The 3 R's: Reading, Riting, and (Belated) Recognition

Dear Miss Hutton,

In the year 1978 you will discover in your high school English class, a thin girl with a huge chip on her shoulder.
Please ignore the attitude, she's only like that because her dad passed away suddenly and no one has taken the time to talk about her feelings. No one has realized the crazy things that might go through a 13 year-olds' mind after the unexpected loss of a parent. She lost the one she had chosen to live with in an impending divorce--never mind the fact that they chose not to divorce and had begun working through their marital issues, the teenager only knew that the woman her father had turned her against was now her only parent.

Anyway, she's not a bad egg. She likes to act silly and get the laughs, but really, she just wants some attention. It honestly has never occurred to her that she might be disrupting your class.

Miss Hutton, I know you and I know that I don't even need to mention any of this.

I know that you are going to reach out to her in a subtle way. You won't blatantly try to fluff up her ego-- something that she would definitely fight.
You will encourage her to write and then give her ideas that she could actually be good one day. You will make it fun for her to diagram sentences even though she has no idea why she has to learn it, and when she's older, every sentence in her head will jump into formation and she'll think of you.

That same girl will begin to trust you so much, she will even try out for your softball team. Sad really, because the girl is SO un-athletic. She tends to throw up when she runs, so don't take it personal that she's grumbling about doing laps.

You will touch her life in ways you can't ever imagine.

You will never see how she pulls out of the awkward teenage years and goes on to have a large family and a loving husband. She'll love writing and it will be because of you. The things you teach her about the English language will pop into her mind long after you are gone.

That is sad for me to say,
because you will leave this earth earlier than anyone expected. You will leave before she can properly thank you.
Please find comfort knowing that because of that missed opportunity, she thanks people who make a difference in her children's lives.
She's written thank you notes to her 2nd grade teacher who cried and said that in 30 years she had never been thanked.
That thin girl with a huge chip will be grateful for you...
and because of you.

Thank you, Linda. Enjoy your new Freshman class and may God bless you.

**Tuesday's the last day to enter my thankful-themed Giveaway-- hurry and get your post up!**

Scrolling Saturday Returns with Man Cold

Scrolling Saturday is the ingenious idea by Manners and Moxie and Rock and Drool...Mom Gone Mental that allows us saturday away from the computer, but also lets us dust off the dust from great posts in the past when only our mothers were reading our blogs.

I'm actually replicating this post since I am too stunted technologically to figure how to re-post something with a You Tube Video. It's an appropriate one since my poor hubby is currently suffering from Man Cold (awwww, poor little bunny).

*Lemsip is a cold & flu medicine widely used here.

The Course of True Love...

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Remember T?

Her daughter, Mini-T was my son's girlfriend from age 8 to 9.
Yes, I know, he was 8. But don't you remember those boyfriend/girlfriend relationships? "Mike is going with Karen, do you want to go with me?" "Sure" you said, and then when Kyle asked you to "Go with" him the next day, you then broke up with your other boyfriend. Harmless. Part of our culture. And parents knew nothing about it, or if they did, you denied it vehemently.

When J2 came home with his brother trailing, "J2 has a girlfriend! He loves Mini-T", J2 didn't deny it. He just smiled.

When we went anywhere, he bought something for her. He once bought her a pair of beautiful little earrings in an overpriced museum shop ( we're in a dinosaur museum and he's shopping for his girl) for her birthday. She didn't have pierced ears. She does now. Her family moved her piercing rule up two years for those earrings.

Our families enjoyed spending time together.
We thought their devotion was unique.

And then came New Girl.

New Girl upset everything. She played football. And Mini T was dropped like an unwanted penny in a Trick or Treat bag.
She was crushed. Her family was crushed. (She took her revenge when a gang of kids had him on the ground, she put her foot print on his back--I joke now, but I was NOT happy when it happened and we had family-to-family conferences).
We slowly re-introduced the two of them to family activities. They stayed on opposite ends of the parties and BBQ's. It was sad.

This summer a local Church hosted a Holiday Club. The ex-sweethearts both attended. One day I got news that she had gone home and flung herself on the bed and cried because J2 had laughed when she got up to receive an award.
Son and I had a heart to heart about hurting someone's feelings. I told him how hurt she's been and how his laughing amplified that pain.

something happened

They began talking when we were together.
They stopped reacting as if the other had leprosy.
And one day... the last day of the holiday club, they did this.... I took 6 pictures of them laughing side by side.


J2 still plays with New Girl. He talks fondly of the French Student his school hosted for two days, but he and Mini-T are comfortable again.

Clock Is Ticking!

Time is running out.... (you know, for the giveaway)
I thought you might like a sneaky peek at the goodies box. (you know, for the winner of the giveaway).

You will notice it seems to have a Christmas theme. I can't help it, the UK doesn't really go batty over Halloween, so the Christmas stuff is out now.

If you win this goody box (win the giveaway, holy cow, keep up with me will you?) , you will find a BBC Christmas Dishes cookbook so that you can make your very own British Christmas meal, sweets and puddings.
But even better, if you don't feel like cooking your own Christmas pudding, I've included one in here for you. It's gluten free even.
That's not the only book in the box,
I'm also including a paper back Harry Potter.

"Big deal", you say? "I've read them all", you say?
Well look closer, Yank....How cool is that?

So maybe you don't celebrate Christmas... well you eat, don't you? Yeah, me too. And chocolate lovers rejoice, there is a whole new world of English chocolate waiting to melt on your tongue... I'm especially happy it's going to your house because any longer in mine would cause trouble.

That's it. That's the teaser to tell you to Thank! Thank! Thank! The ticker's ticking, time's running out! Ta Ta for now, time for T.

Remember, I'm no respecter of countries-- if you live in one, I will ship to it (that means you Singapore).

WW-- Eight is Not Too Old For Daddy's Lap

When Brains are Lactating

This is T, see T's beautiful eyes? (go ahead, click on it, you know you want to) It's hard to talk to her and not lose one's train of thought because of those eyes. I don't have those eyes, so I have no explanation for her inability to speak coherently in my presence.



We were at T's for tea (t?) on Sunday, when she leaned over to me and simply said, "If you would prefer, we have breast milk".




It was one of those moments when several thoughts whip in and out of the brain.
Hers was grasping the horror of the words that had come rolling out of her mouth even though she knew they weren't the right ones.
Mine was wondering what caused the Freudian slip-- are my breasts looking engorged? That would be sad since I haven't breast fed anyone in over a year. Next thought was the season's finale of Grey's Anatomy--which disturbed me--Oh my, does T fancy me, was she looking at my breasts?!
These thoughts were instantaneously brushed aside and the two of us laughed so hard that J2 was pointing at her and saying, "She's going to wet herself!".

I had on my plate, a roasted chicken leg. There was a plate of chicken breast meat on another plate in the middle of the table. She meant breast meat, but it was too late. A forever giggle was planted.

Monday night, the children and I were eating garlic chicken and potatoes when A1 perks up, "Remember when Miss T said 'Do you want breast meat?' hahahaha (insert child's attempt to laugh for real)".
J2 added, "Breast meat! She was laughing so hard. hahahaha".

Innocence.

Cue the Creepy Music...

I was just sorting through my drafts folder, deleting posts that were published and ones that never will see the light of your monitor, when an untitled post caught my eye.

I opened it.

There on the post was a photo of me at a Time Out for Women in Albuquerque, NM.
There was also a picture of me holding a baby A2,
a photo of my brother and I as he held baby A2 for the first time,
a photo of the three boys sitting on my hospital bed all entranced by their new baby brother (yes, A2) and the last photo was of J2 and I in the Azores.

I don't know if you've ever had trouble with blogger when it comes to loading pictures. It's not always the fastest process and some days it won't load at all. Basically, it just doesn't happen by a fluke tap on a keyboard.

So,
either I have a ghost/guest blogger,
or Ky's a freakin' genius.

I Get Allergic Smelling Hay...

Stop singing Green Acres, this is serious. I need a place to live.

Not right away, of course.
In 9 years or so, I need a place to live.
Our gypsy lives will end then and somewhere in the last decade,
we lost our home-- not quite sure where we put it.

In the beginning,
when asked where our home was,
we soundly said, "Flagstaff, Arizona", even though the hubby's prior home was Phoenix and I have Lake Powell running through my veins.
Flagstaff was where we met, married and began our lives together. Home.

Then we moved, moved, moved and moved again and landed in New Mexico which, after nearly five years, became "home".

With any luck, we will live in England for a total of seven years. After that we need a home.

Here's what we'd like:

• I'd like to be near the ocean. I'd be satisfied with a Lake. The hubby says "A stream would be nice".

• We both require mountains. The Air Force, for some silly reason (silly like air turbulence and such), tends to place us in wide open flat places. We like mountains. At least within view.

• I HAVE TO HAVE a strong art community (so I can wear flowers in my hair and do hippie dances around my computer nerdy husband).

• Within an hour or 2 (or 3) of a military facility (it'd be awfully stupid to retire from the military and not be near enough to take advantages of our benefits).

• Small town feel in commuting distance to big town Target or Michael's, would please me. And you KNOW how I feel about cities, but the Hubby won't budge on this one.

• Tourist pull is a bonus since we'd like to run a small B&B. What mad B&B skillz do we have that makes us think we'd be even slightly successful? None. But that's where dreams get exciting...

I don't think that's too picky, so surely one of you knows a great place we could plant our traveling behinds?

For My Son

Photo by John Shearer/WireImage.com

Travis Barker
is the one that inspired you as a drummer.

Blink 182 was your muse--
for some of your most well-written songs.

You seem to be losing your heros, first Steve and now...
well, I'm holding on for good news of Travis.
For you.
I'm thinking of you today.

Aaaargh, Don't Tell Me Ye Missed It!

You didn't miss "Talk like a pirate day" yesterday, did you?

Shiver me timbers, this is a nerdy family.


and their nerdy friends
And that weasle-y looking wench in the stripes be me-- Aaaar!


"There! That's what I think of ye. Before an hour's out, I'll stove in your old block house like a rum puncheon. Laugh, by thunder, laugh! Before an hour's out, ye'll laugh upon the other side. Them that die'll be the lucky ones." Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson

All Kinds of Compassionate

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

A perfect example of how we become de-sensitized.

On our lazy cruise through the broads, we came around a bend in the river Yar to discover a small community of homes on the river's edge. In this particular area, they were more like shanties really. There were buildings nearing collapse, old things strewn about, and general neglect.

When I saw this boat, I was instantly transported to a Disney World river cruise-- you know the sort, alligators lurking, hippos spraying the boat with water, pirates pillaging villages and shipwrecks.

I took two pictures before realizing what a sick individual I am.

This is someone's boat. A real someone owns this real boat that is now mostly submerged and I'm gleefully taking photos as if to plaster them throughout my Disney Trip photo album.

Not one of my prouder moments.

Want Ad

I want a new job.

My job doesn't pay me enough and quite honestly, sucks a majority of the time.
My subordinates are disrespectful. There's inter-office bickering and unhealthy competition. I have brown-nosers always approaching me to paint a negative picture of their colleague.

Then there's the one who is throwing company money around like it grows on trees.
The same one who rings EVERY TIME something isn't going like he thought the real world would. He has a MY General Manager responding to me negatively because I'm not helping him as much as she thinks I should. She forgets I have other employees and can't focus all of my resources on her favourite.

They all call in sick regularly, but when I'm sick, you'll still find me at the head of the company.

I don't think I was the most-qualified for this job when I was thrown into it, and now that my sanity teeters on the edge of Lalalaville, don't think I'm the best one for it.

I want a new job.

Here are my qualifications:

• I am the Queen of multitasking. I can change a baby's poopy diaper while she's standing--with one hand-- while speaking on the phone to a son who refuses to pull himself out of a terrible mess he's dug for himself.

• I can type a blog post while several children are fighting around me.

• Even though it has been suggested my hearing isn't 100 percent, I can hear when a child is sneaking crackers out of the pantry-- three rooms removed from me.
• I have thick skin from all of the years of "I hate you", "People your size aren't supposed to wear horizontal strips are they?" and "Aaron's Mom bought him a new XBox360, I never get anything when it first comes out"s.
• Despite looking flabby and out of shape, I can carry heavy lumps of dead weight up flights of narrow stairs, making sure to dodge squeaky spots--causing contortionists poses.

• I can throw a meal for seven together in less than 30 minutes with whatever is in the kitchen-- a "seven loaf" miracle-- despite the picky tasters that will be present (the list of not-likes being: chicken, pasta that's skinny, cheese, eggs, coconut, strawberries, or any berries that were once whole and are now partially squished/blended/cut and tomato sauce).

• I keep a well-oiled machine. I can be in three places at once, but am hoping the new job won't require it because quite honestly, I'm tired of being everywhere.

I would like my new job to offer company benefits like a 30-minute mandatory bath time-- alone bath time with no one calling someone else a butt and resulting in the "butt" hitting the first, or someone else yelling "there's a poop on our floor" while guilty one rushes upstairs to shove said poop under the bunk beds resulting in me having to remove the under bed drawers to extricate it.
I want a new job.

Falling, Thanking and Giving--it's all Good.

Do you smell that?
Crisp clean air. Do you hear the rustle of leaves, see a blue in the sky that you forgot existed and haven't seen since your last box of 64 Crayola goodness?
It's Fall folks, my absolute most favourite time of the year.

In the summer, there's a moment in the day when the light is just right and I'll say, "Do you feel that? It feels like Autumn" and everyone thinks I'm nuts. But it's really here (close enough).

To celebrate the euphoria I'm feeling over welcoming back my old friend, Fall, I am having a give away.
Actually, it's not a giveaway per se, it's an I'm-going-to-reward-one-of-you-for-stretching-your- brain-cells...away giveaway.

Here's the rules:
There are people who come and go in our lives. Some are there for a long time, others just long enough to leave a permanent mark. I'd like to plaster the blog world with thank you letters. Thank you's to average everyday people who made a difference in your life at one time or another.
Please write a blog post in the form of a "Thank you" letter. To someone that has passed through your life. They can be living or not so much so. They could've touched your childhood, or maybe they just entered.

You can leave a comment (comments are my drug of choice), but your entry will be when you post one of these "letters" and link to that specific post in the Mr. Linky thing-a-ma-jiggy below.
A winner will be picked randomly by my not-so-technical-random generator (yeah, one of my kids will use his grubby little paw to pull your name out of a basket-- no cheating).

Hey, no pressure. I'm giving you until the last day of September.

You want to know what you're winning?

A goody box from England of course. It will absolutely have chocolate (I feel safe mailing it now that most of the heat has subsided-- who am I kidding, we never had heat), and other goodies (books, cds, silliness?) thrown in for fun. Now, go rake some leaves while you're thinking of people to thank.


Attention: Mr. linky seems to have slipped out for a potty break. Please leave your post info in the comments section until he returns. (And don't worry, the random generator will be drawing per name, not by number you enter by).

I didn't Post on Sept. 11th

There are some days when getting to the computer is hard. Whether it's overly boisterous children, a neglected hubby or a recent widow needing a friend, some days are just harder to manage "me" time than others.

September 11th was like that. Well, that and the heavy emotions of it all.

In the UK, I did not have the American news feeding the memorial service, but I knew it was happening. Our kids didn't observe a moment in silence in their British schools and my friends didn't gather around and compare what that day was like for them. They will do that on July 7th (for the tube attacks).

But I remember...

September 11, 2001 my oldest son was at school. We had just moved into our on-base house and had a blue rug on our drab tile floor with a child's wooden rocking chair poised right in the middle of it. Three year-old J2 was preparing to watch a little Blue's Clues on the VCR.
As I turned on the TV and started adjusting the antenna (the cable hadn't been hooked up yet), I could see a blurry image of the World Trade Center north tower with smoke coming out of it. I honestly thought that for some reason, the news was showing a clip from the bombing in 1993.

I couldn't read the ticker, so I adjusted and readjusted until I had a semi-clear image. I was horrified when I finally realized that a plane had gone into it just moments before.

When the next plane hit, I screamed.

Our base went into THREATCON DELTA*-- something only done when we are under attack.

*(There are loud speakers declaring the actions we should take, the gates on and off are locked and guarded and our little gated-village life becomes a precise military machine).

My husband was at work.
The news anchor, with an expression that I knew I must be wearing, was speculating about how many unaccounted planes were still in the air.
My husband was at work.

Another plane hit the pentagon. Where we knew people.
The speaker system across the base was repeating "Attention... Threatcon Delta". It was frightening.
Flights were grounded but a few were still unaccounted for.
My husband was at work... in an Air Traffic Control Tower on a military base. A military base that was home to fighter jets-- a great target for terrorists flying planes.

I had never feared for his life like I did at that moment (I would soon learn real fear when he was then deployed to Iraq).

I have no idea whether or not I fed my kids that day. I must have, but I remember nothing other than standing in front of the TV and crying-- in between fielding phone calls from family members wondering how we were affected and frantically searching the pentagon list for names.
That day changed this military family forever and we won't ever forget it.
We haven't forgotten the lives lost in NY, Washington DC and Pennsylvania. We stand a little prouder because of the way Americans stepped up in the face of terrorism.
I will never forget the emotions that thousands of American Flags waving in the streets drew from me. I won't forget the acts of heroism, the acts of charity.

I'll tell you what I did forget--
I have no idea what the names of the terrorists were. I would recognize them if I heard them, but I don't know them--I won't honor them that way. They died in oblivion as far as I'm concerned.

The Sun DOES Revolve Around Me

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

This PSF is more about the story than the photo.

Not an overly striking photo, is it?

The Hubby and I were in London, on a very limited time schedule (5 kids, imagine that).

We were tube hopping to all the places he missed on the last limited time trip into the city.
At the Tower of London exit, we ran out of the tube station, up the stairway and he spots something I've passed several times but never noticed. A sundial.
"Wow, how cool, a sundial!" he exclaims. He was right, what a great photo op.

There was a guy posing by it (the nerve of some people, shouldn't everyone step aside when my camera comes into the area?). Since I didn't really want the guy in my photo, I waited.

and waited.

and waited.

The guy was striking every pose imaginable. It was like America's Next Top Model was being shot in this very location, only the photographer and the model look like very average tourists.

As Joe Average started walking away from the sundial, I moved up to get a good angle, only he wasn't leaving--he moved to another side and they begin another modeling moment.
Considering the time, I knew I was running out of opportunities to take a shot.

Narcissus kept on posing.

Finally, I decided that any picture I got of this thing would only remind me of the aggravating moment at hand. I realized that now I had to get a shot WITH them in it. Right as I lifted my camera and began framing the shot...
yes, you guessed it,
they finished up.

They basically flushed TWO Kodak moments for me in one go.
The nerve of some people.

I wonder how many tourists have pictures of my backside while I photographed this?

WW~Funny Farm CEO

A child is a curly dimpled lunatic. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Insanity 101

Welcome to Inadequate Parenting 101.

In this class you will learn how to appear as if you're supervising and or parenting your children. The skills acquired during this course should enable you to successfully fly under the wire for local child protective services without the effort involved for real and diligent parenting.
The class has been broken down into 7 weeks.

Week 1: How look as if you're following your child's soccer game while texting or twittering with your blog friends. We will be covering believable facial expressions and appropriate pauses between "oohs and ahhs".

Week 2: How to make school uniforms appear as if they were washed over the weekend when they're discovered at the bottom of the laundry hamper 15 minutes before school begins.

Week 3: Preparing a round meal when there are only 25 minutes of home time per day. Frozen pizza is round, bowls of cereal are round etc...

Week 4: How to appear as if you really want their friends over and yet manage to avoid extra muddy footprints. We will practice calling the parents of child and extending invitations with heartfelt apologies for the severe bout of mono currently in the home, or asking if they mind if the kids play nekked outside to keep mud off of the carpets when they come in.

Week 5: How to drive without the radio to provide a good study environment

Week 6: Learn acceptable school absence excuses for the days when you really don't want to get out of bed and how to space them so as not to alert truancy officers.

Week 7: Stocking the refrigerator with easily prepared foods (that a toddler can manage) so meal times will not interfere with blogging.

Supplies required for this class: apathy, pencils and paper.
(The instructor has not been designated at this time because there are so many to choose from this semester).

This Monday Mission post has been brought to you by Painted Maypole. This week's mission is write your post in the form of a class description. Click on over and check it out (and say a prayer, she's gearing up for Ike now).

Summer's Last Stand

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek
Because of our friend's sudden, unexpected death and my Hubby's lengthy work hours, our summer holiday nearly slipped by unnoticed like last year's-- the summer from Hades while the Hubby was deployed.
Determined to not have "Parent's Remorse" on the first day of school this term (you know that feeling, when the children who drove you absolutely insane for six weeks enter the building and you're left standing there alone in the deafening silence wondering where the time went), we forced them to go to castles, a neolithic flint mine, a medieval war reenactment and the very last day of their break, a boat ride on the Norfolk Broads.I did say when we moved here that I wanted to ride on the broads before we left. Every time I crossed a bridge in the Norwich area, I restated that goal.Monday (Labor Day to you, nothing over here), we hopped on a boat and toured the broads. The first two hours were fun for the kids. The second two hours (I know, what moron sticks her young children on a four-hour saunter down a river?) weren't so much so. They were tired, coming off a sugar high (they had pocket change and the boat sold sweets) and itching to get home to kick a football around with their friends. But I'm glad we did it.I'm hoping the kids will have selective memories.
With 40 (or so) photos of smiles and giggles I hope they will remember the last day of their summer holiday as one spent with the parents who love them and boating through the beautiful English countryside.

I Tag, You Tag, We All Scream When We Get Tagged

Snooty, you tricky woman.

She ropes me in with her Texas humour, and when I'm properly cow-tied to her blog, she tags me. Actually, Karen Deborah got me with this one too, and I stalled until school was back in session.
This one's simple enough and I've been so lucky to fly under the radar for so long, I figure I can alter my usual post style and just talk about me. (hah! did you just spit on your keyboard?).

Seven Things I Plan To Do Before I Die:

Only seven? Am I dying soon?
1. Attend the Highland Games in Scotland.
2. See a Royal Shakespeare Company production in Stratford-upon- Avon
3. Visit all 50 states
4. Hike the Appalacian Trail.
5. learn to ballroom dance
6. learn to belly dance (kill my kids off in embarrassment at the same time)
7. Travel: Pompeii, Turkey, Greece, Alaska to see the Northern Lights (Beany, I'll need a sofa. I don't mind camping, but I do mind camping with bears).

Seven Things I Can Do:

1. I can change my own tire and oil. (Talking car, not the tire around my middle and the oil in my Tzone).
2. I can drive a patient person insane (ask the Hubby).
3. Whinge. Like nobody.
4. Pull a lesson (sunday school, family home evening) together with little notice.
5. Juggle. Not balls, kids' schedules.
6. Paint. Oils mostly. These days I just paint house interiors though. Satin. easily cleanable.
7. Draw. Because I am never satisfied with anything, it was really hard to list this in the "can do" section.

Seven Things I Can't Do:

1. I cannot do the splits. At this point in my life, I don't think it's going to happen.
2. I can't do the taco thing with my tongue. You know, the rolling thing that 80% of the world's population can do, but I can't. My entire family including the 22 month-old can.
3. I cannot write a short post. ever.
4. Give up photography. I've tried to go places without a camera and I just end up using my phone's camera.
5. I can't memorize lines anymore (and watching a production gives me anxiety just thinking about it).
6. I apparently can't sing anymore. I used to.
7. I can't stand when people talk to me when they can obviously see I'm blogging.

Seven Things That Attract Me To The Opposite Sex:

1. Sense of humour
2. Nice eyes, if they're attached to nice bum, all the better.
3. Apparently youth. I am going to be one of those sick old ladies checking out the young guy bagging my groceries.
4. A Man Who Thinks I'm Beautiful. (sore spot in my marriage-- remember the quiz?)
5. Great conversationalist... going along with #6
6. Intelligence. Looks are nothing if he can't talk. Geodes are lovely, but I wouldn't want to marry one.
7. kindness. My hubby is really kind to my friends. I like that (and so do they, he has a fan club).

Seven things I say most often:

1. I'm tired.
2. Don't put that in your mouth
3. get your finger out of your nose
4. Remember your little sister/brother is on there (the trampoline warning given about 9 times daily)
5. Eternal Perspective, Eternal Perspective (chanted while the kids are making me wonder why I didn't remain celibate)
6. One more minute (usually said in a robot-like trance while typing frantically on the keyboard).
7. Get off (of the furniture). Get out (of the refrigerator). Get in the car!

Seven Celebrity Crushes:

In no particular order (in case one of them is reading my blog and wants to meet me).
1. Patrick Dempsey... oh my.
2. Sean Connery
3. Matthew McConaughey
4. Liam Neeson
5. Eye candies Orlando Bloom & Johnny Depp, see why I may be that sick old lady?
6. Ralph Feinnes
7. Mel Gibson
8. Colin Firth
Seven schmeven... who can only think of seven?

Now the poor seven souls who I am going to burden with all of this thinking:
psyche! I have no one to tag. I think everyone but me has done this. If not--I tag YOU!

WW -- I'm Thinking It's Time to Mow

Sticks and Stones and Uptight Teachers

Mrs. Grockle,

I wanted to discuss certain behaviour I have recently observed on the school grounds, and because I love teaching your children and (usually) enjoy having them in my class, I hope you don't take offense.
Mrs. Grockle, it is our policy that we treat others with respect. Any behaviour that may hurt someones feelings will not be tolerated on the playground. Running, gymnastic-like cartwheels and skipping that could endanger another is not permitted. Loud voices and shouting is disruptive.
I feel it is my duty to ask you if in the future would you please refrain from "celebrating" the drop-off of your children and limit your cartwheels, "who hoo!"ing and skipping across the lawn to your own garden.

Thank you,
Your embarrassed children's humble teacher.

This post has been a Monday Mission. This Monday's Mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write a post in the form of a letter home from a teacher. Brought to you by Painted Maypole.
For you folks new to my blog, Monday Missions is one of the few blog-assignments I participate in regularly. It's an ingenious way of kick-starting dead brain cells. I'm so glad it's back on! Check it out and join the fun.