Turtle Gate 2013

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And, since this is the Sunday Sync, I think I'll flashback to my last Sunday adventure...when the neighbor kids found a turtle.

Just a little three-toed box turtle that had been living in the bushes on the side of their house. They came over to show it to me as soon as I went out to water the garden.

"We're going to keep it!" They told me gleefully.

And it may be a sign of my impending emotional breakdown that I spent the rest of the day and most of the night worrying about the turtle.

See, I didn't know it was a three-toed box turtle when they shoved it in my face.  I came in, did a little bit of Internet research, figured out what it was, and then read that they don't do well in captivity because they are picky eaters...which is also why there is a growing concern about them becoming "locally depleted" in Oklahoma.

Now, please understand, I'm an animal lover but not an animal activist...and if I were 7 and 2 like the neighbor kids, I would have wanted to keep the turtle too.  The problem is, I already spend a lot of time worrying whether or not the neighbor kids are being taken care of--I have gently intervened when they were trying to jump on the trampoline (no guard around it by the way) on their BIKES, when they were trying to create some bizarre waterslide with the slip and slide and the trampoline, and when they were trying to climb over the fence into the other neighbor's yard to play with the "nice" Doberman. These are not children who are well-supervised.

Basically, I figured that, in their care, the poor turtle had the same life expectancy as an ice cream cone.

So, the added stress of worrying about their emotional devastation when they inadvertently killed the turtle and worrying about the turtle himself just about sent me over the edge.

First, I made a few subtle suggestions that they should release the turtle...and that the turtle didn't want to jump on the trampoline...and that the Doberman next door didn't want to be friends with the turtle...and so on.

Then, when that didn't work, I spent a little too much time, in Opie's opinion, peeking out the window at the kids with the turtle.  But that's only because he didn't realize I was just doing recon to see where they were going to keep the turtle when they went in for the night--a large blue bucket.

And I must say that he was fairly unimpressed with my elaborate Turtle Rescue Mission...in fact, he seemed to think it was borderline psychotic.

"It's supposed to storm tonight," I told him.  "What we'll do is wait until the middle of the night, then when it's raining really hard, sneak over and grab the turtle and just put the bucket on its side.  They'll think the storm blew it over...they'll forget about the turtle, the turtle will be safe and--"

"You're losing it," he said.

And flat out refused to take part in what he called Turtle-Gate.

Which made it impossible to implement my plan because I don't really feel comfortable sneaking into the neighbor's backyard without a lookout.

I mean, I wanted to save the turtle and all but I didn't want to get arrested to do it.

Or, considering this IS Oklahoma, shot.

So, this morning, I got up bright and early and went out to water the garden again...and just kept staring at that stupid blue bucket.  No one was up over at the neighbors', as far as I could tell, and the bucket was just sitting there...and I kept debating in my head whether the kids needed this little turtle in their lives, if they would be more devastated if the turtle escaped or if it died, if I had some sort of moral imperative to save a defenseless turtle...

In retrospect, maybe Opie's right and I do obsess about these things a little too much.

In any case, I finally decided that if no one was up by the time I was finished watering the garden that I could take that as a sign that God wanted me to rescue the turtle.

Which now has all my Christian friends shaking their heads at me...yes, I am well aware that we aren't supposed to ask God for signs, much less outline the exact sign we're looking for.  But with the state of the world today, I suspect God has more pressing concerns than my turtle-induced hysteria.  I was trying to save Him some time.

And you know what?

He must have appreciated my efforts because look what was right outside my garden--well away from the well-meaning but dangerous hands of the neighbor kids:

So the turtle is free, I am un-jailed and not shot, Opie is relieved but waiting nervously for my next obsessive freak out, and the neighbor kids are unscathed.  Plus I have new respect for the neighbor kids' grandmother who said "He must have climbed out of the bucket" with a straight face when they asked her what could have happened.

You can't ask for much more than that.

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Underwear Should Not Be Optional

It's Theme Thursday everybody--and the first Theme Thursday I've been able to participate in for awhile because of the whole "three jobs" issue. In any case, Theme Thursday is sponsored by Jenn at Something Clever 2.0   and features a group of my favorite bloggers who all write on the same theme. This week's theme is advice. And since I've already used my best dating advice here, I thought I'd do another blast from the past.

As most of you know, I used to teach high school in St. Louis. And when I was there, I somehow ended up in charge of the "at-risk" kids from the inner city. In all honesty, it was the toughest job of my life--and the most rewarding. But, I jumped into it without knowing all the details. Like the fact that being in charge of this group also somehow put me in charge of the annual talent show.

Yes, I agree, the connection between troubled students and talent shows seems tenuous and odd. Which is why my advice is: If you are asked to sponsor the annual high school talent show--whether you're working with at-risk kids or not at-risk kids, basically if there are kids involved--RUN in the opposite direction, shrieking NO!!!!! at the top of your lungs.

Because it’s Hell.

Seriously.

In fact, I’m somewhat convinced it’s worse than Hell. So, if ever you find yourself standing before the judgment throne of the Lord God Almighty and He gives you a choice between the fiery pits of Hell and sponsoring the Talent Show, CHOOSE HELL!!!!!!

Trust me, it will be a lot less painful.

Here’s a look at the show the year before I moved to Okahoma:

The day started with a little activity I like to call “censorship.” This is when I review all the music that we’re using in the show and make sure it’s school appropriate. You see, when you are in charge of an event that is largely run by at risk teens, the administration seems to worry that there will be song lyrics that are a touch vulgar and/or sexual in nature.

It is interesting to note that this same concern was obviously not expressed that same year at the Winter Sports Pep Rally when the basketball team boogied out to center court to “She Does It Like A Nympho.” Oddly, my inquiries to the principals about this discrepancy were never answered.

But I digress!

Anyway, first thing in the morning, I headed to the theater to review the lyrics...which means some of you are wondering why I would wait to the last minute to begin such an activity.

You, clearly, have never sponsored a talent show.

The thing is teenagers can be crafty.  Sometimes the songs that kids try out to and the songs they bring to dress rehearsal are not always the songs that make it to the theater on the day of the show. So, I reviewed them several times throughout the whole talent show process.

So, I listened to the music while a couple of girls from my group put up last minute decorations. Unfortunately, I was interrupted by the sight of 3 students from my first hour class who were meandering through the theater to see what was going on.

“You guys are supposed to be in class!” I told them.

“Don’t worry,” they assured me. “We have a sub.”

Which is when I screamed “You’re supposed to be in MY CLASS!”

“We have a SUB,” they said, like I didn’t hear them the first time.

Which, oddly, I already knew since I ordered the sub so I could ORGANIZE THE TALENT SHOW.

And I was just about done screaming horrible threats at them when another group of kids from the group wandered in. These little pumpkins weren’t actually supposed to be in MY class, but they were supposed to be IN CLASS so I cheerfully added them to the rant, waving my hands in the air, making ridiculous threats, and barring them from my sight for the rest of the day.

Then I grabbed one of my girls, this enormous and incredibly tough chick I’ll call Kiki and put her in charge of the door. “Do not let another kid in here,” I told her. “And if anyone shows up, tell them to GO BACK TO CLASS!”

Kiki took to this responsibility with the dedication of one of those guards at Buckingham Palace, marching back and forth in front of the door, and shooting angry glares at anyone in a six feet radius. As I was off to the side, listening to the song lyrics, I could hear Kiki in the background, yelling threats that were much more inappropriate than mine and telling various people to “Gitcher ass bacta class.”

I probably should have stopped her but you know what?

It made me happy.

Right until the horrible moment when this incredibly young looking student teacher tried to get into the theater to ask me a question.

Apparently her education classes had not prepared her for an encounter with Kiki.

Nor had they prepared her for my giggling reaction to the whole mess…I think she wanted me to expel Kiki on the spot or at the very least send her to In School Suspension but I couldn’t stop laughing.

I mean, I made Kiki apologize and I apologized and I even took responsibility for the entire misunderstanding.

But I was laughing so hard I could hardly get the words out.

Stress. It’s a weird thing.

In any case, in spite of the fact that I was pretty sure I’d be getting an angry call from this girl’s mentoring teacher and maybe even her mom, I couldn’t reflect on her angst for long because it was 30 minutes to show time and I had to confront 2 of my little darlings about their last minute song switches.

“Destiny,” I said, cornering one of the performers. “This isn’t the song you brought to dress rehearsal.”

“I changed it,” she agreed.

“Change it back,” I said. “Because there is no chance you’re getting on stage and dancing to a song called I GET IT IN.”

“Come on,” she said in that you’re such an idiot tone that only high school girls can do really well, “It’s not dirty, it’s about dancing in a club.”

“I listened to it,” I responded in that don’t screw with me tone that teachers need to do really well. “And it’s about what some nasty people think about doing after they leave the club.”

But I am not an unreasonable woman. I told her that if she could actually explain to me what the word “it” referred to in a way that didn’t make me want to shower, she could dance her little heart out.

She decided to change the song back.

And you know what?

That wasn’t the most disturbing song conversation of the whole day. The most disturbing conversation involved a song called “Stanky Leg.” I think the fact that the song is performed by a group called the G SPOT BOYS should have been enough to convince the kids that it wasn’t, perhaps, school appropriate but teenagers are not always deep thinkers. Instead we had to go into a long horrifying discussion about what a “stanky leg” actually is.

For those of you who don’t know (and I hope that’s MOST of you) let me just say it involves women who have a lot of sex.

And if you think that’s revolting, imagine discussing that fact with a 17 year old boy.

Yep, I loved that job.

Anyway, once we got the show underway, things were a little smoother…right until the formerly Stanky Leg dancers got on stage and I realized I made one of the classic blunders: I didn’t check their costume from all angles.

I also checked all costumes before the show… a lesson I learned during dress rehearsal when one group of guys ran onto the stage in short lycra running tights, no shirts, and open leather jackets. But I didn’t check the outfits from all angles...or with all moves being performed.

Which means that about three steps into the routine, the audience and I all got a nice long view of butt crack.

Note to self: If I ever sponsor a Talent Show again, underwear will NOT be optional.

However, before I end, I do want to share a really uplifting moment from the show.

We had this one little singer who tried out and was quite good…but he was nervous about performing. A situation heightened by the fact that he’s special and tends to have a little trouble reacting to things in an appropriate fashion.

So he got on stage, started to sing, and totally forgot the words to his song. It was awful…he got all teary-eyed and flustered, until about 5 of my girls started singing the song, to get him back on track…and they sang it with him the rest of his performance.

I’m not going to lie, it choked me up a little.

When he came off stage, he was still upset and was worried that people were laughing at him and Kiki hugged him and said “Who cares? You made the show, the rest of these people were too scared or lame to even try out!”

It was so spontaneously sweet and kind that I wasn’t even that upset when she followed that with “So tell those a**holes to shut the f*** up!”

Although I do wish she hadn’t been so close to the microphone.

 

For other advice, check out the other Theme Thursday posts by clicking the link below:

 

 

For other advice, check out the other Theme Thursday posts by clicking the link: