Counting in Tongues

--Uno--

Yesterday was Parent Teacher Conferences, which means that today my brain has the approximate operating power of your average pudding cup. Unlike previous years, when I examined the schedule, observed the impending doom, and wisely arranged for my students to be involved in quizzes or independent projects or the like (therefore validating the wonderful people who consider me to be an overpaid babysitter, of course), my planning this week lacked forethought. One half of my brain noted that I needed to make sure my husband and The Ex and various and sundry other persons were filling in that day, since I would not be home until after bedtime for the Littles. The other half merrily planned away, somehow under the impression that I would be capable of such teacherly feats as grammar instruction the day after conferences.

That part of my brain was wrong.

--Deux--

My seniors are instead reading a Challenging and Opinionated Article on personal conscience vs. social conscience, inspired by the classic play Antigone. Somehow my brain was able to get involved in a rather interesting debate on whether or not medical practitioners should be able to refuse to perform medical services due to moral objections, such as surgery for ectopic pregnancies. I find it endlessly fascinating that the moral and philosophical debates that existed thousands of years B.C.E. are still so relevant today.

We then strayed into the delicate arena of The Great Abortion Debate. I was a bit nervous, but it went rather well. We didn't even get shouty, despite widely varying perspectives and beliefs. How sad that a bunch of high school seniors are more capable of polite debate than our politicians.

--Drei--

We aren't supposed to have the kids this weekend, yet somehow it has become filled with Kid-Related Activities. The Padawan will be staying with us, since he has hunter's safety classes on Saturday and Sunday. KlutzGirl has a birthday party to attend on Sunday that will require us to get her from her mother's rather earlier than usual.

I'm hoping we may manage to grab an hour to ourselves somewhere in there. My hopes are not high.

--Четыре--

Children are exhausting. How is it that I wound up with so many, again? And how is it that somehow I realized the other day that if disaster occurred and one of our children had a baby as a teen, I would want to raise the baby?

I question my sanity on a regular basis.

--A Cúig--

DramaBoy turns six on the 25th. His first birthday wish list included an XBox, a Wii, and a variety of games for both systems.

We laughed and told him to try again.

Have I mentioned that he already plays Portal, DragonBall Z, and Minecraft like a pro, all games which make me throw up my hands and despair? I'm so proud.

Sigh.

--Έξι--

We have kittens. I don't think I've mentioned this. I caved to family pressure and the ridiculous cuteness of photos posted by a friend, and agreed we could adopt another kitten. When I went to pick up said kitten, the aforementioned friend tricked me into playing with her siblings. Her little sister kept hiding under my pant leg and peeking out at me.

I brought home two kittens instead of one.

So now we have adolescent Halo (who moodily varies between freaking out over the invaders and trying to play with them), shy and sweet Oreo (the original intended adoptee), and outgoing/cuddly/extremely loud-and-squeaky Shadow (who purrs instantly when touched and has a monotone meow stuck on Loud and Demanding). Both of the kittens are Lap Kitties, so we are now guaranteed lapfuls of furs and purrs whenever we sit down.

Sometimes insanity pays off.

--Seven--

I love my husband.

That is all.

The Exasperating Case of the Insomniac in the Night Time

I am crawling through my day on approximately zero-point-four hours of sleep last night which, last time I checked, doesn't come even close to the amount of sleep I need to babble even semi-coherently at the Raving Rabble that still insists on inhabiting my classroom periodically throughout my day. I mean, the seniors are gone--other than the occasional ones who pop in unexpectedly to bring me senior pictures and tell me that I am awesome and they will miss me horribly and YAY! I CAN ADD YOU ON FACEBOOK NOW! and all that, which, hey, practically makes me miss the Mangy Maggots--

(can maggots get mange? somehow I doubt this, but I rather like the nastiness of the alliteration and will leave it be.)

(hey, it's my blog and I can even stop using capital letters OR WRITE ALL IN CAPS if I want to--so there)

(I really need some sleep)

(Where was I? Oh yes.) --but the juniors and sophomores persist. On top of expecting me to rehash every piece of text they've SparkNoted read all semester, little glints of hope sparkling in their eyes that I will give up and just tell them the answers for the test, they expect me to actually read and comment on and grade the massive term papers that I sado-masochistically assign every year. WHY DO I DO THIS???? I ask myself every single f***ing year at this time as I gaze in doomy gloom--or gloomy doom, whichever is dominant at the time--at the massive pile of seven-to-ten- (sophomores) and ten-to-twelve- (juniors) page papers that threaten to smother me in a paperlanche. Of course, this year I had them all submit their papers electronically to the wonderful electronic plagiarism catcher slash online grading service we use, so it's all threatening me VIRTUALLY, which is interesting. At least this way there's less chance of Death By Papercut.

On top of that, I have gradually gained a sense that I am Not At All Well over the course of the day, including feeling rather feverish, developing a sore throat, and (since that wasn't enough) becoming increasingly nauseated.

(NOT NAUSEOUS, which is the error everybody makes these days that drives me absolutely batshit insane, because being NAUSEOUS means that it/one/you CAUSE[S] NAUSEA, not that you HAVE it. People feel NAUSEATED, dammit, and while some people may in fact be nauseous, like the nasty-piece-of-work senior who burned his last bridge with me two weeks ago and will NOT be getting friended on Facebook thankyouverymuch, that is not what most people are attempting to indicate. THAT WORD DOES NOT MEAN WHAT YOU THINK IT MEANS.)

Ahem.

To add just a little more spice to our day, we went into a level one lockdown a short time ago, which means they aren't allowing people in or out of the building because there's a perceived threat somewhere in the area. It's the lowest level lockdown, but I have no idea why it's happening or when it will end. Because, you know, today wasn't enough of a Mondayish sort of Monday already.

The silver lining in it all is that my fourth hour sophomores cheered me up with their depictions of starfish of varying ethnicity and religion on the dry erase board, something that originated with a perky Jewish Starfish in a markered mural that gradually developed over the course of last week. The mural started with a cartoon turtle (a rather adorable one, much like the turtle on our class t-shirt with the joke word "intelligous" we had made last semester) with a speech bubble declaring I'm a turtle!, and it developed from there. The Jewish Starfish (a six-pointed starfish, naturally) showed up toward the end, along with a School of Attici--the plural form of "Atticus" (from To Kill a Mockingbird), obviously.

It's an....interesting class.

Okay, fine, maybe I'll miss those pesky students a little bit after all.

But right now? Right now I just want some french bread, a snuggle with MTL, and my bed. Preferably in that order.

Crumbs are so uncomfortable when they get in the sheets.

Oh, Hello

I have been notified today that apparently some of my beloved readers are concerned about my lack of posts. So I'm here, although without much in the way of Wonderful Words of Wit and/or Wisdom.

I'm okay.

But I'm tired.

I'm tired physically, with not enough sleep at night and not enough sunlight as this long and dreary winter drags on and on. I don't care what the calendar says, IT ISN'T SPRING. Not here in Michigan, at any rate. We get hints and teases here and there, but I've long since learned not to get my hopes up. Not until after Memorial Day, really, and that's a good couple of months away.

I'm tired mentally, because it's that time of year and I have seniors (oh dear God give me strength) and am teaching three core classes including one that has a brand new curriculum and please shoot me if I ever agree to do such an idiotic thing again.

I'm tired emotionally, because the grim reality of politics and society in this state and this country and this world has me threadworn.

I need a break. I need some solid time filled with rest and laughter to give me the wherewithal to fling myself back into the fray. I'm hoping I'll get some of that this next week on Spring Break. The boylets are in Florida with their father (and have been since Sunday) and won't be back until the 10th. While I do miss them, I have to admit...I can use the break from mommying as well. The Padawan will be at his mother's during the next week as well. The thought of DAYS (and nights) with no kids around at all has me and MTL doing the kind of happy dance that most parents would understand.

So...yeah. I don't have a lot to say on here right now, but I am okay. Hopefully this time next week I'll be at least good, and by the weekend I'll be great.

In the meantime, I'll keep obsessively reading the archived stories over at Etiquette Hell, alternating between horrified laughter and paranoid fear.

Carry on.

Ugly

It's one of those days--a day when I wake up in a ragingly foul mood and little can shift it during the course of the day. Thankfully, they aren't too frequent, but when they do happen, the best thing I can do is shut myself away from the world so that I don't turn into the Queen of Hearts and stomp around calling for mass decapitations.

I could not get restful sleep last night. I had odd dreams that I cannot recall but that nevertheless disturbed what little sleep I did get. I woke every hour or two, unable to get comfortable. MTL was also restless, and at times I couldn't tell whether he had woken me or I him. DramaBoy came knocking on the door at Dark Ay Em to report that The Widget was crying in pain with his ongoing bout of Unmentionable Difficulties. I soothed and medicated the poor boy, then crawled moaning back into bed.

By the time MTL and I dragged ourselves out of bed this morning, bickering over who should get up first to get breakfast going before the childrens filled themselves up with cereal, my temper was at DefCon 4.

Coffee (brewed by me) and a scrumptious breakfast (cooked by MTL) eased me temporarily. So did an indulgent session with my latest obsession, creating treasury lists on Etsy.com. But then I had to oversee the boylets in taking an overdue shower, an experience that never fails to frustrate me. And then there were the dishes to wash and the kitchen to clean. I bit my tongue the entire time, knowing full well that if I opened my mouth, whoever was nearest would suffer its lash regardless of cause. MTL finally paused in his own cleaning to ask what was wrong, and I nearly burst into tears. Scratch that: tears there were, though muffled and suppressed.

He, lovely man that he is, hugged me, reminded me that he loves me and that everyone else in the house loves me too (though sometimes I wonder), and suggested that perhaps I needed to hole up in the bedroom and rest.

So here I am. The door is firmly closed. My Emptyself station is playing on Pandora.com, I created another treasury list on Etsy, I chatted briefly with DraftQueen before she abandoned me for a trip to the fabric store, and now I'm pouring myself out here for what few readers I still have in these days of infrequent posts.

MTL is right--it's better that I shut myself away for a while, because the alternative could be ugly. It doesn't matter, though: I'm still fighting with the guilt. I can't help but think of all the things I probably should be doing right now. I can't help but be angry with myself for being in such a horrible mood in the first place. It's not like I even have a decent reason for it, other than a bit of sleep deprivation.

Argh and Grr. I need a real vacation.

Grace Notes

This has been a hard week. You'd think that having two snow days to start out the week would make it Teh Awesome, and it kinda sorta did, but driving on the Worst Ever In People's Memory roads wasn't a great joy, and the last couple of weeks have tended to be full of Stress! Stress! Drama! while quite short on Sleep! Blessed Sleep! Also, imagine the fun of trying to cram five days' worth of work into three before the students flee for a two-week break. Fun Times.

So stomachs have been clenched, muscles have been knotted, and teeth have been gritted. Needless to say, tempers have also been short.

Yesterday, in fact, MTL arrived home in a horrible mood--the worst, he confessed, since we've been together. My mood wasn't sunshine and daisies either. At one point, while trying to convince the %&#()@ cabinet drawer to get back on its runner and slide back in dammit, I slid back against the opposing cabinet, lowered my head to my knees, and let the tears just flow for a little while. It's all just the buildup of everything that has been going on, especially with The Dark One, and work stress, and extended family stress, and reaching a point of Deep Core Stuff in therapy, and....yeah.

Fortunately for those around us, MTL and I are self-aware enough to clamp down on our tongues and do our damnedest to Think before we React when we're highly stressed. I won't say we didn't trip up a bit last night, but there weren't the rages or tempestuous fights or OMG EVERYONE JUST GO AWAY moments that could very well happen at times like that.

Thank God. Which I mean literally, because I believe He helped, even if it was just having our guardian angels lay a finger on our lips from time to time so they didn't open until we'd had a moment to think first. And I'm also thankful that He gave us each other, because being able to debrief with and vent to and comfort each other goes a long way toward making it all survivable.

Today...well, today is a new day. MTL didn't get much sleep again last night, but I did, so at least one of us has some renewed energy to deal with Stuff. And it's the last day of school before Winter Break. And my students are being very sweet.

You know, it tends to be elementary teachers who get the cache of holiday gifts (which reminds me--OOPS) more so than secondary, but sometimes we still get a little something here and there from kids who want to suck up love us. My kids know my weakness. Oh yes, they do. A dear former student who was very sad to discover she would  not have me for honors English 11 this year showed up a couple of days ago with an adorable frosted sugar cookie man. Today another student handed me a heavy gift bag that contains a massive box of fancy European cookies. Yet another gave me a box of six Godiva Truffle Bars and a $10 Godiva gift card. (The girl is GOOD.) And knowing my tenth graders, I'll most likely have another few gifts as the day goes on.

But you know what my favorite gift was today? The handwritten note that accompanied the Godiva. Inside, it reads:

Dear Ms. [TeacherMommy],
So I swear to god, I'm not just kissing ass when I say this, but, thanks for being the first teacher in 5 years to make me love English again.
It used to be my favorite subject and I'm not sure what happened, but I'm actually starting to enjoy it finally.
So thanks.

I really need to start scrapbooking all those kinds of notes and cards and emails and whatnot. That's the sort of thing to pull out on the rough days.

Life is messy and difficult and sometimes overwhelming, but it's the little things that matter. The notes of appreciation from students, the kisses and cuddles and You're so pretty, Mommy! from my kidlets, the teasing from my stepson that says he is comfortable and affectionate with me in his own way, the I love you! on the phone from my younger stepdaughter, walking out to a car scraped off and warming up each morning thanks to MTL, the look in his eyes when he sees me, the words of appreciation and love that he gives me for the things I do to keep this crazy family up and running, laughter around the table while we eat or play UNO...

And above all, the sense that as crazy as life can be, I am Home.

Don't Feel Too Pressured. It's Just A Test Of Your Love.

I am blocked. I have started and stopped, both mentally and typically (I don't think that word means what you think it means! says my inner Inigo Montoya, and he's sort of right--get a sense of vocabulary humor, Inigo!) a half dozen posts and then I look at them (mentally or, well, on the screen) and they fall flatter than a prematurely de-ovenated souffle.

I complained to my friend Rob, and he suggested that I write about playing DnD

(no, not Diapers and Dragons--DUNGEONS and Dragons! Though the confusion is completely logical)

(and yes, I know that my geek quotient just went through the atmosphere with some of you, while others are completely unsurprised--This is the girl who wanted an Elf Ranger outfit for Christmas, you say, and now you know exactly what character I play: her name is Tahlia--pronounced Tuh-LEE-uh--and she's the only Fey in a group of humans, and she kicks ass, of course)

except that I think most of you have already glazed over just at the thought of it and the rest of you, with maybe a couple of exceptions, would join the others if I actually launched into a description of our sessions. Which, really, tend to be pretty raucous and full of hilarious geek culture references, but also involve things like complicated dice and little pewter miniatures and stats sheets and people debating over whether or not a particular attack is likely to have much effect on the target and whether Dexterity or Strength is the base stat for...

And there you go. Come back! I'll stop!

Anyhow.

I'm stumped and feeling a little desperate because I WANT TO BLOG and yet nothing is coming to me on its own. So here's my request: would you? could you? PLEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAASE help me out?

If you're willing to play along, comment on this post with something you'd like to know or always wondered about me or my blog or my life or whatever, or a topic upon which you'd like me to expound, and I will go with it to the best of my ability.

And if you don't comment, I'll know who loves me and who doesn't.

I KID! I KID!!!

(Sort of.)

So....Ready? Set? GO!

So Much To Do, So Much To Say...*

'Cos here we have been standing for a long, long time
Can't see the light
Treading trodden trails for a long, long time...*

I haven't been writing much of anything anywhere lately. It's not due to being silent; in some ways, actually, it's due to speaking a great deal elsewhere. I'm back in therapy, focusing on deep root issues that have spread their tendrils throughout almost every area of my mind and life. It's very much like after facing down depression and divorce and those dragons, others wormed their way up from the depths and waved. Hello, still here. Wanna play?

They don't play nicely.

I'm talking, yes. Talking and wringing hands and, apparently, digging my nails into my skin until the morass of red crescents becomes raw enough to realize what I'm doing. It's hard work, this therapy. Then when I leave the War Room of my therapist's office, I dive into processing and digging deeper in my own mind. And talking some more: with MTL and with my dear friends J and A and H, spread out from coast to coast of the country though they are. Thank God for email and g-chat and phones, I say.

Elsewhere, with other people, however, I find myself silent. There are ideas I have to process, issues I have to solve, emotions I have to face before I can open my mouth and speak. My therapist agrees, by the way, with this instinct. And I find myself thinking of the words of Solomon, who wrote in his time of struggle, facing dragons of his own:

1 For everything there is a season,
      a time for every activity under heaven.
2 A time to be born and a time to die.
      A time to plant and a time to harvest.
3 A time to kill and a time to heal.
      A time to tear down and a time to build up.
4 A time to cry and a time to laugh.
      A time to grieve and a time to dance.
5 A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones.
      A time to embrace and a time to turn away.
6 A time to search and a time to quit searching.
      A time to keep and a time to throw away.
7 A time to tear and a time to mend.
      A time to be quiet and a time to speak.
8 A time to love and a time to hate.
      A time for war and a time for peace. 
--Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (New Living Translation, emphasis added)

For now, in some ways, it is a season to be quiet, to be silent, to be "mindful," as my therapist says.

But oh, Dear Readers, how tired I am!

Add to all this hard work of the mind the busy-ness of the end of the Marking Period, and Parent Teacher Conferences last week, and fighting off my fifth? sixth? seventh? urinary tract infection of the year...Oh yes, I know that's not a good thing at all. And I'm sorry if it's a bit TMI, but hello, I Have A Problem. I'm scheduled to see a urologist on December 1st, because when someone (aka ME) is averaging between six and ten UTIs per year for three years straight, something is going on.

Granted, I don't take care of myself terribly well. I've been working on that recently: drinking water much more throughout the day, even at work; heading to the bathroom much more often; avoiding an overabundance of sugary junk at work instead of real food. Hopefully that will also help.

But I seem to have reached the ceiling, so to speak, with the heavy-duty antibiotics. My body is building resistance. I've been on Cipro for almost a full week, with no missed doses, and I'm still developing fevers and experiencing discomfort--including, the last couple days, an ache in my lower back that makes me nervous about my kidneys.

So I'm headed back to the doctor this afternoon, and I'm dragging myself somehow through the day and trying not to think too longingly of my bed (oh lovely bed with your soft pillows and fluffy comforter) when I'm supposed to be teaching kids about sonnet forms and the consequences of overweening ambition as shown in Macbeth and the abuse of authority as demonstrated in Oedipus Rex and dramatic irony and the emptiness of the American Dream when lacking solid foundations as shown in The Great Gatsby and oh yes, the historical context for all of those texts and let's not forget vocabulary and grammar and dear God what was I thinking when I said I'd take on three preps this year? Oh right, helping out the department because we were losing teachers.

Also, I'm trying very hard to be grateful for having a job when so many others do not, trying hard not to be bitterly cynical about politics (and losing that battle rapidly, may I say), and trying exceedingly hard not to panic about the upcoming contract negotiations which, hey, may become moot anyhow if The Powers That Newly Be in this state have anything to say about it.

I will say this, though: I'm deeply--bone deeply, really--grateful for having friends with whom I can talk so rawly and honestly; for a partner who is my best friend, and who loves me even when I'm dragged down by it all and being infuriating, and who loves me more because of than in spite of my moments of batshit crazy; for the strength to even face this all in the first place. Even when, on days like this, I feel like doing nothing more than crawling into my very own padded room and staying there for a while.

Or taking a holiday from my Self. Just for a little while.

I find sometimes it's easy to be myself
Sometimes I find it's better to be someone else...*

-----------------------------------------
*From Dave Matthews Band "So Much To Say":

I Think I'm Less Like A Helicopter And More Like A Bus. You Know: Get Them There. Get Them Home. Sit Down And Shut Up. THAT Kind.

I am questioning the wisdom of being a parent even more now. No really, because it's too much work. Here I thought that since DramaBoy  is growing up and I no longer have to dress him or wipe his butt or unbuckle him in the car or even bathe him (first solo shower this weekend! WOOT!!!) that somehow my parental responsibilities were going to be reduced.

And then I started getting the newsletters from his kindergarten teacher.

Maybe I should start calling them news-novelettes, because really. I swear it takes longer to read them than it does for me to write one of these posts, and I'm a ridiculously quick speed-reader, peoples.

I would also like to know when homework started requiring so much parental involvement. I don't remember my own parents being quite so involved, though maybe it doesn't fully count because my mother was my teacher for most of elementary BUT NOT KINDERGARTEN and since I don't remember (a) having that much homework and (b) my parents being involved, I feel rather ill-used at this point. I don't know what I resent more: my parents not having to help me much back then or my having to help DramaBoy so much. Probably the latter. Because it's more work.

This is also complicated by the whole split custody thing, because The Ex and I have to divide what each person does and communicate and all that fun stuff. It's a good thing we're practically friendly these days, because the whole cooperating thing works a lot better that way.

Maybe I'm a little extra resentful this week because The Ex is going on a short vacation so I have the boys an extra weekday, which isn't a big deal really because I love them and stuff, but it means that I have MORE HOMEWORK TO DO WITH DRAMABOY!!!

Also, I am already behind in grading papers both because I'm always behind in grading papers and also because my National Honors Society slave student assistant has been sick and therefore unavailable to assist me. Plus there's so much more Life to my Personal Life these days. All this to mean that I have lots of homework of my own that I should be doing and having DramaBoy's homework getting in the way is not the kind of excuse for which I am searching. Not that I don't look for excuses, you see; it's more that I want excuses that involve more Fun and less Frustration.

Because seriously, have you ever tried to get a wiggly not-quite-five-year-old sit at a table and do his homework?

Let's just say that it didn't surprise me AT ALL to read his weekly goal sheet and see that the teacher wrote DramaBoy's main goals as "paying attention and following instructions in class and finishing work assigned."

MTL may have had a sarcastic comment about it, actually. To follow mine. BECAUSE WE'RE AWESOME LIKE THAT, THAT'S WHY.

Somehow I don't think teachers need to worry about either of us being helicopter parents.

May I please get back to just handing out the homework instead of being on the receiving end?

It's going to be a looooooong fifteen years.*

------------------------------------------------
*Because The Widget will start two years after DramaBoy, that's why. I CAN COUNT. I just don't like to help my kids do it. I know. I'M SUCH AN AWESOME PARENTAL ROLE MODEL. Shut up.

At Least I'm Not As Crazy As Basil Marceaux. Though That Leaves A Whole Lot Of Room For Crazy.

I'm tending towards silence here these days not only because my days are filled with packing or children or both, but also because my thoughts have been tumbling about from one point to another and don't seem to settle down into one coherent post. Well, except for when I'm driving, per usual, and then long and lovely and loquacious posts spin themselves out in my mind, only to be lost by the time I park.

(I do remember the tag line I'd composed for a potential post about Basil Marceaux, quite possibly the craziest political candidate I've ever seen. Well, at least the most obviously crazy. I had planned to write a snarky post starting with his shockingly bad TV spot, then his horrendous website, with an additional focus on page 4 where he includes his letters to the United Nation [sic] and the FBI, at which point my friend Heidi and MTL and I started debating whether he was schizophrenic or had suffered from closed head trauma. I was going to end the post with Oh Tennessee. Bless yer heart. Yer crazy is showin'.)

Here's the thing about change: it's stressful. Even when it's good change, and change that I love, and involves people I love, and I know that I will be and am very happy about it all. Nevertheless, it's change, and it's stress. I feel rather as though over the last two years my entire life has been turned inside out, shaken, scrubbed thoroughly, taken apart at the seams, and resewn into a new configuration. Which, really, is rather a good thing, but is nevertheless rather exhausting. So I find myself attempting to scrape up the energy to finish packing in these last two days before we move on Saturday. The attempt is rather weak.

I've done more cleaning, purging, tossing, donating, and packing of Stuff over the last month and a half than I think I've ever done, largely because I did it The Right Way. This means that rather than just tossing anything and everything in boxes with the vague idea of Sorting It Out Later, I've been going through things very thoroughly. Perhaps too thoroughly at times: I threw out some items that I probably should not have thrown out and had to deal with a very unhappy Ex at one point. I've made seven or eight (I've lost track) visits to donation centers with a car packed to the brim with giveaway items. I've tossed dozens of giant garbage bags of trash onto the curb. I've stripped away the useless and the broken and the unwanted and the forgotten.

And still there is so much left to move this weekend. I won't tell you how many bins of shoes are involved. Or boxes of books. We all know about my addictions.

I'll admit to some anxiety about my new paradigm. To jump from two small boys to five children ranging from three to fourteen is a bit of a shock to one's system. I mean, just imagine. I have to learn how to braid hair!!!

It's a good thing we all, in general, get along. There are bumps, of course, but it could be so very much worse. And MTL is so very worth it.

Nevertheless...it's all quite stressful. So last night I slept restlessly as I suffered the consequences of not doing my physical therapy exercises yesterday and as anxiety dreams flitted through my head. From what I recall, they mainly dealt with trying to move and discovering that everything had unpacked itself, or the trucks got lost somewhere in the handful of miles between one place and the next, or the children kept climbing into boxes trying to pack themselves, or I kept forgetting what I was supposed to take. Oh, and then there were the dreams triggered by work starting up in a month coupled with the need to get children registered and ready for school once we move.

Have I mentioned that I'm a worrier? Yeah.

One day at a time, right? The only problem is that there are only two days left...and still so very much to do.

So I better go work on that mountain of laundry and finish packing the dishes. If you have some extra energy, go ahead and send it my way, would you? Oh, and dark chocolate would be awfully welcome too. Especially with raspberry filling.

Pardon My Sneeze

Apparently I am allergic to something in or around this condo, because I have had almost instantaneous allergy symptoms whenever I step foot in here for the last couple of weeks. MTL suggested I was allergic to the children. I suggested I was allergic to him.

Fortunately for us all, neither seems to be the case: I've had the symptoms both with and without any rugrats of either genetic makeup on the premises, and I just got back from having lunch with MTL, where I had no sniffles or congestion whatsoever. As soon as I walked back in the door, however....

*sniff* 

*sniff sniffle snuffle snoooork*

*whaaaachooo!*

Excuse me.

It's a good thing we move in five days.

In the meantime, I'm going to go blow my nose and try not to think longingly about the Benadryl sitting in the cabinet (or is it packed by now? Sigh. Can't find anything these days) because I'm already having enough difficulty getting my tookus in gear today.

Has anyone seen the Kleenex?

The Sun Is Hot, The House Is Cool, And This Couch Is Awfully Comfy

It's been a true vacation week. I could write all the details, but I'm still in vacation mode and find myself rather uninterested in working that hard.

I know. I'm awesome.

So let's see. How about a nice little bulleted list? I love lists. And then you could tell me what you're most interested in hearing about in greater detail, and I could be all happy about getting comments (because you know I'm a comment whore, Peoples, and all the comments on my last post gave me warm fuzzies and that's a Good Thing), and then I'll just focus on what you'd like to read rather than giving you some long drawn out commentary on a whole week's worth of activities like some modern literary version of those slide shows people make guests sit through showing them standing in front of a hundred different poorly photographed landmarks from their latest vacation.

You're welcome.

Since last Friday, the following major events have occurred:

• MTL and I drove north to his parents' place with all five kids and camped in their yard for over three days while sharing one kitchen and bathroom with eight other people (that makes fifteen total for the math challenged)
• DramaBoy earned his first ever full day Time Out (a.k.a. You're grounded, boyo.)
• I cohosted a hotel sleepover birthday party involving four thirteen- and fourteen-year-old girls with MTL's ex-wife
• MTL and I had a lovely couple of days All By Ourselves over on the west side of the state in a lovely little harbor town called Saugatuck

It's been quite the week, Peoples.

At the moment we're relishing our final days on vacation without kids and without responsibilities. On Monday reality takes over again. MTL will head back to work, and I will get back into the sorting and tossing and donating and packing process as well. It's only three weeks until we move. Time, it has wings.

And now back to relaxing with My True Love.

First of Something

Oh DraftQueen my DraftQueen. Thank you for giving me something to post, because dude, I gots nothing. I have this former student who promised me a written account of a highly entertaining dream he had in which I was a star player (and, um, no, not in THAT way, you dirty-minded people you. SHAME.), but the pesky business of doing Top Secret Stuff on computers over in Iraq got in the way, so I'm having to come up with my own blog fodder.

Oy.

But you, my darling, have tagged me. I'm It. Apparently I am to repost my first ever blog post and then tag some others to do the same. I'm sure, if I tried hard enough, I could tie this meme in to the fact that today is International Worker's Day as well as Beltene, but today is Saturday and I don't have a maypole handy, so I'll just be lazy and post the damn post already. You're welcome.

As a relatively new addict to the world of mommyblogs, I have had my concepts of blogging seriously challenged. My exposure to blogs was limited to the travesties of MySpace and the more personal ones of a few friends and family members--you know, the kinds that really only their friends and family are meant to see and enjoy? But a short while ago, on a day when I really had MANY other things I needed to do but really didn't feel like doing, I followed a series of links that led me to, of all things, a MommyBlog. (I won't say which at the moment, as I do believe in asking permission before linking and don't have the courage to go ask this High Lady of Humor for permission to link to my sorry little starter blog.) This Mommy was Funny. And Smart. And Funny some more.

As I became addicted to her blog and then (perhaps unwisely for the sake of the stack of papers that is teetering precariously on the corner of my desk) to several others that she herself linked, I realized that (1) blogging mommies Rock, (2) the ones worth reading have actually improved their writing skills through blogging, and (3) apparently blogging can satisfy something in women who are mommies but like to think too.

Now you have to understand that I am the type of person who writes really well when it comes to academic sorts of things, and I know it. However, that confidence falls short when it comes to the Personal. I am much like Adrian Plass, Aged 37 3/4, who starts a diary with the entry:

Feel led to keep a diary. A sort of spiritual log for the benefit of others in the future. Each new divine insight and experience will shine like a beacon in the darkness!

Can’t think of anything to put in today.

This is Me. I have started a half dozen diaries (or, rather, "Journals," very much in the tradition of Great Contributers to Literature) with the rather pompous and idealistic vision of sharing Great Thoughts with Humankind. I buy the pretty ones, the appealing ones, the Journals with lovely clean pages just aching to be written upon with a proper pen (I feel strongly in this matter, as does Anne Shirley, that only the right pen* will do). They generally lasted for a scattering of entries, and then they lay forgotten and dusty on various shelves. I find them later, mourn over another waste of money, laugh at myself and those silly entries, and then try to find something more useful to do with all that lovely paper. Such as jot down important notes about items to find and gems to get cut and quests to fulfill in another addiction of mine, World of Warcraft. But that's another post.

Similarly, the only blogging I have ever done was one exasperated post (about the frustrations of dealing with hormonal teenagers, as I recall) on the otherwise silent MySpace account I created solely to be able to read my sister's blogs. She doesn't blog there anymore, so that account lies quiet and dusty, but definitely unmourned, on some shelf the Webgods have tucked away in a back corner.

We shall see if this blog goes that way. I hope not. Mainly I need to remind myself that the best MommyBloggers are those who edit themselves and yet remain true to themselves. That way they avoid the pomposity and short-lived interest in what they write. From what I have read, at any rate.

So, here begins my account of life with Diapers and Dragons.

--------------------------------------------------------------------
* So do you find it curious, as do I, that upon reading over this entry I realized I had initially written "write pen" rather than "right pen"? A slip of the pen, or keys, or whatever, but amusingly apt.

I'm struck by the irony in one of those last lines I wrote: "...the best MommyBloggers are those who edit themselves and yet remain true to themselves." If you've been following my journey at all, you know that I was frantically lying to myself for years, and the first few months of my blog were the last few months I spent doing that. Go back and read last post of 2008 and then read through my journey of 2009...Good Lord. I feel like I'm looking back at the words of a completely different person.

And thank God, I'm not her any longer. 

So where were you and how far have you come since you first started blogging? I'm tagging MomZombie at MomZombie, Monica at And I'll Raise You Five, Arby at Boarding in Bedlam, and Nicola at Some Mothers Do Ave Em. Happy First of May!

If Calgon Won't, I Will

For years and decades and ages and holy crap this stuff is ooooooold good old Calgon has been telling us to tell it to "take me away."

For about as long as I can remember, I've wondered what the heck Calgon IS. I never owned any Calgon products. In my mind, that brand name sounds medicinal in a vaguely hemorrhoidal old people sort of way. I wasn't sure what it was, and I really wasn't sure I wanted it to take me anywhere.

Recently I spotted an actual Calgon product in someone's bathroom. Lo and behold, it was very feminine, flowery scented body lotion. In a pink tube. Ah ha! I thought. If they make that sort of product, then the brand must be trying to take its consumers Away From Here, as in Reality and Daily Life.

Turns out I was right. Well, I assume. The tropical theme certain indicates that sort of thing. Though that wouldn't be very Away for people who live in, oh, say, Jamaica or coastal Florida or that sort of place. Perhaps they should be able to link to a site that shows mountains or scenic deserts or something? Whatever. Wherever you are, apparently Calgon takes you Away From There.

Why the heck didn't I google that word ages ago? (And why the heck did they pick such an ugly brand name? Or change it for these here Modern Times? Helloooooooo!)

Anywho, all this to say I could use some Calgon spa products right about now, because Daily Life, it is worth leaving for a while. Too much stress, too much student angst, too much political and economic strain. Too much, in general.

I'm not entirely sure a tube of body lotion will cut it, however. So I'm planning a Getaway. Oh yes. In a few weeks I am Getting Away for realsies, at least for a couple of days. The details aren't all in place yet, but it's being planned. No phones. No computers. No kids. No work. Nothing other than utter relaxation Elsewhere.

And I'm not going to tell you where I'm going, either. Even though I love you all. So there.

Now to get through the next two-and-a-half weeks....

Wanderings and Wakings

7 Quick Takes Friday

---1---

I yawn and flick the cursor from window to window. No new messages. No new comments. Nothing has changed in the last two minutes. I stare blankly at the screen, willing the words to spill from my fingertips through the keyboard onto the silicon page.

I feel the need to write deep and stirring prose about how Spring has Sprung, but there are all these annoying people sitting around me discussing things like curriculum pacing and summer reading choices and rubrics and syntax. You'd think such things would excite me, but no, they don't. Not in this context, at any rate. These meetings seem to be created for the sole purpose of dismantling any progress that has been made in previous meetings or decisions that have been made by curriculum committees.

Let me return to my classroom. More will be done there than in this room full of professional blathering.

---2---

I watch his hand smoothly shift the mouse over the desk, expertly locating and opening the program he wants. Odd little creatures bounce onto the screen and he scrolls through the options.

Look at this one, Mama! he crows as a flame-painted alien comes into view. This one is a bad guy because he's all scary! But this one, he says as a panda-like being takes its place at center, is a good guy because he is cute.

I want to tell him that appearances can be deceiving, that not all that is beautiful or adorable or cute in appearance will be good. I want to warn him that covers conceal, that shiny can coat deep rot, that outer loveliness can shield evil. Likewise, that which appears fearsome may be pure within.

I watch his innocence and cannot bring myself to lecture it away today.

It is cute! I say, and my eyes trace the beauty of his precious face.

---3---

My fingers drum the steering wheel, my left foot keeping time with the rhythm thrumming through the car. I sing with abandon, carefree in my isolation as I speed along the highway.

You make me smile like the sun
Fall out of bed, sing like bird
Dizzy in my head, spin like a record
Crazy on a Sunday night
You make me dance like a fool
Forget how to breathe
Shine like gold, buzz like a bee
Just the thought of you can drive me wild
Ohh, you make me smile

The wind from the open window tosses my hair wildly about my face. I dance in my seat and sing, happy in my space, happy in my self.

---4---

Yesterday the temperature climbed into the low eighties. Windows flung up in stuffy winter-shielded houses; windows rolled down in SUVs and station wagons and Hummers and compacts. Motorcycles appeared around every bend; convertibles sped sleekly along each road.

Today it is cooler and pearl-grey clouds shield the sun. Tomorrow will require long sleeves and windbreakers, just in time for the birthday party taking place in a park. The weather website says the chance of precipitation is low. Still, I am grateful I rented a covered gazebo and hope the chill of winter's lingering grasp will not chase off the guests.

Kites might fly farther than planned.

---5---

Strong hands slide under my shoulder blades and begin their patient, persistent movements to soothe my muscles back into place. My body resists: its bones and sinews have been twisted into these shortened, strained positions for so long that they no longer remember where they should be. The hands move in subtle persuasion.

My eyes cannot remain open. This is the fifth time I have lain here in this long, slow retraining. Every time I find myself dozing. Lazy thoughts drift through my mind, half-remembered images and snippets of ideas that trail away in peaceful demi-dreams.

He is teaching me how to restore my body back to where it should be, and I relish the ability to treat my pain at will. But I will miss this half-hour of somnolence and peace.

---6---

The relentless blare of my alarm yanks me from vague but blissful dreams. I switch it off and bury my face back in the pillow. Soft warmth weights my limbs with reluctance. Five more minutes. Maybe ten. Surely I can shower rapidly enough to make up the time.

Every morning feels earlier than the one before, this time of year. Two months from today I will walk through the school doors for the final time of this academic year. True, the occasional committee meeting and the early morning habits of my children will still wake me before I'd prefer, but for the rest of summer I will be able to sleep later than I may now. Two hours makes all the difference.

I groan and swing my legs over the side, stumble wearily to my feet, and wander towards hot water and soap. Today will be a two-coffee morning. But then, most of them have been, lately.

---7---

The flowers are waking up! he says, small body crouched low to greening earth, brown eyes sparkling inches away from shy crocuses.

The world wakes, and the birds trill the song of Nature's Morning. Slim branches that mere days ago stood stark and barren are fuzzed with budding leaves, verdant life sprung from winter's seeming death. The Judas tree I planted with my own hands bears no green in this early month, but subtle purple blossoms edge the sapling like evening shadows. It will grow again this year, thickening its limbs on its journey from adolescence.

The remnants of the farm this once was wend their wilding paths through the orthodox landscaping. Sharp tang of onion will scent the air. Grape leaves will climb sturdy trunks. Small raspberries will tempt small fingers to brave the danger of thorny vines. The sour cherry tree will bloom with the promise of cobbler to come.

For a moment, I feel Earth turning under my feet.

The Older They Get, the Tougher Planning These Things Gets. What Was I Thinking???

I've always been of the opinion that children's birthday parties should be fairly simple and low-key, especially when the children in question are quite young. I've heard about the incredible extravaganzas that some people put on for their tots, complete with petting zoos ("We come to you! Added bonus: excellent excuse to replace your whole lawn afterward!"), inflatable bouncy thingies, clowns (Ack! Really, who thinks kids LIKE those creepy things?), cakes from specialty shops...In other words, people will spend the equivalent of a small wedding budget on a birthday party for a child who may, at most, have some hazy images imprinted on his/her mind for a while.

Ridiculous.

In the past, all my kidlets' parties have been held at the house. There have been a few snacks, a cake, some balloons and festive party plates, a few inexpensive favors for the young guests. The guests themselves have been limited to family members and a few close friends who also have young children. Fun was had by all. In a very low-key, inexpensive way.

The Widget, however, is having a party this Saturday, and I'm doing things just a touch differently.

First, the party will not be at the house. I have two reasons for this: (1) I really don't feel like cleaning up the house that much and there isn't all that much room on the main floor, and (2) I'd rather have the party at a neutral location, especially because DramaBoy keeps getting confused when his father and I happen to be at the house simultaneously. He's still working through the idea of our separation being a permanent thing.

So I have rented (yes! rented!) a small gazebo at a marvelous little city park nearby, one that has a built-in farm/petting zoo for the delight of our guests as well as a very nice playground that's safely enclosed and has plenty of seating and shade for adults. In addition, the Parks Department is holding a little kite-making and -flying event that morning for kids of all ages. What perfect timing. It's supposed to be in the mid-fifties that day, but shouldn't rain. Let's keep our fingers crossed on that one!

The second big difference is that I actually invited The Widget's little classmates from his Early Learners class at daycare. I decided that since this is happening out of doors and I don't have space issues, I could manage it. Also, I kind of delayed putting this thing together, so a number of The Widget's little friends who are the children of my friends can't come. The more the merrier, right? And even though I know not all of them will be able to come, there should be enough little people running around to keep my boylet happy.

Now I just have to figure out what I'm going to serve them all for a light picnic lunch, how to decorate cupcakes to reflect a kinda-sorta dinosaur theme, and try not to break my limited budget while still decorating that gazebo so it's festive.

Suggestions, anyone?

All Apologies (Yeah, It's a Song Title. It's Like I'm DraftQueen or Something. Whatever.)

Okay, so here's the thing. I know I did that contest last week, and I actually had two entries (really? only two people? and Heidi, darlin', I know you're busy and all, but really? no entry?) and no, I haven't gotten around to "grading" them and coming up with a winner. Yet. I promise, I will. But I still haven't finished grading all the many, many papers I need to grade this week and I'm fighting the lazies like you would not believe and I have playdates scheduled for the kidlets (now with added bonus: adult conversation during!) and then this weekend has all sorts of other non-kidlet-related fun scheduled as well.

I haven't even done any diagramming this week.

You'd think I'm on VACATION or something. I know, right?

Also, I'm behind in reading my blogs.

Wow. My posts this week are incredibly boring. I apologize. I promise to try harder.

To make up for it, here's some gratuitous cuteness. My photos are working again. So here are my kidlets looking for eggs at my aunt's house (so adorable!!!!):

Hey, How Are Ya?

I was offline yesterday. As in gone, nada, nothing, never logged in or on or anything. My darling laptop languished in the cold of my car (well hidden under my also-abandoned winter coat) from about 2:30 Monday afternoon until I hauled it out and into work this morning.

It sulked, actually, and wouldn't start up properly. I had to get quite stern with the stubborn thing.

Now, I frequently have a day or two on weekends when I don't log on. I'm often Out and About, and not as much happens online on weekends because other people are also Out and About. I rarely have weekdays in absentia, however, and so it was a bit of a shock to come back online today and discover dozens and dozens of emails lurking in my various accounts, not to mention all the Facebook notifications and unread blogs lying in wait. It took me over two hours to wade through everything.

When did the Internet become such a dominating presence in my life?!?!?!

Oh well.

The reason I was gone all day yesterday is that I Took The Day Off. Off work, offline, just Off. And considering how very Mondayish my Monday was, this was a Very Good Thing.

First, I had my MRI in the morning, the key reason for my taking a day off work. There was a bit of a snafu: some confused individual had not realized the doctor wanted both my lumbar and thoracic regions scanned, so had only obtained approval for the lumbar region from my insurance. Then that individual didn't go to work yesterday either, so the very nice people at the MRI place were unable to get the other approval through in time. I did get my lumbar scanned, but will have to go back another time for the thoracic.

Now, in case you hadn't picked up on this by now, I'm a little odd. My MRI experience was further proof. You see, I LIKED IT. I really did. They made me quite comfortable with a neck rest and pillow beneath my knees and squishy little ear plugs and a cloth over my eyes and I had taken half a Vicodin, and I lay there while the rhythmic thumps and booms soothed me into a doze. I was rather disappointed when my time was up and I had to return to the exterior world.

I kid you not.

Then I visited my chiropractor, who eased some knots out of my macrame muscles. I <3 my chiropractor.

My next stop was less pleasant, but I'm glad I did it. A former student of mine went missing back in early February, and his body was discovered on Sunday. It appears he had passed out, highly intoxicated, in an abandoned field and had died of exposure (it was bitterly cold that night). Yesterday was his visitation and funeral. I stopped in briefly and was able to see his younger brother, who was in class with me last year, and some other former students as well. This was my fifth student to die, the third who died of unnatural/unnecessary reasons. It's one of the most difficult aspects of my job. But attending...it gives me closure. I'm glad I went.

The rest of my day I spent in the company of dear friends, and it was a time of relaxation and renewal that I very much needed.

There was one other very important and significant event: yesterday I went to my regularly scheduled therapy session. At the end, she said I've come so far and am doing so well that she doesn't feel I need to attend regularly any longer, and we agreed that from now on I'll simply contact her and schedule appointments as needed.

I feel like I've graduated!!! I really have come so very far in the last sixteen months.

Today, I'm back into the fray. And though I'm tired and a little out of it because of pain meds, I'm doing well. It's good to be me.

It's Not Like You Didn't Know Me Well Enough By Now To Be Surprised By Posts Like This

Today was a snow day which kind of messed with my head because, you know, we just had a snow day a week and a half ago and COME ON people, this is Michigan. We get snow. It's not like we're Texas or anything. And I was a little bitter because the Powers That Be in my district apparently take pride in being the VERY LAST DISTRICT IN THE COUNTY to ever call a snow day and so the phone call came while I was already in the shower and so I couldn't go back to sleep even though I spent the next four hours in bed anyway dinking around online.

Also, my eleventh graders were supposed to take a Very Important Test today that I can't administer after this week (even make-ups) because of the upcoming Michigan Merit Exam (don't ask why this is, because it's a ridiculous reason, but then we're talking a decision made by politicians here, yo) and so now my week has gotten much Shorter and More Difficult.

Although, mind you, there was a good bit of the snow, as I discovered when I finally hauled myself back out of bed and ventured forth to hunt down some coffee, all suburban Michigander style.

 

snow snow snow snow

 

AWD FTW!!! Ah Michigan, land of vehicles that can handle the snow, even if some of the drivers can't. New Englanders all seem to drive little four-door compacts with rear-wheel drive and therefore spend enormous amounts of time in the right lane with their hazard lights on. You'd think it never snows there.

I may have then taken a little trip down to Old Navy and taken advantage of their denim sale. Just possibly. (Seriously, how awesome is it that their newish styles now fit my body?!?! I can now find jeans that fit my long legs and long lower torso and cost a fraction of what other stores demand!!! WOOT!)

My whole weekend has been ridiculously and delightfully lazy lazy lazy as I have not truly been in ages. I lay in bed for hours upon end, people, and yet also got out and about and socialized Every Single Night. I am a social butterfly flitting from flower to flower. Except hopefully longer lived, because those critters don't last long, now that I think about it. Not all that fabulous a metaphor. I mean, why can't I be a social Galapagos tortoise?

Oh. Yeah. The whole speed of movement thing. It would take me forever to get from one event to another. That could be inconvenient, I suppose.

I started this post with some point and it has now been completely lost amidst all the snark. My snark quotient has been very high the last few days, probably due to the influence of the websites I have been spending all those hours and hours perusing, often laughing until tears were (quite literally) streaming down my face. Sites like Passive Aggressive Notes and Cake Wrecks and Lovely Listing and Craftastrophe and today my new favorite Regretsy*. As one person emailed the snarktastic blogger at Regretsy, Love this site. It's like LOLcats for mean people. And ZOMG, if loving that site means that I'm a mean person, slap a big red M on my bosoms and submit the pic, because I'm there.

My friends may be suffering a bit, but hopefully they love me enough to deal. I'm doing my best to keep my snark on the right side of harsh.

Also, Pandora.com has been running nonstop on my laptop to the point where I finally ran out of free hours and had to cough up the massive 99 cents it cost to have unlimited playtime for the rest of the month. I have been playing my Death Cab for Cutie and Emptyself and Iron & Wine stations endlessly. As a result, I have discovered many new songs and artists that I love love love love and I am having to restrain myself from draining my bank account buying mp3s on Amazon. Self control FTW!!!

Sigh.

Oh well. Whatever I originally meant to write, this is what you're getting. It is now time for bed, because suddenly it's actually Tuesday the 23rd instead of Monday the 22nd, which is when I started this post.

/sleepfail

My bed is calling. Well, not precisely my bed, because I'm already in it, but dreamland or whatever. Good night or good morning or whatever time it is and may your dreams be sweet and completely unhaunted by this.

You're welcome.

UPDATE: It just occured to me as I was adding links that I originally came on here TO BE SNARKY. Specifically, snarky about the random people/organizations/spammers who keep following me on Twitter even though I haven't even logged on to Twitter in months. MONTHS people, and seriously, why does it have to be the crazy spambots following me on Twitter? I would rather have real peoples follow me here. I mean, come on! Who's in charge around these here Intarwebz?!?!?

Whew. I'm glad I got that figured out. Good night/morning/whatever.

-------------------------------
*Warning: quite a few of the posts on Regretsy.com are Not Safe For Work and potentially offensive because OMG you would not believe what people try to sell on Etsy.com. It's amazing. So please don't go there and get all shocked that I would link that site because I just checked and the very front page (on the day this is posting) may involve "art" involving nekkid boobies. And pig corpses.

I kid you not. I couldn't make this up if I tried.

They Said...

They said it couldn't happen.

They said the district is too stingy to allow it to happen.

They said things would get cleaned up in time.

They said everything would be business as usual.

They were wrong.

Because...

...

...

...

...

SNOW DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Time to go play. Enjoy your desk jobs, suckas!!!! This teacher is OUT!

Excuses, Excuses

Student Version: Why I Didn't Do The Homework 
(from this site)

1. I didn’t do my history homework because I don’t believe in dwelling on the past.
2. I didn’t want the other kids in the class to look bad.
3. A sudden gust of wind blew my homework out of my hand and I never saw it again.
4. Another pupil fell in a lake and I jumped in to rescue him.  Unfortunately, my homework drowned.
5. Our furnace broke and we had to burn my homework to keep ourselves from freezing.
6. I’m not at liberty to say why.
7. I wanted to frame the detention letter you’re about to give me.
8. It was destroyed in a freak accident involving a hippo, a toaster, and a bag of frozen peas.  You don’t want to know the details.
9. I have a solar-powered calculator, and it was cloudy.
10. I made a paper plane out of it and it got hijacked.
11. My mom used it as a dryer sheet.
12. My agent won’t allow me to publish my homework until my movie deal is finalized.
13. It’s against my religion to do any homework.
14. I was abducted by green-skinned, three-eyed, pig-snouted space aliens, and they incinerated my homework with their death rays.
15. I felt it wasn’t challenging enough.
16. My parents were sick and unable to do my homework last night.  Don’t worry, they have been suitably punished.
17. We had homework?!
18. I see your lips moving, but all I’m hearing is “blah, blah, blah.”
19. I didn’t want to add to your already heavy workload.
20. I spent the night at a rally supporting higher pay for our hard-working teachers.

Teacher Version: Why I Didn't Grade The Homework
(by TeacherMommy)

1. A draft circulated through my room from the vents, and the friction caused by all those papers rubbing together resulted in spontaneous combustion isolated to my desk.
2. I had to go to the ER to treat the blood loss sustained from all my paper cuts.
3. I started reading the essays and suffered a brain aneurism.
4. I fell asleep on the papers due to exhaustion and got ink poisoning.
5. My children mistook the tests for scrap paper and used them for their latest art projects.
6. My cat mistook the tests for kitty litter and...well, littered on them.
7. The military has been taking up all my time having me train their best interrogators in the proper use of The Look. Soon they will be ready to add The Eyebrow.
8. I strained my back carrying my laptop and bag of papers and had to go to the chiropractor.
9. Oh, they're graded, but the computer hates me and won't let me enter the grades.
10. It was the craziest thing. I left my room for five minutes to use the copier, and a miniature wormhole opened up over my desk and transported all the papers to the Gamma Quadrant.
11. My nemesis in A pod papernapped all the essays. I'm negotiating for their release.
12. I'm trying to get my Procrastination Badge. I've been working on it for years, but the organization keeps putting off the final test.
13. I looked at the essays and decided I can't cure stupid.
14. Next week is Spirit Week and I'm too busy trying to decide what to wear on the theme days.
15. Did you know that Gmail chat suddenly works in the building?
16. I'm very busy practicing my blogging writing skills.
17. Since our salaries and benefits are likely to get slaughtered in the next contract negotiation, I've decided to start charging per paper. I'm waiting for my students to cough up the moolah.
18. I'm staging a protest against the needless slaughter of squids by refusing to use ink.
19. Sometimes it's just better not to know what is and isn't in those kids' heads.
20. I have a life.