I know that I was all “I’m quitting” and “Screw you!” a few months back and that I’ve not given any details as to my Grand Re-Opening. (And I KNOW I haven’t been exactly regular with my posts, but other things are regular in my life. Thanks, Fiber One bars!)

Maybe I didn’t do the “Screw you!” part. Perhaps it was just in my head. So sorry for that. I was upset, you remember?

And yes, if it’s time for an admission, I did take down all of my pictures. Even for my “friends” on Flickr. That wasn’t very nice of me. But there were hints of a few people too eager for my picture. Normally, a nice compliment. But if, for some odd reason, a person was…say…spanking the schmekel to my snaphots? Well, I just have to be able to make some personal choices, you know?

However.

You know I like taking pictures.

You know I begged and pleaded and whored out my own website for my 35th birthday in order to get a new camera from Kennimus.

So, why, then…why? Why did no one tell me about this cool toy?

I’m all ver clempt. And I want a kosher hot dog for some reason. But seriously, I’m not speaking to you now. Unless it’s in Yiddish and you know where I can get one of these Lensbabies for the best price.

What are you thinking, Mickey D’s? Huh? You can’t just POUR syrup and full fat milk in a glass over some squashed up coffee beans and call it COFFEE. We’ve had this McAss Coffee Conversation before. Back off. Let the experts do it. Thankseversomuch.

Normally, I’m worried that if I’m not busy doing something that I’ll get into trouble. Idle hands and all that. This is evident in the summer months when I lazily sit around the pool attend conferences and go into my school to work and come up with some brilliant plan to rewrite curriculum or take on a monumental project.

But first! Some news!

There’s not been time to answer comments lately (and just so you know, I personally answered that question about my job as a literacy coach) but everyone was so kind in the last comments that I have to admit that yes, I have been drinking from the fountain of youth. I’m getting younger and have completely stopped all menses. The supply is limited so don’t ask me to share. Not until I look 7 which was, of course, a very good year for me. But that’s not the news. The news is that I’ve been training for a half-marathon with a friend of mine and toning up a bit so that dress? That adorable dress that was exactly what I was going for in the pictures? I bought it in THE JUNIOR SECTION.

Mallory went shopping with me and we found several “Eh. That’ll do” dresses, but when we ventured into the junior section I was skeptical. I saw the dress and walked away from it, hoping that it would use it’s siren song to call out to me if it were meant to be. Luckily, I heard Mallory squeal out to me, “Oooohhhh! Mommmm! Did you SEE this red and white dress?”

I knew The Fates were asking that I try it on, but I have to say that I had a devil of a time trying to correlate junior sizes to the ones I normally wear. Have they ALWAYS been odd numbered? I had forgotten that.

What with all the festivities of graduation parties and such, I’ve learned a coupla thangs lately.

This is my new favorite wine. So is this one. I’m becoming a wine junkie. Or is that wino? I don’t care if it’s more sophisticated and uppity to like dry or red wines. I like my fruity.
People do keep asking about me going to BlogHer so I’ll say it here once and once only: I’m going. I just haven’t signed up yet. How could I miss it?

Saving the last dessert from a party turns out badly. Other people can find them. Tall people. Tall people who can see on top of the refrigerator.

No matter how many times I’ve taught the Holocaust, I can’t stop from weeping when hearing a survivor speak about their experiences. I might write about that soon.

I frequently find myself trying to take a 15-minute nap after school and when upon waking realize that I’m ravenous since I forgot to eat something for lunch. The result is grabbing the following things to shove in my mouth: leftover olives from the party, cheese cubes, couscous, the last piece of steak from Sunday’s cookout, a salad that I’m pretty sure that Mallory was saving, and a glass of wine.

I’ve really missed television watching where I can sit around in a frock that can only be worn at home with cold cream on my face. Wow, TV Land. That’s about all I can say. You truly suck. Were it not for the genius of How It’s Made (Sesame Street! For adults!), Dirty Jobs (Oh, that funny funny adorable Mike Rowe), Run’s House (Saying “Diggy” and “Russy” is sorta fun to me) , Gene Simmons’ Family Jewels (I love when his mom calls him Chaim and I’ve given Mallory permission to marry his dry humored son), and Little People, Big World (Does everyone want to just live next door to them? I know I do) I’m not sure I could have any type of eyeball-staring relationship with you.

Finally FINALLY I am able to do some pleasure reading. No books about being a principal leader, qualitative & quantitive statistics or learning how to do playground duty. This week I finished Maus I: My Father Bleeds History, Nineteen Minutes, and Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close. I’m moving onto The Measure of a Man by Sidney Poitier and then something by David Baldacci. I’m not sure what yet. I’ve just never read him and everyone says I have to read him. I don’t want to make another faux pas like my wine choices, so I’ll do it.

See? I’m not completely devoid of any activity.

So! These are the shoes.

That went with the dress:

Which went with the gown and mortarboard and graduate cape thing that totally perplexed me. I may have a new degree but I couldn’t get that damn thing on and had to get help once I got to the auditorium. After the ceremony I caught up with my family. “I’ll be the one in the black robe.” I told them. “You should be able to find me easily AMONG THE 500 OTHER GRADUATES.”

After that we all traveled an hour back home where I cooked. Ok. I added bottled sauce to meatballs. But it’s good bottled sauce. It’s Sweet Baby Ray’s bbq sauce which is not only my family’s favorite but we find it at the hardware store. DOESN’T EVERYONE?

And pretended to use my deranged, three-day-binge-coked-out looking eyes to serve food.

This one is my favorite, though. I should start a catering business and use this for my promotional brochures.

Here’s two more. It was a great day. I can’t say much more about it so I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves.

Do you know what happens when you try that? She comes out swinging. And punching. And sometimes it creates in her a potty mouth.

But I didn’t come here today to talk about that. It’s been so long I’ll have to see if I remember how to do this.

First, write something pithy. Hit “publish” and then see 12 mistakes. Fix them. One at a time.

I may be out of pithy at the moment, but I could offer up some things that read like a tedious recital or a repetitive series resembling a Latin mass. Perhaps I should rethink the pithy.

You’re probably wanting some sort of magical update that will let you know that fairy dust is still emitting from my hindquarters or that I’ve stopped using my sweat glands altogether since it merely emits a faint brown liquid with just a hint of a coffee scent, but I can offer neither of those things. I can only say that I’ve really missed writing and that some nice people (LOTS of nice people, SUPER people even - the kind who have halos around their heads at all time) continue to write /call/e-mail and ask about how I’m doing and offer encouraging words.

That’s sweet. It makes me tingle.

I’ve updated people, anyone, as much as I felt I could. But I can share a few more things at this time.

I’ve been through two grueling interviews with so many people on the interview panel it could choke a Rottweiler and give anyone instant gray hair. After both of the interviews I was sweating in all my girly parts. It was awful and wonderful. I hated it and loved it. I am nothing if not a walking dichotomy. Neither of the jobs panned out and I actually lived to tell it.

After NOT getting the jobs (did I mention that I didn’t get those jobs? that I’m sitting here with a stack of beautifully done resumes with NO NEW JOB?) I went to a meeting at the Big, Scary District Office to get the writing scores from my school only to find out that my school…

…wait. I have to give some background information here.

I work at a high poverty, high mobility school that we liken to being a “step-child school” in the district. One that never gets good press. We only hear bad things. Even some friends of mine wonder how I can drive over to that side of town and work there. Our achievement scores were taking a downward turn a few years ago and we were ready for some turnaround leadership and some serious change.

Caught up? Good.

While I was at the Big, Scary District Office I learned that out of the six middle schools in my district that we had gotten the second highest writing scores. Scores that beat out the gifted school. Scores that were 9/10 of a point behind the magnet school. Scores that (and I used these words when I called my building principal to tell her the news) kicked ass.

Then, there was a not-so-nice newspaper article about our scores that headlined “School’s Scores Unexpected” and that hurt our feelings. When our students read the article (and the ensuing online banter that went with it) it pained me and felt like all fragile bone particles were breaking in my ribs and that my heart was squeezed from some sturdy hand on the inside of my body when one of them turned to me and asked, “We go to the “poor school”? I didn’t know we were poor.”

All of me wanted to say, “No, and don’t listen to that. Remember. We kicked ass.” But I did not. I was professional and told every single student that we DO have high expectations. I shall save the fangs and retractable claws for that journalist another time because I was too busy celebrating.

Speaking of celebrating, I have a party dress and some darling red shoes to wear to graduation.

Mine.

My graduation.

Tomorrow I’m walking on stage and picking up a diploma that has my full name and the words Summa Cum Laude under it. My family is awfully proud of me and when Mallory and I went to get our nails painted together last night a woman said, “Well, you girls are all ready for something special. What’s the occasion?”

“My mom’s graduating. Summa Cum Laude.”

I blushed. That kid of mine. She’s proud of me. Know why?

I kick ass.