#morning #doughnutboy #spiderman #actionfigure #coffee #LEGObuild #makerspace #mlacitations #lessons #overduebooks
#lunch #turkeychilli #salad #again #friends #checkin #marcopolo #chat #calendar #evening
#bribes #jollyranchers #readaloud #afterschool #detention #whenteachersskip #kidsgotafreebie
#threemoredays #springbreak #sotired
#highschool #parentmeeting #already #staylittleforever
Ever see or meet people who pop in for a brief moment in your life only to never be seen again? These are people we may have met in the grocery line, or observed from afar. Here are a few:
This guy ran on the opposite side of the road in front of the elementary school every morning. I’m in the right lane, he’s on the edge of the street even though there’s a sidewalk. He wears a different colored 80’s style sweatband on his forehead and thick, black rimmed glasses. His hair bounces up and down in rhythm to his steps. As soon as I get closer, he gives me a big grin and his right hand holds up a peace sign. Happy running, Peace Guy! I smile and wave as I go through the school zone. Every morning, at the same time, there’s the Peace Guy. I don’t know when I stopped noticing him. Did he move? I’m sure wherever he is, he still puts a smile on people’s faces, at least those who take the time to notice.
There’s an eighth grader who comes to the library every morning. He’s quiet, signs in, sits in the back corner and puts down a small white bag. It sits to the right of his Chromebook. Sometimes he does homework. Most days he sits with a girl and they chat. Last week he brought a pair of canvas shoes he proceeded to color with alcohol ink markers.
One day I asked, “What’s in the bag?”
“Doughnuts.”
“You must live near a doughnut place or get up really early to have enough time to stop for doughnuts.”
“It’s on the way, my mom stops to get me some.”
“Well, you know, if you’re bringing doughnuts in here every day, you should bring me one too,” I tease.
Sure enough, the next day, he stops at my desk on his way to sign in. “I brought you a doughnut. It’ looks like you like chocolate.”
“You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did. Thanks.”
He drops off my doughnut and assumes his place in the back corner, the little bag of doughnuts, neatly folded, waiting for the bell to ring.
There’s a lady at the checkout lane at Target. She usually sits on a stool and since Covid, she always wears clear plastic gloves. Her curly gray hair is sometimes pulled back, but she usually wears it down. She’s polite and chats with every person who goes through. She comments on items as she scans them.
“This must be new, it’s so cute,” she says scanning a hoodie.
I know she’s from New Mexico because she chatted about it with the person in front of me. I don’t purposely seek her out, but it seems I wind up in her lane more often than not. Next time, I need to make sure I read her name tag and thank her appropriately.
Three hours at Target. I didn’t plan to spend so much time there. What I typically say to myself after a Target run is I didn’t plan to spend so much money there.
When the kids were younger, I’d put them in the cart, stop at the snack bar, order a bag of popcorn, and speed walk down the aisles grabbing what I needed, a little of what I didn’t, and maybe a little something for myself. A bottle of wine strategically placed on an end cap or a new notebook. Later, I dropped off the oldest in the LEGO aisle, speed walked with little sis in the cart, bag of popcorn in tow, and picked him up on the way to the checkout lane.
Yesterday, I’m the one who needed a bag of popcorn and a bottle of wine. Three hours! Swimsuit shopping. Little is now thirteen and she scored a dressing room while a line of hopeful weekend Target shoppers patiently waited their turns. The downside to big box shopping is no one runs to get more outfits in different sizes for you. That was my job.
I found the dressing room stall she took over. She let me in to see one option. “The bottoms are weird.”
Sure enough, they were weird. Too much fabric was missing. “You’re not adult enough to wear that, no ma’am. I’m not adult enough to wear that!”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, but the top is cute.”
I stepped out to wait and out flew empty hangers, tops, bottoms, and a request for more. “Can you please bring me something bright, but NOT anything neon colored. Maybe something neutral that will suit my skin tone.”
Oh for the love of summer! There weren’t many other options. “You hate florals, so I don’t know what else you want.”
“Just pick something. If I get out of here, someone else will take my spot and I’ll have to get in line and wait all over again.”
I return to the massive swimsuit section to hunt for muted tones. I selected florals with neutral backgrounds. On purpose, along with some abstract prints. With spring break a week away, maybe that’s why everyone was shopping for swimwear. It could also be because all swimwear tends to disappear by April. Get it now or try to squeeze into last year’s swimsuits, if they still fit.
Knocking on the door, I offer a pile of four more swimsuits. “These aren’t quite your style, but you might like them once you’ve tried them on.”
“Ummm, I said no neon colors. I want something bright.”
“You said neutrals.”
“Well, neutral brights.”
I decided not to go where my brain wanted to go, we’re in public.
She hands back everything I brought without trying them on. “Never mind. I’ll take a look myself and get back in line.”
“There’s no line. It must come in waves and it’s calmed down now.”
I take the hangers and get them in order. The two teens working the dressing room looked exasperated. We’re heading back, so I decide to put them back myself.
There are two more possibilities from a wall of options. She heads back to the dressing room and I go back to my shopping list. I haven’t gotten anything I meant to get. I’m in the gardening section when I get a message.
“Where r u? Mom? Mom? Mommy!?”
She finds me and plops into the cart a hoodie, a pair of yoga pants, another swimsuit, and a pair of silver hoop earrings. She makes her way toward a bunny Squishmallow plush toy in the holiday section.
“I have a gift card,” she grins.
“With fifteen dollars left on it! You have two swimsuits in here. They’re priced by the piece,” I explain. “How much is that one top?”
“Eighteen.”
“And what do you plan to wear on your bottom half?”
We discussed options, chores, the gift card, homework, and more chores.
“I’ll meet you at the checkout lane,” I call, as she heads back to return most of what she thought she was getting.
Three hours. One swimsuit. Hoop earrings. A Pusheen hoodie. Pruning shears and some odds and ends I needed.
Target runs seemed so much easier when I stopped to buy popcorn.
In December, my mom stayed with me for two weeks to help me as I recovered from surgery. When I say help, it means she made sure I didn’t get up and break doctor’s orders, cooked all of the things with my husband, and cleaned everything that maybe didn’t need cleaning. Every morning, after mini-me got to school, we sat at the kitchen table and had coffee.
Morning coffee chats across the table typically revolved around whether or not we needed extra coffee, updates with my sisters, a good morning from my 20 year old as he headed off to work, toast or breakfast tacos, a chat with my dad who was home alone. In two short weeks, I grew accustomed to cafecito with Mom. We had one more chat before my husband dropped her off at the airport to return home.
Winter break gave me about three extra weeks of down time. When she returned home, we continued our morning cafecito dates via Face Time. I’d hear my phone ping: “Cafecito?”
“Hold on! I just got up. Give me 10 minutes.”
The coffee gets started, I pull my hair into its morning ponytail and retrieve my laptop. The screen is bigger. Coffee steaming, I bring it to the table and start the call. We chat. Dad pops in to say hi before he goes out for his morning run. Mom shakes her head because we know it’s too cold for him to go out, but it’s pointless. Bundled up, he goes anyway.
We continued these cafecito dates every morning until I returned to work in January. I don’t know why we didn’t do this before; Face Time is something we were already using. Getting accustomed to that morning rhythm helped us establish a new way to check in. Now it’s on weekends, sometimes Saturday and Sunday, sometimes on one of the two days.
We chatted again this morning, discussing a pan dulce* flavored coffee I sent her last week. “It would be so much better with a concha, but I’m going gluten-free for Lent.”
“Oh just eat whatever you want and don’t worry about it,” she reassures.
It’s a seasonal flavor, but I’ll stock up on what I can find in the clearance section. No big plans for the weekend, but at least the wind has calmed down where she lives. The Texas panhandle is notorious for windstorms that will kick up the dust nonstop for several consecutive days.
“You remember my friend…?”
“I saw the obituary for…I thought she looked familiar.”
“Hold on, your dad wants to say hi.”
“I don’t know why she doesn’t want me to…” Dad starts.
And so it goes.
Saying goodbye a few times, our conversation doesn’t seem to end. Either one of us will interject something on our way out of the call and we wind up talking for another fifteen minute chunk.
My second cup of coffee is nearly empty, so I know it’s time to get on with life on my side of the screen and let her get on with hers. She has my niece’s birthday party to attend.
“Have a slice of cake for me!”
“Sure will.”
The call ends and I close my computer. I’m looking forward to spring break so we can meet for cafecito every morning.
*Pan dulce is Mexican sweet bread, or pastries, many of us enjoy dunking into our cafecito (coffee).
A perfecto tú ju-u-u a perfecto tú ju-u-u a perfecto mija ah-lees a perfecto tú ju-u-u...
Papá siempre trataba diferente maneras de comunicarse con nosotros. Le gustaba inventar palabras como él pensaba que deberían ser pronuciadas. Él siempre nos cantaba esta versión de Feliz Cumpleaños. ¡Perfecto!
My husband brought some orchids home from work a few years ago, along with other plants whose names I’ve failed to learn. Beat up and battered, lacking water, light, a bigger pot, fresh soil, managers offered them to employees.
“Here, I brought some plants.”
I stare at him as if he brought a stray dog someone left on the side of the road. I stopped buying plants because I kill them. Not on purpose. When I take care of them, they die. If I neglect them, water them when they’re limp and yellow, hanging over the side of the pot, they perk up.
“You know, I’m not good with plants. I’ll finish killing them, but if you want to re-pot them, go for it. I’ll get to them when I remember.”
Sure enough, some didn’t make it, but surprisingly, a lot of them did. They’re still all over the house, mainly on one side. If I move them, they get persnickety. The orchids haven’t bloomed in a while, but I hear they’re slow. They’re still green though. I douse them when I can…today is good. I can’t remember the last time I watered them. I should be nicer.
I bought a strawberry plant and put it in a small tabletop greenhouse that sits on the kitchen window sill. I meant to plant it outside, maybe a strawberry or two will grow. For the ants. It never made it. Our icepocalypse (seems to be an annual event now) arrived and it stayed indoors. I checked it a few minutes ago. A few leaves are getting mushy. Looks like I’ve overwatered even though I don’t remember giving it a drink.
The orchids are still okay. They need refreshment and some dusting.
Last month, I went into my man child’s old bedroom. He left two small shriveled up succulents. Are they dead? Do I throw them out? Why not experiment?
I brought them down, doused them in a ton of water, and let them be. Within a day, they perked up, still a little shriveled, but certainly hopeful. I added a little more. Sure enough, I brought them back from the dead. They’ve made plant friends and are doing well.
Besides a good, strong drink, I think they needed the company.
25 in teacher years, half a century in human years. Information sleuth and scientist employed as a middle school librarian where she has cosplayed as General (Sweet) Mayhem and Mabel Pines. On superhero days, Alice goes by The Garzinator.
Slow reader. Writer-ish. Former 6th grade ELA teacher. Spanish is his her second language.
Subscribing to a monthly sparkly sticker club, she hoards stickers, especially the sparkly ones, in a large binder. An AFOL, she collects and builds literary themed LEGO sets, but recently built a Vespa 125 and only needed her 20 year old son’s assistance twice via Face Time. She taps into her inner 12 year old daily. Alice breaks technology frequently due to an alien implant in her pinkie toe that she noticed after being temporarily abducted at the age of three. They like to visit at 3:00 a.m. for regular updates.
Writing credits include piles of journals full of the mundane, (sometimes) boring, everyday musings and glimmers of creativity, piles of poems written to her parents starting in third grade, lesson plans, Facebook posts, and blog posts on Nerds Beget Nerds where she occasionally writes to Judy Blume.
When she isn’t writing, Alice enjoys puttering, strong coffee, and wondering why she entered the next room.
She lives in the middle of Texas with her husband, 13 year old, and pure-bred mutt named Reeses, but hails from the Panhandle where she ate dirt on long two-block walks home in horrid dust storms.
Adult chore charts Reading logs gone wild Oh brain, why can't you learn to bend a little? If I fill every box every day does that mean I'm suffocating? If I skip a week, two, three, does that mean I'm dead? No. It means I'm too busy, flat out gave up for a bit, went on vacation Too rigid? Perhaps I like to see the ebb and flow of life on paper [I must] take care not to become over dependent on them, after all, am I focusing on checking off little boxes or on the better, bigger things around me? They're a shot in my arm, accountability for (hopefully) doing the right things that are hard to do so I can be better at the ones that matter They're a heartbeat of sorts multicolored messy proof that I'm doing my best at life I've seen interesting ones: meatless Mondays no sugar no booze daily journaling wordle dating no spending devotionals screen time (usually less) social media posts (usually more) Mine remain steady, seems I can't build those [good] habits yet I've tried giving up tracking everything becoming robotic in spewing out my own data my internal algorithm can't seem to compute making me feel like a failure at times I still go back to them proving I can create habits for behaviors I need to change adding challenges through my own volition (like writing for 31 days straight)
Sticky shoeboxes covered with construction paper long slot cut through the top where little envelopes drop one for every classmate wiggly heart shaped Jell-O Cindy's mom brought to the class party shiny gold boxes wrapped in red cellophane holding chocolates the popular girls got from their little boyfriends, gross! Outgrown class parties replaced with little messages delivered between classes are any of those for me? No, they're all for those girls a pile of them I wonder what they say They sigh as if annoyed, but we all know they like attention "I have so many!" Oh, shut up but secretly, I wish they were mine First boyfriend and my first "real" Valentine's Day gift a thin gold bracelet with a heart slipped through the chain I never wanted to take it off until that one day several months later where it made its way to the back of my jewelry box do I dare wear it again? Galentine's Day before it became a word ditch the study sesh none of us have boyfriends so why not go to dinner together? No tables available at the one cafe, of course not, couples got first dibs because people plan for these things we drive around, it's late now, and we find a little Italian restaurant where I taste fried calamari for the first time order our entrees and realize we don't mind being single A rainy weekend greets the rare Saturday Valentine's Day No plans made, but we have each other Where do we go to dinner? Everything is booked Let's just go to our regular place My gift is first should be perfect, it's something he enjoys then I open the card what? and he hands me a small box what? okay, I say what? and there it is, the ring I had been eyeing YES! I say yes he slips it on, call my mom and we head out to dinner, nothing fancy but I can't stop staring at glittery possibilities of forever More valentines cute pencils with fun erasers, stickers, snacks, a book for each one goodie bag assembly line load my car and brace myself for my first classroom party on the other side every student gets something it isn't fun being left out even if it's from the teacher chocolate candy and cute little notes pile up on my desk sugar comas (I'm glad I'm not the parent!) chocolate fountain and goodies from PTA in the staff lounge and bonus points for the one who brought a small bottle of Champagne flavored jelly beans Craft stick picture frames with my little cherubs inside them, trimmed with sparkly hearts googly eyes, and glitter whipped cream topped pancake with berries and hot cocoa fluffy stuffed animals heart covered pajamas bedtime stories "I lovey dovey you!" Gift bags with snacks because they're always hungry can't go wrong with candy lemonade for one, a root beer for the other decide against deodorant and find a silly squishy plush toy because they still like getting them "Oh, by the way, can I get something for my friends?" It's 9:30 p.m. the day before VDay No, just no. We should be getting ready for bed "I'll ask Dad!" No. You won't Wrestle with insomnia get up and find my seasonal purchases place them on the table, one of those shiny gold heart shaped boxes wrapped in red cellophane for hubster and a green squishy love bug plushie flanked with a red Ring Pop and a tube of mini-M&Ms she skips down the stairs as if on cue the minute I put everything down she picks up the love bug twirling it in a dance and sings her happy theme song announcing "You're going to school with me today!" At work the office calls I have a delivery For me? a bouquet of flowers unexpected and appreciated homemade dinner text message exchange with my oldest who stopped by to visit on Sunday I pour myself a glass of cheap Champagne fill the sink with dishwater and toast all of the ways people love me
I don’t like getting those notices from my kid’s school about her not showing up to class. Must’ve missed the bus. Again. Sometimes it’s a mistake so I have to make a call or send an email to get it cleared up. Not my favorite thing to do.
I got another call yesterday, but it was expected. Well check appointment in the morning to affect first and second period attendance, orthodontist appointment during the last two periods of the day. I took care of the morning and hubster took care of the afternoon.
It was a long appointment. No time for breakfast so I promised to swing by Chick-fil-A on the way to drop her off at school. We got into the car, buckled in and were ready to go. Except for one thing. Despite the other piles of well-check advice sheets, I forgot to request a doctor’s note to submit to the attendance office. I blamed the blood work that was ordered and a death grip on my arm as the distraction.
Back into the office I go. Of course, I had to wait, but it wasn’t as long as I expected. With the proof of skipping school in hand, I exited the building. Taking a deep breath, I realized I could remove my mask again. As I pulled off one side of the mask, a wind gust snapped that paper right out of my hand. It went up and up and up, swirled a bit and kept climbing. I hoped it might get caught on a car’s tire or in a hedge or something.
Nope, it kept flying, like a paper airplane with a jet engine. It got caught high in a tree, flapping wildly like a mean little kid sticking out his tongue, waving his fingers on either side of his head singing “Nanny-nanny-boo-boo, you can’t catch me!”
And I didn’t. Never mind. I know she wasn’t skipping.
Nerds Beget Nerds 