During the late 1970s, I prepared for my driver's license, but not nearly enough. My first time out alone with the car, I had an accident. I hit a parked car in a snowy parking lot. Looking back, I didn't have a clear understanding of how cars worked, probably from not enough hours behind the wheel.
This was not the case with my kids. As soon as they received their learner's permits, they spent a year as the family chauffeur. This meant that wherever we went, the kid with the learner's permit did the driving. By the time they received their licenses, they were all expert drivers and I could relax.
I hope Jillian's parents will let her be the chauffeur of their family. Since she's not yet a pro, enjoy this clip. My former student is hysterical behind a wheel. At least she's now in a different city. Love the kid, but don't think I want to be around as she learns how to drive.
I married a Lansky–Mitchell Lansky–and today is his birthday; however, I decided I should write with caution or next year I could be advertising a new wife for him. Besides, his grandfather's name was Meyer. When in college, a professor asked Mitchell if he was related to Meyer Lansky, the infamous gangster of Mafia fame. Mitchell said, "Do you want to make something of it?" This shut the professor up.
Of course, Meyer was the grandfather on his mother's side, who was not the infamous Meyer Lansky. As far as I know, there is no relation.
Happy birthday to my wonderful husband who puts up with me!
I failed the lockdown at school last week. This drill is meant to teach us what to do if a gunman enters the building. While I flushed a toilet, someone said, "Lockdown," over the intercom. All doors slammed shut and locked to keep intruders out. Of course, I didn't hear the announcement and wandered carefree down the quiet hall. When I saw my administrator, I said, "Oh. I see you changed shoes," because earlier that day, she wore adorable, yellow duck shoes for the rainy bus duty.
She said, "You know we're in a lockdown?"
I said, "No."
Next, I tore down the hall looking for a place to hide. Finally, I knocked on the nurse's door. Allison wondered if this was a test, but opened anyway and let me in. We had a delightful visit while waiting for the drill to end.
After the lockdown, several staff members and I chatted in the office. My administrator asked what I did. When I told her, she said, "You are casualty number one, and Allison is casualty number two." Then she spilled out the gruesome truth about school shootings. Apparently, crazies will grab a kid and have him or her knock on doors.
"Let me in! Let me in!"
It is our job to ignore the frightened child in order to save the class. How does one ignore a scared voice? Dear God, I pray I am never in that situation.
(1) My daughter Erica is the girl on the right–no offense Lisa, but you look freaky.
(2) These are TEMPORARY tattoos.
Although I've never had a real tattoo, I have decorated my body with some made from henna. These will last most people two weeks or so. Mine are usually shorter because after a week, I scrub my skin raw to make them fade.
Here's a collection of weird ones I copied from the internet. This would have made a good Wordless Wednesday post–darn it–but with the multitude of pictures, I can always hold out for "Tattoo Two" one day.
If I were bald, I would so have to do this. Teehee.
Prison Gang Tattoo
Kimberly requested three stars on her face then fell asleep and woke up to this.
Yeah. It's pretty bad miscommunication, but would you lend your face to the tatoo artist below? Duh!
It was the place where yellowed stuffing spilled from tattered couches and humming heaters sang mournful duets with spinning dryers. I'm referring to that musty, spider-infested basement. That place I crept into only when forced to retrieve Mystery Date. All that bravery just to end up with the Dud at the door. After all, if I was going to risk my life to get that game, at least I could've found the stud muffin in the white tux.
That light bulb dangling from a cord was never enough to give me the peace of mind to be way downstairs--at least not alone. What was it about the basement that would scare the Buggy Man, Phantom of the Opera, or even the millions of famous dead people who we've ooed and awed over throughout history? Tackle the basement, suckers!
The shadows reflecting from the dull light gave me the tingling feeling that something eight-legged or the Mystery Date Dud was crawling on my forearm. While downstairs, I'd often hop into a hula hoop spin without the plastic because, I'd felt something creepy.
And the noise of the heater with the glowing orange light added to the drama. I'm with you Kevin, my Home Alone heater came to life when doing laundry too. In real life, we don't need Hollywood scare music to add to the tension. Haunted houses on Halloween, nah, just find the basement.
Now that I'm a grown up, I live in a state so humid that the ground would swallow those dirt dwelling rooms. Not many basements in Memphis--only attics. Yikes! That's another post.
I'm leaving you with a fun link for those too young to remember Mystery Date or old enough to enjoy a nostalgic look back to the fun we used to have. Tune in Monday, and I'll tell you all about my closet.