Shirtless Dixon

There is an imaginary line that cuts my good state into two portions (much like the Equator).  To the North, it is unacceptable to go shirtless outside of the four walls of your house.  To the South of the line, no shirt is necessary.  It doesn't matter what you are doing...mowing the yard, watching traffic, running into the Piggly Wiggly for a drink...whatever (no shoes, no shirt, no problem).  So, my DH is from south of the line, and I am from the north. We joke on the way to see his parents about this line, and kind of make a game of it.  While we are driving to the Holler (I am not joking...the good people of my husband's hometown actually call it this), we play Shirtless Dixon.  It is a little game we made up (much like Radio Scan Name that Tune...hit scan and shout the song name to get a point) to pass the three hours it takes to get there (by the way, we did get everything done that had been placed on the agenda for this weekend).  The game is a lot like Slugbug (where you keep points for seeing Volkswagen).  If you see someone out in their yard/public without their shirt, you yell, "Shirtless Dixon" and get a point.  Whoever has the most points upon arrival "wins".  Although counting shirtless people isn't really winning anything (aside from new things you can't unsee).

Hey! Where'd that come from?

I am referring to the time clock that was apparently mounted on the wall of my classroom.  As soon as we were done with our testing, it was as though my little friends clocked out for the day (like immediately...no standing around chatting about current events before eventually punching out).  And I totally understand.  It was a nice (although rainy) day.  We had worked our little Number 2 wielding fingers for three straight days.  They had done everything I asked them to do.  I was finished saying things like, "Fill in the circle of the answer you choose," and they were done filling in said circles.  I am relieved and exhausted all in one.

Good News

This morning as we were waiting for the bus (yes we were actually waiting and not sprinting down the drive while the bus rolled toward us. We were early...for once), I remembered that I had not checked the mail last night when I got home.  So, I quickly scooted across the road to retrieve the usual stack of bills and credit card offers.  But, today instead of just double miles promises and requests for my hard earned dollars, there was a fat envelope from the Cubscout's school.  Fat envelope?  School lunch bills are skinny (and since the "I think I will eat breakfast at school without telling anyone that I have been charging" debacle, I have religiously checked SIS for balances). 

I ripped open the envelope, read the first line, and immediately started crying.  I know you are all like, "Crying?  She titled her post Good News.  I'm confused."  The letter was from the gifted coordinator, and the Cub has been referred for testing.  I was ecstatic for him.  Because it is one thing to think your child is smart, but an entirely different one for someone else to think so, too.