We've come to that stage. It's time to begin the official grade wait for the winter term. I'm nervously strumming fingernails on the desk, biting a lock of auburn hair, waiting – rather impatiently I might add – for two of my three grades to arrive.
And, for the third grade? That one's still in flux. We were supposed to do a group exercise and everything's riding on the person writing our letter to a fictitious outraged patron and library board member. Just nod and say, "I understand." With that letter rests our grade. But hey, no pressure!
I'm not the one writing the letter. I contributed an article or two about the censorship history of the particular book and author, but I'm not the one on which the heavy load weighs. At least not that particular heavy load. But I'm sure that wherever she is, she's either submitted or will submit our letter. Her outline was great. I'm not worried about that.
So. Grades. Waiting. I need to distract myself. Scanning for shiny objects … Scanning …
We might get our Christmas tree tonight. Isn't that exciting? We generally wait until the absolute most cold evening of the season to buy our tree, and it's pretty damn cold out there now. It's in the single digits. Bundle up the family and get ye out ye door.
We always buy live trees. I made the stand before we got married, and would not budge. Now the kids are officially on board the S.S. Fir. I have formed their tree taste, the one they'll live with for the rest of their lives. No matter how much their spouses may beg and plead, it'll be real trees for them. I'd bet the (tree) farm on it.
We don't go to the tree farms. We buy our tree – usually a Fraser fir - at one of the two home building centers, either Home Depot or Lowes. They're way cheaper than either the tree farms or the various stands that pop up in parking lots. That includes the church parking lots. You'd think with the religious affiliation and all they'd feel compelled to pass along some of that comfort and joy. But oh. No.
There. I've distracted myself, at least enough to get off my bottom and clean house a bit. Did I mention we have eight hormonal teenage girls coming over tomorrow for our daughter's fifteenth birthday party? If not, I've been remiss. We have eight hormonal teenage girls coming over tomorrow for our daughter's fifteenth birthday party.
The saving grace is they'll be gone to a movie for two hours. They're going to see "Twilight." Hoepfully 'til well past twilight. The bad news is they're coming back. To stay over. Hear that horror-stricken silence? It's so loud its deafening.
Friday's covered. Saturday's covered. Sunday? Galpal, and possibly her beau, are swinging by to bake cookies like they've never been baked before. Since last holiday season, at least. And it's not a party 'til some flour gets spilled.
And I'm waiting. Still waiting. For my grades.
Hear that sound of gentle sobbing? Me, too. Until grades are officially posted I'll be emitting a lot of that. Afterward hopefully that will change to a laugh like a gentle, bubbling stream. Either that or a scream that shatters glass.
The wait goes on …