Beauty in the day: he came to the clinic with cracked, bleeding lips.
“I have just the thing!” I told him. Afterwards he asked to call his mom.
“Hi mom. My lip was bleeding, but Ms. Nordstrom put gasoline on it, and it’s better now.”
Beauty in the day: there were two of them, and they had a pass, which they handed over with an air of importance. “We need to get 10 copies of this.”
“Okay,” I responded dutifully, and held out my hand for the paper.
“We need 10 copies.”
“10 copies of this math.”
“Okay.” I extended my hand a little further.
“Please make 10 copies of this math.”
“Okay.” I sort of waved my hand a little.
“10 copies for my teacher.”
I tried a different tack.
“I think you need to give me that copy, so I can use it to make the 10 copies.”
This brought me a suspicious gaze. But as I am generally trustworthy, she handed over the paper, albeit slowly.
“My teacher needs 10 of those.”
Yes. 10 was what I had stuck in my mind, so I was relieved that we were still on the same page.
I brought back the copies, giving the original to one girl, and the copies to the other. For a moment it appeared that we might have an equality issue, but Logic won out, and they headed back to class with their mission accomplished.
Beauty in the day: being reminded that everyone has a viewpoint – everyone has a perspective. Today I see many pictures of planes flying into towers; when I see this, I am only saddened by the insidiousness of such an act. I am reminded of the hurt and pain that so many people felt at their incomprehensible loss – nearly 1,200 of them muslims, who were innocent. I am saddened further to think that those people are now reliving the rejection brought on by fear, as they listen to Americans once again treat them as infidels. It should not be. It should never be.
If you are feeling fearful, there is only one thing that can rid you of it:
Beauty in the day: the knowledge and conviction that each day has just enough difficulty for me to to be focused on, without being compelled to solve tomorrow’s trauma in advance.
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.
Beauty in the day: they are 2nd graders. One was in the office to take a “break”, something that is a new development in helping with his success. The other has been known to come and sing for me, particularly tunes he deems as “Spanish-Gaelic”, and also likes a little help with his success.
Singer came in dramatically, dragging his leg behind him and punctuating his steps with groans. Upon arrival, he heaved his gangly little body onto the countertop, the back of his hand grazing his forehead. “I hurt my leg,” he managed, with what was clearly almost his last breath. We went to get an ice pack, which he made use of for at least 45 seconds. He was suddenly back by my side, his upper body strewn out over the desktop again. “I want to know if my idea is going to happen,” he said pointedly.
“Your idea?” I asked, following the obvious prompt.
“Yes. I think I could maybe be Strategy Boy, and maybe there could be Strategy Man, or something.” This was a reference to our principals who dressed up as Unity Man and Virtues Boy a short time ago, which was quite a hit.
Someone came into the office, and the conversation was interrupted. It was at this point that “taking-a-break-boy” approached Spanish-Gaelic Boy with a proposition: “If you change your mind, can I be Strategy Boy?”
“Well, you can be Strategy Man, because you’re taller than me.”
“Well, maybe I could, because I’ve been growing a mustache.”
“I think I might be too. I have some hairs…”