Just so you know, the children are still keeping me in stitches (calm, well-composed, grown-up, mature-variety stitches), but I've let stress take over and it seems I haven't written down any adorable anecdotes lately. BOO to being an overkill responsible adult! I must let my inner child free! (Never mind the fact that as a child I liked to organize my toys and dust).
OK inner child: here I sit, dishes loitering by the sink, laundry wrinkling in the dryer, supper hiding out in the cupboard and refrigerator, stressful day at work—and the stress was not because of the kids—threatening to spill over into my home, Bible texts lecturing me from my document files and demanding my copyediting time . . . GIVE ME SOME REASONS TO LAUGH.
1. 6-year-old boy, touching my arm: "Ooh, nice smooth skin!"
2. friend calling and telling me that she saw the "large, obese version" of me, which made her laugh because she was picturing me pregnant
3. someone saying "discomboobulated" and thinking that it was correct
4. picture posted on a friend's Facebook page, with accompanying caption by her brother:
"You never do anything with your Facebook page. So it falls to me to update you with pictures of bad taxidermy."
5. 1st grade girl, while writing sentences about her day, comes up with:
"I got drest this morning."
I tell her that she has to illustrate it.
"How do I draw me getting dressed?"
She thinks a minute, and then draws an oval with a horizontal line through the middle and a dot underneath it.
"I just drew my bellybutton."
6. A fellow teacher and I went ice skating and ran into (she quite literally) a first grade boy from school. He picks himself up off of the ice, not at all acknowledging that he cut right in front of her and caused the crash, and excitedly continues to tell me all about his hockey maneuvering. The next day at school, while gathering my group of kids for reading, I hear our little skating buddy say:
"Hey Hindman. Do you remember that time when I saw you at the skating rink?"
Yes, yes I do remember seeing you last night.
6. A fellow teacher and I went ice skating and ran into (she quite literally) a first grade boy from school. He picks himself up off of the ice, not at all acknowledging that he cut right in front of her and caused the crash, and excitedly continues to tell me all about his hockey maneuvering. The next day at school, while gathering my group of kids for reading, I hear our little skating buddy say:
"Hey Hindman. Do you remember that time when I saw you at the skating rink?"
Yes, yes I do remember seeing you last night.
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