Friday funny

One of the other teachers comes into preschool to do art projects when her own students are having a special class like PE or music. The red paper with the black C for cat was the example, but it was not shown to the preschoolers. 

They were given verbal directions.

Maybe that's how Salvador Dali got his start...

*    *    *

The kids were told to color three apples: one red, one yellow, and one green. I received several which were varying shades of red/orange (okay), very pink (hmm), and most definitely blue (BLUE!) 

One of our students who didn't use red, yellow, or green looked right at me as I assessed her blue, purple, and magenta apples and asked, without batting an eye, "isn't that hilarious?"

*   *   *

Take your teacher friends out for ice cream and let them tell tales. You'll be hard pressed to hear funnier stories. Have a good weekend, everyone!

 

A Christmas ramble

Merry Christmas!

I'm scrambling to get this post written before everyone wakes up and we descend into the Christmas crazy. Bear in mind that we have big kids who are on break and in full sleep-in-after-staying-up-late mode. In my head, I already hear The Princess Bride's Prince Humperdinck musing, "...it ranged all over..." so I'll try to channel Mr. Woods, my 10th grade English teacher who used green felt tip markers to scrawl TWE on our papers- To What End? As in, "get to the point already!"

Everybody have their coffee or hot drink of choice? Some Christmas cookies? It is CHRISTMAS- don't worry about the calories, for goodness sake. Enjoy them!

(Mr. Woods sighs.)

Let's do this. 

Story time!

Once upon a time, there was a girl who worked at a summer camp. It's no longer there, sadly, but that's another story to be found here. She met a boy and life happened; they got married, moved a lot, got a kitten, had kids, got a dog, the whole shebang. (Mr. Woods rolls his eyes and reaches for the pen.)

This is the girl, who because of her erect posture and the faux feather in her hair, reminded her friends of the kidnapped princess in Peter Pan, and thus earned her the handle of Tigerlily at the aforementioned camp. 

One Christmas Eve, a long time later, the girl felt discouraged and not very festive. In fact, said girl cried a little while doing the dishes before her shower before the Christmas Eve service. (Mr. Woods uses his green pen.) She felt frustrated with her children who wanted to play video games instead of going to the Christmas Eve service and was astounded that they didn't see it as a given that they were going. She reminisced about a time when she and her mother had walked the handful of city blocks home from church on a below freezing Christmas Eve and how the stars had been so bright, and wonders if her mother remembers that, too. Generally feeling sorry for herself and ready at any moment to blame her tears on getting dishsoap in her eyes, she remembered something important which had been passed along to her and others at camp. 
"Satan tends to attack people and places of strategic importance."

These words had been spoken by a boss whose handle had been Spiritual Giant. His profession was teaching; he was and remains a true leader, caring about each person under him as well as those under them. 

(Mr. Woods pauses, then decides to allow it to see where it leads, but scribbles another TWE?)

Some of you may be musing, "who does she think she is?"

Slight pivot.

Last night, the girl also watched "It's a Wonderful Life," knowing full well that it's imperfect and dated and cheezy at times but wanted the nostaglia of an old movie she'd watched with her Nana. (Here's the link in case you want to investigate further: it'll open a new window.)

In the movie, Clarence muses, "Each man's life touches so many other lives..."

I've talked to more than one person this week who has felt depleted, that hard things kept happening to them, and that they were exhausted, and I keep coming back to that nugget of wisdom the girl heard decades ago. 

If you are a church worker, most especially in the season leading up to today, it makes complete sense to me that an enemy would try to keep you discouraged, make you feel like your work didn't matter, that it's only for an hour and everyone will go back to their "real" lives and forget what you taught or sang or how you loved, so why bother? 

Don't give up. Do it anyway.

For the parents whose kid would rather play with the box than the gift you finally found for them, for the health care workers who have yet another patient come in with something avoidable, for the way the world keeps turning and you have to keep dealing with all of it when you just feel like you can't do one more day/thing/event/minute because you've suffered a loss or a diagnosis or _____ and are barely hanging by a thread... 

Breathe. Call someone in your village. Don't get isolated. Don't get picked off one at a time. 

George Bailey experiences the... Clarence calls it a gift, I think, but I'm not sure that's quite the correct word. He experiences the  (whatever) of seeing what life would have been like without him in it. 

Eventually, we will all leave this life, and our loved ones will have to navigate around the land mine that our passing leaves in their own lives. That's not the same as you never having been here. That can be worse, at least to start, because of the (there are no words in Entish, Elvish or the tongues of men for the all encompassing emotions) that loss is. Grief doesn't play fair. It sucker punches. 

So, to answer the "who does she think she is?" 

(Mr. Woods scrawls TWE in huge letters.)

Just me. In fact, back in the day when I'd call my high school boyfriend's house, his Dad would answer and I'd say, "it's just me." He'd laugh and crow, "HIIIIIII Just!" 

I'm just me. You're just you. We can only each be just ourselves. 

But we're priceless, one of a kind, each a masterpiece.

If you feel like you're under attack, you probably are. Because no matter how you FEEL, you matter to someone. Make it a capital S if you want to- you also matter to Someone. That baby in the manger is for you. And me. And him and her and them and they and those. 

(Mr. Woods just yeet his green pen in annoyance and sloped off to get a warm up for his coffee cup. Maybe coffee doesn't get cold in the afterlife. I guess we'll all find out.)

And if you've figured out you are under attack, don't just stay there. Call for reinforcements! That can look all kinds of different. Sometimes just getting out of your house can make a difference, even if it's frigid, yes, even with a baby. Hearing the voice of a friend instead of the usual texts. Using the "good" dishes. Wearing the fancy clothes. We are quick to splurge on others in this season, but you are hereby allowed to splurge on yourself, whoever was waiting around for permission. It can be little things, but YOU are special, you are worth it, you need to take care of yourself so you can continue loving on/serving/standing in the gap for those around you. We need you. 

We are heading into the "long dark of Moria" winter, but be of good cheer- the days are already getting longer and the light will be returning. Breathe deep, my friends; you are loved, a New Year is coming, and Christmas is here! 

Despite life's hiccups, and because of them, they all lived happily ever after.

The End.

 

Introducing Otto

 This kid couldn't wait to try out an instrument in middle school. After considering his options, he decided to go a route that nobody in the family had taken before. He'd waffled back and forth between brass and woodwind, but upon hearing that his Pap, his Uncle Kelly, and his Uncle Rob had all done the trombone already, this kid decided to play the saxophone. Good luck, buddy- you're on your own. None of us have done anything with instruments requiring reeds, haha!

Here he is, headed into his first public performance, which was aptly named the sixth grade band demonstration.

Incredible kudos to his new-to-our-district teacher for teaching them how to read music, including clefs, rests, all that jazz, assembling their instruments, cleaning said instruments, and how to make recognizable sounds all within the first quarter. There are a lot of jobs I'm glad I don't have, and boy, middle school band teacher ranks right up there. God bless her.

Anyway, I thought the three teachers did a smart thing by dividing the groups of kids up and showcasing what they could do before putting them all together on stage for the songs. I'd imagine some of it was Covid-driven since we couldn't all pile into smaller rooms together, but it was really neat to see where they have class, watch the assemblage of instruments, see the kids interact together musically, and then all return to the auditorium for the rest. 

Here he is on stage, below. I tried to give other kids Snoopy sunglasses as I don't know if their parents are okay with them being featured online. Allow me to introduce Otto, the saxophone in residence at our house. Thankfully, he has enough air or power or control or whatever is required to actually sound musical as opposed to a duck being trod upon. And I was delighted to confirm that the last song of the concert was indeed recognizably the band classic, "Hot Cross Buns."

Aiiiiiiieeeee, it's May!

You know those days where you have a plan and are all set to accomplish everything you think you need to do for that day? You know how those days never seem to work out so that you do actually accomplish said plan?

Today is that day. 

I had in mind that I would accomplish more of this:

The above picture is about a day and a half of wallpaper removal. First of all, why is there even wallpaper? Why not just hand people Sharpies and let them go to town and then paint over it, again and again, around and around we go?

And secondly, why is there wallpaper again?

After shunting all 3Thingz out the door to school, I tackled the dishwasher and the dishes that needed washed by hand. They'd been sitting around since Saturday's party for Carrie. Objects like both crock pots. Don't judge. They were soaking.  And I threw in a load of laundry. And crossed my fingers that the trash wouldn't get blown to kingdom come. Then I left the house. 

 After breakfast out with my girl Zita which was then followed by a trip to Panera for gift cards, I came home to an unscheduled game of 52 Pick Up:

Drat that Ohio wind. I realize we are not the only people who experience this problem. However, I am a rather rabid recycler, which means our bin is almost always 2/3 full or we don't even put it out. So when we DO put it out and the wind is coming from the north or the east out of Mordor, I tend to scream, "are you even kidding me?!" which usually leads into  bad words.

During my impromptu Trash Bash, a dump truck sped along at at least the 50 mph that marks our road and knocked the bin over again while I was right there, I confess I didn't fully appreciate the tiny wildflowers that are dotting our field of dreams mud. I was more worried about sinking, like Atreyu's horse in "The Never Ending Story."

After yanking the recycling bin back down the driveway, still full, and putting it in time out until next week and then stomping my way back inside, I transferred the laundry to the dryer, loaded up my teacher appreciation basket and headed back out. I dropped that off at the school and then continued on to Walmart with its assorted fun and games. 

Now I'm finally home, the groceries are unloaded and the laundry is folded and put away, but the kids are already on the bus en route home and I haven't even started on the rest of the wallpaper:

And somebody is pouting that I never play with him. He's also ticked because he's been sequestered to one room (as he eats everything including wallpaper adhesive) though it happens to be the room where I'll be working next...

Not that it's all about me, but if the Second Coming were to happen anytime soon, it had better be sometime other than in May! 

Black Belt Down

This guest post is brought to you by Grandmama. Sorry, Mom. I'd forgotten about it! This goes along with the post about Carrie passing out in health class...

Black Belt Down (sung to Deck The Halls melody)

Arteries and tributaries.... in our dear health class at Bowling Green.
Veins and tiny capillaries... in our dear health class at Bowling Green.
Have you seen this scary story? You will see injury, referee, 
But it's real, not Halloweeeee--eeen.
Clint the hockey player on the screen.

Carrie is a black belt student... in our dear health class at Bowling Green.
Likes health science when it's prudent... in our dear health class at Bowling Green.
But she's fainting from a flashback- teacher, friends, and the room fade    to    black.
No more sound track for this tall teen- 
On the classroom floor she can be seen.

Notify administration... in our dear health class at Bowling Green.
Walk her to the nurse's station... from our dear health class at Bowling Green.
Should she leave in this condition? Mr. D- her family tree- has syncope!
Listen to her frank admission- "You must understand- it's in my genes!!!!"

-10/27/18 (See? I AM behind...)

This old man

Damon had the obligatory back-to-school, meet-your-teacher, drop-off-your-school-supplies meeting tonight and I had the brilliant idea to attempt to get groceries afterwards since I only had one kid to wrangle. 

The Aldi trip was fine and fast, and we then only needed a very few things from Walmart. We found our raisins and Dada's aftershave and our vitamins and then I realized we are out of hand soap refill, so we grabbed that. I used two plastic bags, one with the soap and aftershave in it and the other held the raisins and the vitamins. 

Being a mom, I gave him the lighter one. He protested, telling me, "hey! That one is more heavy. I'm going to be a man soon!" 

I asked if he meant like, tomorrow, or next year, or what. 

"I don't care. I'm going to be a man." 

He won. He got the heavy bag. Well played, man-child. 

He did it!

The Damonater is now a black belt in karate. Yay! The last test, this "fun" one involving sparring and grappling, happened yesterday and the entire class passed. They worked their behinds off:

Damon's second grade teacher popped in for awhile and commented, "I think I've lost weight just while I've been sitting here..." and "they're making me tired just watching them!" His face lit up when he saw her. Our buddy Myron also made an appearance for "mortal support" (yes, I know it's "moral", but if you haven't seen "The Gods Must Be Crazy" then you should and you'll catch the reference).

Of course we celebrated with ice cream afterwards, because that's how we roll. Graduation will be Saturday, May 12 at noon if anyone wants to come see him actually get his belt, the ceremony, the fun after all the hard work, and so on. 

Woohoo, three cheers, hip hip hooray, and way to go!

First day of second grade

Not really sure where the time has gone, but this little bugger is a second grader. As has been the case thus far, he whined and moaned the fact that he had to start a new grade. He consistently desires to return to whichever grade he just left. However, now that we have 16 or so days under his belt, he is doing just fine and loves his teacher.

Bring on the terrible twos second grade!

AND for what was probably the second time ever, he has his own pair of brand new shoes instead of a pair from a big kid!

Dear Diary

It isn't even 8:30 yet and I can tell for sure that it's a Monday.

 Carrie staggered into the only one of the four bathrooms in our home that I was using first thing to tell me how tired she was and how she wanted to go back to bed and how it's too eaaaaaaarly. I suppose girls who pee together stay together. We headed out and caught her bus without incident. There was a fellow bus rider who waved enthusiastically to me as it pulled away, and it wasn't Carrie. Cracked me up.

On the stroll back into the house, I noticed our mini daffodils are all open and facing excitedly toward the sunrise. I'm pretty sure they weren't doing that yesterday. That's one of the best parts of a new house... seeing what comes up and where and when. All these fun plants that we didn't have to plant! Yay!

Of course, Liam isn't up at this point, though he should be. Dada even set his alarm and turned it on last night for him. Round one. Ding ding!

He comes down, griping that Damon kept him awake all night and that he wouldn't stop talking, which we already knew as we'd both been in there more than once to talk to them about not talking any more! I popped some trusty, fast, Eggo waffles into the toaster to get him moving and that helped turn things around. He got dressed, finished breakfast, stripped his bed, brushed his teeth, and had 10 minutes of Lego time. As I'm rejoicing over this improved morning attitude, we meander out to the bus.

He hugs me, and I notice the pockets of his fleece are BULGING. That kid tried to smuggle two pockets full of Legos to school on the first day after break!

I've been snookered!

As I'm fishing Legos out of his pockets (which are way deeper than girl pockets, naturally) and into mine, naturally the bus shows up and I can't even get them all. I send him off, admonishing him to "keep those in your pocket!!" He waves cheerfully and off he goes.

I get back into the house, not in as sunny of a mood as when I left, and I almost trip over the orange flip flops spread out in front of the door. I look in a little farther, and there's a pajama-clad, robe-clad, hoodie-over-robe-clad Damon announcing he's going outside. But needs socks.

I tipped off Liam's teacher that she may want to use her XRay vision first thing and perhaps store certain belongings in a safe location until the end of the day. Nothing like shattering illusions of a perfect first day back from spring break before she's had her mug of tea...

I was going to finish my coffee from yesterday, but when I checked my mug, I noticed what I thought was a hair floating in it. Upon further examination, the black ant must have needed the caffeine more than I did, and fresh coffee was brewed after all.

Dinner is in the crock pot, the second load of sheets is in the washer, the dog's been let outside, Damon is socked and booted and also let outside, so now maybe I can go have a bowl of cereal. I've only been up for a little over two hours.

Today they'll all have karate lessons, I hope to get to Aldi, Walmart, the post office, the tax office, and the Y.

Um, is it bedtime yet?

Spring Concert and Art Show and Ice Cream Social

You know Spring is almost here when it's concert time. Liam's shindig was the same day as Damon's field trip, naturally, so after we rested up we headed back to school. Liam found his cat right away:

 

I don't mean to criticize, but I am puzzled at the huge differences between the school system we're in now and our previous one. At the old school, attendance and participation in concerts were (was? Mommee?) mandatory and you had to supply an excuse if you weren't going to show.

 

This school sent home a reminder about the evening and you were to return the bottom portion if you WERE going to show up. I know they were counting heads for the ice cream social side of things, but really?

 

It became more clear when we asked Liam if he knew the words to all his songs.

 

"Song."

 

"What?"

"Song. You said songs. There's only one."

 

...

 

So this is Damon, surveying the scene...

 

 

And this is Carrie, mulling over the fact that we're back at school and had to park at the strip mall and walk over for one song. One. Song.

 

 

It was a nice treat to hear the high school's swing band playing between elementary classes, though. They sounded great!

 

Liam spotted us right away. There were kids on the stage, and the ones on the floor like him were to perform inventive percussion using their bodies. I'm sure he'd be happy to demonstrate if you ask him about it.

 

 

Sadly, none of our raffle tickets that we entered to win (the ice cream supply basket, naturally, or the minion family movie night basket, for those of you keeping score) were chosen by the powers that be. But our soft serve with toppings was yummy, we bought a slice of triple chocolate cake for Dada, who hadn't made it home from his week in Miami yet, and we saw some of the same adults we'd seen earlier on our field trip, haha. I even got in a quick chat with Liam's teacher, whom I really like and admire.

 

And now we know better what to expect from concert night.

 

Pandelerium.

 

And ice cream!

 

Not Nostalgic

I'm going to take advantage of the few moments of peace I'm experiencing while Damon is rocking, rocking, rocking in the big chair and get this down while it's fresh.

Next week is the last week of school. I believe today is day 8 of the countdown. Carrie's teacher retires this year. I think this is the third teacher she's knocked into retirement, hehe!

I was struck this morning by the sight of Carrie and Liam meandering off to the bus. These will be the last two weeks they'll walk to the bus stop together until her senior year, provided we're in the same place then. Next year Carrie starts middle school, and they'll be on different schedules orbits for years. I'm fairly sure her bus for junior high will come at the ridiculous time of minutes-after-7-AM... which I'm sure will be the cause of much hilarious blogging to come. I've been proclaiming that she'll have to sleep on the couch, in her school clothes, with her backpack hung on the front doorknob, and a PopTart in the mailbox on her way to the bus in order to make it on time. Maybe.

Anyway, it made me sad this morning to think about the comraderie ending. I have no idea what they talk about on the way to the bus, and I don't need to know. It's kind of fun to stay back and watch them be siblings, to have that bond that nobody else has, even as much as they complain about each other. I'm sure that's part of the whole sibling thing, too. Some days they stop to pet the dogs who are out. Some days they leave slightly ahead and behind of each other and tear along the sidewalk in fear of we-might-just-miss-it-this-time. Some days bring the sharing of an umbrella or the steadying of each other so nobody wipes out on the ice. Other days finds them searching for those rolypoly bugs, ladybugs, and praying mantis (mantises? manti?) characters peeking out of the lilies at the bus stop.  

I'm sure Carrie won't be thinking of much except how ungodly early it is on her trek next year. I wonder if Liam will notice his sister is not even with him. There will be new, smaller kids to take her seat on the bus. Our beloved Mr. Mike stopped driving the bus at the end of the fall semester, so we've been mourning his absence. It must be time.

And darn it if I'm not sitting here in tears.

Lemmings

Like everybody else, we've been crazy busy now that the holidays are approaching.

Sessions at the Y are winding down until the New Year, so Damon will have his last swimming lesson in an hour. He really likes his class and his teacher and being in the water. In fact, he'd rather be in the water more than anything else. It will be interesting to see if his instructor will promote him or keep him at the same level until he follows directions (like staying on the wall) a little closer...

Carrie had her Christmas concert last Thursday and tonight is her very first strings concert, featuring her on the viola for the first time. I'm at once proud and mentally trying to remember where we keep our stash of ear plugs. Not that'd we'd need them for HER, of course, but who knows if those other kids pick up their instument at home. *wink wink*  I thought about posting her former concert stuff, but I think I'll wait until after the pictures tonight and do them all at once.

Today Liam presents his report on Gandhi. The entire second grade has been researching biographies on people of their choice, and he picked Gandhi. He's going in with two pillowcases folded and pinned into a sash and my hair towel for his turban. I can't wait to hear how it went.

I've been trying to Christmas shop while the big kids are in school. Shopping with a three-year-old takes more talent than I possess, however, as proven by me leaving $55 of gift cards at the store where I bought them yesterday. I called customer service once I got home and realized I didn't have them and called myself an idiot. I was informed there was no such thing, that they get that call all the time, and that they'd be waiting for me at the service desk. Whew! Tis the season.

We haven't had as much snow as some of you, but I'm betting we have permafrost. It hasn't been above freezing in a long time now. Every time I go out to shovel, it snows more. Therefore, I quit. Triskal enjoys the snow for about 2 minutes, rubbing her face in it and galloping about, and then sits on the step giving us pitiful eyes as soon as she realizes snow = cold. Apparently some things take awhile to be learned, even after 8 years of it. Silly old girl.

Have a wonderful Positive Energy Thursday!

Charming Daughter

This is our lovely Carrie, all ready for preview night at school. That's the night they meet their teachers, take in their school supplies, sign up for conferences, see the layouts of their classrooms, etc. We figured we better warn her teacher right up front:

And here she is during her downtime, building, scheming, looking innocent...

Grow like a teacher.

Recent happenings:

Liam's officially moved off of his crib mattress on the floor into a twin bed with a frame. It was a non- event, really. We took his crib mattress sheet off to wash it and he said, "my bed is broken." Which is true, as the mattress had tears in both sides and had sheets on both sides to hold the stuffing in. I'm certainly not sorry to see it go. And here's hoping it will lessen the THUMPTHUMPTHUMPDIVE that we would constantly hear at bedtime. Now he has to heave himself UP into the big bed =)

He's peeing and pooping on the potty, for those who keep track of that sort of thing. He's very, very proud. Mostly of his Batman underwear, but hey, everyone's gotta have something.

Carrie attended her first girls- only birthday party and had a wonderful time. She even received a thank you note for her gift of valentine pencils and construction paper. Bless you, Grace's mom.

While it hasn't snowed substantially (thank goodness for spell check- took me three tries to get that right) this week, we still have over a foot in places. Carrie has been commenting that she's like Jesus: He walked on water, but she walks on snow. It's true. She looks like Legolas on Caradhas when he walks on top of the snow. She doesn't weigh enough to crunch through it.

I have no explanation for the next one. When we encourage Liam to eat so he can grow big, or to sleep so he can grow, he usually replies, "yes! So I can grow like a teacher!" We used to tell Carrie to sit up tall like Shawn. Sometimes it's tall like Hinrew. For Liam, apparently it's tall like a teacher. Who knew?

Next week is the 100th day of school. That's a big deal around here. Carrie has already taken in to school a baggie filled with 100 minty circles (Wintogreen lifesavers to the rest of you) and a bag of 100 hair ties. I believe 100 day is Wednesday, so be sure to ask her about that if you call.

We hosted Nina & Bing on Tuesday night so their parents could have a date. Usually Liam is infatuated with those younger than him, but I was impressed at how helpful Care Bear was to Bing. She kept track of his sippy cup and brought him toys with buttons that made noise. It was nice to see her being tender-hearted. Liam was a bit louder than Bing was used to, I think. They all had a great time reading books, running around, hopping like frogs, eating Cheerios, and generally making each other and myself laugh all night. Fun times!

It was -4 when we left for the bus stop this morning. Poor Care Bear threw a grand mal tantrum when I insisted she wear tights under her pants. Apparently they were "bunchy" and were bugging her inside her shoes. That's her word for any type of clothing that she doesn't want to waer. It can be for cute, fitted T shirts in that they are too tight under her armpits. It can be the way a sock might scootch up around her toes or heels. It could be sleeves of a shirt once a coat has been put on over top. I'm sure she'll strip down with much relief once she gets home. Hey, I have tights on too. With socks on top. It could never drop below 70 again and I wouldn't be sorry. At this point, I don't think she would mind either.

Stay warm, everyone, and be well.