Jessica, be humbled!

Have I ever mentioned what an athlete my husband is, and what an athlete I am not? On days like this morning, where you don't have to be at work until 1:00 p.m., instead of milling around in your mismatched P.J.'s and unwashed hair, he gets up and straps on a camel pack (a drinking water contraption... not a cigarette) and heads out on his bicycle for a four mile spin down the country road we live on. In the meantime, I am up, on what's left of my summer vacation, debating to the dog whether or not my hair warrants a shower. It's a pathetic conversation where I say something like, "Well, I washed it yesterday and didn't even go anywhere, so it still looks pretty good I think..." You know the one. And when he comes home after an hour of physical exuberance, exclaiming that he has so much more energy now, and now he feels like he can go to work and be productive, I feel like I am ready to crawl back into bed for a nap. Seriously. Why am I tired for no reason? Anyway, all of my hair washing debates will be thrown into the fiery furnace in just a few days when I have to report back to my post as a 5th grade Language Arts and Reading teacher. Since I started teaching I have kept files in which I keep most precious of all gifts: handwritten cards from kids. Now, you parents have known about this secret pleasure for a long time. And since everybody else in the world is bragging about their kids, I think I will too (even though I am sure they are still really your kids!) I have 75 kids every day rotate in and out of my life, and for the most part, things run smoothly. I run a tight-ship here in Arkansas, and my mission is to stomp out smoking, make extinct forever the double negative, and to distinguish the adverb from the article in such a way that Arkansas is not last in the nation on Standardized Testing. But that, ladies, is a whole other blog. I came across these cards and notes while filing in the office a few days ago, and felt the need to share. Now, the names have been removed just in case the 5 people who read this blog will not be offended if it is indeed their neighbor, but I highly doubt it. Notice the Popsicle stick project; it couldn't be more perfect. Even my name is spelled accurately, which you will find is a rarity. The Easter card, with the blood sucking rabbit is pure fun, but the motorcycle card took a lot of thought. My husband and I debated long and hard whether this child thought we were the kind of people who rode Harleys, because we are in fact Honda Goldwingers, and to be seen on a Harley is quite another accusation altogether. Then we realized that Honda is not mass marketed, so this child made do with what was avaliable. I said, "Honey! What is really cute is that she wrote 'Charley Davidson Family'. Isn't that cute?" He then said, "Honey, those are parentheses." Oh. Woops. I guess they did pick up on those. But my favorite is the last. It reminds me to humble myself, to not let the stardom of being famous in a long, fluorescent lit hallway go to my head. It also makes me curse my husband's Irish ancestors. So, folks, if you ever dread the Monday drive, the labor intensive work load, or the coworkers you are forced to make small talk with, just remember this. No one will ever mistakenly put the word "a*s" as your last name. Never. School starts in 18 days. Jessica, be humbled.