What is it with Saliva?
I’ve been learning exactly why I used to teach high school and not elementary school. Big I is enrolled in a summer reading program. Since she was only in half day Kindergarten, I thought it would be a good idea to reinforce what she learned this past year and give her a head start for 1st grade. Parents are invited to sit in on the class to observe the ways they teach phonics and reading. So, for the past two weeks, I’ve spent two hours every week sitting in on this reading class.
Big I is enjoying it. I can’t say the same for myself. While I recognize that she is learning and that the program is beneficial for her, sitting through those classes is nothing short of torture for me.
This week, it took all I had to hold back from gagging as I watched a little boy continually licking his fingers and then picking his nose and rubbing his face. By the time the class was over, I was convinced that his face had a nice coating of saliva and boogies, and my stomach was threatening to rebel. There are also a couple kids who chew on or suck on their thumbs, not caring a bit that they’re drooling on themselves and the community crayons. Then they turn their crayons in to the teacher and there I am mentally cataloging the colors in case Big I gets those colors next week. Yeech.
Then there’s the bathroom brigade. These are the kids who can not hold it until the potty break, yet their accompanying parent or grandparent tells them they absolutely must wait until the teacher says they can go. Um, no. I was especially worried as I watched a little boy squirm in his seat and tell his grandmother that he really has "to go RIGHT NOW!" to no avail. I moved my purse and Big I’s bag too because although the grandmother was convinced, I certainly wasn’t that he was going to make it to potty time.
Then there’s the teacher. She’s very nice and very knowledgeable, but it’s quite obvious that I do not have the patience nor the voice to teach small children. She’s also quite talented at stopping mid-sentence to demand that little Howie "sit straight up in your chair please" without missing a beat. She always sounds super sweet when she’s making these plea’s to the kids. I just don’t have that in me. Never did.
When I taught high school, I think that most of the kids knew better that to mess with me. I wasn’t exactly a sweetheart of a teacher, and I certainly didn’t tolerate saliva issues or boogies for that matter. Eww.
Seeing what many of the kids who are Big I’s age act like, it’s now become very clear to me why we spent almost the entire school year being sick. This year, I think I’m going to install a hazmat shower outside my front door for when she comes home.
On Thursday, I am guest blogging over at Karl’s place. My guest post will feature a Black Belt Mama debut video, and I doubt you want to miss that! Have a Happy saliva free 4th of July!
Kindergarten Graduation
Today Big I graduated from Kindergarten. I can’t believe it. It doesn’t seem that long ago that I was spending my entire morning sobbing because it was her first day and she was gone.
Now, she’s a bona fide first grader and I am shocked at how fast this year has gone. The first and last day of Kindergarten. . .
She has learned so much this year. She’s learned all of her letters and how to count to 100. She can now tie her shoes completely by herself. She also learned that kids can be mean sometimes but she has done it all with incredible courage and I am so very proud of her. On the first day of school she could barely lift her chin up to say "hello" to anyone; today she led a class song during the graduation ceremony. She started school not knowing a soul; she ended the year with a best buddy that she met on the bus of all places.
Congratulations Big I on a job well done!
I’m looking forward to having my kid back to myself for the summer, and sleeping in. . . ahh yes, sleeping in. . .
Adventures in Self Tanning
I’m hoping for cool weather this week. My self tanner and I had a bit of a disagreement as to how our relationship should work. I was under the assumption that a fine mist of product would produce a subtle "glow"; it was under the impression that I wanted to look like a zebra or a splotchy cow perhaps.
As much as I would like to sun bathe, my dermatologist scared the living daylights out of me and it’s been minimum SPF 30 for me since then. That doesn’t mean I have to be pasty and transparent all summer though. Apparently there are all of these wonderful new self tanning products out on the market. At least that’s what I heard from some of the Mom’s of Big I’s classmates.
At her class picnic last week, I heard all about the good ones and the bad ones. I decided that after a long break from Cheeto’s-like skin coloring, I’d give it just one more try. I tried some L’Oreal misting stuff and I really wish I hadn’t. It’s a fine mist that you spray on and it seemed like there was absolutely no room for error. I stood in the shower stall and used what I thought was flawless precision to spray on my new tan.
I’m not sure if my lack of precision is to blame for my zebra striped legs, or if I should be blaming the boys on Big I’s t-ball team who splashed mud all over my legs yesterday, making me wipe it off and perhaps taking the self tanner along with it. Notice that nice white chunk down the front of my leg. This is pretty much the theme for my entire tanning job on my legs.
Did you notice how I said I stood in the shower to spray on my tan? Well, apparently my shower floor was dry at the time and I did not think about the bottoms of my feet and their rendezvous with the self tanning mist for one second. That was, until I was inspecting a cut on my heel that I got from some random thing on the dojo floor last week during class. I turned my foot over to see how that cut was doing and was greeted with the most tan foot bottom that I have ever seen. Yes, those feet are fresh from the shower and completely clean. In addition, exfoliated like a mad woman. Mineral oil- check. Foot scrubber- check. Foot file- done. And nothing worked.
I came downstairs after discovering the new vibrant shade of all things feet and told my husband and our weekend company about my discovery. It only took a second or two for Mr. BBM to get a very concerned look on his face and flip his own feet over so he could inspect them. And sure enough. . . his feet now match mine. That’s the problem with getting in the shower after your wife gives the shower stall a nice mist of self tanner. Needless to say, Mr. BBM is really happy with me today.
I realize that there are not going to be a lot of people checking out the bottoms of my feet. . . unless of course you acknowledge my fellow dojo-goer’s who may be subjected to some extremely pigmented feet this week. I am also going to the beach in another week or so and I’m hoping that by then, they’re a more, well, natural shade of skin.
As for my legs? The question right now is: should I try to correct or just wait until it fades? There are always nylons I guess, until my little problem clears up. . . nylons in 80 degree weather = fabulous fun after all. After my stripes are gone? I think I’ll just go back to being pasty white again.
Pasty white is the new hot. . . because I said SO!
Worst Start to a Monday EVER
7:15 AM- Wake up Big I for school.
7:30 AM- Realize Big I is almost completely ready for school. She may actually be EARLY for a change.
7:45 AM- Wake up Lil C and prepare to leave.
7:47 AM- Go to my purse to get my keys and remember I left my keys in the diaper bag.
7:48 AM- Frantically realize that diaper bag is locked in the car.
7:49 AM- Call Mr. BBM, who is already at work, who tells me to point the phone at the car while he hits the unlock button from 45 minutes away in his office because he obviously thinks he’s McGuyver or something.
7:50 AM- Run outside with Lil C in my arms to double-check that car is indeed locked.
7:51 AM- Hear the front door slam behind me and see Big I standing outside the house. Do the slow "NOOOOOOOOO" scream. Realize that the three of us are now locked out of the car AND the house.
7:52 AM- . . . but I still have the phone. Hang up with Mr. BBM and call Mom.
7:53 AM- Mom is on her way. The three of us sit down and cuddle to keep warm because it is cool this morning. We also fight a losing battle with a family of mosquito’s who probably felt they had just discovered a buffet.
8:16 AM- Mom arrives, let’s us in the house and hands me her keys to take Big I to school.
8:25 AM- Pull into school and realize that the door Big I always goes in is now locked. (This is her first time being late.) She’ll have to go in the office, which means I’ll have to go in with her. Realize that I am wearing bright lime green capri pajamas with cats all over them, a t-shirt from college that now has paint all over it. . . . and no bra to the school with the best dressed Mom’s before 9 AM that I have ever seen. We won’t even begin to discuss the state of my hair.
8:26 AM- Explain to entire office full of school personnel and extremely well-dressed Mom’s why we’re late.
8:27 AM- Return to car and drive home.
8:40 AM- Mr. BBM calls from work and says that there’s a valet key in the house that would have worked in the car, and indeed it does.
Where’s Grammom Shopping???
Lil C has kindly decided to share her stomach virus with me. It’s been a fun week full of unintended weight loss and other unpleasantries. I think I have the perfect work out plan: bronchitis (toned abs) chased with a nasty stomach virus (weight loss). I’m going to have a beach bod simply from being sick. I guess that is what’s called looking at life with rose-colored glasses. If you’d like to hear what it’s been like you can go read this post from last summer, because it’s pretty similar. Subtract out the scallops and add in Lil C’s virus as the culprit and that pretty much tells the story (minus the hospital this time around, thank God). . .
So due to my hiatus, here’s a little something I prepared over the weekend which I think you’ll enjoy. . .
My grandmother will turn 90 years old this June. She never ceases to be empty-handed when she sees my kids. Big I has about 4000 notebooks and/or coloring books that my grandmother has given her over the years (I, on the other hand, am never lacking dish towels for which she keeps me in constant supply).
On Saturday, of Mother’s Day weekend, we all got together. My grandmother gave my daughter a little notebook and Big I went right to work on filling it up with pictures. On Saturday night my parents watched the girls so Mr. BBM and I could have a very much needed night out.
The next day we got a phone call from my Mom telling us we might want to get rid of Big I’s new notebook from her Great-Grammom. Here is the image and wording that appears on each page of the notebook. . .
Apparently, while Mr. BBM and I were out, Big I took a little closer look at that image and asked my Mom, "Why is that girl bunny looking down that boy bunny’s pants?" My Mom about fell over and did what any responsible Mom-Mom would do. . . she told Big I to go ask Pop-Pop. My Dad took one close look at the image and wording and erupted into laughter. Only after minutes of this was my Mom able to give Big I the likely (wink, wink) explanation that the girl bunny was just showing the boy bunny how much weight he had lost. Way to go Mom!
That convinced Big I for the time being. Somehow I’m not convinced that explanation is the right one. So my question is, who decides to put this kind of image on a notebook? But more importantly, where is Grammom shopping???
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