At Bostley's, they taught the kids about the importance of washing hands, not touching eyes, mouth, nose, etc. to prevent the spread of germs. I think Aidan is taking it a little too far, though. Today, I brushed my bangs out of my eyes, and he gasped, "Momma! You touched your eyes! You've got to wash your hands!"
April 2009 entries
Just as I wrote that last post, Aidan woke up screaming. He'd gone to sleep with a headache (Mike gave him tylenol and an ice pack) and he woke up crying, "My head, my head." I went in to comfort him and as I stroked his hair and reassured him that he was going to be OK, he said, "Heaven! Heaven! I want to go to Heaven!"
Understandably taken aback, I told him, "You will go to Heaven, Aidan, but not right now. You need to stay here on Earth with Mommy."
I asked him what made him think about going to Heaven, and he said, "Then my head won't hurt."
I was able to get the poor little guy back to sleep, but his words were definitely not what I expected to hear.
Aidan gave us all Super Hero names. Tell me if you think there is anything funny about them:
Aidan = Batman
Gabrielle = Super Hero
Mike = Buzz Lightyear
Me = Sweetie
Sweetie?? What is my super power, I wonder? Doesn't the name "Sweetie" just invoke images of omnipotence and super-human skill? But, I'd rather be "Sweetie" to Aidan than anything else! :)
In my sophomore English classes today, we are doing an exercise called Found Poetry. It works like this: I give the kids passages of prose (novels, mostly) on brightly colored paper. They cut out the words and "find" the poem in them. Essentially, they write their own poems using another's words. They end up looking a little like ransom notes, pasted together on construction paper.
Needless to say, the kids love this activity.
I've noticed that no matter what passage of text, the boys tend to make sexually suggestive poems. One of the passages I give them is the Gettysburg Address. Yes, they managed to make that perverted, too. Not all boys do this -- I've had a few with powerful poems about war or the meaning of life. But a significant number of boys tried to incorporate that ever-important phallic symbol (why did I teach them that??) in their poems.
I suppose this adds support to the statistics about boys thinking about sex every 5 seconds (or whatever the number is!).
Today is a dress down day for faculty, according to an email sent out on Thursday. Usually, we dress down on Friday, but since this past Friday wasn't a normal school day (there were senior presentations and no classes for underclassmen), the dress down day is today.
Guess I'm the only one who reads their email. Well, Miss Hopkins is wearing a denim skirt outfit, but she still looks professional. Five students told me (so far) this morning, "Mrs. Connor, you look like a kid today!"
I am going to try to keep that up until I'm oh, 35, maybe 40? if possible.
We ponder if there is life after death -- and in the Day, anything seems possible.
But when the Night comes, Dread comes in like a guest who has overstayed his welcome,
drinking all my favorite coffee,
eating all my yogurt,
leaving the empty roll in the bathroom.
All the while, Doubt won't get out of the shower,
using all my hot water and my expensive shampoo.
When the Day comes, Dread has gone shopping for souvenirs and
Doubt is visiting relatives in the area.
The sun replenishes my patience, refills my faith, increases my hope.
Life has a purpose, a meaning -- in the Day.
But Night -- that necessary evil -- brings sleep -- the flesh is weak --
when Dread and Doubt finally give it a rest.
Gabrielle doesn't allow me to simply answer her with "uh-huh" or "mm-hmm". She asked me a question today and I said, "Mm-hmm," and she said, "Mommy, talk to me!" It was the first time that Mike heard her say that to me, but I get it from her all the time. Or if we sit in silence for too long (like when we early birds get up before Mike and Aidan), she will grab my chin and turn my face toward hers and say, "Talk to me, Mommy!"
I guess girls are more verbal, eh?
On Saturday, Aidan wanted me to get him a donut before dance class. We didn't have time, so I told him that he could have a donut if he were good at dance (by the way -- he didn't get a donut, but that's a whole other story). Aidan, evidently, did not like my proposal. He said:
"I will run away from you. I will get out of the car by myself and run away. And you won't find me. You will look and look, but you will not find me. And I will be at the donut shop."
I asked, "How will you get a donut? You don't have any money."
He replied, "I will have to steal one. I will crawl in the window and steal a peanut butter cup donut."
I can't explain to you how serious the look on his face was while he was telling me this. I suggested that he just wait until dance was over and then he could avoid the cops. His answer? "What are cops?"