Picture Day, The Screen & The Witch, Oh My!

I survived Picture Day.

Which, for those of you yearbook types, know was something just short of a miracle.

And which, for those of you non-yearbook types (but fans of this blog), know for me was probably a miracle of sorts necessitating divine intervention.

Even Mother Teresa would have found Picture Day trying.

It certainly tested my resolve to remain Ninja Teacher.

I almost set my hair on fire and ran out of the building when I arrived at 6:30 in the morning and saw the gigantic screen hanging from the auditorium stage.

You know, the stage that roughly 2,000 children, faculty and staff needed to navigate across to get their school pictures made.

Yeah, that stage. The one that was blocked by the giant screen hanging down. The screen that rivaled the dimensions of the green screen in the Wizard of Oz.

Yep, the screen that needed a special password code and either a Phd in technology or some sort of divine intervention in order to raise it. Yeah, that screen.

It took almost two hours before The Screen was raised because apparently only one person knows the super-secret instructions on how to do it.

During that two hour time period, I sort of felt like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. I'm fairly certain I probably acted a bit like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. And, I think it's a safe bet that I may have even looked like the witch in the Wizard of Oz.

And just in case you were wondering, I'm not talking about the good witch either.

Picture Day, Math Humor & Bad Hares

A rather pleasant young math teacher asked me how Underclassmen Picture Day went. You know the day. The day that makes all yearbook advisers shudder, cringe and make them want to set their hair on fire. Yep, the day we have to photograph 1,800 plus children in one day. That day.

"I think I'd rather poke my eye out with a pencil than do Picture Day," I said.

"That would only last two years," he said.

I stared at him blankly.

"You know," he said pointing to his eyes, "you only have two eyes, so two years…so you'll have to find something else…" 

"Ahhh," I said finally getting the math humor.

I'd love to tell you about Picture Day, and why some things made me think of pikes and heads on pikes, but all of that belongs in my "Things That Will Get You Fired" Folder. So let's just say that I survived, and I've decided against poking my eye out because, as my young math teacher pointed out, I would eventually run out of body parts and still have to do Picture Day. Arrgggg.

I'm still undecided, though, about the heads and pike thing.

On a more amusing note, one of my new yearbook staffers came to me asking for an extension on an assignment. For this assignment, staffers had to call a list of senior parents to tell them about our senior ads.  I normally don't grant extensions, but this staffer is one of those really responsible kids.

"Why?" I asked.

"My rabbit ate it," she said, whipping out her half-eaten list.

Talk about a bad hare day. 

I granted the extension.

Picture Day, Emergency Chocolate & My Lizzie Borden Smile

Picture Day sent me to the emergency chocolate drawer twice, to the superduper secret chocolate draw once and to kickboxing class twice. I don’t know what it is about yearbook, but the whole yearbook thing just gives me an uncontrollable urge to hit something. (I think you know what I mean.)

But somewhere in the organized chaos, we still ran through roughly 1,700 kiddos before the final 3:45 bell rang. I’m going to call the day a qualified success since we had only one complaint and my principal still smiled at me––and not that Lizzie Borden ax-wielding, fixin’ to go postal, crazed look kind of smile either. And, as an added bonus, as far as I know, everyone had on their underwear. Nope, none of that Florida nonsense here, Missy.

As an extra, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious bonus, I didn’t even call anyone a Big Fat Stupid… So the ole counter to the right remains counting. (I think it was all that chocolate and extra kickboxing smackdowns that kept me in line.)

But before you do the Dance of Joy for my BFSH restraint, let me just say that Monday marks Beat the Teacher Night--oh wait, make that MEET the Teacher Night, and Monday also marks the start of newspaper deadline week. I don’t even think the superduper secret emergency chocolate will help this time. My BFSH timer might as well toll its last tick tock.

So if you see me with that Lizzie Borden, ax-wielding, fixin’ to go postal, crazed look kind of smile, well, you probably just ought to move on out of the way.

Progress Reports, Wet Paint & Picture Day

Already three weeks into the school year, and once again, I find myself woefully behind.

Yep, behind as in progress reports are due Monday, and I have a book bag full of 44 or so color coordinated folders screaming for my politically incorrect red pen. This, of course, doesn’t even begin to include those yearbook pages that need my attention, the chapter one worksheets waiting for a good once over or those half-finished handouts I need to complete for Monday.

I get exhausted just thinking about those kind of things. (And gollygeewillikers, we all know how I feel about things.)

All of this rather pales in comparison to my upcoming Friday. Normally, I’m rather fond of Fridays. But not this one. No siree, Missy. Batten down the hatches. Sound the alarm. Send out the cavalry. This particular Friday is The Day. The dreaded School Picture Day. This particular day is enough to make one set one’s hair on fire and run screaming from the building.

In the span of one day, we expect four photographers to shoot roughly 1,700 kiddos and make all the kiddos and teachers look fabulous without annoying or irritating the English teachers on campus.

I even spent hours making up a handy, dandy “appointment” schedule, noting what teacher needs to bring what class at what time. I’m about 99.9 percent sure my nifty schedule will serve a more useful purpose on the bottom of someone’s bird cage.

The yearbook staff also plastered posters around the school to mark The Day. One of the signs promptly fell down which wouldn’t have been a problem except the paint hadn’t dried. And that probably wouldn’t have been a problem except the offending sign with its offending wet paint had, shall we say, a tad bit of paint transfer onto the pants of one of our nifty assistant principals.

I sincerely hope all of that isn’t a sign of bad things to come. (See, there are those darn tootin’ things again.)

The only good thing about my upcoming Friday is that I usually set aside Fridays as my “Starbucks Day” where I reward myself one nonfat, three raw sugar latte. This bit of extravagance serves as my reward for surviving the week without calling anyone a Big Fat Stupid…

Maybe I just need to hook up an espresso IV for the day and hope for the best. Something tells me I’ll be lucky indeed if my counter on the right doesn’t stop and the halls don’t reverberate with, “Why are you such a big fat…”