Kids O Mine

My children amuse me. When they are not devoted to their life's
work of pissing me off. Not my school children. My own personal
kids, the two boys I tow through life like so many dead bloated
possums, on a frayed, itchy, scratchy rope tied around my neck
with an elaborate noose knot. Hmm...do ya think I could suffer
from depression?

Anyhoo, we had good first day of school, and #1 and I waited in
my Lower Basementia lair for #2 to arrive from the other building.
I say waited, but what I mean is, I sorted through assorted books
and papers to find what I needed to get ready for my 6 different
classes I will teach again tomorrow. OK, Mabel. I know you
are close to that many preps. But you have done it for years! I
haven't had to be this detailed since the Reagan Reign. My #1 son
fired up the computer connected to internet, the one with a giant
monitor that past students carried from the Computer Graveyard
to my old room, thinking they were giving me the BEST of the
discarded monitors. Another teacher calls it my Braille monitor,
because he swears a blind person could read it. Then #1 went
to the car to carry in his Kleenex and loose-leaf paper.

After doling out the goods, he went upstairs to make some copies
for me, and shake down the juice machine sponsor for his dollar
it ate at lunch. He returned with a Diet Dr. Pepper and a stack of
copies. I told him no soda was allowed in school. He said his
teacher even told him there were free sodas in a cooler. Yeah.
For teachers! Anyhoo, he is reaping the benefits of being a
teacher's kid.

My neighbor in Lower Basementia had no chalkboard eraser.
I donated one of my two. Who knows, they could have been
hers, and put in the wrong room. She said she didn't recognize
them, though. #2 son came in, and was pleased as punch to
erase my blackboards. Or he would have been, if he knew
what punch was, since it is not allowed in his school building
this year. Only milk and juice and water. #2 erased in a manner
only he could invent, spinning around with one arm sticking out,
erasing each time that arm went by the board. I told him to knock
it off, that it stirred dust every time he hit the blackboard. #1 has
not perfected the art of eavesdropping, and said, "Hey! I want
to clap erasers!" I told him nobody was clapping 'eraser', as
there was only one. Then I told him that could be the title to the
sequel to his fictional autiobiography: The Sound of One Eraser
Clapping. He was not so amused, much like when I suggested
the title for his first book.

When we arrived home after school, the boys found a treasure
on the porch. If you have cats, you know it's not really a treat
to find a treasure on your porch. An argument ensued over the
treasure. #1 was all for "decapitated bird head." #2 simply
stated "baby mouse butt." Of course, I was the tiebreaker.
Which meant I had to go look at it. I thought it was a part of
some large rat that the cats refused to eat. Really. They will eat
everything on a mouse except some OH SO NOT TASTY part
like a liver, only it's not a liver. This thing was the size of a
golfball. Upon closer examination, two hind legs and a piece
of tail were catalogued to the database: mouse butt. I guess
it's still there. I had my hands full, and the kids and HH don't
get rid of stuff on the porch.

Apparently, that's not in their job descriptions. I must rewrite
the manual soon.