Making children cry

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Making children cry

Hubby warned me. But I didn’t listen.

I wanted to do a review game with the second graders to prepare them for their test. I wrote “Side A” and “Side B” on the board to tally their scores. The kids in the first desk on each side were up against each other to see who could answer the question first. Then the second desk, etc. It seemed harmless enough.

But these were seven-year-olds.

Two girls started crying when they didn’t win. Fortunately, I knew one had a freakish knowledge of Jupiter. I said, “Bonus question: what is that big circle on Jupiter called?” She smiled, raised her hand, nailed it. At least, I assume she did. I couldn’t remember what it’s called. Great red spot or whatever? Doesn’t matter. I gave her team a bonus point, and she sat up tall and smiling. Whew.

The other girl teared up at the end, thankfully, so I said, “Could you please help me pass out these worksheets?” You’d think I’d handed her a miniature live unicorn that occasionally, though cutely and discreetly, burps out bubbles and sparkles. Another crisis averted.

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Blog buddy meetup #… 7? 8?

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Blog buddy meetup #… 7? 8?

Maybe it’s 9? Whatever. A month and a half ago, with next to no warning, which I thought was pretty cool, Chel Owens alerted me that she was in the area!

So we took a hike.

We had a fun time chatting like old friends, as blog buddies always are, and traipsed along an ocean lagoon with our husbands and sons.

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Maybe I’m not okay after all…

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Maybe I’m not okay after all…

I showed up to school Monday morning like this:

I didn’t notice I was wearing two different shoes until I stepped out of my car in the school parking lot. In the kitchen, I pointed out my flub to a couple of female teachers who laughed with me. Then I went to Hubby’s office and said, “Look at my feet.” His eyes bugged out. “Oh no!” he said. He did not see the humor in this situation.

Thankfully, I had a daughter at home with a license and a car. In the midst of first period, Hubby stepped into my classroom with a bag. I discreetly made the shoe transfer under the teacher’s desk. However, I had already greeted all the sixth graders as they walked in. Wouldn’t you know it, one was observant.

“Why are you wearing two different shoes?” she asked, the plucky little…

“Because it’s Wacky Wednesday… on Monday.” That actually seemed to satisfy her.

The sixth graders weren’t easy for me Monday, particularly the one kid the homeroom teacher had wisely placed front and center. So Tuesday morning, I got smart. (Slow learning curve for me.) At the start of class, I set a detention slip on his desk and said, “Why don’t you go ahead and fill your name in now to save me time later.”

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Ilsa Rey is not okay

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Ilsa Rey is not okay

I am, actually. I just miss you guys. I haven’t read blogs in weeks. So, if anyone is feeling hurt, it’s not just you. I’ve abandoned everyone, but here are some brief notes to let you know I’m still alive.

First, I had a sneaking suspicion that if I bragged about my second grade conquest, I would wind up losing that control. (Pride goeth before the fall and all.) The kids are having fun in my class, but that fun translates into volume. We did a review game where, whenever their team won a point, they cheered, loudly. So, so loudly. Hubby, the master of all things classroom, taught me some silent cheers I can show them instead. We’ll see if that’s fun for them too. But fun means my authoritative position has slipped. I will endeavor to get it back.

I’ve been subbing like mad still and enjoying it. However, last period Friday, near the end of class on a stupidly hot day, a seventh grader in the front row burped loudly and obnoxiously. I was done and not having it. “Out,” I said. “Just leave.” A minute later, he opened the door and asked, “Can I come back in now?” “Nope,” I said. No regrets.

Happy subbing highlights:

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Here’s something unexpected.

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Here’s something unexpected.

To recap this past week: I had that final-final-final (I’ve lost count) draft to turn in. I did my day job. I did my new day job in the second grade. I subbed several classes. I had my annual birthday coffee date with two friends, and I stressed over prepping a speech I gave Saturday for engaged couples (postscript: the talk went well).

In the midst of this, a dear long-time blog buddy reminded me I was slated to do a guest post for her on my blog. I told her I’d need to get back to her because I was currently drowning. She graciously pushed it off till March, remembering that’s when my next book officially releases and suggesting we do a promo swap then.

Thanks a million for that, Jacqui. And everyone, if you’ve ever wondered what it was like to be a human in prehistoric times, Jacqui Murray has done fascinating research for her novels. Check them out.

Also during this week, for the sake of my mental health, I still made it to my usual Jiu-Jitsu classes, though for one, I showed up several minutes late and without my gi pants.

What a flippin’ mess I am.

Gi pants, chilling on my bed while I’m fighting my battles without them. What slackers–as opposed to slacks! Ooooh, pants pun!

Picture me slinking inside with skin-tight leggings and sitting on the bench with my gi top over my lap as Instructor is teaching. The whole line-up of students is facing me. One even waves. HRH looks at me. I mouth, “pants,” and point to my legs.

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Let the editing continue!

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Let the editing continue!

I got the formatted copy of Wish YOU Were Here from the publisher and was given two weeks to check it over one more time.

Before this, I stressed over making changes for the final-final draft. After I turned that in, I was told to send in another copy if I made any further changes by whatever date it was. (Making a mental note to remember that’s an option when I’m stressing over Book 3.)

I waited until the day before this new date to look at my final-final draft because I never learn. Did I make changes? Yep! A bunch of them but didn’t have time to make it through the entire book. That bugged me.

But now I have a chance to make final-final-final changes, which meant repeated texts to Mark on a Saturday night, interrupting the MarTar Manor cards and cocktails tradition with my quibbling over commas and “in” vs. “into.”

It could have been super annoying, I’m sure, but Mark seemed to take it with aplomb. He even showed me a pic of what was spinning on the record player–Stone Temple Pilots. (I approved.) And I showed him a picture of my laptop with a shot glass of peanut butter whiskey propped dangerously above the keys. (He approved. Maybe not of the recklessness, but of the drink choice.) And this is why we’re friends.

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Ilsa goes back to school

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Ilsa goes back to school

The picture and caption I posted on socials:

I didn’t plan on being a teacher, except for martial arts, but when the school had a need for a second grade science teacher, I said I’d do it. My dear mother said: “Wow, good for you!” Then: “Do you know second grade science?” Love the confidence. I think I’ll manage. Thanks.

Then everyone’s favorite Royal Highness immediately texted:

This is just one class twice a week, and I wasn’t too concerned about second grade since I’d subbed that grade several times last year.

At that point, however, I’d been used to middle schoolers. Little kids are a different species. I didn’t know the cutesy tricks the lower grade teachers use like, “Quiet Coyote” and “One, two, three, eyes on me,” to which the students respond, “One, two, eyes on you.”

Who comes up with this stuff?

But before my appointed day with the littles, I sat with their teachers at lunch to get advice, explaining I was nervous since I only knew middle school. They said, “Ohhh! Middle school! Those kids are scary.”

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The Lawyer Saga (A Jiu-Jitsu story, not real life)

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The Lawyer Saga (A Jiu-Jitsu story, not real life)

I’ve had this running gag with Lawyer about me ignoring him. It started months ago when I looked past him to instead greet Balloon Man, whom I hadn’t seen in forever. I apologized to Lawyer for–his words–shunning him, explaining I’d already seen him plenty of times. He acted too offended to forgive.

I’m shocked I have a picture of this incident from so long ago. Balloon Man, L, looks like, “Why is this woman speaking to me? What is she even talking about?” Lawyer, middle, is like, “Uh, I’m standing here too, Ilsa!” Wish I could remember what was actually being said.

Then there was the time we were all waiting at the mat for class to begin. I called Lawyer’s name, then looked up and away as soon as he turned toward me, which made him laugh.

Another time, I waved to Lawyer before class started. He ignored me. Finally he saw me and stepped toward me. “I waved and you shunned me,” I said. He apologized and extended a fist. I bumped it and said, “Now we’re even.”

“No, we’re not,” he said.

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Beating up my Jiu-Jitsu training partners–on accident!

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Beating up my Jiu-Jitsu training partners–on accident!

Whoa! Another post already? I know, but I’ve got gobs of stories waiting to get written up.

Remember that time I elbowed Her Royal Highness in the head right in front of her husband, the instructor? (Probably not, but that’s okay.) That incident didn’t go over well. “If she has bruises, that reflects poorly on me,” he said.

More recently I was caught slightly slapping Thoughtful One in the face.

“Slap his shoulders, not his face,” Instructor… instructed.

“He just has a perfectly slappable face,” I quipped.

“I don’t think so,” Instructor said. “I wouldn’t want to slap him in the face.”

“Me neither!” I blurted quickly as he walked away.

I later told HRH about this incident. She assured me Instructor knew I was being sarcastic as he is too. I had yet to see that play out.

Instructor doing something to me.
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Saturday morning Jiu-Jitsu

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Saturday morning Jiu-Jitsu
Her Royal Highness (HRH) letting me know I’d be flying solo.

She kept me company while I got ready for class then…

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