Not too long ago, the kids and I went to watch a friend of Shef's play in a high-level, high-stakes hockey game. It was really fun, and I especially liked how they blasted clips of classic songs like 1989's "Move This" by Technotronic before face-offs.

I got to thinking, I should take the kids to more school sporting events. We could wear our colors and root for the teams! Sounds wholesome and screen-free! I shared my epiphany with Shef, who is now fourteen years old.

"Hey," I said, "wouldn't it be fun to go to more school sporting events?"

"No," he said. The answer came swiftly and with zero hesitation.

"No?" I asked, surprised. "You don't want to watch your friends play lacrosse and stuff?"

"No," he clarified, "I just don't want to be seen with you in public."

Just like that! All matter-of-fact!

I think the inclination is probably exacerbated because I'm a teacher at the school, in addition to also being a regularly ignominious parent. Having a teacher mom is literally the worst thing ever for an eighth-grader, Shef says. I can't help that it's my job, though, and I also can't help that I'm so embarrassing. I feel I could be even more embarrassing if I didn't already put so much effort into my behavior. Shef doesn't know how lucky he is. One little slip and he could be the laughing stock of the entire school.

Something happened to me the other week.

I mean, to be fair, probably I should say, "I did something the other week."

But I didn't do the thing on purpose. It was just one of those things.

What happened was this: I was in a professional context. To be specific, I was in a Q & A with a candidate for our Middle School Director position. So, I was interviewing a guy that could be my new boss. I was trying to be impressive-like.

I had a question about the role of parents in our community. "Could you comment on the role of parents in our community?" I asked the candidate. Now that I'm thinking about it, I probably should have asked something more specific, but oh well. It's what happens next that I'm trying to tell you about:

Somehow while asking this question, I inadvertently depressed the home button on my iPhone. I pressed it for too long - long enough to summon Siri.

I don't talk to Siri that much. Mac programmed her to call me "Mac Likes to Eat Cheese." If I ask Siri what my name is, she says, "You're Kathleen, but you asked me to call you Mac Likes to Eat Cheese."

Anyway.

I had summoned Siri, but I had no question for her. I had a question for the candidate, which he began answering. Siri must have thought I was still talking to her, and she said really loudly - loud enough for the whole room to hear - "I didn't quite get that." And then she started to say something else while I fumbled frantically to silence her.

Of course, the whole room heard this. All of my colleagues heard it, and the candidate did too. The poor guy was just getting into his answer about parents as partners. People laughed and laughed, like guffawing. My co-workers really thought my Siri mishap was hilarious. I caught some wiping tears from their eyes.

Of course, I apologized profusely, and the poor contender continued his answer.

God.

After the meeting, lots of people made fun of me for inviting Siri to the Q & A. My friend Adriana patted my arm in a conciliatory kind of way. "I feel like this is just the kind of thing that happens to you," she said.

It totally is, I'm sorry to say. Why am I so embarrassing?

Gratitude Buddies

Sometimes Getting Out of Sweatpants

So, two alarming things happened in class today. Somehow, I was watching this hilarious version of Bonnie Tyler's music video for the classic "Total Eclipse of the Heart."

Since it's May, it's best not to overanalyze how I ended up watching this video between classes. Something about "Take on Me" and then "Friday" and then the literal video meme. Whatever, that's not even one of the alarming things.

Anyway, first I was alarmed to discover that my students DO NOT KNOW THE SONG "TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART." Seriously like omg, this is a TIMELESS CLASSIC.

Then, I was alarmed to find myself belting out the song in front of the class because I was sure that if I just sang a few bars, they would know it. OF COURSE THEY KNOW IT!

But, no. They don't. And they were especially horrified when I tripped over Joe's backpack while singing the song they didn't know. Luckily, I only stumbled and did not fall all the way to the ground.

This week, I've been really preoccupied and kind of stressed about a work project. I've been working pretty much constantly on that project, to the detriment of other responsibilities; including my diet. Basically, I've been eating all kinds of terrible foods all the time.

As a result of this behavior, I got a ginormous zit on my chin. Or, I should say, I got a ginormous almost-zit. Right under the surface.

This next part will come as no surprise: I picked the hell out of that almost-zit. I jabbed it and squeezed it, and now it's a scab at least the size of a dime.

The worst day in the life of my blemish was yesterday. It was seeping some type of yellowish puss, which would collect on my chin in a little yellow puss scab. Then, periodically, I'd pick this off and the zit would start seeping all over again.

Obviously, I don't work in an office or a cube, so I was never alone with my complexion. Instead, 30 different people were looking at this hideous protrusion every hour of the day. Nevertheless, I did make it through without any comments made about the zit by any person except me.

That is, until I went out to dinner with Shef. He remarked, "Mom, ew! There's a booger on your chin."

Thanks, pal.

I'll be buying myself a new skin-care regimen tomorrow as an early birthday present. Oprah says it will change my life. Probably I should eat some fruits and vegetables as well.

Today we had this conversation within earshot of many people while we grabbed a quick dinner in a sandwich and chocolate shop that we visit weekly.

Shef: I'm getting really big.

Me: You sure are.

Shef: All of me.

Me: Yes, your whole self is getting bigger.

Shef: Every part.

Me: Yeah, even your brain.

Shef [practically shouting]: And my PRIVATES!

On Monday, Cycling Mentor Jamie gave me a lesson in how to change a flat tire. I also bought a little under-seat bag to carry an extra tube, tire levers, and a CO2 cartridge. It's stuff I should have had all along, frankly.

Today, on my first ride with my new supplies, I flatted 12 miles from home. Thanks to Jamie’s careful instruction, I thought I knew what to do. I calmly dismounted and got to work on changing the tube.

Just as I was finishing, a guy came out of his nearby townhouse to see if I had everything in hand. “You got it?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said, re-setting the chain, pride surging through my spandex-clad body. I felt victorious, actually. Like I'd accomplished an important and edifying triathlon rite of passage. I refastened my helmet and smiled at the guy. “I feel victorious,” I told him.

“Um,” he said. “Well. Good then.” He pinched the back tire and helped me spin the pedals to get the gearing worked out. “You should be ready to ride.”

So I did. For 11 more miles.

I didn’t find the second flat to be quite as empowering.

I didn’t have another tube, so I was forced to get off my bike and walk the last mile home across the Franklin Avenue bridge while wearing my form-fitting outfit, including shorts with a huge pad in the ass. My helmet hung from the handlebars, as I pushed my incapacitated cycling machine on the sidewalk while lots and lots of cars whizzed by.

I felt like a total tool, to tell you the truth.