yeah, I got it together.

Driving into campus this morning on the interstate, I think about how well the morning had gone thus far:

Four kids fed, cleaned, dressed (in clean clothes, even). Two kids to school, two to the babysitter. No one late. No meltdowns about outfits, or what’s for breakfast, or what’s packed in their lunches, or who brushes their teeth first. All backpacks found. All homework completed. All hair brushed (!).

No one left crying or shouting. All kisses and hugs appeared genuine, as they weren’t preceeded by “Will you just get your BOOTS ON NOW for the love of PETE!!”

Wow, I think. I really am doing OK today.

I walk into campus with my jacket open, enjoying the last of our heat wave (it was about 30). I make it to the computer cluster early, and have time to think a little and decompress. As the participants of the seminar trickle in, I feel something itch at the front of my neck. I look down. It’s the tag of my shirt.

Yeah, I got it together.

Advertisements

5 thoughts on “yeah, I got it together.

  1. Once (or heck, maybe even twice) I came really really close to walking into a class I was teaching with one of those Waist x Inseam stickers glued to the front of my right pant-thigh. “Um, no. I didn’t wash before wearing. What’s it to you?!” Caught it at the last second. So, you know, shirt tags in front: small stuff *and* fixable, yes?

  2. Last Thursday , I got to class late because I fell down. Didn’t get hurt, but I had coffee and street crud all over my pants, so I came home to change. I put on a new pair of pants and hightailed it to school, and it wasn’t until 3pm — 1/2 through my second class and THIRD obligation of the day that I noticed that I still had the price tag and baggie of extra buttons attached to the pants. Lucky for me I was wearing a long shirt, or I would have been Minnie Pearling it all over HBC.

  3. Okay, so it’s not a teaching story, but it’s a good one. I’m working at a very busy public library, and it’s my shift out on the front desk. I walk out, and enthusiastically greet my first few customers (you can just hear me, can’t you?). The second one takes one of those little white slips (ask me sometime and I’ll explain what they’re called and why), writes on it, and slides it across to me. I’m thinking, deaf-mute? Hmmmm. No. On the note she’s written: “Check your fly.”

    I’m not sure if it’s good news or just plain said that I found this hysterical rather than embarrassing…

  4. Your slip-n-fall tale just keeps on getting better, Jen. This is the third time you’ve cracked me up with it–first in class, then at the event Friday eve, now this (lil bags of buttons aren’t fashionable?). Reminds me of the time in KC when I tried to scramble up some icy steps (a short-cut to class, I was on the verge of being late). Slipped, tore a small snag on one side of my Dockers and chaffed the other leg, then brushed off the slush/gravel and carried on to class anyway. Had an excuse to be late, at least, and it was one of those really important classes where it doesn’t matter that you have a whole in your pants, scraped hands, etc. So memorable I have no recollection what the class was about.

  5. I’m somewhat miffed to be upstaged on my own blog by everyone else’s great mishaps. 🙂 I couldn’t have gotten better peanut gallery action if I *prompted* you people to talk about wardrobe malfunction.

    I guess the urge to one-up is a mighty one. And I say this with UNstraightest face I can muster. 🙂

Comments are closed.