Last week was a new record for me. I worked five days and all five of them were in the first grade. Not the same class either, five different first grade rooms. First grade zombies have a special type of neediness that really gets under my skin. They think they are big enough to mouth off, but on the other hand lose everything that they put in a pocket and cannot, under any circumstance, sharpen a pencil. I have two unique little stories to share from this week.
I was sitting on the rug with a group of first grade zombies discussing the invention of clothes. It was a social studies paper we were all reading together. The zombies were following along and they were mostly fairly good readers. I stopped along the way to ask, "What do you call someone with no clothes?" A little fellow raised a hand.
"Naked!" Lots of giggles all around, but I congratulated him on the right answer. Another hand was raised, this time a little zombie girl.
"Do you know another word for it?" I asked. I was waiting for her to say nude or something like that.
She smiled broadly. "Yeah," she said. "Hillbillies!"
I think my jaw might have actually hit the floor.
The next day, another teacher was taking my class to the library in small groups while I kept the rest back. Seems that 25 first graders in a library at once is too much in that particular school. The other teacher, who was also a sub, took the first group, but then came back earlier than I expected without any kids at all. I knew she was a little confused on the procedures, but this seemed extreme. She motioned me over with that I have a grown-up thing to tell you look on her face.
"One of your boys", she began very quietly, "won't be coming back. He's in the office."
"What did he do?" I quickly tried to remember who she had taken and which boy she could be referring to. The other teacher looked very hesitant to tell me.
"Well, the librarian saw him...", she paused, very uncomfortable.
What could he have done? My mind raced! Destroy a book? Stand on a table? Attack the librarian? Pick his nose? Finally she spoke, spitting it out as quickly as she could.
"The librarian saw him put his hands down his pants, pull out some poop. then drop it in a garbage can!"
Again, jaw on the floor. I had to be sure of this. "He did what?"
"OH! I can't repeat it!", and she hustled back out the door.
No one with that weak of a constitution should be working in an elementary school situation.
Now for the mayo.
A few weeks ago, Fearless Co-Leader gave me a lovely little plant for Leader Appreciation Week. (Just so you know, I didn't get her anything, not even a card. I completely forgot about this little occasion.) I brought this plant home, put it on the side table with nothing under it and left it. On Wednesday I noticed it was looking a little droopy so I picked it up for a watering when I noticed a big white circle on the wood where the plant was sitting. A water mark, big as life, and I had no one to blame but myself.
But wait. Didn't I just read a strange article about using mayonnaise to save wooden furniture from just this very ailment? I did! Quickly I found the article again and it was pretty straightforward. Rub mayo into the spot and leave it there for six to eight hours then wipe it off. I figure it was worth a shot. It would either work or the cats would have a big time licking the table all day.
The end of the story is that it did work, too well in fact. The rest of the table looks just a little less shiny and new than the mayo spot, so I'm planning on giving the whole surface a mayo face lift someday soon. I'll have a prettiest, tastiest table in town!