Just call me Alexander

I had an awesome math teacher in middle school and as my homeroom teacher in 8th grade. Ms. Camden encouraged us to still be a little silly when we were all trying so hard to be grown up NOW.

There were duck-shaped candles on her window ledge, one for each of her students. She reminded any of us that were a little off the mark to "Get your ducks in a row!" We sang "Must be Santa" every Christmas and memorized crazy poems that helped us learn math (Madam I'm Adam), at least I think they did. She was a grandma and told us wonderful stories about her red-headed grandson Ted. She wore skirts every day, which were normally covered with chalk by lunch.

She wasn't a pushover. We were convinced she had X-ray vision because no wad of gum ever survived being noticed in her room. Everyone got called to the board to work out problems and if you didn't have your ducks in a row, she'd let you know it. Nobody acted up in Ms. Camden's class.

But one of the most important thing she did every year was take a break from the real stuff to read "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day."

Some days I feel like Alexander - when nothing goes right. And then a few of them string together, and I'm ready to yell and scream and stomp my feet. But Ms. Camden and Alexander taught me that I get what I expect, so if I think my day will be bad, it will be.

So I'm done moping about spreading the plague at Thanksgiving and the other plans I've made that have gone awry. Tomorrow is going to be better.

But if it's not, I think I'll move to Australia.