Santa Bones

First Prize response came from a concerned Kinder:

"Santa's Bones??"

Let me take this opportunity to stress the importance of a well-placed apostrophe. =D

And yes, there are presents under the bag.

He Sees You When You're Sleeping...

I love Christmas Break. I get time to recharge, cook, relax, and see family, while the kids get to go home and think up new material for me. I figure they have two weeks, they should be able to come up with some pretty funny stuff. What ELSE would they be doing right now??

I was just in Phoenix visiting my ever-so-perfect Colton and Ayla. Yes, I know. I was also visiting their mom, Amy, and a plethora of favorite family. Have I mentioned that my family is top-notch? Highly entertaining. They also do a great job of congregating in Surprise, AZ, so I can see almost everyone almost every time.

Colton is 2.5years old and smarter than he should be. Smarter than potty training. In response to Amy's offer to let him wear pull-ups one morning, Colton looked back down at his block tower, fiddled with it, and said, "No, you change my diaper in a little while."

He will also offer suggestions for rearrangement of little sister. If I was holding Ayla, soon enough we would hear, "Mommy hold Ayla, Colton up?" Or, "Ayla crawl (pointing from baby to floor)." I'm flattered that he remembers me, and also that he wants me to hold him. That is, until he puts on the same performance for the homeless dude in front of Safeway. Okay, I'm kidding about the homeless dude. 

Amy has gotten some good mileage out of Santa Claus this year. This video is of him watching a personalized message from Santa. Apparently the good behavior afterglow lasted approximately a day and a half. That's pretty good for a 2 year old, I'm learning.

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1631867351463&comments&ref=nf

Thanks for the clarification...

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Rocks. That is all.

When a kid gets sent home sick, I usually will head down to the classroom to pick up their backpack. If I'm ready for a laugh, I get the description of it from the kid:

"It's the pink one with the princess" (Ohhhh, THAT pink one with the princess!)

"It's black and white and soooooo big. Not like a giant would wear. But reeaaaalll big."

Or, like today, I head out without any tips and hunt for the right bag. We found what we thought was the correct backpack, and opened it to confirm with his homework. Instead we find rocks. Nothing special- just rocks. So awesome. I can only assume that both my husband and father would approve wholeheartedly, given that they both have extensive rock collections and are envious when passing "rocks" too big to take home in their backpacks. These could also be described as... boulders.

This kid is on the right path. And if he's not, he can always pave a new one.

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cost v. benefits

Sometimes kids forget to look at the whole picture.

I've quoted a little girl in the past who will find any reason to a) tattle, or b) whine. Problem is that she's adorable, and so people let her. Today, she comes gimping into my office, doubled over, crying that her "tummyhurtsreallyreallybad!". I get her into one of the stretchers. No fever. Looks good besides the contorted body and facial expression.

Nurse Sara has a secret weapon today. Santa.

McCutey: it huuurrrrts. :'(
Me: Wow. This is a really bad day to go home sick. Don't you know what's happening later?
McCutey: no... [she's on the hook now- I can see her perking up]
Me: Santa's coming: and he's bringing everyone a present!
McCutey: Are you for reals? (I swear that's what she said!)
Me: ohhhh yeah. Everyone is getting a bag filled with treats! Santa's handing them out this afternoon.
McCutey: I LOVE TREATS!! [Huge grin. This kid isn't going anywhere.]
Me: well, if you go home because your tummy hurts, you'll miss Santa AND movie day tomorrow. Bummer.
McCutey: yeah... [that little brain is practically smoking: how can I get out of going home??]
Me [going in for the kill]: Is your stomach starting to feel any better? I sure hope so, cause then you wouldn't miss Santa! You want to try to tough it out?
McCutey: yeah. I'll try.

She then hops off the stretcher and starts to run out of my office, catching herself just in time to clutch her stomach and hobble out of the room.

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Comments Are Up!

Alright Guys, I think I may have fixed the issue with leaving comments after the posts. I had to take away all moderation, so be sweet and don't post too many embarrassing stories of me when I was little... ;-)

And I know there's more than 3, or even 6 of you out there. As far as I'm concerned, I would be throwing all this out there even if there was just one. So here is my note:

Dear Readers:

I think you all are pretty swell. Be sure to laugh til you wet your pants a little. Be sure to share your stories. Try to keep in touch. Most of all: Don't forget to wash your hands. There's a nasty little GI bug going around...

Love, Sara Rose

The Note

Today is the day before Favorite Secretary's birthday. The cool thing about working in an elementary school is that we have access to 364 Birthday Song Singers. And man, they are enthusiastic. This is not 4 bored, eye-rolling servers in the Red Robin. This is the real deal. We belted that bad boy out. Between the singing, the brownie tower, funny card, and desk decorations, very little got done after about 11am.

Here is a totally unrelated story (I can do that because it's my blog):

I have a funny relationship with a 3 year-old who visits the school on a near daily basis. His older brother is a kinder and his mama is the PTA queen. Bam-Bam is a small, somber little boy with huge dark brown eyes and blond hair. A winning combination. For the first few weeks of school, if I walked near him, he would stand up, walk behind his mom, and announce, "NOOOO!". He would stand on the bench in front of the office and watch me with his Bambi eyes. There's a pass through window where he stands. The first time I stuck my arm through and poked him in the back of the head, you would think I was Stranger Danger about to claim a new victim.

I can't help it. The more obstinate they are, the more I want to harass them. It's a worthy challenge.

Over the past few months, we've been increasing our conversation time. He's spoken whole sentences at me. Granted, he usually waits until I've given up and walked away, but I've gotten sneaky and now will round the corner and stop so I can peek back at him. This will elicit a grin- and then he runs away. Well, I hit the jackpot today.

BB: There is some paper [pointing to the stack of scratch paper on FS's desk]
Me: Yep. It's really good for notes. You want one?
BB: [huge eyes. shrugs.]
Me: [Reading aloud] Dear Bam Bam: I think you are cool. Love, Nurse Sara

BB's mom then asks him if he sees his name on the paper: "B-A-M-B-A-M! BamBam! At the top!" (this is a smart kid)

BamBam is a near clone of his older brother. Both boys are quiet, observant, and somber. Beautiful brown eyes. At the end of the day I hear BB's mom outside my office. She's telling Big Brother to go ask me something. I hear the word "Note". I poke my head around the corner and see BB standing in the doorway, shoulders back, chest puffed. He's holding The Note. I then see a leg sticking out from behind Mama. And the side of a very red face. Once my task has been identified, I make a new note- this one for big brother-  and take it to him. He snags it from my hand. His mom is trying to get him to say thank you, and the poor kid is so embarrassed he's starting to tear up. I can't take the torture and retreat to my office to finish closing up for the day. After a few minutes I peek out the window and see the boys laughing and talking excitedly, both holding their special notes.

I had Absolutely. No. Idea. that a teeny little sentence had so much power. What a quick and easy way to share the love. So many of our kids don't get positive attention from adults. I was raised in an absolutely beautiful environment and before I became a nurse, I would have never guessed at the level of disregard for some of these children. So, all 3 of you lovely readers out there, think of The Note and take a second to give an unexpected bit o' love to someone. I'd bet a million dollars and a stack of brownies that you'll be smiling after.

Chief Complaint: Hypochondria

We have an 80 year old man in one of our kindergarten classes. If it's hard to read, this totally healthy kid is claiming: eye pain, stomach ache, headache, and heartburn. Oy!

On a side note, kinder nurse notes are infinitely more fun- the kids can't read, so the teacher can write what's really going on. It's so funny to watch a kiddo strut into my office, say they got hit by another student and "the teacher said to call my mom", and then hand me a note saying that they, in fact, were the instigator. Busted.

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Romeo's Broken Arm

Well, it took a few weeks for Romeo to join me again. I swear that kid just gets cuter and cuter. This time his arm was broken. As usual, meditating (OHHMMMMM), laying on hands, dropping the "better bomb", and tickling had him laughing, but still "broken".

As soon as I pointed at Santa Bones and informed Romeo that Santa Bones only delivers the cool stuff to HEALTHY kids, he changed tactics. He put his jacket over his face and attempted to walk into a wall. I almost let him, until I remembered that these aren't *actually* my kids, and that parents generally prefer their children to be returned to them unharmed.

Santa Bones has been attracting some attention. He's not quite done, so no pic for a few days, but you can imagine that he's inspired some interesting questions. More to come on that.

Why I Love My Favorite Secretary

Christmas decorating just got a tad classier at my Favorite's house. As so obviously stated above, Thanksgiving must've been a doozy. Like all families, they're somewhat dysfunctional. This is good. I don't hang with people who aren't able to let their hair down and tell the world how they really feel.

Anyway, we debated bringing the plaque to work (just to see how long it would take the boss lady to notice), but decided that it would be in poor taste and/or could potentially get us fired. Our Main Goal is to stay in our current positions for as long as humanly possible. It wasn't really a question of dirtying our innocent charges minds, as they have heard the word and have no doubt used it in front of their own parents without recourse. Regardless, I think I know what I want for Christmas...

9.5 feet of Pure Awesomeness

Maybe the owner means it to be a theft deterrent? If anyone WAS to want to try, they'd never actually make it into the vehicle. I'm guessing this thing has to lower before the door can even be opened...

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Darth Vader Has Really Terrible Stock Options

This is one of those days that  reeeeaaallly wish I had had time to jot down a conversation I enjoyed with a slightly odd little 2nd grader. He is normally very quiet, and kind of crotchety. I of course like to torment him by asking lame questions like, "How's your day going?" or, "Heeey, man. What's up? You got something good to tell me yet?"

He speaks in 2-3 word replies, so I was flabbergasted when he walked into my room today, and said, "I work for Darth Vader." He then continued for a good 5minutes, telling me about how "Darth Vader was sooo mad when I didn't get him a present last year for Christmas. He just chopped my leg right off. And then he gave it back. But then he fired me." This was all presented to me in monotone. Of Course. 

Whoa. You lost your job with Darth Vader because you forgot to get him a present? What a jerk! Well, now my little Jedi is working for Luke Skywalker, who apparently is muchmuch easier to deal with. He doesn't require a secret santa gift exchange, and the benefits are lucrative. My Jedi states that he will never have to lose another appendage, and if he did, he would have good insurance. You know, so it won't be a Big Deal. Just lost an arm? Whatevs. 

And, because I love it so, here is Darth After the Dentist.

In the BLACK!!!

This blog is largely about my work, but right now I need to shout from the rooftops: I have officially made profit with my pecans!! Okay, okay, 9 dollars is usually an HOURLY wage, but hey. Because this is the first year, and I had PLANNED to screw up over and over again, I'm just glad that I've not had to sell the property or any kidneys due to poor business choices such as these:

1. Deciding to sell hand-shelled pecans for $4/lb. My coworkers were very understanding when I informed them of the $1 price-hike following an ill-spent thanksgiving weekend. I think my dirty and damaged hands made them pity me. Whatever works!

2. Deciding to collect the nuts myself. Turns out I could literally work every single hour of free time, and still not make a dent in the nut population. And while climbing the trees and releasing rage on the tree branches is incredibly fun, it won't get them all out and then the shaker truck has to come anyway. 

3. Hand-shelling: see above. It takes about 1.5hrs to shell one pound. The first person to buy 10lbs got processed nuts. Still debating this one, because they're so much prettier when hand-done. 

4. Sucking at math. Realizing I'm only making about $2/lb because mechanical shelling leaves so few nuts. This one really got me. 

5. Said profit does not actually count any man hours. I enjoy it, and would probably do it anyway. Luke, on the other hand, probably would not. And I guess I could pay myself a salary of, ohhh, about $0.07/hr..

Next year when I go into full-blown pecan fever, please show me this post. Something tells me I'll do it allllll over again. =) Oh, and I have pecans for sale...

Beiber Mania

My favorite 4th grader told me today that he prank called a "white girl" and told her that she won Justin Beiber tickets. According to him, "they were all screaming, even the grandma was screaming!"

I can't speak for all white girls, but THIS one would be screaming in fear. And running far, far away.

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Quotes of the Day

We have a kid who is supposed to be starting ADHD meds at lunchtime. Apparently, the family has had the prescription for over a week, and haven't had it filled.

Exasperated Teacher (ET): Do you have the prescription??
Energetic Child (EC): uhhhhh.... yeah.....
ET: Well, did your mom take it to get filled?
EC: Yes. We took it to walgreens and they said it would take 9days.
ET [smiling now]: Oh really? That's funny. They usually can get it done in a day.
EC: Oh yeah. They said 9 hours. It should be ready today.

In this case, the difference between 9 days and 9 hours is muchmuch more than the actual time. It works kind of like dog years. The teacher has aged approximately 9years for the 9days gone without medicine. On a personal note, I'm not keen on medicating every rambunctious child that walks in the door. I can say with certainty that some kids really benefit from the added help... some kids forget their meds and actually behave BETTER. Really, who knows? I certainly haven't found any hard and fast rules related to kids and medication.

Well, okay. One Rule: Do not accidentally drop a child's medicine in the drinking fountain drain. You will not get it back, and will have to fill out an embarrassing waste report. ie: 1 dose of medication accidentally wasted into drinking fountain. Witnessed by Guffawing/Cackling/Teasing-Favorite-Secretary.

Another quote:

Little girl with pinpoint scratch to tip of finger (on why she wants me to call her dad): "Well, my dad said that sometimes, when I get hurt really bad, and it's really deep, he um, he wants me to call him so that it doesn't get infected. You know, cause it's really deep. And I got hurt really bad. And I fell."

Love it.

Eau De First-Grader

There's a little boy here who's visits to the nurse were increasing in both frequency and duration. I began to suspect a tough case of CON (crush on nurse) syndrome when he came in one morning, chest puffed out, leg dragging behind. According to him he had been playing football outside and made a miraculous run and tackle- thereby establishing himself as Hero of the Playground (for that recess at least). On completion of this amazing stunt, he fell and hurt his knee. Of course, by the time he was done telling me all this he's bouncing around and obviously not injured. Once diagnosed with CON, the rest of a child's visits are somewhat suspect.

 

Later that day, he came in with a rip in the seat of his pants. I made him a patch out of tape and explained how to stick it to the inside so that he could make it home a half hour later without flashing his drawers at his classmates. 

In retrospect, he spent WAAYYY too long in there (do NOT have a dirty mind- it's not what you think...geez). He comes back into my office and stands real close to me. I'm immediately bowled over by the "scent" he's emitting. He smells like a cheap wh*** in an English rosegarden.

 

Me: Whoa. Wha? *cough* Whaaaat is that smell??!

Pepe Le Pew: [shrug] It's perfume.

Me: Umm, men's perfume or ladies perfume?

Pepe: Men's. I put it on this morning.

Me: [Wondering how the heck I had missed this] Just so you know, girls like it better when boys don't wear perfume. If you DO use it, you've got to use muuuch less. Like, barely any.

Pepe thinks about it for a moment, says okay, and wanders back to class. He's no doubt plotting his next assault to my senses, and my only goal is to prevent that from occurring.

 

Well, I then remembered that there is body spray in the staff bathroom (the one I had sent him into). I run in there and see that the lid to the bottle is off and the bottle is almost empty. Mystery solved. I went along with my day until I hear someone cursing quietly in the same bathroom. I go to see and our poor librarian is on her knees picking up about a million of those little blue air-freshener beads. Strike two.

 

The conversation was short (due to the lovely odor) and to the point. Pepe Le Pew knows now not to mix floral scents with household scents. He also knows (very clearly) that alas, we are not to be. Poor kid was devastated. I think it took him a whole 3minutes to recover.

Perspective: He has it.

One of the kindergarten associates (classroom assistants) was telling the whole class about how the Police are good, that they are here to keep us safe, and how when you need help, you can call them. A little boy's hand shoots up in the back. "Mrs. Garcia, you're wrong. The police are NOT good. One time my dad and the police were in a race, and he beat them. The police were mad that my dad was faster, so they took him out of the car and put things on his hands, and took him away cause they lost."

How's that for spin?

Happy Thanksgiving!

My laziness has paid off. I've decided to keep Mr. Bones around for future holidays. Saves me time in not having to totally change my board for each holiday, with the added satisfaction of confusing most of my kids... and coworkers.

Kid: hey! You left your halloween skeleton up!
Me: yep.
Kid: ... he's wearing a hat! [tilts head to the side like a confounded puppy]
Me: uh, YEAH! He's a Pilgrim. Pilgrims wear hats. Everybody knows that pilgrims wear hats! What are they teaching you in class?!
Kid: o_0

Why is this funny? IS this funny? I may not know the answer to these questions, but I do know this:

Santa Bones is coming to town!

At least we know he's a boy...

This is one of those things we try to let slide. But ever since this was pointed out to me by my favorite secretary (all she had to say was, "watch for the special turkey"), I can't walk by without noticing his big pink marshmallows.

Superman

My favorite 4th grader, self-nicknamed Superman, has a new topic of conversation for every visit. This is made even more impressive by the huge number of visits he makes weekly. I usually see him twice a day; once in the morning and again after lunch.

He may turn mundane into fascinating:

Superman [SM]: you have freckles.
Me: do not.
Superman: yes. I see them.
(This continues for a few minutes with me insisting that he's crazy and I do NOT have freckles. )
He then takes a completely serious face and says,"it's okay. You shouldn't be ashamed. Freckles aren't embarrassing. "
At this point we're both laughing. He then stops abruptly, looks me dead in the eye and says, "this is not a laughing matter." He turns on his heel and walks right out the door.

He may discuss his current illness:

SM: Maaaannnnn. My voice sounds really weird. Can you hear it? It sounds so weeeiiiiiirrrrrddd... like when you're holding a walkie talkie? And the batteries are dead? And you know it makes that sound? That buzzing sound? Like static?

The above was then followed by a fairly accurate imitation of "walkie talkie static" that he managed to hold for approximately 14minutes. I don't know. Maybe only a few seconds but it was one of those "need more coffee" days.

He may also ask me for whatever I happen to be eating. Almost invariably, it's some form of chocolate. This continued up til the day he wanted my tea.

SM: Duuuude, what are you drinking? Is that hot chocolate? I want some hot chocolate. Can I have some?

Me: It's tea. It's delicious, and no, you can't have some. Here. Smell (this is where I went wrong).

SM: [taking a whiff and scrunching his nose up] That smells like racoon poop!

Me: [asking the only obvious question at this point] How the heck do you know what raccoon poop smells like? Do you keep some in your pocket?!

Our conversations are almost always a different topic, and range in length from a simple few-word exchange to more than 5minutes of one-upping, teasing, or totally random statements strung together in a pseudo-coherent fashion. Regardless, I can say that he always gets me thinking. Really, what DOES raccoon poop smell like?

Common Ailments Translated

They say: I feel like a shark is biting me in the stomach
Translation: I'm hungry. I will eat all your backup teddy grahams, then stand up and shake all the crumbs onto the floor. That's how I roll.

They say: Someone call my grandma!! I think THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!!!
Translation: I was running outside and collided with the large, hard skull of the student in front of me. There is a small drop of blood of unknown origin on this tissue. I think I can smell my own brain, but really, it's a smear of chili on my shirt from lunch. Chili is my favorite lunch. What are we having for lunch tomorrow?

They say: [while blubbering. snot bubbles have formed and are growing dangerously close to the upper lip] THEREWASTHISBOY! ANDHEWASCHASINGMEANDMYFRIENDTRIEDTOHELPMEBUTHEPUSHEDMEANDIFELL!!!!
Translation: There was this boy. I was chasing him and he turned around and pushed me and I fell.

More to come as I navigate this new and confounding language.

#1

We have a little boy I'll dub Number One, or NO for short. This is fitting, as he is extremely difficult some days. He also happens to be painfully cute- I'm starting to notice this trend. His eyes twinkle and curve into little half-moons when he grins. I won't even start on his dimples.

His verbal skills are somewhat lacking, and we consider it a win if he learns a new [swear] word at home and manages to string it into a sentence. F-you b!tch? Good job NO!! But really, for some reason this adds to his charm. The cherry on the cake is how, when he decides not to go with a verbal response, he'll look down, brow furrowed intensely, and decide which finger to flip you off with. He usually goes with an index finger, and will look at you with his mean little half-moon twinkle eyes. You're.... number.... ONE! At least, that's what we've decided he means.

This kid is not to be messed with.

Sneaky Poo

Apparently this is an existing medical condition. But really, its the illustrations that do it for me. I believe this may actually be the basis for Mr Hanky the Christmas Poo. Same premise: sneaky poo is a naughty poo that surprises the kid and gets him in trouble by making big messes. Should I go on?

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Annndd... when my eyes are closed.

A good portion of the school year is spent screening the kids for various problems. We check vision, hearing, height/weight, and dental as well as look for scoliosis, skin problems and head lice. I was checking the vision of a 1st grader and asked him the standard question, "Do you have any problems reading what's up on the board?"

His reply: "Only when someone's head is in the way."

Well played, Kid. Well played.

Kiss the Cook

This conversation was repeated to me by a first grade teacher. A little background: The southeast NM state fair was in town and was the site for one of the first field trips of the year. The livestock show is one of the bigger draws, and the first graders were touring the building.

Kid: Pee-YEW! These cows smell SO bad.
Ms Bliss: Well, they sure smell good when they're outside grilling... (sly smile)
Kid: (making a "duh" face) Ms. Bliss, Cows can't cook!

Romeo

The first three words of this post is actual documentation- a few minutes later I was still smiling at this kid and couldn't resist getting our conversation recorded for posterity.

Pt enters office, limping dramatically on L leg. Sts, "I broke my leg!" When asked to see, he pulls up pant leg, swings leg onto my knee, and points to a small scuff on his calf.

On a normal day, I see up to a dozen of these life-threatening injuries. I have a large box in my office containing 5000 bandaids for this purpose. When busy, I sometimes will just put a bandaid on these little "boo-boos" without much thought or conversation. Then there are the days that Nurse Sara needed another cup of coffee, or another hour of sleep. On those days, sympathy runs a little short. I'll add that they happen rarely, and are usually interrupted by a cute kid with a big smile (or a big pout and a couple alligator tears).

So, back to my little Romeo. I'll say now that there are those truly great days that give me the energy and patience to have a little fun with these kids.

At this point, I've diagnosed him with Acute Needs Attention Disorder [ANAD]. I proceed to heal him using witchcraft, sawing it off with a plastic spoon, blowing it up with a pretend bomb, counting to 100, and singing the "my leg is better" song. Before I'm halfway through my bag of tricks, he's snorting and laughing uncontrollably, dimples going full force. Romeo is shutting down my "healing" techniques one after another, saying, "NO! It didn't work! Oh no!!" All the while balancing precariously on one foot.

You see why I can't help but tease these kids.

Anyway, by the time Romeo left he was in possession of one "healed" leg, one bandaid, and a sticker with a crown on it. My little king lives to fight another day.