On Grocery Shopping and the State of Education

I wish I had bothered to bring the "real" shopping list with me to the commissary yesterday.  I even had all three useful punks with me, too.  Today:  nope.  I have to go back there.  I need to get a cake mix and confectioners sugar . . . Teenie needs me to bake cupcakes and make my yummy frosting . . . and I'll have to drive her to school  tomorrow.  Apparently there's a "party".   Of course, since I have this funny virus, she'll be doing the baking while I do the barking instructing near her.

School is hardly school any longer.  I've scratched my head over this stuff with public schools since my kids entered them.  There are only so many days in a year (160 a year in HI, less 15 more from Furloughs this year) and you know the first week of the year is wasted (it's rare any teacher just jumps in, no holds barred).  And, then, you know, you have to have the holiday parties . . . and fritter away the last week of school with more parties . . . I don't get it.

I have had some intestinal virus the past three days.  It sure ain't the coffee tearing through my system!  I'm getting pretty tired of the numerous trips to the John, ya know?  And, the cold sweats when I have to wait it out 'cos I'm in line somewhere (think:  commissary, doctor's appointments, and today:  post office).  Not fun.  I know, I know, I know I should NOT be out in public, but you know what?  I'm not feverish per se, and, I am a major hand washer etc., and I am more likely to get something else 'cos about eight folks at each place are in germ receiving range at any given time/place coughing all over me with their red noses and balled up tissues in their fists . . . eyes all watery and vacant.  They half smile at you in apology or . . . is it begging for mercy?  I have no idea, but I want to ask them:  you came out risking infecting everyone else for that?  And point to the packet of pens they have in their hands.  For coffee or ice cream or ginger ale I can  understand.  Still, send someone else.  And, anyway, I do have to go out . . . if those boxes don't get sent today, they'll be New Year's gifts. 

I wish Chuck Norris would roundhouse kick my arse and maybe . . . just maybe I would be happily unconscious for a while.  I'm soooooo tired.