A BIG blog about my BIG birthday

By now...most of you know me well enough to realize that I am a quiet, reserved person who tends to shy away from attention. I prefer to stay off the radar as much as humanly possible. But as my 50th birthday approached, I was a bit trepidatious. I work with, for lack of a better word, zealots. And for some reason (Not enough work to do? Lack of a life? Jealousy?), these maniacs tend to target me without the slightest provocation on my part. I communicated, VERY CLEARLY, my feelings on the matter as the count-down for my birthday began (Thank you, school-wide email...VERY helpful).

To be frank, I fully anticipated the immature shenanigans of Tyler and Erin. I'm not sure that they anticipated the consequating lawsuit that is formulating from my being crushed to death beneath a pyramid of water bottles as I tried to gain access to my classroom. And how judgmental is that little passive-aggressive maneuver, anyway? Just because I've brought the odd Pepsi or two to Zumba doesn't mean I need a so-called "better" alternative foisted on me. I would give this pesky pair a B- for their choral reading ability as they interrupted my class EVERY hour ON the hour to remind me about how lucky I am to be their friend. PLEASE, Lord, let one of those scratch-off tickets yield enough for me to move OUT of district and AWAY from them. The water bottle word scramble was a nice touch as over twenty MORE Pepsi-alternatives were delivered over the course of the day so that I could piece together a

message for even more birthday fun (By the way...forcing me to film a video promising an eternal love of positivity, glitter, and Erin is NOT fun) made learning more of an optional practice in Room 24.

Yes. I expected Erin and Tyler to be inconsiderate and cruel. But my own dear friends...

Et tu, 4th grade team?

I never saw it coming, poor simple fool.

The deception! The calculating manipulation! Lies!

In retrospect, I have to admit, if I had CHOSEN to be celebrated...I would have elected to be celebrated in just the way they did it:  MEMES!

Unsuspecting...like Bambi's mother into the meadow, I entered the elementary wing. Down the corridor, I spotted my FRIEND Aaron (not to be confused with my arch-frenemy Erin) and, immediately, I was on high-alert. A fashion-icon emulated by male school teachers district-wide, Aaron rarely dresses like Johnny Cash. Top-to-toe...black. I might have looked like a flight-risk because he slowly reversed

course...keeping his hands where I could see them at all times. When I reached him, I spotted the tell-tale signs that I was in for a LONG day...hand-colored posters, black streamers, and meme-upon-meme "celebrating my "big" day. "This one is my favorite," my 4th grader Joseph said later, pulling me over to see, "See how the guy's cake is on fire? Because he has so many candles on it? Like you?" On a positive note, reading scores at my school should sky-rocket thanks to all the kids reading my memes.

I headed towards my classroom, directly into the line of fire of an off-key chorus of educators, all

clad in black. Once I dug my way out from under the pile of water bottles, I entered my sanctuary to find it FILLED with fifty black balloons. Five minutes later, my "sanctuary" was filled with screaming nine-year-olds playing with fifty black balloons. What a delight! Five minutes after THAT, I tried to ignore the enormous amount of time and energy that went into blowing up fifty black balloons and demanded the death of fifty black balloons. Turns out, the only thing more fun than PLAYING with fifty black balloons is POPPING fifty black balloons. My classroom sounded like a war-zone.

Mini-Snickers bars began arriving as soon as the school day started...delivered by student messengers with attached notes proclaiming: I love Mrs. Mosiman because...(student-generated reason usually having to do with my giving them candy).

My voice was at least three octaves higher than normal for the ENTIRE day as I exclaimed happily over each one. "We had kids deliver them," Rachel confessed later, "because we knew you would have killed one of us if we kept interrupting your day like that." Circle time on the carpet was me just receiving present-after-present from my thoughtful and excited students...I was showered in Pepsi, Twinkies, chocolate, dachshund-related wonderfulness...musical cards, homemade cards, funny cards, loving cards. One student brought in cookies for a birthday treat. Another one brought in birthday hats for the class to wear. We were ready for a birthday bash!

My daughters had flowers delivered to the school which were then delivered to my room by our more-than-snarky secretary who came armed with a poem: Happy Happy Birthday, to rat and rottie owner too, I wish you many more birthdays, so you can be old too! Why don't you just get a job at Hallmark already, Joanne?

My birthday twinnie, Cindy brought me a dachshund statue to add to my cubby collection and I was so excited (and some would say, self-absorbed) that I forgot to wish HER a happy birthday ("Happy Birthday, Cindy!"). Before the day was over, someone had even gotten to my dachshunds as each one was sporting a colorfully and creatively decorated party hat...thanks Michelle!

I was outraged (and a little impressed) when I learned of all the behind-the-scenes planning that went on without my knowledge. Years of paranoia FINALLY justified as it was revealed that my team does, in fact, hold SECRET meetings behind my back. The night before my birthday was apparently a bit stressful for the planners (poor dears) as I tend to work late and, for some odd reason (karma), kept forgetting things, causing me to return to my classroom which resulted in people having to duck-and-cover. I almost chased one girl who fled into the questionably-darkened library but I was hungry and wanted to go home so I ignored her odd behavior like any good educator would do.

The memes were hysterical and disconcertingly accurate. Am I this shallow? I wondered. Do I talk

about my dog(s) too much? (impossible) Could I be this bossy? Demanding? Arrogant? Maybe. But these good-humored memes (all FIFTY of them) showed that I could be all these things and more, and my friends still loved and accepted me...short-comings and all. I am so incredibly blessed.

This out-pouring of love was beyond humbling. I would have hidden in a hole if I wasn't so claustrophobic. I am surrounded by the kindest, most thoughtful, generously compassionate, hard-working, creative, and funny people on the planet (except, of course, for Erin and Tyler). Small but impactful gifts kept popping up:  a Forky figurine from ToyStory, a safe-to-use microwavable bowl to protect me from the carcinogens released from the cheap plastic containers I usually use (passive-aggressiveness noted, Roxanne), a candybar in my homework bin...smiles and well wishes EVERYWHERE...I had developed a nervous twitch by the end of the day. It was SO much. It was TOO much. I know I've forgotten key parts because it was SO much! Thank you to everyone (except Tyler and Erin) who made me feel so loved and appreciated.

At the end of the day, my team approached me like I was a frightened faun (or a belligerent buck ready to ram them). "Did you have a good day?" they asked. I did. But I didn't realize HOW good until Brad and I went out to eat and I talked NON-STOP for the 45-minute drive to the restaurant. "Wow! That's a LOT of birthday," my husband commented (once he was given a moment to speak). We had dinner and, as we waited for the bill, I leaned against the wall next to our table and took a quick catnap. "Quick?" Brad said speculatively. I somehow staggered out of the restaurant, into the parking lot and began to shiver before realizing I'd left my coat behind. "Here," my husband sighed, juggling my jacket and left-overs. He stuffed me into the van and we dialed up Savannah. At least I think we did. I vaguely remember her voice before I once again...dozed off. "Your mom had too much birthday," Brad informed her.

Thanks again, everyone. You guys really are too much.