Because for some reason, the orange glow stick people didn't show up on video. So I'm a smudge in the front row in this video because I was orange. Bad luck for my internet fame.

But you get the idea:

My family guffawed this morning when I did a final run-through of my dance moves for the talent show.

"That's my Dance Captain!" said Dan, between giggles.

Last night, I realized there was some confusion about my status as Dance Captain.

"I'm not really a Captain," I said.

"Well, do the other teachers look to you for guidance?"

"Yes!" I affirmed. "I'm in the front row, and I know my steps!"

"So, you're in a position of authority?"

"Well, it's kind of an unofficial title."

"No one knows you're the Captain?" Dan clarified.

"Well, LYNNE knows I'm a captain," I said, referring to the star choreographer and bang-up science teacher.

"So, she calls you Dance Captain?"

"Well, no."

"So, you're not really Captain?"

"It's kind of a self-appointed thing, okay?!"

But it's important, and it's a role I fill.

On Sunday night, we were just talking about how the kids never get sick anymore. Then, the school nurse called on Monday about Mac.

Sick.

Dan picked him up. On Tuesday, I thought he seemed better, so I took him to school. 10 o'clock rolls around, and he's back in the office with a low-grade fever. Dan took him for the strep test, and the rapid was negative.

Today he seemed fine again, but there's no way I can be the mom of the kid who gets sent home from school THREE DAYS IN A ROW. So Dan and I split the day. Sure enough, overnight strep was positive.

Chances that one kid gets strep and the other is spared? Very, very low. So, stopped by the doctor's on the way home from school to get Shef swabbed.

Rapid was negative.

Bets on tomorrow? This is probably my fault for saying they never get sick.

It's time to watch The Bachelor finale. These are three hours of my life I'll never get back. Still, as much as I want to walk away, I'm drawn to the carnage.

I wrote those last two sentences two hours ago, and I'm still watching.

I hate myself, and I hate this show.

It's TALENT SHOW time again, which means I'm once again a dance captain for the faculty number. Once again, my colleagues appreciate me very much, while my family laughs and averts their eyes while I practice in the kitchen.

I'll totally show them next Friday. You mark my words.

My sixth graders are reading The Giver as part of our Human Rights unit. I love The Giver a lot, and I keep telling Shef, "Shef, this book is soooo good."

And he says, "I'm not going to read it."

How contrary!

In the meantime, we're reading Timmy Failure. I think that book is kind of stupid, but I'm respecting his choice, as one should.

It's my little sister's birthday. She's just a tiny little baby, really. With a really cute haircut. If I had a pic, I would post it. She cut off a million inches, and she says the most common response to her new style is, "It looks so mature." She thinks that means, "You look old," but I disagree with both this translation and the implied assessment. I think she looks hip and now.

Of course, I'm not hip and now, so there's a danger in taking stock in my opinion.

Anyway, tonight we're headed out to a fancy fundraiser for my school, which is also the kids' school. The posters say "Your kids. Your school. Your night." This is not the kind of thing we like to go to, probably because of the less-than-hip-and-now issue. Still, it's what we're doing, we're going to enjoy ourselves and our overpriced drinks.

Cheers!