AND WE'RE OFF . . .

The new school year has begun, but this year is different. My friends and I were fortunate enough to escape the Evil Queen and her Kingdom, and we are now with a different administration. We pinch ourselves daily to be sure that we aren't just dreaming. Life in the Wheat Field is just dreamy, and I expect a really good crop this year.

Of course, every year I am determined to have the "perfect school year," and this first week was near-perfect. It's just that Friday afternoon, things started to slide a litte. For example, Girl #1 reported that Girl #2 was threatening to fight her, had accused her of calling her the "N" word, saying she had been talking about her dead mama (sad). So, being the proactive teacher that I am, I head to the counselor with all of this info so I can head off the inevitable Fight. However, when I report this to the counselor, she says that Girl #2 has been in her office telling her that Girl #1 was threatening to fight HER, yadda, yadda, yadda. Same song, second verse.

And then in my 6th period class, as we are working on analogies (ex: dog is to bark as cat is to meow), a kid needs to know what the word dwindle means. So I begin to explain how when my paycheck first goes into the bank it is THIS BIG; however, as I begin to spend my money, the amount dwindles. Then this red-haired kid that is already making me cringe says, "So what you are saying is that you are a spendthrift--you can't control your spending." Basically, the kid is accusing me of uncontrollably going out and maxing out dozens of credit cards--I can only imagine what he told his parents. And this is really making me mad since I take pride in either paying cash for everything or paying off everything at the end of the month. Anyway, as my eyes began to twitch and my head began to spin, I explained that no--this is certainly not what I meant. I do not feel the need to go out and spend all of my money. About the time I spit pea soup, I realize that I'd better just suck it up and get used to the little red-haired kid 'cause he'll be pushing my button at least once a day now for the next nine months.

And we're off . . .