It’s Elementary

Beauty in the day: when someone comes to the office and says “I can’t believe you had to deal with [that] situation today!”, and you have to squint to remember that situation, because, unbeknownst to the speaker, a newer and bigger and more challenging situation has taken its place, rendering the first situation rather dull in comparison. Yet, let it be known that the first situation was “quite” a situation, and I wouldn’t intend to detract from its frustration; except that the second situation simply – did.

Humor Bites

Beauty in the day: today my assistant was exercising a form of her biting humor. Those who know my assistant are right now teetering between confusion and laughter. Confusion at: “Wait, what? Biting humor? Sarcasm? I don’t think so….” and laughter at the conjured thought of that taking place. They are also noting that they now believe I am a bad influence on her….

Hell Hath No Fury….

Beauty in the day: Sometimes the beauty comes after the day, and sometimes it comes second-hand. If you’re like me, second-hand beauty is just as good. On a day like today, second-hand beauty is like icing on the cake; especially when the cake is made out of rutabaga (I’ve never had rutabaga, but it at least doesn’t sound like something good to make a cake with). I like stories about little boys who write love notes – – this one had a twist that may wind up being far-reaching. He did, in fact, write a love note. He wrote a marriage proposal to a boy in his class – – and signed a fellow girl classmate’s name to said proposal, leaving it NOT on the boy’s desk, but on the girl’s desk. Let’s just say the kid likes to love dangerously. Because I know the girl rather well, I can tell you that this could follow him to his grave, and if he is not careful, if could be sooner, rather than later.
#awomanscornedhaslessfurythanthislittlelady

Love & Logic

Beauty in the day: while it was a very busy “kid” day, to say the least, and while there was beauty to be found in all of it, I got a particular chuckle from the “logic” of a pair of kinders who were brought in to mourn their inappropriate and disrespectful attitude toward one of our recess staff. “Is this true, that you were very disrespectful to Miss Martin?” Mr. Mike asked with a hint of incredulity.
“Well, yes, but we miss our Teacher.”
Hard to argue with that logic, since his teacher is Miss Kimble, but it had a bit of an air of “reasoning pulled out of thin air”, since it had been a mere 45 minutes since being in her presence.
Still, I had to appreciate how quickly he went to that go-to of an answer.
#needmymisskimblefix

With a Wink and a Snore

Beauty in the day: he is the kindergartener who rolls on the floor. Today, in his Guest Teacher-led class, he was, well, a little out of control. I went to the classroom at the teacher’s request for a little help, since the last known “on deck” person was already “on base”. I entered a room filled with – snoring. Nineteen little bodies were sitting at tables with their heads on the tables, giving their very best Oscar-worthy rendition of “Child at Desk in School Taking a Nap”. One little kindergartener, however, was still wide awake. In his determination to give his own Oscar-worthy performance, he was, er, ascending to greater heights. I went over to where he was and got serious. “Eyes on me, Friend.” His eyes found mine. “Please tell me, Friend, what all your classmates are doing.” He was not fooled by this line of questioning, and answered brilliantly.
“They are pretending to have a nap in class. They are doing a sleep, and some of them are snoring.”
Not bad.
“Okay, Friend, and is this what you are also supposed to be doing?”
His answer was about to be less brilliant, but then his brain prompted him (politely, I’m sure) to say, “Yes.”
“Okay, eyes on me, Friend.” He complied. “I want you to show me exactly what you are supposed to be doing in five, four, three…”
His legs walked his body straight to his chair, his spine bent elegantly over his desk, and he expertly laid his head on the desk, punctuating the moment with a well intentioned soft little snore.
We had a talk about how he simply could no longer fool me, because he has, on several occasions, proven how brilliantly his brain worked, and how utterly capable he was at following directions.
The AP got involved then, and a plan was developed for him to earned smiley faces. After 3 smiley faces were earned (this would take 15 minutes), he could come to the office and choose a prize from his illustrious prize box.
15 minutes later, he arrived, classroom aide in tow, with his 3 smiley faces, and ready to claim his prize. But the AP had been called away. I grabbed my camera, and we went together to the prize box. “I will take a picture of you for the AP,” I told him. He looked with dampened desire at the prizes. Something wasn’t right. He looked at the prizes and then at me, uncertainty in his chocolate brown lash-rimmed eyes. “It’s a little bit like stealing,” he mused. I assured him that we would take the picture, and then the AP would be super proud and happy.
“I should pick two, then.”
#maybetooconvincing

Aroma Therapy

Beauty in the day: the AP took a pre-packaged salad from the fridge, and opened near another employee. “That doesn’t smell right,” she told him.
“I’ll chance it – life on the edge, and all,” he replied, accepting her offer of some habanero sauce to add to it.
“Oh – be careful – it’s pretty spicy stuff,” she warned.
“It’s all good,” he told her, “I tend to eat a good bit of spicy stuff.”
“Cool,” she said.
He took the said to his office.
Another employee came into the Main Office, and looked around. “What is that smell?” she asked in a concerned voice. “It smells like GARBAGE!” She sniffed and sniffed. I tried to help, and discovered she was right. There was a “not good” smell in the air. As I walked to the AP’s office, I was able to identify that it was , in fact, his salad. He could hear us talking, and by now had a very worried and nervous look on his face.
“I’ve been eating this salad!” he wailed. He walked into the hall, dressed to go to recess.
He yowled, “I’ve been eating rotten food, I can’t feel my lips, and I’m wearing an ugly yellow vest!” He retrieved the salad and made a beeline for the out-of-doors to properly dispose of it. The smell was really strong by now.
It was at this moment that the principal, unaware of what had just happened, walked in his brisk way into the office, and sort of slowed his gait. The reason was clear when he protested, “It smells like a diaper in here!”
Oh boy.

Green Day

Beauty in the day: He is a new kindergartener. I mean – he’s green. REALLY green. Guest Teacher called for a little help. I went down to check it out, and found the young squire rolling on the dot carpet. The other children were sitting at their tables. “Hi Friend, what’s going on?” I said in a whisper voice, so as not to disturb the studiously working others. He just looked at me with a blank stare, and I asked if he would rather go down to the Office, or join his friends with the learning. “Go to the Office,” he said without much hesitation (“Office” doesn’t mean anything in particular to him yet).
We got there, and I decided we would strategize. “So, Friend, I’ll be you would like it if Mr. Winter (his regular teacher) was really proud of you when he came back tomorrow, wouldn’t you?” He agreed that he would. “I wonder – – what could you do with your Guest Teacher today that would make Mr. Winter proud of you tomorrow?” He gave this some thought, and had an answer.
“I could listen to her.”
“Incredible! What a fantastic idea you just had! This is great! Let’s write this down!” We wrote it down.
“Any more ideas of how we can do something with the Guest teacher that will make Mr. Winter proud of you?”
After some consideration, he had an additional thought: “I could follow her directions.”
I went crazy again, celebrating the genius that was he. About then, the Counselor came to have a chat, and my stint was over.
At the end of the day, the Guest Teacher told me that the rest of the day went “better”, but that he had still had difficulties.
“But you know, when we all went to the front of the school for dismissal, he was the only one who said goodbye to me. “Bye!” he told her, “See you tomorrow!”
Mr. Winter would be proud.