t involve other people.  Even when/if they find a friend who shares their “treasure” it is not essential that they remind each other about it all the time.

I like how quiet boys can be.  And how loud.

In my pregnancy journal when I was expecting my first son, there was a quote:

“A boy is a noise with dirt on it.”

Sometimes I might feel the need to clean him off or quiet him down, but when I’m patient with him, my “boy” is my treasure.

her: Why do adults need day care?

me:  Well, sometimes they have trouble getting around, or they might have Alzheimers…

her:  What’s that?

me:  It’s a sort of disease that people get that makes them forget things or get confused.

her:  Oh yeah.  I did a paper on that in Social Studies.

me:  So then why did you ask me what it is?

her:  I dunno…I think I’m already coming down with  it.

I am not a fan of cats in general.  I like people who like cats, I just am not one of them.

I am a dog person.

But these little guys remind me that I desire more fun in my life.

When I look at this picture, at first I am mildly amused.

Quickly I restrain myself, remembering that if I join in the fun I will soon be itchy and sneezing.

I have a child who is a sweet fuzzy kitten on the brink of outgrowing her cuteness.

She used to cuddle up to me, thumb in mouth hand tucked around my upper arm, head on my shoulder.

She used to give me 5 minute hugs until I rolled my eyes.

Now she is the one rolling her eyes at me.

When I give her a pep-talk, she makes a face and says, “I just wish you’d stop talking.”

In the photo above, she is the white cat with the beautiful eyes and the face trying to decide which way to go.

She’s not forging ahead with fearless abandon.

She’s not looking back either.

She’s not really close to any of her peers.

She’s not following the leader.

She’s not sure which way to go.

Maybe she doesn’t have to know yet.

Maybe it’s just time to frolic and play, enjoying the grass and the garden.

Puurrrrr  (atchoo!)

Carepage name EllaFaithHoagland

YES THIS IS A SWIMMING POOL!

Is this not a starting block?

YES THIS IS A STARTING BLOCK!

Are we not the winning team?

YES WE ARE THE WINNING TEAM!

Are you not the looooooooOOOOOooooosing team!

YES YOU ARE THE LOOOOooooOOOOOOooOoSING TEAM!

As I recall, Mom didn’t like that cheer.  “It doesn’t show good sportsmanship.”

After morning swim practice, we would have to leave out the side gate, run the perimeter of the fence into the “sign in” gate.  The priviledged few wouldn’t even have to scrawl their name with drippy hands but could just say “Season Ticket” to gain entry. 

You do NOT want to visit the restroom.  Under any circumstances.  Even to change.  Just go home wet.

Around 11:00 in the summer of 1981 there would be a daily game of Poolie and/or Pom Pom Poolie. 

POOLIE = a boys v girls game where only the girls who shaved their legs THAT DAY would be brave enough to play.  Boys stood on the side, girls were in the water, the goal was to swim underwater the width of the New Pool–between the ropes–and hop out before getting tagged on the top of the head once your head broke the surface of the water.  Once tagged on the head, you could then be manhandled and dragged to the wall you dove from, and a foot would be wrangled to touch the tile.  Once three folks were captured in this way, the teams would switch.  When preparing for the game of Poolie, baby oil is your friend.   So is significant speed and a large lung capacity.  Unless you are the type that doesn’t mind being hauled through the water by the opposite sex.  I’ve heard that type of player exists.

POM POM POOLIE = “It” goes off the high dive and everyone else scatters & hides.  Wait…I think I’m remembering Around The Pool Tag.  Are they the same thing?

SPLASH YOUR FAVORITE LIFEGUARD = Walter Gibson was fond of playing this when there were <10 total patrons because it was 52 degrees that day and the lifeguards were huddled on the chairs in sweatshirts, socks and multiple towels.

PIGEON = This was a swim team game from Coach Kendall.  The entire team of 100+ swimmers of all ages lined up across the width of the pool.  CK would say a sentence like, “It’s amazing how fast he’s PITCHING!” or “Hand me that PITCHER!” or “Is that a PIGEON?”  Only when he said PIGEON could we dive in simultaneously, furiously fly across the water and hop all the way out.  Last one completely out of the water was out of the game.  Randy Thacker won every time but I do remember Debbie Quarles slinging her foot out at the last second and narrowly staying in the game during one intense practice. 

Do you remember any water games that I’ve forgotten?