Halloween, a full moon, a time change, a day off,and the World Series together made for one humdinger of a week at school. By Thursday, I wondered if I was a zoo keeper or a teacher or the turnkey of a nut house.

At the end of the day, I curled up in my favorite chair and called parent after parent to make the dreaded behavior phone calls. It's a miserable way to end the day. I decided to shake off the misery this time, though. Instead of "there's a problem," I heard myself saying, "I love your son. Love him to death, but...." Over and over. I love your son. Love your daughter. But. And I said what I had to say.

"For the good that'll do" my cynical heart said to my tired mind as I plugged the phone into the charger and called it a night.

Today, though, I taught my kids in a blissfully peaceful room. After I told them they are like family to me, that I spend more time with them than I do with anyone else in my life, that their success means everything to me, that I respect them. But. They have to give that much back.

Love. Like. Care. Respect. Yes.

And then it was peaceful. And quiet. And productive.

On his way in, one of the baddest of the bad boys had said, "My mom told me you said I could be President someday if I could just sit still in a chair. You say that, Ms. Carlson?"

"I did. It's true." The kid lit up. And he was good.

So I think I figured something out. You can love the hell out of people. And it feels good.