Beauty in the day: the principal came in from recess with a story to tell. Apparently he had just finished intervening with two very young girls who were engaged in a sort of, “slap fight”. He demonstrated this kind of childish, flailing hands kind thing. “The funny thing about it was the REASON for the conflict. It turns out they were playing a make-believe game about magical things. One girl was in charge of granting the other girl’s wish.”
“I would like an invisible cape!”
The other girl granted this wish easily, or so it would seem. The wish became more complicated, as the first girl clarified that the cape should be “sparkly pink”.
The grantor explained that, no, the invisible cape was most certainly NOT sparkly pink.
Now, the first girl was rather put-out at this point, and again asserted that the cape should absolutely be sparkly pink.
The second girl disagreed again, and this is about where the slap fight started.
The principal mediated, and, listening to the explanations of what had taken place, asked the wish-grantor why she didn’t just agree that the invisible cape could be a sparkly pink one?
She exhaled and rolled her eyes. “If it’s INVISIBLE, then it wouldn’t have any COLOR.”
Although I beg to differ here, I do see where she was going with that.
Beauty in the day: she came in near the end of the day, Miss I-Have-Been-Here-All-Day-And-Am-Just-Now-Coming-Down-With-“Something”. I took her temperature. Nope. We did the usual – lay down for a bit – try going to the bathroom – have a drink of water.
“Well school is out in 25 minutes, so perhaps you should just go back to class and get ready.”
She thought not. “I really think I should just stay here in the clinic until school is out.”
Fine. Boring, but okay.
She came out of the clinic. “How many more minutes until school is out?”
“20 more minutes.” She went back in.
She tiptoed out again. “How many more minutes now?”
“17.” She retreated.
But then emerged again. “How many more minutes?”
“8 more.” She sighed. And returned.
Now she came out with a determined look. “How many more minutes?”
I looked. “4,” I told her. She maintained a serious, level gaze. And went back again. I didn’t see her after the bell rang – except for the pink blur.
Beauty in the day: he came in at 8:01. “Miss Nordstrom, my mom thought I was really late, so-”
“Great news!” I interrupted. “You’re not late! Go line up!”
“But,” he began again. “My mom thought I was really late, and she said I need to get one of those pink passes!”
“Good news!” I exclaimed, with great energy. “She was mistaken, and you don’t need a pass! Go line up!”
He turned to leave, but walked s.l.o.w.l.y. toward the office table, his shoulders somewhat slumped.
“Wait, Friend! Don’t go yet!” I hurried to get a pink pass and pen. “You really ought to take this with you, actually.”
Taking it, he practically skipped out. He made the line just prior to the ringing bell.