Long time, no post.
Most people haven’t noticed.  A few have. Most of them see me regularly and know that I’m alive. They also know why I’m not posting. I spent 10 weeks trying to clone myself unsuccessfully. Had I succeeded, I could have sold my extra self for, like, $15. I can’t decide if having a $15 clone of me would do your family good or harm. Sometimes I lose keys and wallets and spill things.

The answer to that question is of no consequence, because I have managed to be in only one place at one time and that place has mostly been the kids’ school.  I even took up subbing, because I figured if I was going to be there all day, every day, I might as well take home some pocket change at the end of the day. I asked for $39,000. They said no. They seem to know about my propensity for losing keys and wallets.

In the amount of time I’ve been away from my blog, here are the things I haven’t told you:

I have taken up and immediately given up exercising 7 times.

I have gone back to Diet Mtn. Dew and love it as much as ever. Don’t be judging. At least I’m honest.

I have gone on several diets and gained 4 pounds.

Hahahahaha. Shut up. It’s hard being me. Actually, I think I’m finally FINALLY in the zone. Maybe having some success. But it’s Thanksgiving week and –well—you know how that goes. Let’s all hold our collective breath. If I do that, I won’t be able to open my mouth to eat pie. Actually, lucky for me, I hate pie. All pie. It works for me during the diet season. It works for the people that eat with me, too. They get more pie.

The subbing thing has been interesting. I will share with you a few lessons I have learned from subbing.

1. I am not as cool or as funny as I thought I was. Or maybe I am and you have to be 20 to get me. Or maybe you have to be at least 20 and sort of “off,” if you know what I mean. You do know what I mean. But probably I’m just not as funny or as cool as I thought. Duly noted.
2. Subbing is not as easy as I thought it would be. It should come with a massage. It doesn’t.
3. Laundry will not do itself. Neither will vacuuming or grocery shopping. Total bummer.
4. Third graders are the perfect balance of skilled, intelligent, and innocent. All except one. And I had her shipped away to a place where she’ll have to earn her shoes and a right to eat. That girl was a bad seed.
5. The shipping thing from Item #4 is my own personal dream. Leave it alone. Let me have it.
6. First graders are really, really bad at P.E. Their main sport is to run willy nilly in all directions while yelling or weeping. Technically, that is not a sport. It IS however what we mostly did.
7. Insane people cannot play kickball.
8. First graders definitely cannot play kickball. Do not attempt this. You will need a strong drink of something afterward. I went with Diet Mtn. Dew.
9. First graders cry during Duck Duck Goose. Always. Every time. Multiple people crying. Big, salty, why-does-the-world-hate-me tears. This one was a surprise to me. I made it through 3 rounds, each time. During those three rounds, all 20 tiny people had hope that they would be picked next. Next time, SURELY, it would be them. They would get to be the goose. But after three rounds, they all lost hope. In one fell swoop, hope was dead. And I couldn’t revive it even with systems and processes and blue prints and bar graphs. So.Much.Crying.
10. If for some reason, a person wearing a woodchuck costume decides to walk the car line at the end of the day to promote school spirit, you can pretty much quit whatever it was you were trying to do on the field. Even if there’s bleeding or vomiting, they won’t come back to you. It’s all Woodchuck at that point.

At one point, while still under the impression that I would be able to make Olympians out of a particularly maladjusted group of first graders, I had them warming up against the fence. And I attempted to teach them a cheer.

I said to them, “I’m going to cheer something and then you are going to repeat it back to me. I’ll say ‘I’ve got skills (SKILZ), yes I do, I’ve got skilz, how ‘bout you?’ And then you will cheer back to me, ‘We’ve got skilz, yes we do, we’ve got skilz, how ‘bout you?! OK? Ready?” They said they were ready. They nodded their heads enthusiastically.

“OK! Here we go!  I’ve got skilz, yes I do, I’ve got skilz, how ‘bout you?” And then I pointed to them for them to say their part.

“YES!” They all yelled in unison.

“No, no, no,” I said. “Remember? When I finish my part, you are supposed to say it back to me? Repeat what I say. OK?” Again, they nodded.

“I’ve got skilz, yes I do, I’ve got skilz, how ‘bout you?” I pointed to them.

“YES!” They all shouted again.

They did not have skilz.

Then the woodchuck came out.

You know the rest of the story.

But I got a paycheck yesterday. So, booyah.