I Must Have Been Adopted

So my uncle is/was a public figure in a Texas city. He has been interviewed by local television for the last couple of years, months, and very often over the last couple of days.

The important point to remember is that he was not convicted.

Oh I kid. He's one of the most law-abiding (and remarkable) men that I know.

My cousin sent me a video clip from a recent television interview so I could watch an impressive interview with my dear Uncle. I got the email at the end of the school day and fired it up while the kiddos were supposed to be packing their backpacks, stacking the chairs, cleaning the floor. Basically, it wan an invitation to run amok while Miss Rose was watching TV.

It's amazing they're letting me keep my job.

So I'm watching the video clip and a smart girly comes over and says, "Whatcha doin' Miss Rose?" and I told her that I was "Watching my Uncle on TV. Look..." At that precise moment a black man was also in the video clip.

It is now a relative time for me to tell you that I'm not black. At all. Miss Rose = Super White Girl.

So the girly watching sees the man on the video clip and, without shock or confusion or hesitation, said, "Oh. The black one is your uncle."

It was a statement y'all. She didn't even ask. It was so clear in her head that my Uncle is, OF COURSE, a black man.

You learned everything you need to know in Kindergarten, folks.

School of Thought

I know my blogging has not been perfection, but I have tried to blog more often than the month of March. I'm sorry if I have failed you, friends. I would hate to fall off the face of the planet and then you wouldn't know where to turn or what to do without the daily wit of Miss Rose to keep you going.

Okay, perhaps that was a bit dramatic.

I have something very important to talk to you about today. I'll need your full attention.

What are your thoughts on figs? Newtons, right? That's all I can think of, too. I've never eaten a fig other than in a Newton. I've never heard of fig pie or fig preserves or a fig tart.

But doggonit, I've got a fig tree in my backyard. Big and bloomin'.

Just in case I want to make some Newtons. Awesome.

Hug a Teacher

It is Teacher Appreciation week and someone provided desserts after lunch in the teacher lounge today. I ate a brownie and chocolate chip cookie after at 11am.

Nothing speaks my love language like chocolate.

I'm pretty sure I can make it another 19 days, 2 hours, and 30 minutes.

Oh and the chocolate fudge frosted pop tart this morning did the trick, too. You'll remember how I purchased those at a weak moment with incredibly low blood sugar a couple weeks ago at HEB. 100% unnatural chocolatey breakfast pastry goodness does not disappoint.

Amen.

The Secrets That We Keep

Every Sunday morning, I visit this website: http://www.postsecret.blogspot.com/. This website is a place where people illustrate and mail in postcards anonymously and share their secrets. Yes, it is likely to have a couple of questionable images. However, I find more often than not, that I can relate to these secrets...thoughts...questions...experiences. I bet you can find one or two that you can relate to as well.


The website is updated on Sundays and I look forward to seeing insight into the lives of people I don't know. And everyone is just walking around out there carrying their burdens. We come across these people every day! Many of the secrets are common among people. We have challenges. We have things we don't share. We don't want people to know. We do this because even though humanity strives "not to judge," it is a fact of life. We don't share because we are afraid of others knowing our true selves. We think, "Oh if they only knew the real me or what I felt or thought about this, then they will think I'm a bad person and they will leave." So we hide these thoughts and feelings. And they become secrets. And sharing them anonymously allows us to purge ourselves of worry. I have thought about it many times but I never know which secret I would write.



I'm going to share some now.

1. When you are talking to me and I don't respond orally, it is because I want you to shut up. Now.

2. I run down one of the busiest streets in my city during a high traffic time because I want people to see me and think, "Wow. She's athletic. And hot."

3. Sometimes I think I'm better because I've done things independently.

4. I'm afraid I'll never fall in love because I'm too intellectual and independent. I wonder if I should dumb it down and seem helpless. It never works. Vicious cycle.

5. At a size 2, I still don't like my stomach and want to fix it. Women can never win.

Honesty is the Best Policy

Earlier today, I commented on how boys are ew. Girls are never ew. Ever.

Watch this.

http://www.vimeo.com/973345?pg=embed&sec=973345

Boys. Ew.

We've been in school for 155 days so far this year. I know this because we do the same, monotonous routine of couting by hundreds, tens, and ones. Every. Single. Morning. It makes me shake.

155 days does not prepare you for hearing a little boy explain how his junk is "sticky." That's right. Sticky. His junk.

I only have a certifcate and this sounds like something someone with a license should deal with.

A little boy in the class next door, (and secretly, I'm so thankful that he is not in my class), was telling his teacher and me at recess today how "here and here" -pointing to his two 'boys'- are "sticky." The other teacher has a middle school boy of her own, so this kind of talk was no surprise. I, on the otherhand, gave him the most revolting face and just walked away.

If I have a future talking to any kind of male about how "sticky" he is "here and here," then I don't want to date. Or marry. Or have children.

Ew.

Mrs. Butterworth Would Be Turned On

One of my favorite kids in the class came up to me and stuck out his wrist. I had no earthly idea what he wanted, but kids often try to communicate sans words. This is a welcome change from the ones who often talk to see how loud they can get or just to make my ears bleed.

So this kiddo with his wrist out just stands there and looks at me and I start to giggle. He's quirky, highly intelligent, and loves to hold my hand. It only took him 7 months to warm up to me, but a while back she started letting me in and I love it. He's all hard on the outside but soft in the middle. Like the perfect chocolate chip cookie. Do you see how I can always bring everything back to food?

Kiddo standing...wrist out...both giggling...7:40am...and I manage to say, "Use some words, please." and he says, "Smell." I would normally be a little wary of smelling a kid's arm -or any other part of their body, and believe me, they ask- but this kid is clean and cute so I took a whiff.

He was the perfect mixture of cologne and syrup (oddly enough). It actually smelled good. He unnecessarily told me that he put on dad's cologne and had waffles for breakfast. Mmmmm!