I have a lot to say. Trust this. But no time. Time is my enemy right now. So here is the entire post for today.

Today is the last day for this contest to win an Acer laptop. Enter NOW.

Let’s start with the facts: It was a school day. I was in my sophomore year. In general, life was pretty difficult. That’s everyone in high school, though. Right?

Thinking back on it now I couldn’t possibly tell you what class I was in at the time. I couldn’t tell you what I was wearing or what I’d had for breakfast. In fact, all I can tell you is that I was 5 months into my second pregnancy. The baby, a girl who would be born and placed for adoption, who would come along sometime in September. Details of the day are fuzzy including how or when I finally got home from school. But none of this matters now nor did it matter at the time. The only specifics of importance are that I was a sophomore in high school and tried diligently, for the second time mind you, to hide a pregnancy. It was only due to the extra large “Wham! UK” t-shirts and the “Frankie Say Relax!” near-dresses that kept everyone from knowing all my business. This baby was going to be due sometime in September and it was anyone’s guess as to when because I wasn’t a good record-keeper about such things. How could I be? There was already a 1-year old that I was figuring out how to take care of in my home.

A hall pass appeared at the door from an office assistant. They came, stood quietly, and handed the piece of paper to the teacher who determined whether or not you would be leaving their classroom for an unknown destination. The ultimate power that teachers hold when assessing whether you could leave the brilliance of their teaching and scoot off to some place where they’d never know if you would return from is staggering. You could go immediately or you could wait until the end of the hour. There was no waiting on this one. Before I knew it, the pass was in my hand and I hunched over, as usual, to hide my growing belly in case no one yet noticed or perhaps hadn’t heard the whispers of, “She’s pregnant AGAIN?” In my mind they were whispers because no one spoke to me about it and very few friends knew I was going to have another baby. If they knew then they certainly didn’t speak to me of it. Maybe they were talking about it with one another, but no one ever came up to me directly and spoke of it.

It was a pass to go to the Guidance Office. There could be a million reasons why it came. A message that needed to get to me before I left school for the day. Perhaps it would be a meeting to determine my course selections for the following school year. It could even be … well, I had no idea what it could be so I willingly made my way there and was directed to a small conference room off to the side where my guidance counselor and a friend of mine awaited me. They looked serious and that terrified me. If I’m honest with myself I will admit that I walked around in a complete haze at that time. No details are clear and, believe it or not, I am becoming withdrawn and wondering just where everything started to fall apart but I keep ignoring all the signs that I’m not making the best choices and I plow right on through. It is, of course, what we all do. I just don’t think that my 16-year old brain can make sense of the fact that anyone else ever had to go through this.

Twice.

Because once seemed like enough to learn a lesson. Right?

From there I remember sitting and hearing the voices in the room start to swirl around in my ears. It becomes a cloudy tunnel and this is just like in the movies when sounds are muffled and you leave your body because what you’re hearing isn’t really happening. My counselor tells me that my friend has called me down there to have a safe place to speak to me because she’s been in her office crying all morning and wants to talk to me. Clearly, this counselor is on her side. Where there sides? Who said that there were sides? That lines were drawn and I was on one side and she was on another? WHO MADE THIS DECISION? Is it really possible that someone, an adult, ok’d this Side Making Line? These tunnel thoughts are not the thoughts in my 16-year old mind. They are of my adult brain looking back from a perspective that can’t make sense of this.

Time? What time? I don’t know how long I sat there. But there was yelling and pointing and disgust and crying. She was doing this. My friend. She was blaming me for getting pregnant and ruining everything. This went on and on and I cannot recall if a bell rang and marked the end of the class period. Maybe everyone else in the office left when they heard her yelling at me. Or perhaps they put their ears up to the door to listen. Words? What words? I don’t remember what was said enough to repeat it. Just the yelling. I distinctly remember the yelling. I distinctly recall that the counselor sat close to my friend and comforted her and offered her tissues and I sat on the other side of the table, tunnel sounds swirling around my eardrums, and crumpled in a heap in my chair. Being that pregnant and crumpling into a heap is no small feat, either. I must have been really limber back then. After a while I couldn’t even see through the huge, hot tears and I was feeling a mixture of emotions: anger at my friend for letting loose on me and fear at the adult who let her. It was clear: girls who get themselves pregnant and are that stupid do NOT deserve compassion. They deserve shame. That’s what this was: an approved shaming in the presence of an adult who gave the go-ahead for this.

It’s not that I haven’t forgiven them. It’s not the forgetting that’s the problem. What do I do with these emotions now? Where do I put them? They seem not to have a place. Safe places aren’t always easily identifiable nor do they make their presence known to a 16-year old pregnant girl who already has a baby at home to care for every day. But for the 38-year old woman who becomes a counselor at a school in her job many years later?

I assure you. I know just where it goes.

It’s high time I took in a movie and “(500) Days of Summer” hit the nail on the head for me in many ways: I wanted something I could simultaneously laugh at and something that resemble real life love/romance/disappointment. So, because the movie quoted Arthur Miller’s assessment of getting over a woman (write about her) I am taking liberties to write as well. In haiku format. Since there are no names attached to this it’s anyone’s guess as to who I’m talking about unless there’s a blatant clue. I’ve written multiple haiku about the same people so sometimes there might be a sweet one and I’m remembering something nice about that former love and then I might write something not-so-nice about them. At least I can know this: I’ve said all these things to them in person. Except for the one to George Michael. I never did get past security to give him my poems.

He was my first love

selling popsicles each day

summer love. 3rd grade.

***********

All through junior high

you’d think I’d know you were dumb

aaaaaand you’re still a dick

***********

You could have told me

except you don’t know yourself

now you don’t know me

***********

Little time has passed

between our last encounter

fresh wounds don’t heal fast

***********

“Don’t tell anyone”

like I wanted them to know

arrogant bastard

***********

Your laugh still gets me

wrongs haven’t been righted

so yeah, I’m still sad

***********

I made room for you

my life was already full

you’re shit out of luck

***********

George Michael was straight

at least to my teenage mind

there goes the 80s

***********

You used to be smart

playing “dumb” got you more play

too bad. Brains are hot.

For as long as I can remember being a teacher I have written the letters F.D.O.S. on my lesson plan book to mark the First Day of School. Now that I’m an assistant principal I don’t have a lesson plan book anymore, but those letters still make their way to my calendar. I can’t break this habit and I don’t even have the desire to break it. It’s part of my own ritual that will make my year start off right.

As much as I want to tell my students and faculty that we’re going to have a great year I know that my tone helps to set how education happens in my building. I want to be positive and encouraging and fun. Last week my admin team nominated me to start off the faculty meeting by telling a story of a genie who grants three wishes. What they didn’t tell me was that I was going to wear a genie costume while I told the story. 

As soon as I entered the room teachers automatically pulled out their cell phone cameras and took pictures.

FINE. I’ll do what it takes to start the year off right, people!

Things I have to remember this morning:

1. Wear pants so I can clip my radio onto them. It’s a pain to carry it around when I wear a dress.

2. Drink coffee in the kitchen. Not the bathroom where my hair spray can get into the cup.

3. Take a picture of my sons who are both in high school now. A freshman and a senior. WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?

4. Tell the boys that they suck when I try to take a picture and they put on their Most Bored Face Ever. 

5. Listen to some really good Get Going Music. I think “Jai Ho” should do it.

6. Be patient with the little bitty Freshmen in my building. They don’t have a clue and will wander around aimlessly while saying hi to the friends they didn’t see over the summer.

7. Take vitamins. I’m going to need the energy.

8. Not count down the number of days until the end of the school year. KIDDING. (Not really.) (Ok. Yes, I am.)

9. Speak nicely and carry a big badge that reads I’M THE ASSISTANT PRINCIPAL, THAT’S WHY.

10. Try to bribe the teachers who have a picture of me in a genie costume. Lottery tickets? Free markers? Extra prep periods?

Who said that all paragraphs need to have cohesion? Oh, all my former English teachers. Well, they didn’t have a blog and I do SO THERE.

One of the fun things about writing is that you can have all sorts of categories. I went to dinner with a new friend Jeannette (who does, indeed, eat more than just spaghetti, she eats Thai noodles!) this week and she has one that I want to steal but I won’t. Basically, it has to do with the fact that she isn’t sponsored by anything on that post. The reason I bring this up is that sometimes I sit to write and OH, WITH THE WRITING FLOW, THAR SHE BLOWS! and other times I can’t seem to make a sentence stick without too many cuss words so I have to re-think it until it sounds like I am coherent and can string a bunch of damn words together and then I realize that I should just start with a category. Just now, when I sat down to write I realized that I almost clicked on the “Feelin’ Good Wednesday” category and my brain registered, “It’s Thursday, asshole“ and that immediately made me realize why I drink margaritas on Fridays. It’s because of Thursdays. It’s always Thursday’s fault.

Health Care Reform has brought out the absolute crazy in people. First of all, we need to get some people some combs for their hair and maybe some bleach to clean their clothes because PEOPLE, YOU LOOK A MESS. The funny thing is that when some television station snatches them up it’s a combination I’m-Going-To-Reiterate-My-Yelling-Into-Softer-Spoken-Words and Someone-Give-Them-a-Makeover-Please and it’s really quite bizarre. I may or may not have mentioned that a few weeks ago when I was in Chicago that I got invited to have lunch with Valerie Jarrett, a Senior Advisor to President Obama. I also may or may not have mentioned that before our luncheon I was talking to Loralee who expressed to me how nervous she was about saying TA-TAs in front of Valerie Jarrett. If you read her long-ass post today you will get a view of a real person struggling with the issues of health care and insurance. In the meantime, I’m starting a petition to get people to brush their hair before going out in public.

The best parts of my job all involve the human aspect of it. When I sit down with families to register their child for high school and they decide on the classes I guide them through it’s a phenomenal thing. Last week on the very first day of registration Leah came in with her mom. Leah pilfered away her freshman year and bounced around from class to class (“This is too haaaard.” she’d whine and if she didn’t get her way she’d just fail it.) and then she bounced from school to school. They’ve since come back to my high school and Leah spent the time waiting for me outside my office texting like a fiend on her cell phone. She took off when it was her turn to come in and register with her mother and I informed her that she’d be a Freshman again because of her lack of credits. She flew off the handle, cussing at her mother, stomping around, and then she walked out even when her mom told her to come back and sit down. Her mom sat in my office chair in tears lamenting how she’d done everything wrong and that she doesn’t know what to do with her. “Well, first off,” I began quietly, “you might want to take that cell phone from her. Why does she get to sit here and make social plans with her friends when she can’t make it to the 10th grade?” In all honesty, I’m glad I can say things like that in my line of work and not get my teeth knocked in but there are days when I think someone is going to be pissed at me for shooting them straight. The meeting, like so many that I have, ended with me comforting a parent and offering tissues and encouraging words. TEENAGERS? YOU ARE ON NOTICE FROM ME RIGHT NOW. I mean, uh, let the school year begin!

Learned: there is such a thing as a second choice booty call. I asked this question of everyone I knew last week. This week I learned:  there also is such a thing as a person who can renege the original booty call. What you will NOT learn: how I discovered this new learning.

This needs to be a thing: Brownies + Nutella + glitter. Someone needs to get on that.

It’s great how when I mention hair I get suggestions (thank you for the diffuser advice!) and yet I’m struggling still because of this weird curl/crimp look of the front of my hair and the perfect ringlet curls in the back. So every day I’ve started curling the front of it with a curling iron and it gets out of control until I’m late for work and all I can hear in my head is Daryl Hannah’s twangy Southern voice from “Steel Magnolias” when she says, “I promise. My personal problems will not interfere with my ability to do good hair.” and then I laugh. Because of the voices in my head. 

SOMEONE may need some medication due to this. SOMEONE may also need to write better paragraphs. SOMEONE also took a picture of said hair with her phone again.