Mrs. Ram's Jams

Category: kids

• A Little Thing Tale: Little Thing Meets Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

  Posted at 11:01 am by Mrs. Ram Jam, on May 16, 2020

  

  Earlier this year, I decided it was time for Little Thing to finally get her Harry Potter on. I would have introduced her to Hogwarts sooner, but she’s only recently begun showing interest in books that don’t feature kitties. And lacking the motivation to read it herself, I knew I would have to tackle reading book one out loud to my Little Muggle.

  (Even though I am an English teacher, I abhor reading things aloud. I suck it up buttercup and do it for my students occasionally when I can’t find a better, free audio version, and I always read to Little Thing before bedtime, but acccckkkkkkkkkk.)

  And HP aloud poses all kinds of issues:

  1. Have you ever tried to read Hagrid’s brogue out loud? YEEESSSSSHHHHH. So hard. I’d rather wrangle baby Norbert the dragon IRL and have him singe off my-coronavirus-ignored-overly-bushy eyebrows (Holy shit. I have Hermione-Granger-book-one eyebrows right now.) than botch Hagrid’s dialect.
  2. I had to think to myself Quirrell rhymes with squirrel every damn time Quirrel’s name appeared in print.
  3. Was I pronouncing Wingardium Leviosa with enough conviction to make a feather lift off a table? Would it make Hermione Granger proud?
  4. Should I read all the dialogue in a British accent?
  5. HOW AM I GOING TO READ SNAPE WITHOUT GIVING EVERYTHING AWAY? HOW AM I GOING TO READ SNAPE WHEN EVERY TIME I THINK OF SNAPE, I THINK OF ALAN RICKMAN, AND I’M STILL NOT OVER THAT HE’S NO LONGER AMONG US.

  Anyway, Little Thing and I finished last week, and she’s now obsessed, even practicing enchantments with her American Girl dolls.

  I kept track of some of her observations while we read. I only wish I would have kept track from the beginning. Here are her best ones:

  ---

  Little Thing:  You know Snape sounds a whole lot like snake.

  ---

  Little Thing:  You know what’s fun to say–Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff.

  Me:  What about Gryffindor? Or Slytherin? Aren’t those fun to say too?

  Little Thing:  Nope. Not as fun as Hufflepuff. It satisfies me. Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff. HUFFLE-PUFFFFFFFFFFF.

  ---

  Me: [reading the part where Malfoy steals Neville’s Remembrall and the subsequent Malfoy and Harry broom scene; looks up, and sees Little Thing plugging her ears] What’s wrong? Why are you plugging your ears?

  Little Thing:  Harry’s gonna be in so much trouble. I don’t want to hear it. He might get expelled. [pauses] What’s expelled mean again?

  ---

  Me:  [when Harry tells Neville] “You’re worth twelve of Malfoy . . . The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn’t it? And where’s Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin.”

  Little Thing:  Stinking Slytherin! Stinkin Slytherin!

  Little Thing: [ten minutes later] Stinking Slytherin! Stinkin Slytherin!

  ---

  Little Thing:  Do you know what I think has been killing the unicorn? A four hundred head dog. He’s got the sharpest claws. And the biggest teeth. And 500 legs.

  ---

  Little Thing: I don’t think Fluffy is a bad dog. He might look like a bad dog on the outside, but on the inside he’s a good dog.

  ---

  Little Thing:  [in a British accent] Why would anyone want to hurt Harry Potter? He’s famous.

  ---

  Me: [reading] “It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead.”

  Little Thing:  NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  ---

  Me: [tucks her in, and says with a British accent] Good night! Good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow!

  Little Thing:  Is that from Harry Potter? [in her own British accent]

  Me: No. It’s from Romeo and Juliet.

  Little Thing: Then WHY did you make it sound like it was from Harry Potter??????

  Me:  [considers all of the possible explanations but my brain is about to explode because it’s the end of the day, coronavirus, distance learning, end of the school year, etc., and settles on] Nevermind.

  ---

  Me:  [reading when Quirrel says] “All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular . . . and what a waste of time, when after all that I’m going to kill you tonight.”

  Little Thing:  [gasps then pauses] I wish Harry had a never-die potion. [pauses] I wish my family had a never-die potion. I wish the whole world had a never-die potion.

  Me: [gets misty-eyed]

  ---

   

  

  Photo by Jakob on Pexels.com
  Posted in books, kids, parenting, reading, Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged books, harry potter, reading

• PSA About Student Attendance

  Posted at 9:54 am by Mrs. Ram Jam, on March 7, 2020

  

  Friendly (Albeit Possibly Unpopular Opinion) Parent Reminder PSA from Mrs. Ram Jam:

  Please send your kids to school. 

  Your kids have one job–it’s called school. Please send them to school. Unless they’re sick, there’s a death in the family, they’ve recently broken a bone, or they have lice.

  For the most part, your kids are not professional athletes, actors, reality stars, or gamers. They should not miss multiple days a school year for travel soccer, baseball, cheer, badminton, Fortnite competitions, Scrabble tournaments, or auditions. 

  Please send your kids to school. Unless they’re sick, there’s a death in the family, they’ve recently broken a bone, or they have lice.

  There are multiple opportunities for extended holidays throughout the year–like summer vacation, Christmas vacation, Thanksgiving vacation, spring break, fall break, and various three day weekends. Check the school’s calendar before you schedule a vacation during the school year. A two-week European tour, ten-day Walt Disney World excursion, or seven-day Caribbean cruise while school is in session is detrimental to your child’s academic well-being. 

  Please send your kids to school. Unless they’re sick, there’s a death in the family, they’ve recently broken a bone, or they have lice.

  Furthermore, it’s unethical to get doctor’s excuses for athletic competitions, auditions, and vacations. Your children tell us where they were or their classmates do. Your Instagram story even tells us where they’ve been. Also your actions, if you’ve partaken in these instances and even gotten a doctor to write you excuses for them, scream privilege.

  Please send your kids to school. Unless they’re sick, there’s a death in the family, they’ve recently broken a bone, or they have lice.

  Also, try to schedule doctor, dental, orthodontal, and therapy appointments for after the school day or during elective classes. When you schedule a biweekly appointment to get your child’s braces adjusted on Mondays at 8:00 A.M., your child is missing the same class or classes each time, which is detrimental to your child’s academic well-being. 

  Please send your kids to school. Unless they’re sick, there’s a death in the family, they’ve recently broken a bone, or they have lice.

  Please send your kids to school on time. If your child checks in late two or three days a week, they are missing the same class each time, which is detrimental to your child’s academic well-being.

  Please send your kids to school. Unless they’re sick, there’s a death in the family, they’ve recently broken a bone, or they have lice.

  Why do I care so much?

  1. Absences add up. Kids get sick. Family members pass away. Kids break bones. Kids get lice. Say your kid gets the flu and misses five days of school, but then you turn around and take them to Disney two weeks later for four days during the school week. Then your kid misses five more days because of travel soccer. Then your kid gets food poisoning in March and misses three days. That’s 17 absences for the school year. 17. 17. 17. That’s more than three weeks of school.
  2. An excused absence is still an absence. 
  3. It sends the wrong message to your kid and their classmates. Is your child more important than the other students? Why does your kid get to miss so much when the other students don’t? The students notice, and they talk about it. 
  4. It hurts your child academically. They have a ton of work to make up, and they miss the benefit of actually being taught the material and classroom discussions. According to attendanceworks.org, “research shows that missing 10 percent of the school, or about 18 days in most school districts, negatively affects a student’s academic performance. That’s just two days a month.”
  5. It hurts their teachers and their schools. There. I said it. I’m being selfish. For once. If you don’t send your kid to school, and your kid doesn’t grow the way the state expects him/her to grow by the end of the year, it affects my scores, my evaluation, and my paycheck. It affects the school’s scores and bottom line too. Your actions affect the community at large. 

  I’m not trying to be all sanctimonious here. Have I pulled Little Thing out of school to go on vacation before? Yes. For one day. One day. Not five in a row. Are two days acceptable? Sure! Let your kids play travel ball and go on auditions and miss a Friday or two during deer season. But more than two days? Multiple times a year? That’s sketchy. 

  Strive for no more than ten absences. The fewer the absences the better. 

  Please send your kids to school. Unless they’re sick, there’s a death in the family, they’ve recently broken a bone, or they have lice. 

   

  Posted in kids, teaching, Uncategorized | 9 Comments | Tagged blogs, school, schools, student attendance, students, teaching

• A Poem: Timeworn

  Posted at 12:42 pm by Mrs. Ram Jam, on July 13, 2019

  

  Don’t blink.
  Clichéd lip sync.
  The pitter-patter of little feet.
  Buckle them into their car seats.

  Time flies.
  Hackneyed reprise.
  They grow up too fast.
  Romanticize the past.

  Clichéd lip sync.
  Buckle them into their car seats.

  Let them be little.
  Trite transmittal.
  Time please slow down.
  Stave off nervous breakdowns.

  Clichéd lip sync.
  Buckle them into their car seats.

  Where has the time gone?
  Banal yawns.
  Can’t they stay little forever?
  Attempt to keep it together.

  Mama needs a drink.
  Clichéd lip sync
  because society pretends motherhood is always sweet.
  Buckle them into their car seats.

  Posted in kids, parenting, poems, Uncategorized, writing | 2 Comments | Tagged blogging, blogs, don't blink, kids, parenting, poems, poetry, time flies, writing

• A Poem: Her Mom Instead of Her Mommy

  Posted at 11:27 pm by Mrs. Ram Jam, on March 15, 2019

  

  Have you seen My?
  She’s been lost for a while,
  and I’m in denial
  because I’ll never get to tell her bye.

  Once she’s gone, she’s gone forever,
  and I’m not just yet ready for never
  again to have my My.

  Oh my my!
  Oh how I cried
  and died
  a little inside
  when I realized My was a thing of the past
  because Mommy is gone and Mom is here at long last.

  And My is no longer the end but the beginning, my mom instead of Mommy.
  And oh my my!
  Oh how I cry
  and die a little inside
  because I have to learn to be her mom instead of her mommy.

  Posted in kids, parenting, poems, poetry, Uncategorized, writing | 1 Comment | Tagged blogging, kids, parenting, poems, poems about kids, poetry, writing

• A Poem: Stop What You’re Doing and Lock the Door

  Posted at 8:55 pm by Mrs. Ram Jam, on March 8, 2019

  

  

  stand at the door

  make conversation

  Happy morning, students!

  check their uniforms

  Take off that necklace, please!

  No labels on socks; that’s a citation.

  the bell rings

  go inside

  lock the door behind you

  take attendance

  “Can I charge my ChromeBook?”

  You mean, may I charge my ChromeBook? Yes, you may.

  “Can I take my doctor’s excuse to the office?

  Ummmm, number one–you should have done that before the bell rang. Number two–did you not just hear me say it’s “may” not “can”? Sign out. And somebody go lock the door.

  submit attendance

  read announcements

  knock knock

  go answer the door and lock it behind you

  continue reading announcements

  knock knock

  stop what you’re doing and answer the door and lock it behind you

  go over the objective

  overhead intercom interrupts–“Can you send So-and-so to the office?”

  So-and-so, stop what you’re doing, sign out, and go to the office. And somebody please go lock the door behind her.

  model your thinking

  knock knock

  Somebody, stop what you’re doing and go answer the door. And don’t forget to lock it.

  students work on group work

  take a student’s ChromeBook because he’s playing games

  admonish another for for using hers as a mirror

  “Hey, my ChromeBook’s frozen!“

  And? That’s a statement. If you want help, please ask a question.

  “Can I go to the library to get my ChromeBook fixed?”

  Did you try to trouble shoot? Did you turn it off and back on?

  continue to monitor the students

  “It still won’t work.”

  Take it down to the library. Sign out.

  stop what you’re doing and lock the door

  they’re finally working

  sit down at your desk

  check your email

  check exit tickets

  check your coffee breath

  pop a mint

  field questions from your desk

  decide that’s useless

  they’re restless

  help them

  make them laugh

  get them back on task

  knock knock

  This is ridiculous. said under your breath

  stop what you’re doing and answer the door

  “You look mad. Can I tell you a joke?”

  ignore the remark

  forget what you’re doing and what day it is and your middle name

  take a deep breath to recenter yourself

  hold a discussion

  overhead intercom interrupts–“Lock down! Lock down! This is a lock down! Active shooter! Active shooter!”

  Students, get in the corner. Be quiet.

  check the blinds to make sure they’re drawn and swipe your phone and your laptop from your desk and turn off the lights and open the cabinet door to block the view from the classroom door and huddle on the floor next to your students and send an everyone’s-accounted-for email

  shush the children

  Moment of Clarity.

  The. Door. Isn’t. Locked.

  Crawl on the floor.

  Reach up.

  Cold lock in your sweaty fingers.

  Twist it as as someone pounds on the door.

  Students whimper.

  Look up. See a cop.

  His glare, a condescending reprimand.

  Because even though you stopped what you were doing, you forgot to lock the door.

  The overhead intercom interrupts–“All clear. All clear. It was only a drill.”

  but you know that the only thing that’s clear is the drill of your beating heart and your lesson is ruined and you’re close to tears because the only thing that’s important anymore is having your door locked

  Posted in fibromyalgia, kids, poetry, teaching, Uncategorized | 6 Comments | Tagged blogging, poems, poems about teaching, poetry, teaching, writing

• A Poem: Little Thing Gets the Flu Haiku

  Posted at 1:02 am by Mrs. Ram Jam, on February 16, 2019

  

  On top of a poo-on-a-stick week, we won the flu lottery!  And by we, I mean Little Thing. Poor sweet Little Thing is puny. I hate it. Here’s a synopsis (in haiku fashion nonetheless)  of today’s events.

  ---

  The thermometer
  beeps at one hundred and two.
  No wonder she’s chilled.

  Climbing into bed
  with me, she proclaims, “I’m fine!”
  “Yeah right, tiny one.”

  A petite furnace
  ignites her forehead and limbs,
  aflame with fever.

  Tissues and TV
  flushed cheeks and pillow snuggles
  beneath her blanket.

  Her granny arrives
  to take care of her and bring
  her to the doctor.

  A text says: it’s flu.
  Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
  Poor sick Little Thing.

  To Tamiflu or
  not to Tamiflu–that
  is the question now.

  Considering she
  gags on liquid Tylenol
  we will pass. No thanks.

  Time to stock up on
  Sprite, pain reliever tablets,
  and so much Lysol.

  ---

  Off topic:  I did have a bright spot today. A student gifted me a temporary tattoo of a llama blowing a bubble. He might have pilfered it from his little sister’s Valentine’s Day gift box, but whatevs. It’s adorable, and it’s lifted my spirits every time I’ve looked at it today.

  

  Posted in kids, parenting, poems, Uncategorized, writing | 1 Comment | Tagged blogging, blogs, haiku, kids, parenting, poems, poetry, writing

• A Mrs. Ram’s Jams Tale: A Teaching Fail and Student Cheating

  Posted at 9:10 pm by Mrs. Ram Jam, on December 8, 2018

  

  I’m not a perfect teacher.

  Earlier this week, I gave a two day test to my English I Honors students, giving them extra time for the assessment’s writing component. Instead of having them pause the test to continue the next day (to try to discourage cheating), I had them submit their test digitally at class’s end and reopened it the following morning. However, I forgot when they submit their answers through our online testing platform it automatically tells them which multiple choice questions they answered incorrectly. [insert Mrs. Ram Jam whacking her head repeatedly against a cinder block wall]  

  So what happened in first block when I reopened the test? Remembering the question numbers marked incorrect, quite a few of them changed those wrong answers to correct ones.  

  Instead of squashing cheating, I inadvertently allowed it to run rampant. I suspect at least 65 percent committed academic dishonesty–with no way to prove who did or didn’t change their answers.

  Repeat–I’m not a perfect teacher.  

  I’m mad at myself for my screw-up and disappointed with my students.

  But if I hadn’t caught myself after first block, would the same thing have happened all day?  

  Hopefully I’m wrong, and this is pure speculation, but yes. In subsequent blocks when I informed kids they couldn’t change their previously chosen answers, I saw open hostility, embarrassment, and shame on more than a few faces. (I also witnessed cluelessness. It hadn’t crossed some of their minds.)

  Newsflash!

  Students aren’t perfect, even the high-achieving ones.

  They turn things in late.  

  They lie about having their homework done.

  They try to figure out how to do the least amount of work possible and still get high grades.

  They’re children.

  They attempt to manipulate adults to their own advantage and pander to their own desires in oft convincing self-righteousness.

  And also, most students at some point, again even high-achieving, good kids, cheat.

  Look at the numbers.

  In Andrew Simmons’s Edutopia article “Why Students Cheat—and What to Do About,” he uses a bar graph to illustrate  “95 percent” of students in secondary schools “admitted to any form of cheating, 64 percent committed plagiarism, and 58 percent cheated on a test.”

  

  Now granted, I teach 8th grade, but I teach a high school credit honors course to middle schoolers. My class is HARD. Kids, used to getting easy A’s, struggle and make C’s and B’s on tests and writing assignments. They’re desperate for an A, even if comes down to achieving one through unethical methods.

  I am not excusing their behavior or my own teaching faux pas, but through self-reflection, I’ve garnered a few valuable insights.  

  1. I don’t know if all students initially recognized that their behavior was unethical. They’re smart. They saw their incorrect answers and changed them before resubmitting and didn’t think twice about it. But some had to realize their actions were disreputable. Thursday, we had a serious conversation about what happened and what the term “ethics” means. Not one student could define it when I asked them what it meant, but they know its definition now. That entire class faces consequences, including a brand new replacement test. I made them feel guilty as hell about their actions. I pulled a Danny Tanner and flipped their transgressions into a teachable moment.  
  2. I need to stop being so nice. I gave them too much time to complete the test, and if I give them an inch, they take a mile. The test should have taken them 60 minutes tops. They had to read three passages, answer 18 multiple choice questions, and write a paragraph. For benchmark, they’re expected to do the same thing but write an essay instead in 90 minutes. My reasoning behind giving them extra time was to allow them to focus in on the writing component so we could work through any constructed response issues they had before benchmark. I wanted them to do well on the test, thinking the extra time would help my struggling writers. But some students were not honest with actually being done when they fully were.  
  3. My expectations were unclear. This one hurts. I should have told them that the twenty minute window on day two was only for the writing component and the multiple choice needed to be finalized on day one. Hindsight sucks.
  4. I admitted my own mistake to them, and I’m admitting it to you. Yes, I did. I told them I screwed up. I think it’s important for students to see their teachers admit when they are incorrect, acknowledge their own mess-ups, and examine their imperfections. Again, I’m not perfect. No teacher is. Sometimes my lessons bomb. Sometimes, God forbid, my self-made materials have editing errors. Sometimes, I don’t pronounce words correctly and accidentally say things like “more better.” I haven’t read everything under the sun, I don’t have all of the answers, and I am not always right–but I admit when I’m wrong, I’ve messed up openly, or I could have done something better. They’re under so much pressure to be perfect, and the adults in their lives need to show them that perfection doesn’t exist and is an unattainable ideal.

  Now I have to ask  . . . if you were put in their situation as a middle schooler, would you have cheated?

  Because I sure of hell would have. [Loud gasp! How dare you, Mrs. Ram Jam!]  In middle school and high school, I copied my peer’s homework or let them copy off me. Senior year, I plagiarized a Spanish IV paper the week before graduation, submitted it, and got caught, justifying my behavior because I felt wronged by my teacher. (If you’re reading this Señora Blakenship, I am sorry from the bottom of my heart.)

  If you’re judging me for my confession, look at the statistics above. Chances are, you cheated at least once in some capacity yourself, whether you’re willing to confess it publicly or not.

  And your child will probably, too.

  It’s an epidemic, and I have no idea how to battle it. (Besides not releasing answers BEFORE a test is over. I will FOREVER be kicking my own ass over this one.)

   

  Works Cited:

  Simmons, Andrew. “Why Students Cheat-and What to Do About It.” Edutopia, George Lucas Educational Foundation, http://www.edutopia.org/article/why-students-cheat-and-what-do-about-it.

   

  Posted in kids, teaching, Uncategorized, writing | 4 Comments | Tagged academic dishonesty, blogging, blogs, student cheating, students, teacher fail, teaching, teaching fail, writing

• A Poem: Little Thing at Six

  Posted at 1:30 am by Mrs. Ram Jam, on September 8, 2018

  

  On Monday, I will have a six year old.  I just. Sigh. No words.

  Except I wrote a poem, so I did “word” just a little for my Little Thing.

  ---

   

  the floor is lava in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 
  glittery nail polish on fingers and toes
  pink, poofy dresses that pass the twirl test when spun
  fluffy kitties, fuzzy blankets, and fabulous bows

  noodles and strawberries
  cartwheels and splits
  Friday night dance parties featuring Katy Perry
  a whole box of tissue because of evening sneezing fits

  proper nouns are too hard to capitalize
  flour measured to perfection to bake cookies from scratch
  unwrapping toys like LOL Surprise
  funky socks that are mix and match

  silky, soft nightgowns worn all day on the weekends
  slime experiments made with Borax and Elmer’s Glue
  play dates full of giggles with her best girlfriend
  the antithesis of the color blue

  Happy sixth birthday dear, precious Little Thing.
  May your sweet, joyous, and innocent soul forever continue to laugh, dance, and sing.  

  ---

  (Here’s a picture of her birthday cake for her party, which is LOL Surprise doll themed.  She decorated it herself with minimal guidance from her nana, who always comes to visit from Illinois for the occasion.)

  

   

  Posted in kids, parenting, poetry, Uncategorized | 7 Comments | Tagged blogging, kids, parenting, poems, poetry

• A Short Story: The Miasma of my Morning

  Posted at 10:01 pm by Mrs. Ram Jam, on August 24, 2018

  

  I wrote this a few years ago while my English I Honors students were writing their own original short stories.  It’s not anything fancy, nor particularly brilliant, but it does highlight how much of my life revolves around spilling coffee and how hard it is to make it out the door with my sanity in the morning.

  ---

  When my Community Coffee splashes all over my newly purchased Virgo leopard print tunic instead of into my open still half asleep mouth, I know my morning if not my entire teaching day is doomed.

  I can’t shake the ominous feeling as the brown coffee stain creeps across my shirt and burns my skin simultaneously. Absentmindedly, I grab a paper towel from a roll on the kitchen counter to clean up the warm, splattered liquid and wipe up my hopes and dreams plotted for the day. As I head to my walk-in to change my ruined shirt, I run through the list of all the tasks I still have to complete before my big observation during first block:

  Post the bell ringer to BlackBoard.

  Edit my lesson plans because who can spell correctly the first time—not me.

  Try to anticipate how SpringBoard Online is going to sabotage the timing of my lesson plans.

  Finish my PowerPoint I spent way too much time on.

  Make it out the door without another catastrophe . . .

  Lamenting the loss of my planned outfit, I pull on a crisp, clean orange and blue polo over my long blonde curls and trade out my red, studded slingbacks for a comfy pair of Chuck Taylors. A glance in the mirror shows reveals I managed to ruin my hairstyle via impromptu costume change. A black handled teasing comb. Some Tressemme. Bam. My hair looks runway worthy.

  Time to get to my laptop and finalize my plans.

  “Mama!!!!!! I’M AWAKE! I WANT TO ‘NUGGLE”

  Oh dear lord, she’s awake. Early.

  I hustle to my toddler’s room and see her reaching for her Minnie Mouse pillow, her stuffed tiger, and her fuzzy pink blanket. She gives me a sleepy smile and reaches up with her chubby arms for me to scoop her up. I bundle her into my arms along with her required bed accessories to deposit her at her morning spot on the leather sofa where she’ll kick back and watch YouTube on my phone until it’s time for her to get ready for preschool.

  While in transit instead of snuggling her little head into the spot in my neck between my head and my shoulder like she normally does, she looks me in the eye and proclaims at the top of her vocal range, “I WANT A BROWNIE.”

  How can such a Little Thing be louder than an entire cheerleading squad during a football game?

  “That’s a treat. You can’t eat brownies for breakfast. How about a pancake or a waffle instead? “ I try to persuade. Using the wrong tone could incite a meltdown. I’d rather swim the Pontchartrain during a lightning storm than deal with my hysterically sobbing child who goes boneless during a tantrum. It’s like wrestling a cooked noodle.

  “I WANT A PAN . . . “ She chokes after the first syllable, her scrunched up hollering face dissolving into sheer panic. Uh-oh. This was bad. “ACHOO.” Catastrophe achieved.

  Yellow globby snot—everywhere. In my hair. On my face. In her hair. On her face. All over her nightgown. All over my second shirt of the morning. It’s now headed for the laundry room instead of headed to the classroom. Do I go ahead and put on a new shirt? Not a chance in H-E-double hockey sticks. My laundry is already spilling out of the hamper because I was too wrapped up in Stephen King’s latest new novel yesterday to even remember that there was a dark tower of dirty clothes to wash. I’ll change my shirt before I walk out the door. It’s just snot—at least it’s not poop.

  Little Thing chooses that moment to quip, “I lub you mommy! You happy?”

  I reach for a tissue from the box counter and attempt to clean her up, “Of course Snotty Gross Baby. I’m just a bit frazzled this morning.”

  I put her on top of her pillow, strip her naked, tuck her pink blanket around her, grab her already poured orange juice and my phone off the kitchen counter to hand her, and kiss her soft hair.

  My Macbook Air waits for me on the kitchen table. I’ve got about ten minutes to knock this out before I’ve got to get out the door. I open my silver computer. I press the start button. Nothing happens.

  I stare at the black screen. It stares back at me.

  I press the button in the upper right hand of the keypad again. I count to ten. Blackness laughs at me.

  I pick it up and bang it on the counter. Hey. It works on the students’ Ipads at school when their Ipads go black. Couldn’t hurt to try it on my laptop.

  This is no good. I start breathing heavily and bang the laptop against the table in rhythm with my hyperventilation.

  My husband struts in, notices I’m attempting murder on my school purchased technology, and stops in his tracks, alarm stark on his newly shaven face.

  “What in the world are you doing?”

  “I. Can’t. Believe. This. Is. Happening! My stupid computer went kaput, and I’m getting observed today. All of my files for my lesson are on there! And I need to put the finishing touches on them too,” I manage through my tears.

  “Honey, just breathe. Let me see what I can do.” He gently nudges me out of my chair and starts working his I.T. doctoring skills on my deceased computer. Lucky for me I’m married to a techy. “Ummmmm, you do know that you’re covered in snot right?”

  Crap, I totally forgot. I head for the bathroom and grab a washcloth to get the snot out of my hair and off my face.

  When I walk back into the kitchen after my sink bath, my husband laughs, “Your laptop just needed to charge. All you needed to do was plug it in.”

  He continues to laugh.

  I contemplate grabbing my glass of ice water off the counter and dumping it over his head.

  Instead I just start to laugh along with him.

  “I think maybe I’m just a little stressed out and sleep deprived,” I tell him after my final laugh fades away.

  “No kidding. I’ll get Little Thing ready for school today. Finish up what you need to, and good luck today.”

  “Thanks.”

  I kiss him and sit down to finish up my work.

  I hear Little Thing growl at her daddy when he goes to pick her up to get her ready for school. Then she starts meowing and hissing at him when he tries to wrangle her into her school clothes. Thank god he’s taking care of getting her ready this morning. I don’t think I have enough mental stamina left to deal with a toddler who thinks she’s a cat.

  With our little kitty cat on his hip, my husband leans in quickly to kiss me goodbye, and Little Thing meows goodbye to me and licks my face.

  They’re gone. And I’m done with my work. I can breathe again.

  I pack up my backpack, pour myself some coffee, grab my lunch of leftovers out of the fridge, and head to the door.

  I jam out to the Dixie Chicks on my way to work singing the lyrics “Cold Day in July” at the top of my lungs.

  All right. I think to myself. I can handle this teaching day. How many catastrophes have I already handled this morning? This observation will be easy peasy lemon squeezy.

  I park my white, in severe need of a trip to car wash, sedan in the parking lot at school with five minutes to spare before I’ve got to clock in.

  I open the car door and step down. My Converse make a squishing sound. I lift up my shoe. I glance around the parking lot. It’s covered in goose poop. I’ve stepped down into poop. Great. Now I’m going to smell like poop all day.

  At least it’s not toddler poop?

  That reminds me. I look down. I never changed my snot covered shirt.

  Toddler snot and goose poop.

  The miasma of my morning.

  Not the perfume I was hoping for, but at least now I know that my observation can’t go badly as I smell.

  Posted in kids, parenting, teaching, Uncategorized, writing | 3 Comments | Tagged blogging, blogs, kids, parenting, teaching, writing

• Traveling with Little Thing Haiku

  Posted at 12:59 pm by Mrs. Ram Jam, on July 21, 2018

  

  At this point, Little Thing and I have been on the road for three weeks. We are tired. We are delirious. We’ve been on planes. We’ve been on trains. We’ve been in Ubers. I don’t know what day it is and have forgotten what our house looks like in Louisiana. These haiku are the best I can do this week.

  ---

  I love my girl, but
  traveling with little things
  takes lots of patience.

  She sips ginger ale,
  then malevolently spears
  ice with her black straw.

  The germy tray table
  must remain upright and locked
  right now, Little Thing.

  The man in the seat
  in front of you would prefer
  you not to kick it.

  Is there anyway
  to convert used gross tissues
  into gold or cash?

  Mommy, how dare you
  place the baby green pencil
  next to the pink one.

  Baby green and pink
  just broke up so it’s torture.
  Please separate them.

  San Antonio,
  Chicago, and Milwaukee?
  What WAS I thinking?

  Why did I download
  thirty-three new kitty apps?
  Ugh. So much meowing.

  Aunts and cousins mock
  Little Thing’s necessary
  eight o’clock bedtime.

  Want to scare people?
  Ignore your Iphone and write
  poems with a pen.

  Posted in kids, parenting, poetry, Uncategorized, writing | 0 Comments | Tagged blogging, blogs, haiku, poems, poetry

• Search

  Search for:

• Recent Posts

  • Mini Book Reviews June 2020 July 3, 2020
  • A Poem: Me Me Me Meme June 27, 2020
  • Teachers, Police, and White Outrage June 20, 2020
  • Mrs. Ram’s Vocabulary Lesson for the Words Asymptomatic, Presymptomatic, and Defund June 13, 2020
  • Mini Book Reviews May 2020 June 11, 2020
  • A Poem: When It’s Time to Kneel May 30, 2020
  • A Little Thing Tale: Little Thing Meets Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone May 16, 2020
  • A Poem: I Know More Than You May 9, 2020

• Follow Blog via Email

  Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

  Join 299 other followers

  Follow

• Follow Mrs. Ram's Jams on WordPress.com