Letting The Cat Out Of The Bag

Here's some news. I can let it leak now, now that it's official.
I won't be a Lower Basementia dweller next year! WooHoo!
I won't be a traveler! I will put down roots, in my own climate-
controlled classroom, a mere 10 paces from the bathroom!
Sorry if I'm getting carried away, but this has been a long time
comin'. Six years, to be exact. It was six years ago I agreed
to give up the placid life of a core class teacher to become a
purveyor of common sense, and jack of all subjects. I was
asked to do it, and I answered the call. Now I have been
asked to resume my Science duties, and I will answer that call.
Although I'm not sure it's really a choice this time.

I don't care what I teach. I am reasonably intelligent. I can adapt.
My background is in Science, after all. I will still have one Math
class. But I will be in one building all day, people. Just like it
used to be. I will no longer be a hybrid, unable to put down my
roots, unable to connect with my compadres. I will have my old
lunch shift back, most likely. I will have one boss, one set of
meetings, one duty schedule, one gradebook, one plan book,
one classroom to decorate, one parking lot to find space in, one
set of keys, one building to attend for conferences, one fund to
donate money to, one way to report attendance, one set of
inventories, one set of requisitions, one desk to buy Puffs With
Aloe for, one set of pencils to loan and not get back, one check-
out procedure at the end of the year. ONE IS THE SWEETEST
NUMBER THAT I'LL EVER HEAR!

But I will miss some people from Basementia. And I will miss
being in the same building as my boy. And I will miss the hijinks
that occurs there. But the benefits far outweigh the deficits.

So what if my class load increases from the 54 I started with this
year to around...oh, I don't know...maybe 130? That is a high
estimate, I believe. But having taught Science at a middle school
with 180 7th-8th graders on my class roll, including all freakin'
10 Behavior Disorder kids in one section, nothing can scare me,
by cracky!

I am looking forward to the challenge. The kids have no idea.

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And now, yesterday's news. There's one thing I forgot to tell you,
what with my very bad day.

Perhaps you've heard of the nationwide peanut butter recall? I see
that my blog buddy, Redneck Diva, has some of the tainted treat.
Only she has the name brand, people! I am in awe. I have the
poorer cousin, the Great Value instead of the Peter Pan. I blame
The Devil's Playground. I normally don't buy peanut butter there.
I normally buy it at Save-A-Lot. But I wanted to save-a-trip, and
I bought the peanut butter at the same store where I bought the
Granny Smiths. That's one thing I'll say for The Devil's Playground,
the produce is good. But I haven't bought any peanut butter since,
oh, probably last fall. I know it was before Christmas. I used to
have an apple and some peanut butter every night. Like a nightcap,
only it wasn't an alcoholic drink. So I didn't think anything of this
peanut butter witch hunt, except to put in the back of my mind,
"I might want to take a look at that peanut butter some time."

Last night, when I got home at 5:45, HH had set out a jar of peanut
butter on the cutting block. A big freakin' jar, 28 ounces. I saw the
code started with 2111. I took off the lid. It was half empty! I went
to tell HH, who, as I might have mentioned yesterday, was lying face
down in the big triangle bathtub. "Hey! We have the bad peanut
butter!" HH doesn't eat peanut butter. Only #2 son and I eat it. HH
reared his soaking head and said, "Yeah. You need to throw it out.
But don't give it to the dogs. It might make them sick." Okaaayyyy.

My mom has 4 jars of the stuff. Perhaps I've mentioned that she
likes to buy in bulk. And served me 4-year-old expired ranch
dressing at Thanksgiving one year. We are planning on getting a
refund. Just because.