tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-112159662008-06-02T16:45:02.627-04:00The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comBlogger299125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-81119446177277598152008-03-04T19:19:00.003-05:002008-03-04T19:22:53.351-05:00

I mean, it's a good read and all, but let's be real: I haven't posted here in almost two years. If you want the most current dish on poop, idiots and why House makes me tingly please head on over to: Mean Teacher's Ordinary World Ta!

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1155469923664903992006-08-13T07:43:00.000-04:002006-08-13T08:30:23.090-04:00

The New Guy came home from the beach having mastered the ability to crawl. It was fine in the spankin' new rental house up in Chincoteague, which featured very little in the way of Junebug corpses and cat poo crumbs swept into adult-inaccessible crevices. Needless to say, I've been doing nothing but spring-clean and fish nasty stuff out from between four tiny, gnashing teeth since we got back.

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1155159652530822912006-08-09T17:19:00.000-04:002006-08-09T17:40:55.536-04:00

During a phone conversation with my mother: Mom: ... and your father tasted one wine and I tasted two, but it was really too hot to drink wine... Booger: Mommy! Can I have Cocoa Pebbles? MT: Just a sec, Mom. No, Booger, not for dinner. I'll get you dinner in a minute. [to Mom:] Sorry 'bout that. Somebody's getting hungry. Mom: That's okay... Booger: Mommy! I want some Cocoa Pebbles!

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1154997807874288452006-08-07T20:09:00.000-04:002006-08-07T20:43:28.030-04:00

... or: notes from a small island. We have returned from vacation and everyone has survived, although the animals avenged our cruel desertion by tearing an entire bale of Charmin from Costco into teeny tiny pieces, and it doesn't look like you folks out in the blogosphere behaved much better. Anyhow, it was a fantastic time and I know you're drooling for details, and I'm happy to oblige, but I

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1154901504455399552006-08-06T17:55:00.000-04:002006-08-06T17:58:24.476-04:00

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1154113780899903402006-07-28T15:08:00.000-04:002006-07-28T15:13:50.643-04:00

The New Guy has a fever, the husband has the trots, and Booger can't stop coughing. We'll be off at the crack of dawn to wider horizons. Don't bother trying to rob my house, if we had anything worth fencing I would've sold it already. Besides, I can't be held responsible for what my crazy Ukrainian neighbor would do to you if you tried. I'll report back when opportunity arises. There's

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1153788194346222452006-07-24T20:30:00.000-04:002006-07-24T20:43:14.366-04:00

Everyone in this family (with exception of self) has been suffering from some sort of dread Affliction (asthma, rash, diarrhea, constipation, cold, and whatever the hell the New Guy's been hollering about, Lord knows he won't bother to explain himself properly) since last Wednesday. Sleeping through the night has been off the menu the entire time. Meanwhile, we leave for the beach on Friday,

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1153342561880873812006-07-19T16:42:00.000-04:002006-07-19T16:56:01.913-04:00

Lately, the New Guy has developed an obsession with my Costco, industrial-sized box of baby wipes. It is next to the armchair in his room, and we will be sitting there, trying to settle down for the night, and ALL HE WANTS is to get to that stupid box and just... poke it. And growl. My actual pet name for him is "Bear," so this growling trend is very interesting to me. ***** Seriously,

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1153276339812230082006-07-18T22:30:00.000-04:002006-07-18T22:32:19.853-04:00

Hi! Sorry, not been feelin' oh-so-posty lately. I'm sure some of you are just a-dyin' to hear the full explanation behind my latest marital outburst. Short answer is: sorry, saving it for the counselor. But the good news is, as crappy as things have been around here over the past week (and they have been full-bore crappy, believe you me) I'm actually feeling better about Things than I have in

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1152569789357764462006-07-10T18:11:00.000-04:002006-07-10T18:16:29.383-04:00

Booger is watching me breast-feed the New Guy. "Mommy, you got milk on your tummy?" "Do I?" "Yes. " He hauls up his shirt and begins studying his left nipple. "I got milk on my tummy, too." "Do you?" I say, as I realize what he's really talking about. "Yes." "So, if I pinch your nipple, milk will come out?" "Yes." I reach over and tweak. Booger notes his failure to lactate, and

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1152483518368506572006-07-09T18:07:00.000-04:002006-07-09T18:18:38.396-04:00

... to my man Chad, over at the Dork Report, who hooked me up with this fo'shizzle, as it were, new layout. Upgrades have also been implemented at Mean Teacher II. Go tell Chad how much he rocks for making poor, mental Mean Teacher so happy, over at the Dork Report, which does a great job digesting all the bits of the internet that would attract the attention of, say, people who would know

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1152274825038139502006-07-07T08:19:00.000-04:002006-07-07T08:20:25.080-04:00

Mean Teacher will be on hiatus for awhile while I take some time to resurrect what's left of OR finish destroying my marriage. Go read my blogroll, they're good peeps.

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1152241349292981702006-07-06T22:57:00.000-04:002006-07-06T23:02:29.326-04:00

... available free of charge over at Mean Teacher II. Everybody needs to head on over, somebody needs to start a wild rumpus, and you, the quiet one in the corner, need to jump on in.

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1151961512388035112006-07-03T17:08:00.000-04:002006-07-03T17:29:10.960-04:00

We're using an assessment instrument at work called the PPVT to test SIFE kids. It's supposed to determine the age equivalency of a person's vocabulary. I tested it out on the Booger, an inveterate non-talker, with very few expectations, and was gratified to learn that my 4 year old has the vocabulary of a 7 year old. MENSA: you have been warned. Meanwhile, his communication skills have

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1151451600371549822006-06-27T19:36:00.000-04:002006-06-27T19:40:00.396-04:00

The New Guy, who at this moment is zooming around the kitchen in his rocketship walker warbling an original composition entitled "Squawk Garble Garble," has grown in two fabulous bottom teeth. And put them to use. I tell you what, we go any further with the trend and I know one (1) baby who's gonna get his booby privileges revoked and one (1) formula company that's going to start seeing a lot

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1151021647960767162006-06-22T20:10:00.000-04:002006-06-23T07:11:38.670-04:00

"Do not say 'crap,' that is sad choices. Do not say 'Oh my fucking God,' say 'holy cow.'*" *If you read this before and it didn't make any damn sense, it's because I didn't edit before I published. Now I have the line right, and we can all sit back and wonder why Mean Teacher spent so much time and effort on a line that was only marginally funny to begin with.

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1150927022095978872006-06-21T17:55:00.000-04:002006-06-21T17:57:02.123-04:00

At Super Wal*Mart Almighty, Booger pointed to this product and said, "Mumma! This is for YOU!" Then I killed him. And deep fat fried him. And ate him.

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1150846758316627322006-06-20T19:30:00.000-04:002006-06-20T19:39:18.350-04:00

Some burning questions of late: 1. Isn't it time for our generation to have their own incarnation of the Traveling Wilburys? I'm putting Anthony Kiedis, Bono and Dave Matthews in the lineup. Feel free to add your own suggestions. 2. Is it a bad thing, when you're cleaning the interior of your car, that your driveway winds up significantly dirtier than when you began? 3. And while we're on

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1150667061475982842006-06-18T17:31:00.000-04:002006-06-18T18:47:40.893-04:00

These are a few of the things I learned on today's trip to the local amusement park: 1. You are allowed to call the water park "brand new," provided you slap some faux-Aboriginal designs on the old slides and spray areas, stick some boomerangs above the showerheads, change all the signs to vaguely Australian-sounding names and play Men at Work on the loudspeakers. Actual new features are not

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1150220391264509072006-06-13T13:13:00.000-04:002006-06-13T13:39:51.370-04:00

Useless: So, why did the Raspberries pick that name? Were they trying to be, like raspberry, the fruit or razzberry, you know, like when you go pbbllltt? Mean Teacher: ... U: Why the look, like your having some sort of quandary? MT: I actually know the answer to this question, but I don't know if it's worth the aggravation. U: I'm listening. MT: Well, originally the Cranberries, who we're

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1150160208375666232006-06-12T20:48:00.000-04:002006-06-14T18:55:59.503-04:00

1. Oops. Main Dog exploded. 2. The New Guy is thriving, so... 3. ... we've put him on solid foods.

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1150150879107395142006-06-12T18:10:00.000-04:002006-06-12T18:21:19.140-04:00

The above line, from the a little art film you may know, has somehow been keeping me going all day. Once again I've amazed us all by remembering to post in the topical sister-blog, Mean Teacher II. If'n you'll kindly take a gander. Meanwhile, if you, like me, have been grinding your teeth all day and wishing white-hot death on innocent strangers because they are IN YOUR WAY, and just basically

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1149681424396160662006-06-07T07:27:00.000-04:002006-06-07T07:57:04.430-04:00

Pulling out of Booger's daycare is always an adventure, as it is on a hill above a busy road and the driveway onto the road is practically vertical. Yesterday afternoon I was waiting for a gap in traffic, muttering at myself about people who can't drive in self-respecting packs so I can get a break in line, and eyeballing an approaching jogger who looked to be timed just perfectly that she'd be

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1149529867237710462006-06-05T13:20:00.000-04:002006-06-05T13:51:07.280-04:00

Three moms were watching a swimming lesson at a pool in North Carolina. One was from Texas, one was from North Carolina, and one was from Pennsylvania: NC Mom: Lookit this ant bite I got this afternoon. Texas Mom: Aahh. Nice one, even has the blister on it. Good lord, I hate those things. Penn Mom: There are ants that bite? Texas Mom: You don't... [is interrupted by ringing cell phone]...

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11215966.post-1149094424749876372006-05-31T12:32:00.000-04:002006-05-31T15:43:51.483-04:00

The magnolias were in bloom, and Emily said, "If you throw a magnolia bud on the ground, it explodes." We rode into town together three times a week for ballet class. It was a fifteen mile drive in, through heavy traffic, and the pointe shoes were crippling my toes and Mr. Heinrich kept shouting at me to lose weight. My dance career was drawing to a rapid close. Emily was thinner and had much

The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16314425634232179890noreply@blogger.com