When at last I felt well enough to tell about it, I had to laugh.
"Were there any kids in the classroom when you barfed?" my brother asked.
"No, just Heidi," I told him, "and later she said, "Wow! You really don't know how to throw up do you? You didn't even bend your knees or pick up the trash can! No wonder it went all over the place!"
"Well," I shrugged, "it's not really a skill I hope to develop."
And for the record? I feel much better today.
My stomach is still super queasy, but things could be worse. I'm on the couch with the dog, the TVs on, a merry fire burns brightly, I have tea in my cup, and ice water by my side.
In my entire teaching career there has only been one other time when I was too sick to go to school, so that's pretty fortunate, too.
I'm sure it won't be too long until this is all just an unpleasant memory.
Folks, it's literally been over 30 years since the last time I threw up. Or rather, that was true until this afternoon when I booted all over my classroom.
It's just as unpleasant as I recalled.
Fortunately? I'm feeling just well enough to tell about it, so that's another streak that stays in tact.
Our principal is fond of telling the students in our school that we are, "the best of the best, better than all the rest." She uses the catchphrase to motivate them to behave well, but to be honest? I've never much liked the comparative nature of it. Why do we have to be better than everyone? Can't we all be good for its own sake?
Whatever my personal objections, I've heard the expression for so long that it barely registers anymore. So the other morning when, in her last weekly message to students and staff before the winter break, she encouraged all of us to be reflective and humble as we approach the new year, I barely gave it a second thought. The same was not so of one of my homeroom students whose hand shot up immediately.
"How can she expect us to be humble when we're the best of the best?" he asked. And although his question was more than a little snarky, I had to give him kudos for listening and thinking about the content.
Fortunately, he didn't expect an answer.
"What are you going to do when you retire?" a student asked me out of the blue today. "Travel the world? Or stay someplace cozy?'
No!" said the girl next to him. "You should move to Belize," she insisted in her musical accent. "It's beautiful there! I lived by the sea and sometimes I saw dolphins swimming right by."
"But really," repeated the first student. "Do you like to travel? Don't you want to see the world?"
"I do like to travel," I agreed, "and Belize sounds very nice. But are you saying I should retire?"
"Oh no!" said the girl.
"Not for at least ten years," the first kid added.
"You still look very young," the girl assured me.
"Thanks!" I said, "Why don't we all keep working, hmmm?"
"I'm not putting up a single Christmas decoration this year!" a friend declared recently. "I'm so busy, the thought of it brings me no joy."
She sighed and then continued. "My fiance thinks I'll change my mind but he's wrong. Because you know what brings me joy?"
We shook our heads. "The thought of not doing it!"
It seems to be a bit mind-boggling to some students to have three staff members with the same last name in our school. My sister-in-law and I have been colleagues for years, which was confusing enough. "Is she your sister?" they used to ask, and then more recently, "Is she your wife?"
And now my nephew is working there as well. "Wait! They're related how?" some kids were overheard to say when he started. "I'm going to need a family tree or something!"
And just when we thought they were getting it, a student busted into my sister-in-law's art room and announced to any who cared to know that "Mr. S is your son!"
"That's right," she confirmed.
"And the other Ms. S is your mother!" he finished triumphantly.
