Nice "Bounce" Sheet

I was one who became overwhelmed with shopping for clothing. As a result, I have become the gracious recipient of "hand me downs." Between my generous sister and mother, I have been well clothed. It was the summer of 1998 and I was boarding a plane to spend a few weeks with my parents while they were serving as Mission President and Mission Mother of the Belgium, Brussels Mission. If all went as planned, my fiance would meet me at the mission home. Our hopes were to marry in Sweden.

Mom had had a tourresseau tea for Michelle, but there would be no time for that. The items for my honeymoon came from the goodness of their hearts. I wore my Mother's beautiful wedding dress, Michelle loaned me a pale blue suit to wear at the Wedding Luncheon, some earrings, and so forth. Mother also gave me a black and white floral print broomstick skirt. Broomstick skirts were the rage. I hope I can do justice in my simple description--the skirts ranged from mid-calf to above the ankle in length. It appeared to have 3 teirs sown together and then the pleats were crinkled and wrinkled. In fact, one didn't hang this skirt in their closet, it was simply twisted and then shoved in one of the legs of a pair of panty hose.

I felt chic honeymooning in Paris in my new array of apparel. The inherited garb also brought me  stylin' in the upcoming school year with sixth grade students. I noticed when I would wear the ankle length broomstick skirt, I had to be extremely careful when climbing the stairs into Oakridge Elementary. The length of the skirt became a safety hazard. It was easy to step on and I would either pull the skirt down, or fall on my face. My arms were full with lesson plans and homework to be corrected, hence my hands were not free to hold my skirt up nor break my fall should I trip. For the most part, I had learned to be cautious.

It was a  cold, winter day. It was also my day for recess duty...which means--no breaks. The University of Utah Students were coming to celebrate a successfully completed drama experience. I desired to make this a special event for the students and so I dressed accordingly. (I took warmth into consideration as well.) I pulled out the black and white broomstick skirt from my boudoir. I matched it with a mock turtleneck and then tied an additional sweater around my waist. This would also help to keep my skirt from being stepped on.

Underneath, I donned a pair of long garments, a pair of black knee socks, and boots that came just above my ankle. I couldn't help but laugh at the reflection in the mirror. What tackiness and fashion faux pas a long skirt could hide.

I stayed warm during recess and had just entered the building. The University Students had arrived for the celebration. I took one of the students aside and asked if she would watch my students so I could take a needed break to the Lady's Room. Kindly, she concurred.

I had a pretty good rapport with the students in the school and liked to be silly with them at times. I exited the Lady's Room the same time as Robby, a boy from the other classroom. He was a step or two behind. We were the only two people in the whole hallway and he didnt' even say a word to me. That just wasn't like him. I approached him and made some frivilous remark. He responded in a very nervous tone and his gaze was fixated straight ahead. He continued on into Mr. Mattson's classroom, and I to mine--thinking, "gee, I wonder what's up with Robby?"

I made a grand entrance into class feeling relieved and refreshed when all of the sudden Moses blurts out, "Nice static cling Mrs. G.!!! What . . . did you forget your bounce sheet?"

I had no clue as to what he was talking about, but sensitive Maddie started crying and said, "It's alright Mrs. G.," and pulled my skirt down from underneath my sweater. The poor girl was utterly embarrassed for me and as I started to recall how I must have looked from the back end--long garments tucked inside black knee socks and all, I too was feeling the outcome of utter embarassment.

Before Maddie, finished her thoughts, I was out the door and across the hall to Mr. Mattson's room. "Robby, you get over here right now!" without even asking Mr. Mattson if it was alright that I speak with him. Now I knew why Robby appeared so nervous only moments ago. "Robby, how dare you let me walk into my classroom and not say a thing!!!!" Before I finished my sentence, he said, "I promise Mrs. G., I didn't see a thing!" Mr. Mattson glanced outward and I realized, I was interrupting. I returned to class--cool, calm and collected as if nothing had happened. Those kind of things just seem to follow me.

A month or so later, I decided to brave the broomstick skirt again. My class was in the library at the time. One of my students was late and in tears because of an argument she had had with her brother. She sat down on the floor next to where I was sitting. Quietly, she shared the exchange between her and her brother. I wanted to comfort her. She put her head on my knee. As I was offering soothing words, my eyes wandered to my skirt. Something didn't seem right. It looked a bit different, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. I didn't remember the teirs looking that particular way, and then like a brick, it hit me. I was wearing this skirt inside out. Tag on the back, draw string, dangling at my waist--the discovery broke the young girls tears, but I had to slither out and make things right before Moses had a chance to blurt anything out.

At the end of the school year, students and parents expressed appreciation for their teacher in a variety of ways. One way was a decorated poster that was out in the hallway for people to sign and read. This was usually a "feel good moment" for the teachers and so, being anxious to see what the students would remember and glean from me, I stepped out into the hall to read. There in big, bold letters, "Nice bounce sheet Mrs. G., from Moses." Teachers at Oakridge left a Legacy. Some were "Teacher of the Year," "The Best Math Teacher," "The Teacher that produced the highest test scores..." What would my legacy be? Over the microphone (and following some rather stellar tributes,) the PTA representative  announced "She tells funny stories and she wore her skirts tucked up and her underwear hanging out." Yea for me!

Stuck on You

It always seemed that Flight Attendants that had fake nails were more graceful with the safety demonstration. I wanted my hands to flow like the others (which was almost every woman ) and so I succumbed to professional nails.

It was true. My hands were like delicate jewels. It made all the difference in how I pointed to the "exits" and the "lighting strip" in the event of an emergency. Once in a while, a nail would break, lift, or pop off altogether and so, it was wise to carry fingernail adhesive in my pocket for a quick repair.

One time while serving up drinks, my nail popped off. I could not see where it landed. I could feel my temperature rise with the thought that it may have ended up in someone's drink. A fingernail floating in someone's drink could be a possible law suit, a letter in your file, or an intense scolding at the least. It would not be hard to determine the hand in which the nail originated. All one would have to do is make a hand check to see which hand was missing a nail or match the color of the polish. It was hard to concentrate on the job at hand ( forgive the pun ) due to my nervousness. I pressed on trying to hide the finger minus a nail. Someone ordered a drink requiring a lime. There in the section  of limes was my bright red missing nail. Quickly, I retrieved the nail and placed it in my pocket to be repaired at a later time. Whoosh!!!

It just so happened that my left contact lens was acting up. It would be a few weeks before I would be able to get into the eye doctor to have it replaced. If I would put a few eye drops in my eyes to moisten them, I could see more clearly and it certainly bought me some time before my next eye appointment. I kept the eye drops in my pocket for quick relief.

"will the real eye drops step forward?" "In my EYES, clearly an easy mistake to make"

I was at home awaiting a call from "Scheduling," ( a very stressful part of my day.)  I was having some trouble seeing, so I reached into my pocket for drops to moisten my eyes. I put a few drops in and in an instant I knew something had gone terribly wrong. It scratched, it stung, it burned, it stuck . . . I looked at the drops with my right eye, the good eye. By accident, I had grabbed the wrong bottle. Instead of eye drops, I had put fingernail glue into my eye. It makes me laugh now,  but at the time it was serious and frightening.

"Scheduling" excused me so that I might get the emergency assistance from the eye doctor. Having the glue removed was a revolting experience. The tool to scrape plaque off your teeth was similar to the instrument used to scrape the glue off from under my eyelid. (It was a catch 22, my contact lens had protected my retina and cornea, but if I did not have contacts, there would have been no need for the moistening drops. My eye was tender, but I survived the ordeal. One would think that would be the end of fake nails.

Years later, I put nails on by myself...the drugstore kind. It turns out that there are nails for toes as well. I can't afford a pedicure and so I thought "what the heck, I'll give it a try." I have become the queen of multitasking. While sitting on the toilet, yes and with my pants down, I thought, "I think I'll do a quick repair." I took the glue and poured it on my large toe. Somehow it got in between my fingers and it was difficult to pull them apart. The focus became the situation with my two fingers. What I didn't realize was that the excess glue had run over my toe and on to the floor. When I went to move off the toilet, my big toe wouldn't move. It was stuck to the tile--and I mean stuck and it had had a chance to dry. No matter how hard I tried to lift my toe, it wouldn't budge. I couldn't go to the phone...I couldn't reach for help and it wouldn't be long until I was supposed to leave to pick up Noah.

Panic set in. I was in a predicament in which I could not see a possible out. Then I had strange visions of fireman breaking down the door to come rescue me from off the toilet. What would I say? How does one explain this? Then it dawned on me, the fireman would not even know a rescue was needed. My mind began racing for solutions. I remembered underneath the bathroom sink was fingernail polish remover. I stretched with all my might and was just barely able to grasp it. I saturated my toe and hoped that it would dissolve the glue. It wasn't happening. I couldn't imagine just yanking the toe until it was not stuck. Surely it would leave a layer of skin or even my toe on the bathroom floor for that matter. I saw a pair of scissors within reach. I took the blade of one side of the scissors and maneuvered it under my big toe. I literally shaved my toe from off the bathroom floor. It hurt something awful and took me a great deal of courage to continue to my freedom.

A few weeks later, my fingernail popped off. Again, I searched for the glue and did my repair. Noah wanted ketchup on his scrambled eggs. I grabbed the bottle and met his request. I accidentally got some ketchup on my finger. I licked the ketchup off my fingers, and let's just say, the glue wasnn't dry. I now had glue on my tongue and my lip. Talk about gluing my mouth shut. It was a crazy sensation and I wondered...when will I learn? Then again, it makes for a good laugh and I'm always in need of some laughter. Currently, there are no fake nails on my fingers or my toes...and for sure no "Super Glue" in my pocket.