Quiet Toes

Twelve children. Twelve pallets. All are sleeping. The only sounds in the room were K.K.’s and Chez’s baby snores, the soft tap of the computer keys beneath my fingers, and the gentle swish of Ms. Jewel’s paint brush. Suddenly Harold, whom we’ve been nagging about using the potty, sits up on his pallet and pipes, “Ms. Jewel, I gotta poop!”

Ms. Jewel whispers back urgently, “Well come on. Stand up. Let’s go, but be quiet.”

Harold bounds to his bare feet and as he’s carefully picking his way across the carpet on tippy-toes he shouts out, “Look, Ms. Jewel, I’m being quiet good!”

Napzzzzzzzzz

Nap time:  Kelly is always so restless he keeps himself and anybody nearby awake.  I usually sit next to him which keeps him still and at least allows everyone nearby to go to sleep.  Today I sat down beside his pallet.  Kelly crossed his arms, “I’m not nappeding!”  He announced.

I said, “Okay,” and went about removing his shoes and tucking his blanket around him.

He turned to watch tv — Sesame Street.  “I’m not sleeping,” he said again.

“You don’t have to,”  I said while gently patting his back.

Within minutes the children on either side of him were asleep.  Kelly looked at each of them, then told me,  “I’m not sleeping!”

“All right,” I said.  I continued to pat his back.  Kelly settled in to watch Little Elmo learn to bowl.  I continued patting.

Kelly grabbed my hand and pulled.  He tucked my fingers under his cheek.  “Not nappeding,” he mumbled.

“I know,” I told him, and stroked his forehead with my other hand.  One …, two  …, three ….  ZzzzzNap!

Then I moved over and sat next to David, took his feet off the wall, removed his shoes and tucked his blanket around him.  He crossed his arms and glared at me.  “I not nap!” He insisted.

“You don’t have to,”  I said while gently patting his back ……

Say What?!

O’Ceallaigh says that it is good that my nose is stuffy.  He says that means that I am getting better.  Silly me, I thought better involved the stopping of the snotting and running!  You see why I keep him around?  If it weren’t for his wisdom I might think I was still sick.

He says I’m not sick, and my smart-mouth proves it.

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

——–

Please join us on our trip.

Bleck!

Head stuffy.

Throat scratchy.

Nose runny.

Cough hacky.

Head hurty.

Work sucky.

And TheBus left me sitting at the stop for 75 minutes before it deigned to arrive — and then it was full of school kids with more wire coming from their ears then their braces! One kid had an iPod in one ear, a Blue Tooth on the other and was playing a hand-held video game. One of these days a couple of the wrong wires are going to cross and that kid will be sitting there toasted like Wile E. Coyote after using an Acme bomb. I hope I’m not in the seat beside him when he goes.

Of course, the way I’m feeling right now, a thorough toasting might just be an improvement.

Eny body hab a Keenex?

Sauced Teacher

Barbecue sauce, that is.  David-of-the-winsome-grin held up his barbecue sauce packet and said, “Hep, peas.”  So I hepped.  I took the slimy little packet from his slimy little hand, grasped it tightly and attempted to tear the end.  Apparently David had been working on the packet for quite some time — with his teeth.  Barbecue sauce oozed out of a gazillion little holes.  David laughed gleefully.   I went to bathe.