Category Archives: Kindergarten

Zip it Good

Beauty in the day: he talks to us. We often don’t understand what he’s saying, but he’s also pretty animated, so us educated folk are generally able to decipher his antics. Today he had a few words for the Librarian. He seemed interested in her vest, and she leaned down to let him in’vest’igate. He motioned to her zipper, which he then grasped, and pulled up to her chin. She thanked him with a smile, and he left, exhibiting pride in a job well-done.

Sometimes love is letting someone zip you up.

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The Formula

Beauty in the day: they came in together, each with their own ailment – one whose arm was hurting (for no apparent reason), the other who said she hurt her side a few days prior, and it was hurting.
“Oh! I never like it when that happens either! Have you tried the rubbing thing?”
They had not, but looked somewhat intrigued. I had to pull out a more engaging explanation than usual, because I know these littles.
“Oh, yes – let’s do try. You just take this hand, and then you gently rub, and sometimes pat, just like your mommy would do – does your mommy do that?”
Their mommies did not do that.
“Oh, well, how lucky! I’ll bet you never thought that you would get to go home and teach something to your mama, did you?”
Once again, intrigued.
“I think I can bend my arm better now!”
“My side feels better!”
“Wow! you two are just like little magical fairies!”
They left in agreement of that statement.

Little Big Man

Beauty in the day: he is little. Teeny-tiny. He’s one of those teeny-tiny packages that pack a wallop. He came in before school with a nasty scrape on his forearm, the wound bright red. He was HOWLING. My poor assistant was trying to dab at the spot, which only made him howl more. Those little packages can make a lot of noise. 😉
I jumped in, if only to rescue my assistant and put and end to his misery. I grabbed some gauze, and got him to look at me while I counted loudly out loud, “1, 2, 3, 4,” and made some quick work of wiping away the redness.
“Here, buddy, hold this,” I told him, and grabbed his free hand to hold the fresh gauze over the scrape (at this point, it was medically unnecessary, but emotionally necessary).
His trauma scale was now at a 7 from the original 10, evidenced by the heavy breathing coupled with the FIERY level look he was aiming at me. I began to open a bandaid package. “I do NOT want a BIG bandaid!” he informed me in no uncertain terms.
I set down the big bandaid with great pomp, and grabbed up a medium one. I didn’t wait for his opinion, but started talking my way through it rapidly, having sized up my foe and determined the best course to confuse him. I placed it over his wound, and he took 3 even breaths, and then turned on his heel to head to class, muttering loudly to himself as he went.

At lunch, he returned. “Take it off,” he said regally and with great importance.

“Oh, no. No, we will not take if off, friend, because you have a scrape under there that needs to heal.”

“It is better now,” he dictated. “Take it off!”

“Nope. Sorry, buddy. Not taking it off. That needs to stay on.”

We had a short argument then, him wrangling to remove the bandaid, and me standing my ground. I came up with a compromise. “Okay, we can take it off so you can look at it, but then I will cover it back up with a new one.” He felt this to be preposterous (which it was), and opted to leave it on.
“Make sure you show it to your mom when you get home, and she can decide if you can take it off.”

I’ve never seen a 5-year-old master the technique of the double-take…until now. He screwed his face up tight and looked at me with the scoffing-est of scoffing looks. “I will NOT show it to my mother!” he said over his shoulder, as he exited the office with the swiftness of one who isn’t interested in getting caught up and any more ridiculous conversation.

It’s important that our jobs are not around the clock. I can likely use the down time to restrategize.

Working Girls

Beauty in the day: it was another clinic visit for cutie-patootie, who has had a running tab in “I don’t feel good” days. The nurse thought to distract her with an offer of a few pretzels, which she accepted gratefully. As the nurse set about the (apparently) arduous task of laying out a pretzel snack, Little Miss asked her, “I’m not making you work too hard, am I?”
Now, I heard all of you “Awwww” collectively, but a short while later, I offered to give her mom a call, and as I (apparently) arduously dialed the number, she thanked me and asked sweetly, “I’m not making you work too hard, am I?”
We knew we’d been had.

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

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.