Ooh that tickles

I was looking through a teacher magazine this morning that showcased ideas for the end of the school year. They suggested writing letters to next year's students and holding an awards assembly to pass out prizes and certificates. A few pages later was an idea that I had never heard before. The writer said to give each student a small beach ball along with a permanent marker. They were then instructed to "sign his classmates' balls." I'm sure it was supposed to be a completely innocent command but it made me laugh. If Liam ever comes home from school with the name Brandon scribbled on his testicles in black Sharpie there will definitely be some explaining to do.

Shopping with whores

This afternoon we went to Grand Prairie to get Ella and Liam's pictures taken together. It was a nice time and the photos turned out really well. (I mean we do have the cutest children ever. Sorry Brangelina.) Letty met us afterwards and we grabbed some coffee. As we were sitting at a table outside, Ella made her way to the large lion with the massive testicles that sits outside of Bergners. She's really into animals right now and constantly wants to read this book at home with pictures of various creatures. She even now knows the sounds they make. So she ran up to the lion and yelled "Roar!" What a scholar. But then everytime someone remotely walked in her direction she had to say it again and again for them to hear. The problem is that she can't quite pronounce the first "r" yet. To make a long story short, basically she was yelling the word "whore" to each passerby. They would first look at her quizzically and then look at me at which point I would have to explain what she was really saying before each person smiled and continued on their journey.

Natural disasters down south

So I only have about a week left of my maternity leave/spring break/taking afternoon naps on the couch. I made the mistake of heading into school to copy a few things to be sent home this week before I return. When I pulled up I immediately noticed the dreaded janitor's car in the parking lot. I quietly swiped my entrance card, slowly opened the door, and creeped down to my classroom. I even left the lights off to remain completely incognito. After finishing things up I threw on my coat, exited the classroom, and ran straight into my nemesis in the darkened hallway. It was kind of like breaking out of prison when you make all these elaborate, thought-out plans, only to run into the toughest guard right as you're ready to jump out the window. We exchanged a few pleasantries before she asked how the labor went. I knew that no matter how I answered this, it wouldn't turn out good. I filled her in to which she responded that it was the worst pain she's ever had to endure. In fact, she'd like to propose that every father should have to have his bottom lip stretched out and wrapped over the top of his head to provide a glimpse of what the birthing process is like. Then she moved on to her own childbirth experience. The pain, she said, was so intense that she felt (and I quote) "like her stuff down there was going to explode." And if I didn't fully understand the comment she made sure to use the index fingers from both hands to point to her crotch "down there." Even I was at a loss for words so I simply said "See you next Monday" and continued down the hall.

Spilled milk

Last night we went to the Chinese buffet for dinner. Midway through the meal I got up to get a refill on my chocolate milk (because everyone knows that nothing goes better with ginger beef than chocolate milk). As I pulled up the handle to get the milk to come out I heard something drop into the bottom of my glass. I couldn't see anything in it but it made me a little sick knowing there was something swimming in there. I just took it back to the table for the busboy to pick up on his rounds. I headed back up, grabbed a fresh glass, and tried again. As the milk neared the top of my glass I pushed the lever back into place. Yet instead of returning to its original position it broke off in my hand. Chocolate milk started spilling everywhere. An Asian woman dining a few feet away started yelling at me in her native tongue as though I wasn't aware there was a problem. What did she expect me to do? Wrap my mouth around it and start suckling it like a cow's teat? I was standing there pinching it closed when the aforementioned busboy came to help me out. I handed over the udder and figured he could work it out. I watched him search frantically for a missing piece when it dawned on me that maybe that was what fell in my glass. I wiggled my fingers to the bottom and discovered the missing bolt. I ran it up to him and he said "Oi kahn chi," which I'm going to take as something of a thank you.