One of these days I’m going to stop ordering dresses online.

Not today.

This one I found at a website called Shabby Apple (perfect name for a clothing place for a teacher!) and it’s everything I wanted in a dress. It’s comfortable, easy fitting, and the length is perfect on my body type. Plus, I knew it would look pretty decent on me since the model looks awfully similar to me.

This isn’t me. Those are not my feet, nor are they my legs, and those definitely are not my shiny lips. My mother has begun making her way across the United States all the way to Black Rock City and needed to take my precious Canon camera with her. If I had my camera and it wasn’t being defiled across the countryside (read: my camera is on a field trip and I am not and I WANT TO BE) then I would have taken a picture of this dress with me in it.

It’s what I’m going to wear tomorrow to the first day with the teachers on our staff as we ready for the first day of school on Monday.

It’s what I’m going to be wearing when I do the very hard work of educators.

It’s what I will have on when I anticipate a difficult meeting with a few teachers during this first year of restructuring.

Am I ready for this? Do I have everything in order to lead in a different capacity? What have I learned in the last year that gives me the experience necessary to do well?

These aren’t answers I feel that I know right now. As much as I wear confidence like a new dress and strut around in it, I am just as insecure about what it is that I will be able to do and affect. I’ve been trying to anticipate some of the questions and concerns and there is one in particular that I know will come up by not one but several teachers. Not to paint them with a negative brush, but the fact is: some people in general are contrary and oppositional by nature. If I quiet my mind I can even hear it in their voice as the words ring through my head:

What are we gonna do about the kids who come to school in baggy jeans and hoodies and won’t follow the dress code, huh? WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO?

For now, it is the only answer I have. The only thing I feel confident about. The only thing that, while wearing my new dress with a swishy skirt and feeling young and breezy and easy, the only answer that I know for sure in this otherwise uncertainty:

We are gonna teach them. Every one of them. Every day.

What can I say? I was bored.

What I’d look like circa 1952. I look like my mom a little bit here. If she had a butt-chin.

Then there’s 1956. The year I wanted nothing more than to wear pearls to vacuum my pre-fab home.

1966 is the scariest one because MY HAIR CAN ACTUALLY DO THIS.

This may as well be a picture of my mom in 1968 because this is her. She said she used those empty cardboard orange juice cans to get her hair to curl like this.

1976 was good to me. Was Sun-In invented yet? Because I sprayed that stuff on my hair like there was no tomorrow. I may look angelic and innocent, but I would have turned on Carrie and poured chicken blood on her if you bought me a cherry coke. What a follower I was then.

This may be the most accurate one from my own high school years if I were still in high school in 1994. Can you see the class ring on my finger that I’ll eventually lose in the middle of a party after Shannon tells me that she saw my boyfriend kissing that girl from PE class who just transferred from some country school? All signs point to me punching her when I got all worked up. Like, totally. I gotta stop hanging out with that creep Mike Damone. Ticket-scalping loser. He’s making me a bad, bad girl.

Mallory wasn’t immune from my madness and since we know high school was all about copying everyone else, here’s one for comparison purposes.

Nor was she here in 1982 with that ridiculous flip. How did you people get your hair to DO that? And why? Also, is she tickling her own chin here? Rubbing a tiny flower under it?

1962 was not good to her. It was downright obnoxious.

1996 crept up on her and made her symmetrical goodness just shine. Shine, I tell you. Denim vest and all.

It’s just too serious around here lately. This was more for my entertainment than yours. But if you want to do it, go to Yearbook Yourself and have a blast, kids.

This morning I’m in charge of the 9th grade orientation because half of those kids are mine. We’re going on a tour of the building, practicing opening lockers, and then registering them for classes. Today will be a long, long day. My voice will probably go out by the end of the day and I will wonder, once again, why students have never tried to open a padlock in their 14 years of life thus far. What I know about myself is that I will wonder a lot of things. Some of them are just to serve the purpose of exasperating myself because there are no answers. Others will be because I am trying to figure people out and see what their motives are for doing things.

High school is a difficult beast. We get students who are terrified of being there because the building is big and I admit, ours is pretty enormous and maze-like. We’ve restructured almost everything about it and there are four separate academies, one of which is in my charge. I’m keeping half of the freshmen from last year who I had as their dean and I’m getting half of the incoming freshmen that I’ll be meeting today. When I crunched the numbers it’s about the same as I was dealing with last year and my role, which is new to both me and the district, will be an Academy Assistant Principal.

In many ways, I’ll be the “principal” over my own little school. That’s about 350 students and 20 teachers to work with; some of whom are going to be evaluated because it’s “their year” and just now I’m understanding that I have to work with a lot of personalities. It won’t be fair to write about my dealings with them on a personal or professional level, though I know I will want to explore things in writing. When I do, it would make sense to give them anonymity. Yet, there are several hundred students and families I will meet and cultivate relationships with; I’ll most definitely need this morning to introduce myself and establish who I am in this position.

Today I am wondering what souls I will be intertwined with for the space of a school year.

Today I am irritated that some families won’t bother to start their children in school until after Labor Day because they’re “on vacation”.

Today I am the woman who will, no doubt, be called a bitch because it is the easiest slander to revert to when they are frustrated with me.

Today I am astounded that some of my students live in filth and poverty and ignorance.

Today I am grateful for loving parents who are trying their absolute best to make good on a bad situation.

Today I will let parents know that I do not serve to enable their children.

Today I will give an example of being a responsible citizen and I will use that example time and time again because only a few will be able to hear it today. For others, the message will come later on.

Today I will remember that everyone learns at different paces and that the learning curve is steep.

Today I will tell them why I am there knowing that they will question me sometimes when they have forgotten.

Today I will smile at children masquerading as mature high school students who desperately need the very tenderness they will refuse until I gain their trust.

Today I will be hard on the boys for their saggy pants and the girls for their revealing tops and remind them that they are here to exercise THEIR BRAINS and that their bodies are not for display.

Today I will impart wisdom that has been hanging around in the crevices of my psyche that will, no doubt, surprise me when they come to the surface.

Today I will love someone new and it will sneak up on me like it always does.

Today I am the Moral Gatekeeper for what works in schools because I have been around just that long.

Today I will second guess decisions and I will, as sure as the sun comes up, make wrong ones. It will have to wait until tomorrow that I can make it right again assuming that I even recognize it.

Today I am an educator who will protect children and piss off those who fail to recognize that.

Today I am the woman who might hold it together all day until she gets into her car and loses her shit at the end of a punishing day.

Today I am the woman who will reach out to pat a student on the back or simply hug them. People will tell me not to do that and I have yet to regret doing so because I exercise good judgment when doing so.

Today I am the administrator who has moved to the Dark Side and “doesn’t understand what it’s like in the classroom” and there is nothing I can do to change anyone’s mind about that. It’s ok.

Today I am the principal who simply can’t make everything right or fix society’s ills but who will be infuriated nonetheless.

Tonight I will return home entirely exhausted. It’s not even the first day of school.

I can’t get up a post yet because I had to squeeze my sons and yak at my mom until she uttered in an exasperated voice, “Oh, dear sweet angels, come and rescue me from my mouthy child and let her take a breath long enough for us to go grab some dinner before I faint from The Boredom”.

Whilst I get organized and talk to my therapist about abusing the word “whilst” I’ll post the only 3 pictures I have uploaded to the computer I’m currently using (which isn’t mine because Apple hasn’t asked me if I’d love to beta test whatever stupefying supercomputer they’re working on right now).

I’d say more, but I’m beat. Here is a picture of my daughter in training to be a little old lady who does crossword puzzles. In pen.

I’m also a little worried about not linking to every delicious person whose path I crossed (crossed mine? which is it?) over the last 5 days. But here are two more of them and I’m in both pictures. You probably know who they are, right? You SHOULD know her.

It’s safe to say I’m zonked. It’s also safe to say that I found myself in a bathroom enjoying libations with this little powerhouse. Probably not ever heard of her, huh? Yeah, she’s not even famous or anything.

Really, there’s more to come. Have to do some re-entry into life before school starts. I’ll have to be that pathetic blogger for a bit first, though. Is that ok? Because even WordPress is all Please Update Now! with me and I don’t want to feel like I need to smack my own blog upside the head.

Hey there! This is Tom, the Malathionman. I guess it’s my turn to take a shot at entertaining Kelly’s cult readers while she is supposedly resting. I know better. Like most educators that I know, she is working a second job during the summer. You would think the people educating our children would know how to budget a little better. Kelly, put down the Jimmy Choos, you can’t afford them.

Kelly is the only blogger who has ever “chatted” on-line with me. One day I was on the computer and up pops Kelly talking shit. I had no idea a blogger, someone I never met, would ever IM me. That night I told her that she popped my “chat-cherry”. I think she peed her pants.

Over the last couple of years we have had many on-line conversations. When I thought about what I could write today I looked up those conversations. We talked about a lot of pretty goofy stuff. I should have just copied and pasted, but I’ll keep this an R-rated post.

Instead I’m going to share this true story about one of her summer jobs.

About 13 years ago Kelly took a receptionist job at a urologist’s office. His name was Dr. V. A. Graw. Dr. Graw covered all things urology, but specialized in a certain dysfunction. Many of the patients that came into his office just couldn’t get it up.

It was a great job. Dr. Graw was nice and so were the patients. She was the perfect person to meet and greet these guys who were feeling a little “down”.

It didn’t take the doctor long to figure out that Kelly was special. On her second day at work she needed to interrupt one of the doctor’s examinations for an important phone call. As she waited outside the examination room she could hear this, “Holy shit doc! I popped a bonner!” “That’s interesting. I think you should go home and use that thing real quick. Call me if it lasts longer than 4 hours, that might dangerous.”

Happy patient calls his wife and hurries home.

As the days moved on Dr. Graw’s flaccid following started showing up without appointments. Sometimes he could work them in, sometimes he couldn’t, but they always left with happy hard-ons. He knew he was on to something and needed to find out what it was before the word got out.

The only thing different at his office since mystery wood started popping up was Kelly. Could his new receptionist be the reason for all this excitement? He wanted to try an experiment. So one morning he approached Kelly about his idea. “OMG! A real scientific experiment! I’m sooo totally in!” she gushed.

Dr. Graw explained the experiment, “All you need to do is walk into the room and stand next to my volunteer. He will only be wearing an examination gown. Are you OK with that?” “As long as he is,” said Kelly. “Mr. North is not shy, he’ll be fine,” replied the doctor.

The next morning Dr. Graw called Kelly into the examination room with Mr. North. She walked slowly into the room and stood next to Mr. North. She wasn’t expecting Mr. North to be wearing a blindfold. She stood there waiting for instructions from Dr. Graw. He just stood there watching the gown. Then it happened.

Kelly looked at what Dr. Graw was staring at, “Nasty!” she whispered because this was a scientific experiment and that seemed like the right thing to do. Dr. Graw handed her a note, “Kelly, step away from the penis.” She did, and nothing changed, Mr. North was still at attention. The doctor handed her another note, “You can leave the room now, and we’ll be out in a few minutes, thanks!” She gave him two thumbs up and quietly left the room.

Kelly went back to work at the front desk. About 15 minutes later Dr. Graw was ushering Mr. North out of the office. Mr. North stopped at Kelly’s desk, “Hey there *mocha momma, I’m Peter. You smell nice; I bet that was you in the room. How about a cup of coffee?” Dr. Graw interrupts, ”That’s enough Mr. North, call me later when things settle down.” The doctor motions Peter North towards the front door. “But I like coffee,” said Kelly. Peter stops. Dr. Graw points to the door, “Goodbye Mr. North.”

Dr. Graw now turned his attention to Kelly, “ You do smell nice Kelly. Are you wearing perfume?” “Usually I don’t,” replied Kelly. “Then what smells so good?” asked the doctor. “My hair!” she exploded. “Really? I didn’t think there was anything special about your hair,” he foolishly said. “Bite your tongue mister! Let me tell you about my hair!” Kelly squealed. 15 minutes of boredom later, “Wow, that was really interesting. Can I get a sample of your hair? I guess while I’m at it could I get some blood too?” he politely asked. “It will cost you a trip to Starbucks.” “Deal.”

Kelly worked the rest of the summer without much talk about the experiment. Dr. Graw spent most of his extra time in the laboratory. When it came time for Kelly to go back to work at school she went to see the doctor in his office. “Thanks for the work this summer Dr. Graw. Maybe next summer you’ll need more help?” she hoped out loud. “I’m sorry Kelly but I’m closing the office. I’m going to work for a big drug company on the west coast,” he replied.” “What ever happened to Mr. North?” she asked. “ I think he had an allergic reaction that recipe you put in your hair. He is fine now,” said the doctor. “ But I want you to know how much I appreciated your help this summer. Here is a $100 gift certificate to Starbucks,” he hands her a green envelope with the Starbucks logo. “That is sooo nice! You are the best Dr. Graw! I’ll always remember this summer. Thanks,” as she tries to hold back the tears.

*And that is how Kelly got her blog name.

The End

Kelly waiting for Peter North to bring her a cup of coffee.