She was a beloved skilled teacher. Her classroom was ruled with a quiet discipline that eluded many.
Then one day she came in with a new haircut, and everyone saw that there was no secret or exceptional teaching skill; she really did have eyes in the back of her head.
Jackie Kingon has published two articles in The New York Times, a feature piece about her experiences teaching in an inner city school in the south Bronx, titled A Year in the Trenches, and Beautiful Music, about an autistic musician. Her futuristic comic mystery, Chocolate Chocolate Moons, is called “delightful” by Kirkus Review and “a humorous romp sure to please” by Midwest Book Review. She has finished the sequel, Sherlock Mars.
At age 5, Brody required less of my doting. Horsing around on the monkey bars, he slipped. His embarrassment outweighed his pain.
Bath time, I asked if I could take a look. Reluctantly, he agreed. As I kneeled in for examination, he turned his head, rolled his eyes and said, “Awkward.”
Shelly Eady is an emerging writer with an abundance of faith and a heart’s desire to enrich, inspire, and encourage others to dream through the art of creativity.
He really didn’t want to go in.
He’d heard stories about this place, and they weren’t good. The person in charge was mean and scary.
He knew that once he was in, there was no way back: he would be trapped – at least until his mum collected him at three.
Mike Jackson is a retired primary school head teacher who is enjoying having time and freedom to write. You can read more of his writing here.
It was very important to Monika that she raise her children right. She taught them Kindness, and Hospitality, and Manners, and Decency.
But setting a good example wasn’t always enough, so she sometimes snuck a squirt of dish soap into her baking, just in case they’d been using naughty words.
This story was based on a title suggested by @BRSsexyman.
“Aww, where’s mommy?” they teased. “Is baby homesick?”
And she dried her tears and lied to them.
“I’m not homesick,” she shouted, and that wasn’t the lie.
“I don’t care about my mommy,” she protested, and that wasn’t the lie.
“Leave me alone!” she screamed, and that was the lie.
This story was based on a title suggested by Dan Hingston through the Facebook page.
“Do your chores, young man!” said Mom.
“Do your chores, young lady!” said Mom.
“Do your chores, middle-aged man!” said Mom.
“Do your chores, little baby!” said Mom.
“What about your chores, Mom?” asked Everyone.
“My chore is delegating,” said Mom.
The family called for elections. Mom stuffed the ballot.
Kittens! Kittens everywhere!
It was terrifying. Mortifying. A nightmare.
She stifled a scream. Then she stifled a yawn.
The warm, cuddly kitten bodies, like a soft, purring blanket, lulled her, despite her best efforts, off to sleep. And as she slept, she dreamed about the tigers that ate her mom.
“Dad,” said Junior, “I don’t think I understand women.”
Dad chuckled. “That’s common. Men never really know what women are thinking.”
“Yeah,” said Junior. “They open their mouths and all I hear is ‘blah blah blah.’ Literally!”
“Blah blah blah?” asked Mom, sticking her head in the door.
When his mother got home, the floor of the house was littered with nuts, sardines, bamboo, and corn.
“What in the world is going on?” shouted Mom.
“I’m hunting for a qualeor!” he grinned.
“No, you’re hunting for a grounding,” scolded Mom.
And then the qualeor burst through the window.
What in the world is a qualeor?
If you have an idea, why not describe it in a comment, or draw a picture of it (while it’s bursting through the window, perhaps?).
“I hate cereal! I tell you this every. Single. Morning.”
“If you want waffles or bacon you’re free to prepare them yourself.”
“No way! That’s a MOM’s job!”
“Are you paying me?”
He was supposed to be. It cost thirty bucks an hour to get someone from Made Of Maids.