tuckova

My first day teaching at the high school went pretty well. I liked the
kids a lot.

Although I do not have the magical head-tingling feeling I once
had as a teacher, it appears that I do remember the basics of getting
through a class. Also, some key points were recently refreshed by
Squire’s previous teacher, such as: 1) making eye contact with the
students is a good thing; 2) smiling periodically is a good thing; 3)
wearing clothes that cover your body is a good thing; 4) telling people
that they are doing well tends to make them do better. So I’m already
ahead of the game, what with my pretty blue eyes and my magical molars
and my muu-muus and my tendency to blush-inducing praise.

Squire has been fantabulous this past few weeks, funny and
sweet and incredibly easy to live with. Partly this is the new teacher,
who is not a twelve year old eedjit; partly this is two years of
extensive training in the effectiveness of "so?" as a response to any
stupid commentary; partly this is just growing up. I don’t mean we’ve
taken up living at Unicorn Junction– the darkness surrounds us, as
always. But it was never the dark that was scary, but ever what was
hidden in it, and this seems more manageable lately for him.

We have mice at the cottage. This would bother me except that
they are so courteous, the way they open up the carton of cigarettes
for you and pull out a pack and then tenderly open that as well,
dragging out and destroying the first cigarette so you don’t have that
"20 wedged in a pack" problem, and then they scurry around leaving
little nicotine-addled poops! Adorable.

Friar is cracking me up nearly daily, too, which makes me
think there’s magic in our water or something. What’s with all the
smiling around here?

Perplexed by Clarence Thomas, by the left
leg in Ingres’ Odalisque (seriously, what IS that?), by adults who
still choose books by genre, and the other usual suspects, but
generally I’m doing well. And you?