What is this, a Presidential Debate?

My students at school are very interested in this year's Presidential election. Some people may find this unbelievable, given the varying abilities of my kids. But after all these years with these amazing young people, nothing surprises me.

About two weeks ago, we were doing an activity in Occupational Prep class. We were conducting job interviews. The teachers had divided the class into groups, and we were working on interviewing strategies and techniques.

It sounded really good in the curriculum guide!

My group consisted of Debbie, seventeen years old. Debbie has never met an opinion she didn't like. Or express. Vocally and at great length. I also had a young man I shall call Peter. Peter exists in his own wild and wonderful world. He smiles and crinkles his eyes and agrees with just about everything that's said. I also had a fantastic young man I'll call Dante. Dante approaches the world with great humor and enthusiasm, but totally without a clue.

None of these names are real. I've changed identities to protect the innocent. Namely, myself.

As our activity progressed, and order broke down with Debbie arguing with everything that I said, I could not stop myself from saying, "What is this? A Presidential Debate?".

"Well, of course it is!" exclaimed Debbie. "And I'm Hillary Clinton and I'm gonna be the next President and you better learn to like it!"

Works for me!

Peter replied to Debbie's declaration of candidacy by saying, "Hillary Clinton? Who's that? Is she a movie star?"

Debbie's response was, "What, you're John Edwards all of a sudden?"

I choked on my Diet Pepsi.

Dante mumbled something about cowboys and space aliens.

Debbie said, "Shut up, Barack. You ain't making no sense today".

Oh my. The real Hillary better watch out.

Debbie is quite an admirer of Senator Clinton, it turns out. Hillary, in her considered opinion, is way cooler than Oprah Winfrey. She is not as good a singer as Hannah Montana, however.

Sorry, Hillary.

Our Hillary also has a tight rein on her Presidential spouse. "Ms. Chris," she announced one morning, breezing into the classroom and throwing her backpack on the floor next to my desk, "Bill's getting on my nerves! He better learn to shut up or I'll fire him!"

Um, President Clinton? I'd be real careful about crossing Hillary these days.

A few days later when our friend Tommy, star of another blog, had the temerity to tell Debbie she was getting on his nerves with all the blah, blah, blah, about Hillary Clinton, Debbie responded with a loud and firm, "What, you think you're Bill O'Reilly? You better shut up. Nobody but loons listen to you!"

Fox News, please take note.

Since that time, we have a self-proclaimed Condoleeza Rice, who wears her mother's pearl necklace to school these days and waves like Queen Elizabeth.

We have also been graced with the presence of our own Republican candidate. One of our students has Multiple Personality Disorder. One of her personalities is "The Preacher". The Preacher manifested last week, loudly proclaiming the word of God and testifying for Jesus. Debbie, dear, sweet, Debbie, stood up, put her hands on her hips, and said, "Calm down, Governor Huckabee! Nobody's voting for you anyway!"

We adult educator types, who are supposed to be in charge of this classroom, have seized the teachable moment presented and are teaching about politics and the election. It invariably deteriorates into mass chaos, but I figure it's a fair representation of a national political convention.

In the meantime, our own dear Senator has offered me the position of Chief Advisor. I will not get paid, mind you, but I will get to live in the White House and ride in a limo.

I wanted to be Vice President, but alas, this is not to be. That job is going to Zack from High School Musical.

Lucky Hillary.

Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!

I have some absolutely incredible and amazing students in my FALS classroom. They are all my favorites. But there is one in particular who reigns supreme in my heart. I shall call him Tommy. This is not his real name.

Tommy is now seventeen years old. He is three and a half feet of pure joy. He will be forever five years old with limitless dreams and hope. How wonderful is that?

Tommy has, among other "handicapping conditions", Spina Bifida and mental retardation. I question the latter diagnosis. My man Tommy is a genius. He has figured out the secret of life.

Be cute and all shall be handed to you on a silver platter.

The first day I met Tommy, five years or so ago, I introduced myself. He looked at me very seriously and said, "Your name too hard for me. I call you Mom. Okay, Mom?"

Well, of course it was okay.

Tommy is a video game expert. "Mom! Mom! I bring my X-Box to school, Mom?"

I tell him no, Tommy, you can't bring your X-Box to school.

"Bad guys steal it, Mom?"

Could be.

"I karate Ninja chop them, Mom"

That'll teach 'em!

Tommy does not like Math. "I not need Math, Mom. I got credit card."

Sound logic there!

Tommy does not like reading. "It give me headache, Mom."

As if video games won't?

Tommy does not like writing. "My hand is hot, Mom."

Oh, we can't have that.

Tommy does not like walking. "My feet is hot, Mom."

Truly tragic.

Tommy does not like being outside. "My head too hot, Mom."

We would not want to melt your brain.

Tommy does like girls.

And women.

"Look, Mom! A hot womans!"

And the hot womans absolutely adore Tommy.

He has a never ending stream of hot womans lining up to be his girlfriends.

He probably holds the world record for prom dates and homecoming dates.

Prom King? Tommy!

Homecoming King? Tommy!

And he just eats it up with a spoon, a radiant smile beaming from his sweet little face.

He collects the phone numbers of hot womans daily. "Write it down, Mom! Her HOT!"

Of course he never calls the hot womans. Use of the telephone is not one of his strong subjects. "It too hard for me, Mom".

As our days go by, Tommy brightens my days and the days of everyone he meets. He is the Big Man on Campus. The Little Man with a Plan. Even the toughest kids in our high school know Tommy. They will stop and shake his hand, high five him and tell him how cool he is.

"That's my Mom!" he tells them, pointing up at me. I think most of them really think I am his mom. That would account for all the gray hair, though.

And Tommy enforces the school rules. He is the Chief Hall Monitor, as specially designated by our Principal.

"Take that hat off, man!"

"No cell phones in school, hot womans!"

"You no cuss! I tell my Mom!"

And they all listen to Tommy and sheepishly put away the hats and cell phones and say they are sorry for cussing.

"You no do it again or Mom will Ninja Karate Chop you butt, right Mom?"

Um, maybe not, Tommy.

But the best part of working with Tommy is that no matter what we do, he says, "Thanks for helping me, Mom".

And heaven forbid I should do something wrong or make a mistake! "You fired, Mom!"

In my dreams, Tommy.

And always, before he gets on the bus to go home, Tommy says, "I love you Mom. You HOT!"

If only all he men in my life were like Tommy!

St. Joseph is in the House!

And it's still not sold!

Nine months on the market. Two realtors. Too many price reductions to count. Time and money spent on improvements.

And it's still not sold!

But it's okay. I have St. Joseph in the house.

I found him at a local Catholic store. Just for the record, I did not burst into flames upon entering said Catholic store. I know some of my friends were taking bets, but it was cool.

People had told me to get a St. Joseph statue to help me sell my house. There was a big article in the Baltimore Sun newspaper about the power of St. Joseph in real estate sales. They even sell St. Joseph on E-Bay! What more convincing did I need? I mean, if it's on E-Bay, it must work!

St. Joseph comes in a "real estate kit". For $7.50 you get a three inch plastic statue of St. Joseph and a card with a prayer on it. It also has a nice picture of St. Joseph. He'd probably think this was all pretty cool. Recognition at last!

The very nice and sweet Nun, who thought I was a total riot, told me I could place the statue in my bay window, looking out on the view. When I sell the house, I should take him with me and put him in a place of honor in my new house. She also said he might like a little cowboy hat when we finally get to Texas. How cool is that? Sister said I should say the prayer daily and give St. Joseph time to do his work and get the house sold. And she told me not to worry. He'd even work for Pagans like me. He's an equal opportunity Saint.

Whew!

I've had him for a few weeks now. Since then I've had an upturn in showings. I was given the opportunity to get an affordable storage unit for all my beloved clutter. We found by chance, driving down the road one day, an antique bedroom door, complete with amazing period brass hardware, for my ever-loving teenage son's bedroom. It needed to be cleaned, sanded, painted and installed. It was the exact right size. That was unbelevable. I was also able to do some needed work on the house, including work on my very gorgeous oak hardwood floors. My new realtor is very pleased, happy and impressed with the positive feedback she's gotten on the house.

Is all of this the work of St. Joseph? Who knows? All I know is I have a renewed sense that my house will sell soon. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but surely before 2046. I had just about given up hope for my Texas dream to come true. But now, with St. Joseph on my side, I believe the end of this ordeal is in sight.

Wide open spaces, here I come!

The biggest miracle, however, is that said teenage son is keeping his room clean without argument.

I wonder if that's why my St. Joseph statue is carrying that big old hammer?

The Origin of the Zip Code

I work with very special young people in a Life Skills program at a local high school. They love me and I love them. They love me so much, in fact, that they're always in my personal space, hovering around my desk and touching all of my stuff. I'd no sooner get up from my big, cushy rolly chair, and somebody would be in it. They would put their stuff in my drawers and take my stuff out. I can never get mad at my kids. They're way too cute! And they know it. Some of them don't get the concept of boundaries very well at all, you see. So one day, after the umpteenth Dollar Store cute thing on my desk got knocked over and broken, I started to define my boundaries. Well, it didn't work so well.

I took masking tape and placed a square around my desk and told them that if they wanted to come inside the line, they had to ask first. It didn't work at all.

I borrowed crime scene tape from the Forensics teacher and put it around my desk. Big waste of crime scene tape, that was.

One day we were discussing how to pay bills and mail letters. We were learning to write addresses on envelopes. We got to the Zip Code part and how each area has its own unique Zip Code. If you get it wrong, your letter might not be delivered.

Well, I don't know what came over me, but I told them that the area around my desk was my Zip Code. I even put up a sign with the Zip Code for Joshua, Texas. It's the only Texas Zip Code I know, and since I'm moving there one of these days, I figured...............Oh, never mind.

I have no idea why, but all of a sudden, the kids started asking me if they could come inside the Zip Code. They even stayed out of my big cushy chair. I had to start giving them permission to enter the Zip Code, and when I'd tell them to leave the Zip Code, they would. Without question. It's amazing!

So now I have groups that come back to the Zip Code for math, reading and science. I have kids who just want to talk come on back to the Zip Code. I allow our student aids to use the Zip Code when I'm not. And none of my Dollar Store cute things have gotten broken, either.

We have populated the Zip Code with all sorts of wonderful creatures, too. We have dancing donkeys, mischievous monkeys and wacky wildebeests. There's also a mysterious dog who never honors the five second rule. There are also several dinosaurs and at least six camels.

Jesus has also been known to visit the Zip Code wearing a purple robe and purple sparkly flip flops. He brings along his wife, Edith, and their eight children. Twins are on the way.

But that's another story altogether..........................................................................................................

For Sale by Desperate

I am the living example of Murphy's Law in action. For the past five or six years, I've watched real estate prices in my neighborhood soar and houses fly off the market in days. But what happens when I put my own house on the market? It implodes.



This is a metaphor for my life.



My new husband and I decided to sell our brick rowhouse and move to the wide open spaces of Texas about a year ago. We've spent a lot of time out there, visiting our two sets of best friends who live out there, coincidentally about twenty miles apart. Well, Texas is such a tiny little state after all........



So we spent about six months getting the house ready and getting things in order. We even got married. Finally, we chose a realtor and took the plunge.



And BOOM!



Now we sit here, six months and three price drops later, still waiting to sell this house. And it's not a bad house. It's really a very nice one, with lots of improvements. But here we still sit.



We have shown the house countless times. We get the call and go into Marathon Cleaning Mode. It's like when my mother calls and says she's coming over and I panic and go into Swiffer overdrive. Febreze is my new best friend. And Magic Erasers combined with Kaboom are a sure fire cleaning combination. But it's getting old, you know?



We even got an offer about a month after the house went on the market. And what an offer it was! These buyers already had a mortgage guarantee and all. And they really wanted my house. The loved it! So we anxiously waited twenty four hours for the offer to be presented by our realtor. It was $45,000 under asking price. They wanted us to pay all of their closing. They wanted us to pay for inspections and warranties. And make all repairs that were found to be needed by said inspectors. I was not pleased, to put it mildly. I was insulted, offended and majorly pissed off. And to add insult to injury, they also wanted the fish in the pond.



My realtor said it was a good offer because they had a mortgage, guaranteed. Otherwise, the offer sucked big time. So we countered at a good price. We would pay for a warranty and offer a credit toward closing and repairs. We would not, however, give them the fish in the pond. They have a new home waiting for them. We figured it was a fair counter offer and we'd meet in the middle. That's how it works on TV, yanno.



They refused the counter. They would not pay a penny more for the house and they wanted all their demands met. Wait a minute! Who owns this house? We do! See ya!



Even though five months have passed, I do not regret turning that offer down. After further investigation, which I am wont to do, I found out the buyers were only using the husband's income and credit. The wife's would not be used. She made more than he did. They were going to turn around and resell the house.



Oh, no. I think not. I was not born yesterday. Last Tuesday, maybe, but not yesterday.



So we have had a parade of buyers in and out of our house. And what a breed of intrepid adventurers they are!



We had a woman come to look at the house one fine summer afternoon. She walked in and said, "Oh! I don't to stairs!", and walked back out. Then why are you looking at three storey rowhouses in Dundalk? Duh!



We had a gentleman who said he liked the house but could not buy it because we have a handicapped parking space out front and he's not handicapped.....................We know where his sign is.



We breed and raise exotic birds. We have a room just for them. We always let people know about them and welcome them in, where they are noisily and joyfully greeted by the gang. A few people have been terrified of birds and left quickly. Some have stayed and played with the crew. One couple even adopted a pair. And one guy said he couldn't buy the house because he doesn't know how to take care of birds. We tried to explain that they're coming with us................

Some people shouldn't be allowed out of bed in the morning.



We had a couple come through who were appalled at the sight of our packed boxes. Um, folks, we're kinda MOVING!!!!!



One lady did not like my furniture. Well, hon, I don't like it either! That's why it's going to the dump and not moving to Texas with us. Either way, it's furniture! It does not stay.



One genius took offense that I have real solid oak floors throughout the house and not Pergo. Oops. Sorry. Let me get right on that.



A dear and darling lady did not appreciate the fact that I had painted neutral colors in all the rooms that were too close to white. Hey, lady! I watch HGTV! You're supposed to do that!



So I now feel that I can't win for losing. I could replace flooring, cabinets, countertops, appliances and fixtures, and the buyers would still find fault with it.



So I give up! I will clean and polish and Febreze until the longhorns come home, but I will NOT try and please the home buying public any longer. Someday, somebody will walk in and decide to buy the house at a decent price and everyone will be happy.



In the meantime, we shall be patient. Texas awaits. Acres of land, a one storey rancher, room for ponies and camels and burros and zebras............Cheaper utilities, no state income tax, lower property taxes, cowboys in tight jeans........................And all for under a hundred thousand dollars.



YeeHaw, Pardner!

Whatever Happened to the "Empty" in Empty Nest?

So here I am. Middle aged, a grandmother, a newlywed, foolishly thinking I'm going to have some time to myself, time with my new husband, time to enjoy seeing my youngest child through his senior year of high school to graduation. Then, total, blissful freedom! A new life in Texas!

Silly me.

Three days after my wedding my new stepdaughter and her son moved in. It would only be for a month, she said. And it was only for a month. I give her credit for sticking to her word. But what a month it was! I did not know people, especially ten year olds, could sleep until five or six in the afternoon. Of course, if their mothers let them stay up until dawn playing video games and blaring the television, I guess it's easy. I also did not know that "Feed the Dogs Until They Throw Up" was a popular game with ten year olds. It was with this one. It was a very long month. I did not think my new marriage would survive...............but it did.

And I spoke prophetic words to my new husband. "I know you wouldn't turn my kids away if they were in a jam."

I shoulda kept my mouth shut.

Oldest daughter, married four months and with an almost two year old, decides married life is not fun anymore. She wants a divorce. She moves back home. Then back to hubby. Then back to mom. Then back to hubby. Then back to mom. It was like a bad day at Wimbledon. Now she is back again. This time she says it's permanent. We shall see. She spends almost every waking moment with hubby, so what's the point?

I love having my grandson in the house. He is the most precious and adorable child. But I've long forgotten how to survive with a toddler in the house. And all of the toddler's toys. And all of the toddler's noise. But it is a total joy and I love every second of it. Bedtime, however, is a blessing.

Then there's middle daughter. The smart one. The college student. The one who has a great job, making more than I do. The one who never gave me a moment's trouble her whole life. The totally sensible one. The one who is now dating a married man with a four month old baby. Oy vey. I just don't know.

And my son. My darling son. The one I never thought would stay in school long enough to graduate. The one I've dragged kicking and screaming since Pre-K to get to his senior year, graduation on the horizon. What a relief! Well, he seems to think that failing his senior year sounds like a good idea. That way he can stay in school with this month's girlfriend. He seems to think this is a brilliant idea and is quite proud of himself. Can I beat him over the head with a two by four?

And did I mention that my house is up for sale so that my husband and I can move to Texas and begin our new life? And my house has to be kept clean and neat at all times because we never know when somebody will want to see it?

And do you want to know how much fun it is to sell a house in the current mortgage meltdown market?

You do?

Well, you'll just have to wait for my Blog on that subject.

Right now, I have to pick up Mega Blocks before the dogs eat them.

Wow! I finally have a Blog!

Well, I've finally moved into the 21st Century. I not only have a cell phone I can't figure out how to use, I have a Blog I don't know what to do with. What is a Blog, anyway? And why couldn't somebody come up with a better name than Blog? I mean, come on. Blog??? Sounds like something you need Drano for.

I have lots of stuff to write. Lots of stories to tell about life in my zip code. I'll get to that another day. Right now, I'm just trying to figure out if I'm really blogging or not.

A very special thank you to my friend Yvette, who convinced me to start a Blog of my own. I hope it'll be both fun and theraputic.