Catherine Who?

Earlier in the week, my friend Catherine, via e-mail, had requested some advice about applying to work at a school, of which used to be my employer. I responded with some clarifying questions. So, on Wednesday, when she called, I was not in the least surprised. However, Billy and I were about to embark on an "early voting" adventure and we arranged for a phone call later.

As a side note, the "early voting" fell flat as we walked up to the second floor of city hall, only to find about 300 soccer Moms, toddlers in tote, snaking past the temporary guard rails, out the doors, and winding around the entire second floor. Guestimated wait-time? Hour and a half, minimum. We turned around and walked out. Instead we went to the grocery store.

Time escaped me and before I knew it I needed to make dinner. I texted Catherine to ask if we could push our phone call back until after the dinner hour. No problem, she was going to work out right now anyway.

After dinner was eaten, dishes were cleared, and I was tackling a few other random house chores, my phone rang. Must be Catherine! I ran to get it and missed. I looked at the caller ID to double check and realized the school social worker was calling me. Now, the school social worker and I are friends. I really like her. But we rarely call each other. We text often, but really, unless I am lost on the way to meet her at the police station, due to some kind of assinine student thingy, we don't call. We stick to the texting.

And then, in a moment of pure genius, it dawned on me: I had been texting the school social worker, also named Catherine, not my friend, earlier in the evening. When I double checked my texts I realized the poor social worker must be very worried about me, as the texts to her read like this:

Lori: Can I call you after 6:30 so we can talk?

Social work Catherine: Sure, I am going to work out now, but I will be home by then.

Lori: Okay, good, because I don't want to put this off.

Social work Catherine: No problem Lori.

When I realized my mistake was two-fold, A) My friend who needed advice was most likely feeling very blown off and B) The school social worker was freaking about what could be so wrong, I couldn't figure out who to call first.

After calling both girls and letting them in on my mistake, it crossed my mind that it is so typical of me to take an opportunity to help someone out and in the end upset two girls. Sigh.

It has taken me a good 35 years to realize that I do not have an eye for detail. And that maybe I should stick with the old fashioned wall mounted phone. I seemed to get into a lot less trouble that way.

Teacher-Parent Conferences

Does it mean I am a terrible teacher if I admit I am much more concerned about what I will wear for Parent-Teacher Conferences ( and yes- I have been conditioned to capitalize it) than I do about my actual conversations with parents?
Is it even worse to admit that this particular night, in which I am ambushed by parental concern, are two of the worst of my school year?
It is a rather odd meeting of the minds anyway. Half the time you come in with pre-conceived ideas. And I too, come in with pre-coneived ideas, about what you are like. What you are going to say. How you are going to defend or offend your child.
And the last time I met with parents I had a horrible experience. Truly horrible. It's definitely time to think about hiring a babysitter for your little ones. Just saying. And really, while I don't expect you to shower and primp, I do expect your general person to be in decent smelling order. You should probably keep one eye on the clock, because ten minutes really is a short time, and NO... I don't want to shop with you OR have coffee with you or UGH.... have dinner by your place some night to "talk further". Oh- yeah- and go ahead and brush your teeth for me. That is a plus. And in case anyone has found me at my NEW school, let's just say this all happened at my old school. Because voicing my opinion on that isn't really worth losing my job. Need I not remind you that as a teacher, my soul DOES belong to the state, first and foremost.
And now that I am ranting, I need to bring up that having a label means that there is something about you that is outstanding. Some say special. Regardless.
And changing the name of what the state has labeled you every few years so you don't get too comfortable with the term is an effort in futility. Because if you are super duper small and used to be a midget, and then you were a dwarf, and now you a little person, you are still really short. And really, changing the name of that doesn't make you taller. Or give you the right to stare down the offender who used LAST years term, like "midget"- as if they just threatened to jab you with a weapon and toss you into an alley. It's not like that.
So if you come to my table, I mean if you DID come to my table in the past, I will speak( I mean spoke) openly and honestly. No sugar coating. I call it like I see it. Sorry if it hurts. I don't mean to hurt you. Really. But I am over the lolly-gagging around what your child is and is not.
And for the record. IF your child is thinking about becoming a professional football player, I suggest he go ahead and go out for the team and get suited up or call a family roundtable about "other" career options. Because at five two and 90 pounds, I was thinking more like dressage jocky. Just saying.

Are You Old Enough to Quit?

I just climbed out of bed to... smoke. I am completely disgusted with myself. And while I have been seriously thinking lately about calling it a day with the Marlboros, I have been seriously thinking about it for years. So if you are my mother or my close relative, don't get all excited.
I did quit when I was pregnant. And then on my way home from "the procudure" and before we picked up the McDonalds, I asked my husband to pull over so I could buy a pack. I considered it a "consolation prize". I mean- in retrospect, trading in a child for an addiction that will lead to my untimely death is not exactly a prize. However in the moment it is what I told myself.
I tried quitting again at the beginning of the summer. But starting Weight Watchers and quitting smoking seemed to be putting me over the "addictions to stop" edge. And plus my strategy this time was some very horrible cigarettes called Quest and each and every one tasted like bleach. And I wanted to be weaned not pukey. So I gave them away to the only person who would take them, the garbage man.
I was reminded while in bed tonight- contemplating my need for nicotine, and wrestling with desire, about a scene I witnessed at a Jewel in Chicago. There was a young guy, maybe 20. He stood in the long line at the very separate cigarette and customer service counter ( and you don't want to find yourself in that line in Chicago- it's LONG ). I was behind him. He jumped back and forth on his feet, creating mounting anxiety for everyone around him. Finally, his turn came and he asked for Nicorette, the quitting smoking gum. The cashier - a very pompous little guy- asked for ID. They guy said loudly, " I don't HAVE ID, I don't want cigarettes, I want the GUM." Little guy, " Well, sorry, I need ID". Anxiety guy, " Seriously? You are not going to sell me gum to QUIT? I have been waiting here for like thirty minutes, and I am dying, and you are not going to let me buy the GUM?"
I have to admit, the guy had a point. One would have to presume that to be stupid enough to start and then smart enough to quit could not all possibly happen in the time frame of your teens. You don't try that hard to quit unless you are like... OLDER.
Just when the anxious guy was about to go ape, I stopped him and told him if he gave me the cash, I would be happy to buy the gum on his behalf. So that is what I did. Not only was it completely FUN to watch the little guy try to think of a way to NOT let me do this and outsmart his basic need for control, but I ordered my own cigarettes along with a fifty dollar pack of Nicorette.
The flustered look on the cashiers face was priceless.
I think he mumbled something about calling the cops, but I had a sneaking suspicion that the CPD would not find it a priority.
At any rate. Time to focus on the quitting again. I heard the patch was good.

Wonder Woman or Hearing Sucks

I thought it was sort of weird this morning when my co-worker/friend's mother called me. I was in the shower and the message, in somewhat broken English, seemed to say she would like me to go and visit her daughter in the hospital. She had a ten pound six ounce baby girl the day before, and I figured maybe her mom just wanted a break to run some errands and didn't want to leave her daughter alone. Or something like that.
I called her mother back and confirmed that I would leave within the hour.
I organized driving directions to the hospital a few suburbs North and back.
I stopped at Dominick's and bought food, mags, gifts to take in.
I canceled my original plans to go and clean my classroom.... not that I minded too much.
I took off and while driving began to surmise what this was all about. Was my friend okay? Did she really reach out for me in a time of need? I felt reliable. Good. Helpful. A great friend.
When I got to the hospital ( by the way, since when do suburban hospitals have the nerve to charge parking rates??) I found her room and lugging my bag of goodies rapped lightly on the door before pushing it in.
The look of shock and awe on my friend's face led me to believe right away that something had literally been lost in translation.
When she spoke I just about DIED.
"OH! My Mom is not with you? She is waiting for you at home to pick her up. It's okay, I will call her and let her know you didn't understand her message."
DOH.
Despite that fact that it's a thirty minute drive I immediately offered to go and pick her up and drop her off ( she doesn't drive ) . But, after a short discussion, we realized schedule conflicts would have made it impossible. So... I sat and held the baby and stayed- feeling slightly stupid for having thought what I had been thinking. I kind of wanted to crawl under a rock. Or at least one of those big x-ray machine thingys.
As I walked back to my car I ingested the full reality of what had just happened. My friend was expecting her mother and instead she got me... a co-worker. A friend, but nothing at all like her mother. And her own siblings hadn't even seen her yet! Not even her close friends!
As my face reddened with embarassment and I paid my two dollar parking fee, I vowed to ask clarifying questions the next time I think I am being summoned for my SuperFriend powers.