Monthly Archives: June 2013

On Muffin Tins and the Bombing of Central Washington

You ever feel like you’re living in some kind of alternate reality?

My son came home from work (My son…work… See, right there, reality is already sliding into skiwhompus proportions.) this past Wednesday with the news that while he was greasing the backhoe, a bomb blast rocked his world. I wasn’t sure what seemed more wrong with that picture–my son greasing a backhoe, as opposed to, say, a muffin tin–or the fact that at 7  in the morning, in a tiny little town in central Washington, a WWII bomb was detonated.

Apparently it isn’t terribly uncommon for shed workers to find these devices coming in with the potatoes from the fields, or for farmers to dig them up and use them for lawn ornaments, not realizing their potential.

Nor is it, apparently, much of a stretch to imagine a sixteen year old employee driving your backhoe into a building; his boss thought maybe that explained the shock wave he felt inside.

My son drives backhoes?

Not to mention large trucks with heavily loaded trailers, and dump trucks. Through the middle of Moses Lake. Yeah.

Ah, well. You have to learn behind the wheel of something, I suppose.

 


Ten Confessions For the Last Week of School

  1. That lady I just had a conversation with in the grocery store? I haven’t got a clue who she was. I swear to you that I’ve never seen that woman’s face before. Ever. Super disturbing, then, that she knew my name and all of my children’s names.
  2. I was secretly kind of glad to find six plagiarized essays in that last stack of grading. Sooooo much easier to grade. Zero. Done. No, you can’t redo it.
  3. Dear Daughter: I know you thought you were bringing your wardrobe back from college on your last trip home primarily to store it, but I’ve worn three of your skirts and two shirts in the past four days. If it makes you feel any better, my students think you have great taste. Also, that red sweater was mine, brand new, two years ago, and I only got to wear it once, so we’re even.
  4. I’m seriously weighing the pros and cons of having a large bonfire vs. filing the mountains of paper originals, tests, keys, etc.,  for classes I may never teach again. I had Juniors this year, and invented an entirely new curriculum for them. Next year I only have Sophomores. If I do get Juniors again, it will be after the next district curriculum adoption. Hmmmm. S’mores, anyone?
  5. I gave a (technically) B final an A in the grade book today. The student didn’t answer every question correctly, but she made me think, cry, and laugh hysterically, all in one essay.
  6. I have no idea what grade to give the OCD, ADHD student who, having never written (probably) an entire sentence before, has spent the past three weeks writing one, long, cathartic essay instead of doing any other assignment I’ve handed out. It’s rambling and grammatically incorrect and brilliant and has absolutely no bearing on anything to do with American Lit, except that it is American Lit–in its purest, most contemporary incarnation.
  7. I have to teach Day One of a college class in two days and I still have no lesson plan worked out. Not even close.
  8. I may or may not have taken attendance in third period today. But we had a really good debate about affirmative action, so my conscience is clear; if you missed it, well. The attendance office will never know about your absence, but your mind is infinitely poorer for it.
  9. Dear perfect-attendance student in third period: I’m not as generous as you think; I only bought you an entire bucket of strawberry ice cream because it cost half as much as the pint. Dear other perfect-attendance students: Don’t feel slighted. Do you have any idea how long it took me to find the bizarre food items you requested?
  10. I let two of my own children stay home from school for no other reason today than they didn’t feel like going, and I know very well what’s going on in their classrooms today. And no, I didn’t call their attendance offices either. Go ahead. Send me a letter.