Change has come...well maybe not.

Just before Christmas break some ladies that work at the bus department generously made stocking caps for every single student at school, some 313 hats to be exact. Needless to say, today was a very busy day at school, with all of the excitement surrounding the inauguration. As a class we watched the swearing in ceremony online, and I strove to explain to the students why it was such a truly monumental day for our nation. So later this afternoon after the events of the day had kind of died down, the students made thank you cards for the hats. As I was looking through them at the end of the day the one below caught my eye.I opened it up to read the letter that the girl had written. It all sounded perfectly fine until I got to the last word.
I mean, really. Did my gripping racial equality speech from the morning not mean anything? Do we still need to be trying to defeat the black man? Disheartened, I called her up to my desk to ask her why she would write something like that. To my relief, she was trying to spell "ninja." Maybe some of that upcoming Obama stimulus money could be spent on some new dictionaries.

Mistaken identity

Tonight we made a quick trip to Walmart to get a few items. As we were getting the everything out of the cart to pay for them, Liam started pointing and saying “Shrek! Shrek!” over and over again. I looked around for a discarded DVD or those Pez dispensers they always have by the check-out. I couldn’t see anything, but he kept pointing at the cashier and yelling “Shrek!” I studied her nifty blue vest for a Shrek button or something but she wasn’t sporting a single piece of flair. I then realized that he might be calling the cashier by that name. She was a rather large woman. So large that she had to sit down on a stool while she rang us up. So large in fact that Bob and Jillian would throw their hands up in surrender. Now I realize that pointing at someone and categorizing them as a giant, oversized, green ogre isn’t the most complimentary title. It’s like calling a person unpatriotic.….or a slut.….or a Holocaust supporter…..or Rosie O’Donnell. These tend not to go over very well. As I was trying to quiet Liam down, of course Curious George’s sister Ella had to pipe in. With a quizzical look on her face she asked, “Daddy, why’s Liam calling that girl Shrek?” I lied and said that I thought he was telling us that he wanted to rent Shrek from the Redbox by the door. She didn’t buy this and pressed the issue further. “Maybe because she looks like Shrek,” she added, as I prayed that the cashier would just eat me and put me out of my misery. I handed the woman a $20 bill and didn’t even wait for my change or receipt. Sometimes you’ve just gotta cut your losses and call it a day.

The slip-up

This afternoon I dismissed tables one at a time to go use the restroom. One boy came back a few minutes later and asked me if he could call his dad to bring him some new socks because his were wet. Now Joey talks so slooooooooooow that the ensuing conversation lasted longer than the running time of Schindler’s List. I asked him how his socks got wet in the restroom. His explanation was that he ran to sit on the toilet “because I had to poop real bad.” While he was sitting there one of his shoes fell off. Unable to poop with only one shoe on, he kicked off the other one. I mean that’s the natural reaction when you’re sitting in a 3’ x 4’ cubicle caked with dried pee on the floor. According to him, he next heard a boy in the adjoining stall that was up to mischief. He himself should know what misbehaving in the restroom sounds like as earlier this year he sat on a urinal like it was a highchair and sang “My Humps” at the top of his lungs. Needless to say, young Joey proceeded to address the matter himself by stepping up on the toilet seat to look over the partition. This wasn’t well thought out because he’s about a foot and a half shorter than the mayor of Munchkin City. As he tried to pull himself up, he slipped and one of his feet landed in the toilet. After listening to his recollection of the events, I looked down to find both of his shoes still off, only one sock on, and his wet pants leg pulled up to his knee like a white, miniature LL Cool J. I sent him down to the nurse to see if she had any clothes for him. In true Joey fashion, he turned back to me in the doorway and asked if he could stop and use the restroom. Um, no.

My new year's resolution

This time of year it seems that everyone makes their new year’s resolutions. Usually it’s something like eating healthier or exercising more. Nah, I’m not interested in either of those. I mean I’m not giving up my Sour Patch Kids and Krispy Kremes. And the idea of jogging isn’t as tempting as say lying on the couch watching back-to-back episodes of Bromance and The City…..while eating Sour Patch Kids and Krispy Kremes. I guess mine isn’t a resolution per se, but simply something I want to accomplish. I have DVD’s out the rear that are sitting in boxes out in the garage. I just don’t have the time to watch them anymore, so I need to just put them in someone’s garage sale and get rid of them. Here’s the problem: I can’t seem to let them go without watching each of them one more time. So my new year’s resolution is to re-watch 400-odd movies by the end of 2009. Now some may scoff and ask where’s the challenge in that. I would respond by asking them if they have ever tried sitting through a second viewing of From Justin To Kelly. Ya, keeping your butt on the treadmill seems like a walk in the park next to that. When I told Rachel my plan, her only objection was to make sure I didn’t get rid of the classics. I, too, would have a hard time tossing aside Casablanca or The Godfather or Field of Dreams. When I asked her what other pillars of cinematic excellence she wanted me to set aside, Rachel had the audacity to utter the words How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days. I almost swerved into the oncoming lane of traffic. After taking a few seconds to regain my composure, as politely as I could I told her that a more apt categorization would be something like “expendable chick flick trash.” That didn’t go over well. So basically we’ll also be saving the entire Kate Hudson film catalog, along with Hope Floats, 50 First Dates, and Runaway Bride. The things I do for the woman I love.

The curious case of Ella Ritchason

Tonight the kids and I ran to Kroger to pick up a few items. Ella is at that stage where she asks questions about everything. It's like living with a three year old Diane Sawyer.

• "Why are we getting chicken?"
• "Why are strawberries too expensive?"
• "Why can't we eat the donuts now?"
  
• "Why did Liam open that new box of cereal?"
  
• "Why is it too cold for popsicles?"
• "Why is that boy in that cart eating his boogies?"

With only one more thing to buy, we headed down the toilet paper aisle. I stopped midway down the row next to an elderly gentleman who bore a striking resemblance to a young (or is it old?) Benjamin Button. He was very kind and said hello to both Ella and Liam. I made my decision and threw the package into the cart. As fate would have it, just as we passed the man, Ella pointed and exuberantly declared, "Look Daddy! That man has diapers just like Liam!" I'll admit that I was tempted to grab the Depends from the man's grasp and shove them in my daughter's mouth. As you can imagine, while we were waiting for the cashier the ring up our groceries, young Katie Couric had a laundry list of questions about the man and his adult diapers. I finally just said that maybe he was getting them for a baby that was at his house. She replied matter of factly, "Daddy, grandpas can't have babies."

Rerouted

This morning I ordered some items from Amazon for some last-minute Christmas gifts. When I received my confirmation email I noticed that I hadn’t chosen our home address as the shipping address. Instead it would be delivered to school. After tomorrow at 3:10 there won’t be a soul in sight around here until January 5. I found the customer service number and dialed. When an actual person actually picked up it sounded like I was calling Santa himself at the North Pole. The line was so full of static that I could barely make out the Indian elf on the other end. I tried to explain what the problem was to which the woman on the other end responded with what sounded like “odor blubber.” I think she mistakenly thought I had ordered a rotting dead whale carcass, which I hear is one of the hot ticket items for the holidays. After the fourth time repeating “I’m sorry, I can’t understand you” I think she was mad and sounded out in her best American accent “Orrrrrrrrrderrrrrrrrrrr Nummmmmmberrrrrrrrrrr.” I gave it to her and she pulled up my account. She said that she could reroute the shipment to the other address I had on file. I told her that would be great and she confirmed that the order would now be shipped to 106 Constitution Drive in Milford, Connecticut. Of course I immediately tried to explain to her that this was not my address and by her silence on the other end I could tell that this completely baffled her. She asked me when was the last time I lived there to which I responded with “never.” I think she was beginning to wonder if I was a battered husband that had gone into the witness protection program. I then had to repeat my address over and over. “No, not Girl Street….Earl Street….E-A-R-L…. No, there’s no B….I don’t live on Barl Street.” Exactly 21 minutes later I ended the call, praying that it would get delivered to the right address. If not, my brother will be opening up a gift of leftover apple juice from our Christmas party today.

And the day just started

So it’s been a crazy busy morning so far. I was out on playground duty this morning and saw one of my students get out of her car and start walking my way. As she was walking a deep-voiced man in the car yelled her name but she didn’t hear it. It sounded like her mom’s boyfriend who picks her up from school on occasion. So I spoke up and said “Arianna, that guy in your car needs you.” She looked at my quizzically, glanced back at her car, and said “That’s my mom.” My mistake.

As soon as we got inside another girl brought up a note to me. It read:

Sydney has a bad cough. Sucking on things makes it better. I’ve sent her with a bag of suckers. Please let her eat as many of these as she needs to. This will help her throat feel better.

Yes, because having a student eating a never-ending supply of Blow Pops all day isn’t going to create any problems in the classroom.

Fashion forward

I don’t understand Ella’s fashion choices. I’m definitely out of the loop because everything she throws on looks like an outfit designed by an eliminated Project Runway contestant. This morning she came down the stairs wearing this, saying that she was going to Starbucks. Unless you’re Gwen Stefani, I’m not sure that you can pull off that look. Something tells me that Garrett the nineteen-year old barista wouldn’t understand it either.

Tonight Rachel was at work, so the kids and I had a simple meal of bacon, eggs, and English muffins. Ella’s all about helping out in the kitchen these days so I placed her in charge of putting butter on the muffins. She ran off and came back twenty seconds later dressed as a ladybug because we all know that you can’t spread butter without resembling a three-foot beetle. She put enough on one English muffin to kill someone instantly with one bite. I’ve seen Scottish castles that are smaller.

Secret Santa

This last week of school is our annual Secret Santa festivities. It can be a mixed bag because one year I received great gifts (Starbucks every day for a month) but the next year really sucked (a peach candle anyone?). Now I realize I can’t control who my Secret Santa is, but I can conspire to pick out who I want to buy gifts for. So two weeks ago when we had to draw out names I picked over and over until I got someone I was excited about. I made up a variety of excuses for the first seven names I drew out:

• “Oops, I picked out myself.”


• “Oh, I had her name last year.”


• “She wrote down that her favorite snacks are Werther’s and peanut brittle. She’s so old she might not even make it until Christmas.”


• “It says that she collects Precious Moments. I’m against that on multiple levels.”


• “Um, I don’t know what to get for someone who already owns every sequined snowman sweater from HSN.”


• “Her classroom smells like cantaloupe. I’m allergic to cantaloupe.”


• “She’s so miserable that it would be like buying Christmas gifts for Hitler.”

Finally, I drew out the name of one of my third grade colleagues. It only took eight tries. Over the last week I’ve been picking up gifts for her. It’s just small gifts for the first four days like candy bars, potato chips, ornaments, peach candles. On Friday is when we reveal ourselves and present our large gift. (Wow, that last sentence could come across as highly inappropriate. Imagine that Christmas party.) Last night I snuck into school long enough to leave my first gift on her desk. I’ve gotta tell you that the school at night really freaks me out. It’s so dark and of course I had to walk all the way down to the end of the seemingly never-ending hallway to put down my first day gift of Cherry Coke and Dove chocolate, which I’m pretty sure is what one of the wise men brought for the baby Jesus. Before leaving, I coded out on the security system and waited to hear the signal to exit the building. While I was standing there waiting in the darkness, I heard the automatic toilet flush in the restroom right next to me. It frightened me so badly that I almost had to run home to change my pants. I don’t know why or how it happened, but I burst through the front doors and ran like a steroid-raging Marion Jones out to the car where Rachel was waiting. Perhaps it was God’s way of telling me a) not to interfere with the integrity of the Secret Santa drawing or b) not to link someone with Hitler.

Lost in translation

This week we read a story about a gorilla named Koko who is able to understand more than 1,000 sign language signs. Naturally this led into a discussion of sign language and we took a look at the sign language alphabet. Each of the students first spelled out their names using sign language. Then I passed out note cards with the names of different animals on them for each of them to sign for the class. The rest of the students, in turn, would try to figure out what animal it was. The students got zebra, alligator, and giraffe right off the bat. However, the fourth one seemed to baffle them and with good reason. I noticed his mistake and asked him to try it again because he had misspelled his word. Unfortunately once again, instead of “duck” he spelled “dick.” Common mistake. The funniest part about it was another boy raised his hand and said, "Um, Mr. Ritchason, I don't think that's an animal."