Why Children Are Deadly Dangerous

Today I gave Kira five dollars for school carnival tickets. I handed her the bill and looked away from her. She took it and then said, "Oh, I love the smell of money." I looked back at her and she had this filthy, disgusting bill pressed against her face and she was breathing it in.

She also told me that on the bus after school, the kids have an ongoing Mercy tournament. You know, it's that game where two kids grab hands and try to hurt the other by bending their knuckles back. So they go from one kid to the next, clasping filthy, sweaty palms. Then I just know that every kid in the tournament goes home and the first thing they do (after grabbing the door handle that everyone in the family touches) is grab the refrigerator door handle looking for a snack and then they rifle through your FOOD.

Today I overheard a kid in my class say to another kid, "Last night I put 47 pennies in my mouth." Apparently he thinks he could fit in more, but 47 was all he had to work with. You know, you ARE going to get one of those pennies as change sometime, don't you?

And none of them wash their hands after they use the bathroom unless I'm standing there watching, and make them go back in to do it.

If I can get through the next few months without getting the swine flu, it will be a miracle.

This is biological warfare, people! We have to fight against all the children that are trying to kill us! I think I will start carrying around a can of Lysol and a hepa mask. And a club.

My class

Random Craziness

Today while subbing for fifth graders, when I went to the cafeteria to pick them up from lunch they were getting totally reemed out by the other fifth grade teacher for being obnoxious during lunch time. Apparently they wouldn't listen to the lunch monitor and somebody threw some food so they had to sit in the lunch room for an extra ten minutes and get a very long, very humbling lecture.

During the lecture, one girl from my class was whispering to me, trying desperately to get my attention. "Mrs. Lindahl... MRS. LINDAHL..." I noticed her but I ignored her. She kept it up. I thought maybe somebody next to her might be having a seizure or be choking to death so I acknowledged her and she asked me in a loud whisper,

"What are those long things in fried rice?"

And then she looked at me like having the answer was a matter of life and death. I said, "... um...what?" and she repeated herself slower with careful enunciation:

"What... are those long things.... in fried rice?"

It was so surreal. I avoided the question by pointing to the other fifth grade teacher and shushing her like any good teacher would, but I couldn't stop thinking about that all day. Why was she thinking of fried rice right then? What are the long things in fried rice that she was thinking of? Carrot slivers? Sprouts?

I might have to pull her aside tomorrow and ask her. It's driving me crazy.

Also today Sam said something very weird. He said, "You know how when somebody pulls one over on you, you say 'touché'" I said, "...yes..." and he said, "Well, when you fool yourself do you say 'oneshay?" Mitch and I both said, "Yes. Yes you do." Just kidding, we didn't. We said, "No, you stupid idiot, don't you know French?" No we didn't.

Working Girl

I got a two week sub job at my favorite school for one of my favorite classes. Yay for me! The teacher is out because she developed a lung infection from all the cement dust floating around the school because of all the construction. So what if I'm only a substitute teacher, earning hardly any pay and having no health benefits and I'm working full-time in an environment that has already proven to be a health hazard. So? It's worth it, isn't it?

Other than the risk of developing Black Lung, the job is pretty sweet. Beautiful room, nice kids, easy-to-follow curriculum; and the best part is that they are studying US history in the 1800s for Social Studies! I think Dr. Quinn may have to make an appearance! Lucky lucky kids.

My class

Not the best day I've ever had

I thought I dodged getting the beginning-of-the-school-year crud that the kids bring home every year, because they brought it home about a month ago on their filthy hands. But I've got it now. They think that if they take a shower and wash their hair, their hands are clean enough to not wash until the next shower. Why are kids so gross that way?

Anyway, it feels like someone yanked me by the tongue and turned me slightly inside out and then worked over my throat-meat with a Garden Weasel.

Garden Weasel

And I keep hacking up these disgustingly hard teeny-tiny phlegm balls and when they come up they sit on my tongue and then I panic because should I swallow them? Should I spit? (I usually spit. Usually.) They don't seem like they are quite body temperature so, you know, gross. I hope I'm better by tomorrow because I am supposed to work. I got called to work this morning but I said no. Little tip for all the teachers out there needing subs: When you leave your message of instructions on the sub recording thingy, don't end by saying, "Good Luck, you'll need it!" because no sub is going to ever take that job.

This post is rated "R" for language

It's one of those days when profanity just rolls off the tongue. The F-bomb is inserted into my every thought, and, I'm afraid to say, too many of my sentences. At first it was just one of those swear-a-lot days that we all have, but as the day started getting bad, I found myself having to really think before I spoke.

For example, when I was at work today, subbing for a fifth grade teacher, and one of the boys thought he'd be really funny and SNEEZE on the back of another kid's neck ON PURPOSE I wanted to say, "Hey kid, what the fuck is wrong with you? Ever hear of the swine fucking flu?"

But I didn't say that. I had to literally bite my tongue to stop myself. I spared an entire class of ten year olds from a barrage of profanity laced vitriol and simply said. "Gross. You: go wash your neck off. You: sit down and don't get up again unless the building starts on fire."

Now that's self control.

The only bad part was that about fifteen minutes after I said that, the building actually did start on fire. I'm not even kidding. There are contractors working on it and one of them was soldering and started a small, totally manageable fire, but the super-sensitive brand new fire alarm system picked up on it and went nuts and we had to "go calmly and quietly to the nearest exit!" That's what I said, but I wanted to say, "WELL? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR? GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! THE FUCKING BUILDING IS ON FIRE!"

Then I came home and saw that my gorgeous husband shaved off the beard that I meticulously cultivate because I love it, and I said, "What the fuck happened to your face?" Just so you know, that is not the way a spouse likes to be greeted.

Then I came in the house and discovered, via email, that the teacher re-licensure committee, that only meets once a month, and that has to okay all my brand new college credits and work/volunteer hours to update my teaching license met today, BUT they didn't have the packet of information that took me a WEEK to meticulously gather and that I put in the hand of the chairperson of the committee two weeks ago. They just didn't have it. They don't know what happened. Now I have to gather all the stuff AGAIN and wait another month for them to meet and FUCK IT UP again.

I love bureaucracy.

When I took a course in linguistics last year we had a linguistics problem that was this: Analyze the following sentence. Note that when buffalo is used as a verb, it means "intimidate."

Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo bufallo buffalo buffalo.

Which means basically Buffalo from Buffalo intimidate other buffalo from Buffalo who intimidate other buffalo.  

"What the fuck are you talking about?" you say? The point is that it is possible to use one word, even the stupid fucking word "buffalo," as almost every part of speech. I think the f-word is a much better word for using as every single part of speech. I obviously like it most as an adjective.

Everyone Poops (except me)

I have had a long term subbing position at my favorite school (Kira's school), in my favorite class (the library). It has been great. The only problem with full-time work at this school is that there are no private bathrooms. Just girls and boys bathrooms with stalls.

It turns out I have shy bowels and so, naturally, I've been constipated and have been having to rely on "weekenders" (a term Mitch made up) for relief on a weekly basis. I am disappointed that I can't function normally so I've been trying to encourage myself to "perform" when I need to, so today I chose time when I thought the bathrooms would be empty and I could be alone and relax and try to have a positive experience. I went to the furthest stall, and was going to sit there until something happened. About a minute into my vigil, I saw an eyeball peering at me through the crack in the door and a little voice said, "Hey, I know you, you work in the library." It was the kindergartener who has annoying back pockets. She went in the stall next to me and said, "Hey! I'm going potty too!.... Are you done yet? Can you see my hand?"

"Yep," I said, "I'm done." (and yes, I could see her hand) Needless to say, the dream was over and my shy bowels are now agoraphobic bowels.

Then she started singing really loudly. (because although the bathrooms are rundown and cruddy, the acoustics are great)

p.s. It's only Wednesday.

Locked in the bathroom

I got called to sub for a P.E. teacher today and it reminded me of the last time I subbed for a P.E. teacher. It was last year and the teacher had an office in the girls locker room behind the gym, way away from the rest of the school. She also had a private bathroom that was in the office. Are you getting this? Bathroom in an office, office in a locker room, locker room behind the gym, way away from rest of the classrooms in the school. ISOLATED.

So, I was in there during prep hour at the end of the day, looking at my email and I had to go to the bathroom. No problem! Super private bathroom! So I went in, and as a reflex I locked the door. I did my thing, and then tried to open the door. It wouldn't unlock. I kind of chuckled, imagining how embarrassing it would be to get locked in a bathroom. Ha ha. Then I really tried to open it. It. Would. Not. Open. CRAP!

Then I remembered that I had no more classes, this was my last hour of the day, so nobody at school would miss me. "Okay, pull it together," I told myself, it would be totally embarrassing, but somebody would come by. Right? I wouldn't die if I had to spend a night in a bathroom. Lots of people do it. That's basically what a jail cell is, a bathroom with a couple cots and a roommate. I didn't have a cot, but I also didn't have a roommate so I figured I was getting the better deal. Then I remembered that it was Friday so if I didn't get found after school, I would be stuck there for the weekend.

Then I remembered that Mitch was out of town for the weekend, and if I didn't get out, my kids would be home alone without me. What would they do?

Then I remembered that there was no school on Monday so I would be stuck in that bathroom for three days. And then when I was finally found, probably by the teacher the following Tuesday (that would be an awkward encounter); nobody would feel sorry for me, they would just think it was hilarious and nobody would appreciate how horrible and embarrassing it was to be stuck in a bathroom in a school for three days. I was desperate so I jammed my thumb into the lock and twisted with all my might. Nothing.

So I sat down and looked around for a tool. I needed something to twist the locking mechanism. There was nothing to use. I mean nothing. Just extra rolls of toilet paper. Not helping! I kept trying to open it with my thumb and finally, finally, after being stuck for a half hour, I got it. My thumb was super sore after that, but it was worth it. I was free!

Then I thought how easy it would have been for the teacher to write a short note, a post-it even, saying "DON'T LOCK THE BATHROOM DOOR! THE LOCK STICKS." That would have been nice to know.

I got home and told my kids what happened and asked them what they would have done if I didn't come home when I was supposed to. Sam said he'd wait a half hour, and then call 911 and give the authorities all the information that he knew. Kira said she would NOT call the police, she would eat ice cream and play in my jewelry box.