Top o’ the mornin’ to you all! It’s another warm, foggy day here. I’m noticing people starting to put up Christmas decorations already — wrong because (1) the high today will be in the 80’s, and (2) it’s only the 8th of November. I cannot get into the holiday spirit when it’s hot outside unless, of course, the upcoming holiday is the Fourth of July. So I’m in holiday limbo — the Halloween candy is still out but the contents are down to smarties, pixie stix, and tootsie rolls. Thanksgiving is coming, but here again, the thought of a big roast- and bake-a-thon right now sends me searching frantically for menus from caterers. And it’s just too early for Christmas. One of my pet peeves (didja ever notice I gotta lotta?) is people that decorate early and take everything down on the 26th. Because I’m of European heritage, we’ve always done the 12-day thingie — that the Christmas season officially ends on Epiphany (around the 6th of January). So the 26th people bother me. They are right up there with most retail workers, people with long decorative fingernails, and moms in Lexus SUV’s. They fall into the Slinky column (see my profile if you’re confused), and you really don’t want to be there.

Ok, I’m feeling guilty today. I know that we are put on this earth for a reason, and that we don’t always know what the reason may be. I’m just really, really hoping that my purpose is not to counsel people on their kids’ school performance. Let me back up. A co-worker (not a close one, but actually, someone I barely know), came to me recently to discuss moving her son from the school he is in to the one my kids attend. I listened, told her what she needed to know, and thought that was the end of it. Well I sure started something. Every other day or so she comes in with stacks of his schoolwork to ask me if I think his teachers are treating him unfairly. She asks me to read reports, look at tests, and decide if he deserves the grade he received. Sometimes I agree, while other times I wonder what planet the teacher is from. But that’s not the point. I deal with this every evening when I get home with my own kids. I look over test papers, help with homework and projects, and generally obsess over my kids’ performance. I don’t need this at work. Work is my escape, people. For eight or so hours, I can escape those needy, demanding people with, well, other needy, demanding people. But I can’t tell her anything. She is very sensitive and obviously very troubled, and I feel for her. I’m very fortunate to have kids that do well in school. And I think I did what I was asked to do — advise her on whether switching her child was the best choice for her. But when someone sticks a stack of fifth grade work on this desk, my eyes just glaze over. To make matters worse, I realized this morning that if she does switch him to our school, this may never end. I’m closing my door as we speak — maybe if she hears me typing she’ll think I’m actually working. People are really naive that way.

So I guess you could say it’s a bit confusing for me today, what with summer temperatures, fall holidays, Slinky-people abounding, and my new day job as counselor of people I barely know. Topped with a headache that could kill a small child, I’m doin’ great, just great. Look, I’ve bored my own self this morning, so I’m gonna put you guys out of your misery — those of you that are still reading. Have a great day and I hope to be a little more entertaining tomorrow. Um. Yep.