Tag Archives: boy

Good Morning, Morning Bun

Beauty in the day: stopped to get a rare Starbucks this morning. I don’t usually have the time. While I waited for my yummy coffee, I watched a little boy at a table nearby. The early morning sun was coming in the window in a way that lit him gently, and I could make out tiny, soft freckles on his nose and cheeks. He had a cup of hot cocoa, and in a little bag was a morning bun. He slid the bun out, and put his palms flat against the sides, his fingers shooting out straight and stiff. He lifted the bun directly in front of his face, as if to inspect it reverently, the morning sun illuminating the cinnamon sugar crystals, and his eyes traveled over the surface, taking in it’s inviting warmth. He lowered the bun to the napkin, and the took a respectable bite. I’ve had those morning buns, and I have to tell you – he was on point.

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Beauty Squared

Beauty in the day: there was more than one. Or maybe it was that I was out of the office for the previous 2 days, so that the kids just seemed cuter? Nah…
Before school could even start 2nd grade girl comes into the office, and announced boisterously: “I just got the good news about ME.” Seems she is scheduled to receive not one, but TWO awards at our upcoming 1st Trimester Awards Assembly, and apparently she is getting an award for ART, as well as one for ATTITUDE. I didn’t even need to pat her on the back; she was doing just fine.

Not long after that I was approached by Daily 3rd grade boy, who came to me and asked, “Can I tell you something?” My eyebrow went up, and I said to him (I really did), “Well, if I say ‘no’, you’re just going to tell me anyways, right?” He confirmed this theory, and so I motioned for him to “please continue”.
“Never eat at Mcdonald’s. Or never eat at family restaurants – or, I mean, fast-food restaurants.”
I have to admit, I was curious.
“And why is that?” – it was a good question; I wasn’t disappointed.
“Because they put eyeballs.”
“They put eyeballs?”
“In the food. They put eyeballs.”
“And how did you come to discover this?”
“I saw it. On the menu.”
Since I had been gone the previous two days, I was clearly a bit out of practice, because I engaged him.
“I have seen the menu, and I have not seen anything about eyeballs on it. I am sure about this.”
He countered. “Well, what I mean is that I went behind the counter where they work, and I saw.”
This I could not refute. After all, I have not been behind the counter.
“And you saw EYEBALLS??!?!??!?”
“Yes,” he said with a marked air of authority. “But you can go to Red Robbin. They do not put eyeballs in their food there.”

~ ~ ~ So there was that.

Near lunchtime, Favorite 2nd grade boy who sometimes sings Spanish-Gaelic songs (forgive me, IRISH-Gaelic – the poor boy feels that I will never let him live that down) came in to the office with a small baggie in his grip. “I have brought some first aid things with me that I will use today to be a helper at recess, in case anyone gets hurt.” He had some bandaids, and gloves, and gauze inside. During the recess, he brought a girl in (he didn’t know she was a frequent flyer). He already had his latex gloves donned, and he escorted her into the clinic, setting about the task of providing her with an ice pack (note: the ice pack is the one tool that is used more than any other in the school clinic. If a child came in suffering from frostbite or exposure, they would ask first and foremost for an ice pack). He honestly had the bedside manner of a very fine physician.

Finally, 5th-grade-girl-who-was-doing-math came in with eyes that were bothering her. I came in to see that the school nurse had suggested she lay down and shut her eyes for a minute or two.
“I’m not sure,” I said, “but my eyes are bothering me too, I think, and I would like to lay down and shut them for a minute or two as well.” I laid on the other cot, and closed my eyes, remarking on how lovely that felt, which caused 5th grade girl (who was missing math) to begin giggling. Apparently I look very comical laying on a clinic cot.

Happy Day to any of you who had so many beauties in one day!

Who’s the Boss?

Beauty in the day: she’s been coming down to the office lately, generally from recess. The kindergartener usually just wants to do a “check” on achy limbs, that sort of thing. Personally, due to her extremely charismatic and precocious personality, I believe she is just “checking out her horizons,” so to speak. She always brings a certain young lad with her; he seems to be her attendant.
Today, she needed the 1,000 Mile Check-up on her legs. She made a dramatic, albeit cheerful entrance, announcing the urgent need to have her legs checked out, dragging them as she went. The decision was made for her to rest a few minutes.
Attendant waited outside the office, and in the busy-ness of the afternoon was rather unnoticed.
After a few minutes, it was time for the little lady to be sent back to class. About this time, the office door opened and Music Teacher stood in the doorway to inquire about Attendant. “Ms. Nordstrom, for some reason, this young man is refusing to come to Music with the rest of his class……….?”
Attendant stood tall and explained: “She (he pointed to Queen-crippled-leg-girl) told me to wait here.”
Eyebrows were raised, and I informed Attendant: “She (pointing to Diva Darling) is not your boss. He (pointing to Music Teacher) is your boss. You need to listen to him.”
Attendant-Turned-Music-Apprentice nodded in appreciative understanding and went with his teacher, gesturing commandingly to the Healed Maiden to follow him.

Perhaps, for one young man at least, it’s a new dawn.

Strategizing for Strategy’s Sake

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…”

#ilikestrategyboyandstrategyman

No Sticker Shock Here

Beauty in the day: it would be a crime if I was too embarrassed to choose this moment. The teacher sent her very shy young kindergarten boy to the office so he could show me how great he did on his math work. We cheered and congratulated him. We high-fived him. We made those faces that you make when you can’t even believe what you are seeing and hearing. He was appropriately impressed. As I sent him off, I gave him a “You’re Awesome” sticker to put on his hand.
After a while, I got an email from his teacher, who informed me that he had shown her his sticker. “Wow, that Ms. Nordstrom sure is nice,” she told him.
“Yes,” he replied, “and she’s really quite beautiful.”
~ ~ We have the smartest kids at Ardmore. 😉

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