Abracadabra

Beauty in the day: I don’t think she had permission to come in from recess, but there she was.
“I would like some magical powers.”

“Oh, er….I’m sorry?”

“Can you please give me some magical powers?”

Really? Who let her in…..?

“I’m sorry, but you can’t just come in here and ask for magical powers. It doesn’t work that way.”

No response.

“Have you filled out an application? You have to fill out an application form. It takes a bit of time, and after the application is submitted, there is an investigation to see if you qualify.”

Shifty eyes; no response.

“I can’t simply hand out magical powers. You need an application. Or,” – the “or” interested her.

“…you can go back outside and see if you can find some magic on your own.”

She decided to wing it in her own.

#secrecypactwithOllivaders

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Sock it to Me, Baby

Beauty in the day: still not sure how this happens….
He came into the office and addressed Miss Kit. “My socks got wet.”
Miss Kit investigated. “Were you jumping in the puddles?”
He confirmed that he was.  This is quite a thought, since we live in the Pacific Northwest, and on normal days we don’t see this one.  Yet now, in the freezing temps,here we are.

I am not very good at the “one eyebrow raised in irony” expression, but since you can’t see me, you can simply assume I’m doing it well.

Just then, another tyke entered to speak with Miss Kit.
“My sock got wet.” My eyebrow is already raised, and remains that way while Miss Kit investigates again, with the same result.

(It should be noted here, that Miss Kit gave the following instructions: “Go to the bathroom, take off your socks, wring them out, and get some paper towels and try to dry them off as well as you can.” – I muffle a silent “lol”, which sort of negates what a “lol” is, but this is what happens, regardless.)
A good length of time goes by, and we are trying to be efficient in the office. Miss Kit has now gone home, and I get a visit from a once-upon-a-time spanish-gaelic singer who, because, why not – claims to have wet socks.

I am officially getting good at the eyebrow thing.

Blood Day

Beauty in the day: it was a blood day. Not just any blood day, but apparently “blood day”.
Now, normally, on a regular day, a student (could be male, could be female) will come into the office, wailing loudly, all the while drooling, and cry out that they are bleeding, with great drama, as well as some pomp and circumstance. In some rare cases, you can actually see the blood, and in even more rare cases, you are, at least momentarily, alarmed that the injury may be great.
This was not that kind of blood day.
Today I had 8 (more than a half-dozen) visitations from students that had gotten the memo that it was a blood day. Each and every one of them (of varying ages, mind you) who came to visit, walked in calmly, completely dry-eyed, marched up to my desk, and said (more or less), “I have blood.” And they did. Okay, I take that back. One of them said, “I think I have blood,” but then realized that, no, she didn’t.
All of the blood on “blood day” today was minimal, and some of it was even regarded as a positive sign (albeit somewhat painful, when you add the swelling that a very wiggly loose tooth can bring about).
Very soon, perhaps even tomorrow, it will no longer be blood day, and this will most likely mean that the sight of blood (that often requires a magnifying glass) will be the reason for a good, loud, crying fit.

But not today. Because today was Blood Day.

Little Bo-Peep

Beauty in the day: day 1 back at the ranch. We made it through to the day’s end – a bit of a feat, given that we had just come off of being spoiled with a two-week Winter Break.
All the children were being led, as usual, to the front of the school for dismissal. Dozens and dozens of happy little kindergarten faces called out Happy New Year wishes to me as they passed by, until one precious little tot gurgled happily to me, “Happy Thanksgiving!” This led to a somewhat confused chorus of sheep echoing the sentiment, until they were righted once again by the correct phrase.
I’m pretty sure it was a well-educated first grader that set them all straight.

Those first graders are as smart as all get-out.

Let’s Jet

Beauty in the day: I mean, it’s Christmas, right? The day has been spent with laughter and gifts and amazing food. The kids are happy and full of joy.
We were enjoying another round of giving and loving and sharing, when three-year-old Everett came into the room, his arms laden with die-cast jets, gifts he had received earlier in the day. He walked around the room, handing each occupant one of his precious jets, saying “This is for you!” as he handed them his treasure.
Best. Gift. Ever.