How I Rocked Halloween This Year (RE-POST from 10/29/16)

Don't get me wrong. I rocked Halloween again this year! I just haven't had time to write about it. So here is my post from last year. Imagine me as a cowgirl instead of a rock star, and you've pretty much got the idea. I even wore the same plaid flannel shirt. It's very versatile. Enjoy this reread from 10/29/16.

I used to hate Halloween. I mean, it was fine when I was a cute kid. Once you enter that self-conscious adolescent phase though, it's hard to know what to do with yourself on Halloween.

Teenagers in costumes, holding out pillowcases like they expect pounds and pounds of candy, aren't cute anymore. I didn't want to be one of those. I also didn't want to smash pumpkins or throw eggs, not out of some sense of civic duty. I just didn't like the mess it made.

Then I became a teacher at an elementary school, and Halloween became fun again.

My school sponsors an event called "Ghouls at School" every year prior to Halloween. The kids parade through the school, dressed in their costumes, trick-or-treating at the teachers' doors. Several of us teachers even dress up.

It reminds me of trick-or-treating at the mall in Ohio when I was a kid. The store clerks would lock up their businesses and hand out candy, and our parents didn't have to worry about crazy people putting razor blades in caramel apples and popcorn balls.

Ghouls at School is like trick-or-treating at the Ohio mall except we're teachers, and we actually know the kids because they are our students. It's super fun.

This year, I even came up with a rock-star theme. I decorated my door for Red Ribbon Week with rock 'n roll stuff, and I dressed up like a rock star for Ghouls at School. I am the music teacher, after all. My next door neighbor joined me both in decoration and costume, and we were rock stars together.

I was dressed up, ready to go, and I had to attend a meeting at another school (in full costume) before the festivities. They were fellow music teachers. They would understand.

One new-to-the-district colleague did say, "Um . . . don’t take this the wrong way . . . but I don’t know you that well. Are you supposed to be from the ‘80’s . . . or do you always dress like this?"

Best. Question. Ever.

Of course, handing out candy meant I was standing by a full box all evening long. I love candy. What else am I supposed to do between trick-or-treaters?

This year, I couldn't eat any candy because I was fasting for a blood draw. To get decent numbers, I have to practically go vegan for a month, shunning sugar and saturated fat.

Here was my situation: I was fasting, and I couldn't eat any candy even though it was right in front of me, and I was still starving after my meager dinner salad. In other words, I was one step away from bitchy.

I pulled myself together and ended up having a nice evening.

The kids asked, "What are you, Mrs. Duggan?"

And I asked, "What do you think I am?"

And they answered, "A rock star!"

And I said, "Yes and yes! I'm dressed like one, and I am one!"

Then I mumbled as they walked away, "Actually, I'm an opera singer, but who's keeping score?"

 

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That Time the Opera Came to School

I have sung opera for my students since I began teaching elementary music. A poster from Pavarotti's concert in Boise hangs in my classroom. (I am asked if he is my dad and Jesus on a semi-regular basis.) Former students tell me the thing they remembered most about my class was when I would sing opera for them.

I'm not just joking around like Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny. (Confused Millennials, please Google What's Opera, Doc?) I have sung some opera in my day, even been paid for it. I guess that would make me a professional opera singer (but not really, ha ha!)

Susanna in The Marriage of Figaro, Carousel in Concert with Opera Idaho, Recital Time

Nowadays, I mostly stick to musical theater (the more classical musical, the better) and the occasional vocal recital.

When my principal told me Opera Idaho was scheduled to visit our school for the first time this year, I said, "Great!"

When she told me the kids at her previous school started laughing at first when the performers sang, I said, "Don't worry."

"I was mortified," she said.

"That won't happen here," I reassured her.

I was also given the task of preparing a student chorus to perform with the opera singers, so I assembled a crack team of fifth graders, and we rehearsed every week at lunch for the first month of school.

I made sure I prepared the students for the visitors by singing opera in my classes.

"We are NOT allowed to laugh at opera," the kids told one of our playground helpers.

"We are NOT allowed to try to sing like Mrs. Duggan. Our voices are NOT ready for it," the kids told the teachers.

One student cried when I sang because he said it was so beautiful.

By the time the opera visited our school, my students were neither scared of nor disgusted by opera. One of the performers happened to be a good friend of mine as well, and that ended up being a ton of fun for the students and for me.

When the opera singers asked the kids to raised their hands if they had ever seen an opera, the whole school raised their hands.

"Really?" the performer asked, a little taken aback.

(I mean, they hadn't really seen an opera, but they were letting him know they knew what was up.)

When the opera singer asked if they knew what to shout if they really liked something, the kids knew the answer: "Bravo!"

Oh yeah! That's what happens when your music teacher is an opera singer! Of course, I never got around to, "Brava" for a female or "Bravi" and "Brave," but the performers didn't ask about those.

When the program began, you could tell a few of the younger kids were working really hard to not "laugh," but all it took were a few dirty looks from the other kids sitting around them, and my school settled into being a very good audience.

My cute fifth grade chorus spent the entire production onstage with the opera singers. They also had a quick clinic with the performers fifteen minutes before the show, an invaluable experience, working with true professionals.

At the end, my chorus kids insisted they hadn't "met" the singers.

"You just spent a whole hour acting with them," I said, "and they worked with you beforehand."

"But we haven't met them yet," one girl said.

"Can't we at at least shake their hands?" another asked.

As my friend in the cast put it, "The answer is always, 'Yes!'"

So they did.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

The Day My Husband Was Proven Right (RE-POST From 10/9/16)

I am happy to say that I have been riding with a properly adjusted saddle ever since I wrote this post. In fact, I make sure it is the right height every time I hit the trails or greenbelt. Enjoy this re-post from last fall! I know Dan will.

My husband, Dan, and I went for a fall bike ride on Boise's Greenbelt last week. It was beautiful. We will probably go for another ride this weekend. But this story is not about what a gorgeous city Boise is during the fall or how lucky we are to live in a community with so many wonderful trails and recreational areas. All of that is true, of course.

But this is a story about the day my husband was proven right.

Dan has been bugging me for years to raise my bike seat. I like it when my feet touch the ground. I am short, and my feet don't touch the ground very often when I sit on things. It's kind of nice that my feet touch the ground when I am sitting stationary on my bike.

But, alas, you are not supposed to be able to do that.

Dan and I were attempting a selfie on one of the Greenbelt bridges, when a woman walking a cute bull dog offered to take a picture of us.

"You need to raise that saddle," the woman said to me. "I used to own a bike shop. You're not getting enough extension." 

She turned to Dan, "You're extending perfectly. She needs to raise that saddle."

"I tell her that all the time," he said with a satisfied (but slightly hesitant What-Will-Becky-Do-To-Me) smile, "don't I?"

I nodded.

"Seriously, you'll have more power. Your legs won’t be as sore. You'll have better extension in your knees. It will feel weird at first," she said, "but you'll be able to keep up with him."

She gestured toward Dan.

(Unlikely. I’m too chicken to keep up with him.)

“Raise that saddle!” she recommended one last time before she left us.

“I think it’s been sinking," I said to Dan as we started to ride off. "It wasn’t always this low."

Dan rode behind me in silence.

"Okay! You can raise my seat but only because she had me at my legs won’t be as sore. And only because she told me as an expert, not because of anything you said.”

He continued to ride behind me in silence, but I could feel the grin creep across his face.

We raised the saddle as soon as we got to the parking lot. Another downside to raising the saddle? I slam my crotch against the seat every time I stop.

“How does that feel?” Dan asked after I had ridden around for a few minutes.

“Fine. My vagina feels fine.”

That night, Dan caught me taking notes on my laptop about our encounter with the bike shop lady.

“Are you writing a blogging idea?" Dan asked, "about how your husband is always right? He is often right. You must admit that.”

I groaned. 

Biking experts, don’t judge me by the saddle height in this picture. It’s adjusted now!

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

More Funny Kid Stuff

Last week, I wrote about some of the funny kids I have encountered this school year. But did you know kids aren't just funny at school? Yeah, go figure. Here are anecdotes from my kid adventures outside of school, the ones that didn't quite make it into my blog post last week because they didn't fit into my school days theme.

Becky goes to summer camp.

This summer, I led the music at a children's camp, and I had an interesting conversation with a couple of spitfire, redheaded first graders.

First Grade Girl: I like your backpack. Where did you get it?

Me: My husband got it for me for Christmas.
Girl: Where did he get it?
Me: I don't remember exactly. Probably online.
Girl: Lazy.
Me: What?
Girl: Lazy.
Me: Lazy?
First Grade Boy: Yeah, lazy!
Me: What do you guys mean?
First Grade Boy: He can't even go to the store and pick it out for you?
(He couldn't say his "r's" very well, so it sounded more like, "He can't even go to the stowah and pick it out fowah yo?")
Girl: Like I said. Lazy.

Later that evening, after I had sung a few Taylor Swift songs for the kids, one of the girls said I was a rock star.

"Oh yeah!" I said. "Rock and roll!"

"No, not rock and roll. Rock and roll is noisy. You're a rock star, but you don't sing rock and roll."

The wisdom of six-year-olds, I guess.

One of the teenagers told the other kids he thought I looked like Katy Perry (not in this universe), and the kids started calling me that Music-Lady-Who-Looks-Like-Katy-Perry.

Will the real Katy Perry please stand up?

The resemblance is astounding. #NotReally

Aunt Becky disobeys the rules. 

Don't let the innocent face fool you. This kid is a criminal mastermind.

Last weekend, my brother and his awesome family stayed with Dan and me. Those of you who have been faithful readers know I love hanging out with my brother's family, especially my nephews.

I was playing in the backyard with the two-year-old, Desmond, when he threw a ball into our bushes. Earlier that weekend, my brother, Steve, had told him he wasn't allowed to do that.

"You had better go pick up that ball before Daddy gets out here," I told Desmond.

Desmond gave me the strangest sideways glance I have ever received from a two-year-old and walked to the other side of the yard. A few minutes later, Steve joined us outside.

Desmond immediately called out, "Aunt Becky threw blue ball!" and pointed at the evidence nestled in the bushes.

Desmond tries to lift a tree.
Along the not-so-evil-genius, just-plain-cute lines (although his evil genius streak is pretty cute too), Desmond created a new game while he was at our house.

We have these white columns in our dining room, and Desmond went from pillar to pillar trying to lift them. He would wrap his arms around them and say, "UUUUGGHH!"

Then he would announce, "Now Aunt Becky try" or "Now Uncle Dan try," and Dan and I would attempt to lift the columns too, sound effects and all.

The next thing we knew, he was trying to lift the trees in the park by our house.

Our home was pretty quiet this week. We missed having those little guys around, even if Desmond does enjoy getting me into trouble.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.