Author Archives: Mary Vaughan

Date Night


There was a time last week when I was in our classroom (a swirling mass of screaming toddlers) that I thought I heard my phone receive a text.  I remembered hours later to check my phone, and yes!  There was a text from Hubby asking if I was free for a date on Friday night. Date night?  Hmmmm.  How unusual, yet how lovely! My first response was, “But . . . what will our friends do without us at Hop Central on Friday night??” Friday has become a regular night to see friends and to support this new local tap room near our home. The owners are still working their day jobs at Intel, and we are trying our best to keep them afloat, one IPA at a time. But how can a girl pass up an invitation for a date night?

Friday evening finally arrived, and as we were sprucing for our date, sure enough, I got a photo text from Louis which showed an empty beer glass.  I harumphed aloud, “Why would he wait until his beer was EMPTY to invite us?”  But I texted back that we were having a date night and wished the group a happy Friday to all.  It’s always nice to have an invitation, isn’t it?

Hubby and I headed out to this new place in Gilbert (a 20-minute drive) to a “speakeasy” called The White Rabbit.  One must get on their email list, then wait to receive the weekly password in order to gain access to the club.  We were intrigued!  We arrived and easily parked in the free lot directly across the street; typically parking in downtown Gilbert is very difficult.  At the door, we were greeted by two young men dressed in suits. “Do you know the password?,” they asked us in hushed tones.  “Penicillin,” I whispered.  (The establishment has a Prohibition theme, and penicillin was discovered in in 1928 by Sir Alexander Fleming while experimenting with the influenza virus in London. You’re welcome for the history lesson.)

We were made to wait five minutes before they moved the velvet rope and allowed us to descend to the basement lounge.  We opened the door to a dark, long hallway, lit only on one side and decorated to be an old-timey apothecary.  Rows and rows of antique medicine bottles lined the wall.  In front of us was a book shelf.  When I realized there was no clear entrance, I immediately felt claustrophobic. Hubby pushed at different parts of the wall, and both of us were feeling quite ridiculous. Then Hubby noticed a large brass rabbit on the book shelf and pulled it towards him. The bookcase swung open to reveal a loud, dark speakeasy with a long mirrored bar and a beautifully decorated space. The wait staff was dressed in twenties attire, and the whole vibe was very up and fun.

They are known for their craft cocktails, but eff me, I’m not paying $14 for a small glass of fruit juice with various splashes of six spirits.  The IPA I normally would pay $5 for was $8.  I reminded myself we were paying for the ambiance.  There were only six items on the food menu, and we decided on the meat and cheese platter for $18.  (I apologize; I am frugal in the most annoying way.)

It felt fun to be in a new place, dressed up, Hubby in a sport coat and me with my sexiest red lipstick and my hair up.  We held hands and talked about our days, sharing a kiss in the dark club.  Work has been so hard for both of us the past few months; it felt great to have this romantic end to our hard week.  We haven’t done this type of date for a long time. We smiled at each other over the candle light and listened to the sweet old depression-era songs.

Our meat and cheese board arrived, and I frowned. OLIVES!  Nothing on the menu mentioned anything about olives! I HATE OLIVES. And pickled peppers??? I HATE PICKLED PEPPERS. There were three different types of yummy cheeses, including a spreadable Guinness cheese, but only TWO crackers.  Seriously?  We asked the waitress for more crackers . . . and she brought us TWO more  (lol).

Trying to maintain the romantic momentum, I tried not to give much energy to the terrible smells of the olives and the peppers. I happily sipped my IPA and nibbled the cheese and sausage.  That’s when I realized the sausage bite in my mouth was so gristly. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to swallow it. I persisted, chewing that flavorful bit of fat like it was a piece of Juicy Fruit gum, but it did not diminish in size, and there was no way in hell it was going to fit down my gullet.

Hubby and I have been married 30 years, but it was DATE NIGHT.  I wanted to be a lady; I wanted to be on my best date behavior!   I waited until he looked away, then picked up the small empty dish that had held those vile pickled peppers. I quickly spit the gum-sized gristle into the dish . . . and somehow managed to spill the tablespoons of pickled juices onto my chest, down my cleavage.  I felt ridiculous.

A beautiful young woman at a nearby table nearly spit out her drink laughing at my discomfort.  Hubby looked over to see my chest and blouse wet. Embarrassed, I mopped at my chest with my napkin and said, “Good thing this isn’t our first date, right?”  Hubby laughed and kissed me  . . . and said, “I love you.”

Life is good.






It’s been so long since I’ve posted, but I’ve been so tired!  I can honestly say this is the most challenging class I’ve had in my twelve (thirteen?) years of teaching preschool.  I love each one of my wee students, but every day is very physical and VERY LOUD, and once I’m home, I’m having auditory hallucinations of tantrums and my body feels so tired.  Sigh. I feel so hopeful, but it’s been very stressful.

BUT . . . life is good!  Hubby and I were at our favorite beach in Mexico two different times in October for long weekends (simply heaven).  Here at home, we see friends together on the weekends, and I see gal pals during the week.  Yucca Taproom is a classic dive bar that boasts as being the oldest tavern in Tempe; I know I saw live music there during my college years and only recently have been going back almost every Tuesday for their “tap take over,” which means they have kegs representing craft breweries from throughout the U.S.  Often there is a brewery rep handing out swag—I’ve gotten so many free pint glasses that I’ve had to find new places to store them.  (Don’t you love free stuff?)  Also every Tuesday it’s two-for-one for tacos ($1.50) and two-for-one baos ($2.50).  A bao is traditionally a Chinese dumpling, but the way Yucca makes them, they are more like a pita that is more doughy, with deliciously spicy fillings like fried chicken with pickled onion and cabbage, and Bulgogi beef with pickled jalepeno. YUM! The juke box (yes, I said JUKE BOX), has a great playlist, and last night, my friends sang along in a lively fashion to the song Brandy by Looking Glass. I don’t want to call my friends out, but they are just the tiniest bit older than me–I didn’t know all the words like they did since the song was a wee bit before my time.  We had a blast! Over the past few months, I’ve tempted many of our yuppy South Tempe friends to join me on Tuesdays at this old dive bar and all have been charmed. If you are local, let’s meet up next week!  You know where to find me  ;^)

I’ve met so many amazing friends at the school where I teach (a private school in Phoenix), but as people do, they come and go.  Tonight I invited to my home two Seed friends who no longer work there for a few hours of chips, salsa, and gossip.  It filled my bucket to be see their beautiful faces at my kitchen table. Lyndsy was supposed to bring her four-month-old baby—I opened the door and there was no baby.  I glared at her.  “Where’s the baby????”  I totally understand the need for a break from a baby on your boob, but hope to see her sweet girl soon! We had fun despite the absence of the cutest baby I think I’ve ever met, catching up on each other’s lives and laughing over little things.  Being with friends is one of my most favorite things in life (always has been).

When the temps get below 80 degrees, the Valley of the Sun comes alive. Every weekend there are more activities happening than one can possibly attend.  On Sunday Hubby and I had fun exploring the Scottsdale Canal Convergence which had ten different large-scale illuminated art works.  Due to the pouring rain, we’d missed Octoberfest at Tempe Town Lake, so this was a make-up event to walk around at night with a diverse crowd, enjoying a cultural event.  The Sunday prior, we’d spent three hours (!!!) at Phoenix Art Museum immersing ourselves in the many new exhibits.  As I meandered around nine large video screens, I experienced Ragnar Kjartansson’s “The Visitors” as a series of overlapping sounds and images. This montage shows nine different talented musicians all playing the same song. Picture nine large screens each with a different musician:  A woman is in her tattered night gown playing a viola. A man plays the guitar in the bathtub.  One screen shows a group of diverse people gathered on a Southern home’s veranda, who eventually join in with vocals.  One elegant Southern interior is featured on several screens, and I was amused when the guitarist from one screen moved to a different screen (with the hipster pianist) and both slowly lit cigars and smoked quietly together.  The song is so melancholy and the experience so immersive; I felt like I never wanted to leave.  I was completely enchanted; I had tears in my eyes several times.  GET THEE TO THE PHOENIX ART MUSEUM BEFORE IT LEAVES.

My garden is prepped and waiting for seeds.  Soon there will be a day when I am excited to plant those seeds:  arugula, radish, carrots, green onions, cherry tomato plants. I don’t want to plant on a day when I’m tired and cranky; I’m certain the seeds feel my angst. I want to plant on a day when I feel serene and full of intention.  It’s a miracle the oregano made it through our record-hot-summer. I reach my arms out in a hug and that is how big the oregano grew over a year’s time. I trimmed it down to half, sad to throw away its fragrant green stalks, but feeling happy to smell spicy all day and later enjoy its fresh taste in my chicken black bean chili.

Life is good.



Random Thoughts on a Wednesday


I’ve been out of town, and I’ve been busy.  It’s been sooooo long since I last wrote. Think of this blog as my random summary of the past few weeks.

This week’s music in my head and in my kitchen has been Eddie Vedder’s Into the Wild, a soundtrack which accompanied the 2007 movie, which was taken from a famous novel (1996) about a college-aged guy who decides to leave his life of privilege and go rogue and alone to explore the Alaskan wilderness. I read the book when I was a young stay-at-home mama, so you can imagine how I may have gotten caught up in the whole escapist theme.  My friends and I ate it up.  I find it interesting that my kids read it and found it ridiculous that this kid who had everything paid for with a good future ahead, blew it all. ( I raised them well, lol.)  No spoilers if you haven’t read the book or seen the movie, but let’s just say  . . . it does NOT end well.

My preschool classroom this year is younger than what I am accustomed to, so my job has been a lot more physical and has required a boatload of patience.  I’m trying to make lemons into lemonade and am grateful that a few gal pals have commented on my toned legs—due entirely to all the squatting to help children tie their shoes, put on socks, change wet/poopy pants, give hugs, dry tears, and a hundred more scenarios that happen during the seven hours I’m at school.  It’s been a hard start of the year, but I see immense progress, fewer tears, and I’m amazed at my own resilience.  I’m taking care of my mental health by seeing friends for coffee/beer after work several times a week.  Time spent with people I love fills my bucket like nothing else.  Truly.  (Thank you to said friends.  You know who you are. And to the amazing staff friends who see I’m overwhelmed and give me smiles, hugs, affirmations.)

I’m being a drama queen; I LOVE MY JOB.  If I wasn’t hanging out with interesting/hilarious teachers and amazing kids at school, what would I be doing?  There is no job I’d rather have than being a teacher.  Today a horrible memory flashed through my head:  When my own children were young, I told them if they didn’t do their homework, they would have to be garbage men when they were grown ups.  SERIOUSLY???  Our garbage pick up was in late afternoon, and I would have us stand on the sidewalk and watch, and even though my children thought the truck was super cool, the smell was BAD.  Our family has good noses, and a garbage truck does NOT smell good.  Today I googled what a garbage collector makes in Tempe, Arizona and on average  one makes $40,230, which is exactly four times more than what I make teaching small children how to be good humans (vote Red for Ed in November).

I feel like I’m being a sourpuss.  (I love using old words nobody uses anymore. One never gets to say piehole, pysch, open a can of whoopass, take a chill pill, or, “What’s your damage, Heather?” anymore.  When my grandma had arthritis, she would say her “epizootis” was acting up.”  So funny, but I say it from time to time if I have a random ache or pain.)

Life is good. Hubby and I had another weekend in Rocky Point, Mexico last weekend. On a whim we decided to leave Friday afternoon after work, even though it meant driving on the dark roads which can be very dangerous on the ill-lit roads (will we hit a cow? what if our car breaks down? might we be pass a drug deal gone bad by the side of the road—all real things).  We arrived safe and sound, though, and were so happy to have an extra sunrise at our favorite beach.

Las Conchas, Puerto Penasco, Mexico is my most happy place.  It is idyllic . . . every time.  Sunday noon we were chilaxxing under a beach umbrella just a foot from the ocean, me reading a novel, Hubby working a crossword puzzle, when we noticed a group gathering down the beach.  CEDO (the center for studies of desert oceans) was releasing 25 two-day-old sea turtles. We were the only non-Spanish speakers, but we knew what to do when the (for lack of better term) Turtle Boss told us to make a wall and to not touch the turtles.  The turtles were the size of a fried egg (can’t think of a better analogy) and while some marched the 30 feet so gladly into the ocean, a third of them really struggled. Several seemed like they weren’t going to make it, almost making it to the sea, but then the tide would wash them back to where they started.  They would rest, then try again. Two men with brooms smoothed the sand so as to make the journey easier.  I have to admit, I was leaking tears the whole time, worried about the baby turtles and feeling one with these 50 strangers whom I was sharing this moment with.  I wanted so badly to pick the struggling turtles up and help them, but I knew it was survival of the fittest. When they finally made it to sea, stretching their legs and swimming so happily, I felt the tears come again.



Relaxing in Mexico


I am in Mexico.

We arrived Saturday around 2 to find a warm ocean filled with happy families playing in the roaring surf.  Our daughter and her boyfriend, Eve and Chris, had arrived the night before and were with us for just one night before having to return for work.  Hubby and I had two days off from our jobs–what a treat to have three nights at our little beach condo!

Eve and Chris are in the early lovey-dovey stages of their relationship, and it’s just so darned cute.  She is 23 and he is 24—and they have the same birthday in August!  Like I said, TOO CUTE!!!  Eve texted me Friday night when they arrived to tell me the roads were safe. I was worried about road closures and pot holes since Hurricane Rosa flooded this town and the roads all the way north to Ajo earlier last week.  There were huge amounts of flooding and it was quite a mess.  I have to share our messages because we are so funny:

Me:  Honey, you might want to pick up some toilet paper at the gas station near the condo.  There might not be any there.

Eve: I brought some! We got here like an hour ago just wanted to let you know we’re safe and everything is normal with the condo!

Me:  Thanks, honey.  Are the condos next to ours occupied?  Is the ocean warm?

Eve:  We can’t go outside because there’s a dragon fly the size of my arm on the patio.
Me:  What are you smoking.
Eve:  Nothing I just wanna go outside and not have a giant bug fly in my hair.
Me:  Drugs are bad for you.  I always think of you as the bravest person.  Don’t be a ninny.
Me:  I need to know if the ocean is warm.
Eve:  How would I know we’re stuck inside.
Me:  You are talking about a DRAGONFLY.  Is Chris scared too?  Should I bring a pistol?
Eve:  Yes it’s a dragon fly but more dragon than fly and Chris is very bad at bugs.
Eve:  My hero.  *Sends a video of a very scared Chris killing the dragonfly.*
Well then.  We have seen many dragonflies over the past few days (not scary at all).  I’ve enjoyed counting the long lines of pelicans floating over us (it is my theory that 99% of the time they fly in odd numbers).  We’ve seen dolphins (very far away) and big jumping fish.  Small birds such as terns, plover, gulls, and sand pipers walk cautiously by the water’s edge.  We giggled when a large school of sardines enveloped us in the ocean, tickling our skin as they quickly swam by.  Saturday’s sunset was the most beautiful I think I’ve ever seen in my entire life.  The sky looked like it was ablaze in every direction around us (wish I had a photo to share).  Most exciting was seeing five minutes of the SpaceX Falcon 9 rocket launch of Vandenberg AF Base in Southern California last night around 7pm.  It was so clear over the ocean, and lit up the night sky.  It was such a rare amazing event and both of us felt pretty thrilled about seeing it.
We have 24 hours left at our favorite beach.  Life has been sooooooo busy and sooooooo stressful for the past few months that we are relishing every moment here, regulating our breaths with the tide, remembering again how to close our eyes, let go of all the bad stuff for just a little while . . . and simply listen to the surf, watch the clouds float by, and just breathe in and breathe out.







It’s been a month since my last post, but time flies when you are back in the classroom!  This week I’ve been acting as lead since “my” teacher is on vacation in Hawaii with his wife. I’ve been really good about not contacting Andrew with the daily details, be it hilarious or horrible anecdotes.  I want to text him about ten times a day to say, “PLEASE COME BACK!!!  DO NOT STAY IN HAWAII!!!” But that would not be kind when he is relaxing on the beach, swimming in the ocean, or having romantic dinners with his wife . . . but I think it’s TOTALLY okay for me to write it here.  IF he happens to read it, well, that’s one thing. It’s not like I’ve gone out of my way to say, “Andrew, your job is really hard and I don’t want to do it anymore.”  Nope, I would never do that.  Because that would be wrong.  (Andrew, if you’re reading this:  Please come back.  The kids behave so much better for you.)

Two of our own college kids are back at school as well. Eve is kicking ass in her final year at ASU (B.S. in Biology).  William is enjoying his classes at NAU very much.  We moved him into his forest-view apartment a month ago, and I can’t tell you how envious I was of his cute digs in the charming city of Flagstaff.  I miss both of them so much, but Eve stops by often, and William was home for about 40 hours, heading back north this afternoon.

William was home this weekend so that we could celebrate his BIG birthday.  *drum roll, please*  Our youngest turns 21 next Saturday! He isn’t a big drinker (don’t roll your eyes and think, oh she has the wool pulled over her eyes—trust me, I know my kid), but his big sister and some other friends are headed up next weekend to take him dancing and do the whole “being legal to drink” thing right.  I begged them to wear the Go Pro we recently bought.  I thought it’d be hilarious, but nope, they refused. That’s totally cool—I certainly would not have wanted my parents to see me out partying when I was in college. I actually got my B.A. in English, but I often tell people I majored in Boys and Beer (truth).

Speaking of beer, a funny thing happened Friday at school.  Our 16 students were happily eating lunch in our classroom, when all of a sudden, one little girl began jumping up and down saying, “I need a ****”  I couldn’t understand the last word. She was clearly distressed, and was definitely not going to sit down and eat her food. I asked her about five times before saying, okay honey, let’s talk to your mom.  So I contacted her mom and when she listened to her daughter we agreed:  the girl was saying, “I need a BEER!”  I truly think she was saying something else, but anyway, her mom and I had a good laugh over it, and my wee student felt so much better and sat down and finished her food.  And I assured her mom that never in a million years would any of the teachers say “I need a beer” in the classroom!

I recently heard that more people have birthdays in September than in any other month.  The old wives’ tale is that it’s due to the fact that it’s nine months after the winter holidays . . . and who am I to argue with old wives?  I know sooooo many people with September birthdays.  Every week this month I looked closely at my calendar to make sure I’d not forgotten anyone.  Cliff and Chuck turned 56 (YIKES!).  My high school friend, Gail, finally caught up to Amy and I and turned 54.  We celebrated my mother-in-law’s birthday last Sunday.  We celebrated Joe’s 54th birthday at the Yucca Taproom last Tuesday.  And on the 29th William will turn 21, and my dear friend/aunt/confidant Aunt Linda will turn (gulp) 70.  Vicki had a birthday, too (see how polite I’m being to not mention her age).  She was out of town on her actual birthday, so tonight I took her a beautiful potted mum and a card.  She and Louis are empty nesters finally this semester and are not so happy about it.  I’ve done my best to list all the perks of not having kids at home. I had to explain to Vicki the concept of the sock on the door, so tonight when I left her flowers, I very quietly put a sock on the door knob.  I texted her, “I brought you a little something. I planned on ringing the bell, but I noticed the sock on the door!” I’m still giggling.








Every other Wednesday, I drive with a few friends 20 minutes north to Clark Park near ASU, where we pick up our $20 cash fruit and veggie boxes.  The box consists of whatever was considered not “grocery quality,” but to me seems like a smokin’ deal.  I fill two large cloth bags with fruits and veggies that we honestly have a hard time consuming in two weeks.  I take the squash to school and give it away–I like zucchini and crookneck, but all the rest of it is not my jam.  When I was six years old, my mom made me eat pureed butternut squash even though I told her it smelled disgusting . . . I had one bite and immediately threw it back up on my plate.  (As an adult, I love Trader Joe’s butternut squash soup that tastes more like a dessert.)

The last two boxes I picked up were mostly fruit, and I felt so bad throwing away a whole package of grapes and two mangoes.  I was raised not to waste. My grandma and my mom would re-repurpose Sunday’s roast into a casserole to use up the veggies that were going bad. It’s like a game; what new recipe can be created from what’s in the crisper?  I love being busy in the kitchen and am happiest working in the kitchen and creating something delicious to be enjoyed by my family (music blaring and kitchen dancing always).

Whenever I have to throw away produce that’s gone bad, I feel really bad. It feels like poor planning . . . and I do consider people in the World who are starving.  Recently, I think about the powerful exhibit at our Phoenix Art Museum in 2014 by Don Coen about migrant workers.  Because I was working as a docent at the museum at that time (“docent” means giving educational tours—I gave student tours),  I was fortunate to not only meet the artist but also attend the tour training given by the artist himself.  The huge portraits of migrant workers (whom he followed across the U.S.) are  painted with brushes and then airbrushed to overlay the images in veils of color.  He paints the young and the old, and while he was creating his art works, he formed relationships with these people who work for terrible wages and for long hours to bring us our fresh fruit and vegetables.  It is a labor of love for him, which you can see in these large-scale portraits.  This exhibit took over our third floor and was only there a few months; each time I visited the museum I spent a great deal of time studying the art and reading the biographies of these workers.

This may seem like a complete segue, but it’s not:  I was feeling so stressed at school today (man, our students at this point are just so incredibly LOUD and they aren’t listening and it will get better but OMG it’s been really hard) that during my 25-minute lunch time instead of chatting and lunching with Andrew in our classroom, I grabbed my purse, walked down the hallway, and yelled over my shoulder, “I’m going for a drive!”  He asked where I was going.  “Not sure.  I just need to drive and sing so loud with the radio.”

So I did that.  And not far from our school is a very special place called The Farm at South Mountain. The first time I went there for lunch in the 1990s, there were no buildings around it; just miles of the Chinese flower farms. It was magical.  When I first got my driver’s license, I would drive down Baseline Road, windows down, and just inhale the sights and scents. The Farm has been a special, favorite place for me 30 years.  Today with no intention at all, I ended up at The Farm.  It was far too hot to park and walk the acres of pecan grove, but I drove the length of the drive all the way back to the swank restaurant, Quiessence, and paused to admire their huge, organic garden, which provides the fruit and veg for their restaurants.  Connecting with nature always helps me center.  My serenity was restored, and I drove back to school and was able to finish my day with composure and patience.  I’m sending out good karma to ALL the teachers during these first difficult weeks of school.  Find peace wherever you can.





The Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day


Today was our first day of school.  Ask any teacher and they’ll tell you the same:  you never sleep well the night before the first day of school.  I tossed and turned all night then around 6am (an hour before my alarm was to go off) I heard Ruby the Wonder Spaniel scratching at the back door to go out.  I sighed and trudged downstairs muttering under my breath, “That’s just fine, I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” and out we went into the muggy morning.  It’s then I noticed the red and pink clouds of the sunrise, so I walked over to where I could get a better view to take a photo.  It was only seconds later that I noticed I was standing in a pile of angry ants.  I shrieked and tried to brush off the 30 or so little buggers that had so quickly attacked my feet.  Ruby and I tried to go back to bed, but the itch from the ant bites was so intense we got up for the day.

I was eager to get to school early so I could make sure our classroom was in perfect order for the first day.  I got ready quickly:  I put on my new white staff t-shirt which reads, “The Seed:  inspiring innovation since 1977” with a colorful skirt.  I swept my hair into a sloppy bun (takes two minutes) and quickly applied some cosmetics.  I wisely did NOT choose hoop earrings since I remembered the first day of last year when a child decided to grab my hoop earring and wouldn’t let go, and Andrew (the teacher whom I assist) had to gently pry his fingers off so my ear didn’t rip!

It was then I felt it . . . the beginnings of a sneeze.  NOOOOOOOO!  I do not sneeze often, but when I do it’s a ten-minute affair.  I stuffed tissues into both nostrils and had a big slug of coffee.  In an attempt to distract my nose, I ate the half banana someone had left on the counter.  Still had the nose tickle.  I breathed carefully in and out, drank a big glass of cold water, and decided the sneezes had left.  I gathered up my lunch box and purse and coffee mug and water bottle and then . . . . AAAAACCCHHHOOOO!!!!  I sneezed a good 15 sneezes, which made my nose red and drippy and caused my mascara and eye liner to spread in a two-inch area around each eye.  I sighed and trudged back upstairs to fix the mess (which was my face) and shook my head at how this day was beginning.

Things didn’t get any better at school.  My playground duty is at 8:30, and man, it was humid. The staff t-shirts are quite thin, and on all of us you could see the sweat spots. Ah well, that’s desert life for you. After recess, we went to our classroom and we pretty much had a child in meltdown mode most of the first three hours.  I spent way too much time in the bathrooms with students who preferred to go by themselves other than with the group.  Andrew and I forgot to attend the 10am all-school meeting (I LOVE OUR ALL SCHOOL MEETINGS SO MUCH).  At 10:30 I looked down at my new white t-shirt and saw big smudges of snot and tears, not to mention drips of coffee.  I posted on Facebook, “My new staff t-shirt is stained with the sweat and tears of sad three year olds.”  By the time I left at 3:30, I also had a bit of urine on me after comforting a child who had (unbeknownst to me) wet the bed during nap time.

So what does an angsty teacher do after a bad day?  She buys a bottle of wine and rents a bad movie.  I’m getting ready now to settle in with my glass of Butter chardonnay and Bad Moms on dvd.  Tomorrow will be better . . .