Halloween Fun

It seems that the annual DCP (discovery corner preschool for those of you not in the know) Halloween Party had its share of funny moments. So here are a few:
The names, of course, have been made up, or not...but now you will never really know.

Upon seeing friend Caden decked out in his costume, Jenny says, "Um...Caden I thought you said you were going to be a mommy?" (can you guess what his costume was)

As is always the case, about 10 minutes into the party everyone wants to take off their costume as it is in some way hampering their ability to eat, play or get into something messy.

This is the story of one of these moments. One little boy took off his costume without my help. This little boy did have on pants underneath his costume, but no shirt. I decided that his being shirtless was not worth the time or energy it would take to attempt to rectify the situation, and come one he is a 3 year old little boy surrounded by other 3 year olds. However, one little girl was particularly concerned about it. I felt a little tap on my arm and when I turned to look I noted the dismay in her eyes as Kenzie said, "Um..Miss Dawn. Joshy is half naked!!"

There was one costume that I really enjoyed. This little boy came running down the hall, arms poised in the classic super-hero pose. This is of course defined by hands balled into fists, one arm punched out in front of the body and the other tucked close to the body. There is also a facial expression to accompany the pose, it is a cross between fierce-brave-and handsome. When he reached the end of the hall he jumped up and landed in a frozen version of this super-hero look. I took in his cape and chest piece-circa 1980's I think. The chest portion had a giant "T" with a lightning bolt behind it. And before I could even use my generic phrase that I had developed for deciphering costumes, he proclaimed, "I'm Thunderbolt Henry!" I loved it all!

Happy Halloween

Preschool Silliness

So I know that my last post was about silly preschool kids but I just had a superior funny experience today. This took place outside in the sandbox.

Me: "Wow, random little boy! You are really doing a great job of digging that hole!"

Random Little Boy: "Yeah I know."

Me: "Are you digging to China?"

Random Little Boy: Stares at me deep in thought for several moments, "I don't know. Is China in the sandbox?"

I love when kids are so literal, I think maybe we silly adults spend too much time trying to make things more complicated than they need to be which makes adults and all their silliness seem even silly-er. Let's just all be like the kids.

Funny Times In Preschool

Being a preschool teacher I am blessed to hear many things "out of the mouths of babes." Usually I am able to laugh inwardly, in order to spare the feelings of these sweetly honest kids. However there are occasions when I am forced to run to the bathroom to "wash my hands" (wink-wink) and laugh out loud. This is the story of one such experience. Authors note-these are direct quotes, I wrote them down. Enjoy....

Backstory-I was sitting at the art table working with another child on an art project when I overheard two children in the dramatic play center playing house......

Boy Child: "I am making dinner."

Girl Child: "What are you making."

Boy Child: "Pizza."

Girl Child: "OK"

Boy Child: (yelling) "I DO EVERYTHING IN THIS HOUSE!"

Girl Child: No verbal response, look of complete confusion on her face.

Boy Child: (still yelling) "I CLEAN THE HOUSE, I MAKE DINNER, I TAKE CARE OF ALL THESE KIDS AND YOU DO NOTHING!"

Girl Child: Still no verbal response, continued look of confusion on face with an added touch of fear in her eyes.

Boy Child: (yes, still yelling) "CAN'T YOU HELP ME?!! (prolonged and highly exasperated sigh)

Girl Child: Looks to me for reassurance that what she has just experienced was as weird as she thinks it is.

Me: I smile reassuringly and say "Let's remember to use kind words with our friends." This is, of course, a phrase learned on the first day in "Standard Phraseology For the Preschool Teacher 101."

I ran to the bathroom with a sudden glue-on-hands emergency and laughed for at least 3 minutes. After which I grabbed my handy notebook and pen to record the experience for my posterity-or at least my blog.

The truth is I was never really able to look at "boy child's" parents in quite the same way after that day. I had a new insight into their home life that could not be undone. I never judged them-because let's get honest-I can't even count the number of times I had yelled similar and undoubtedly worse things to the people in my life. I just love knowing that other people are as fallible as I am.

Note to the reader: Do not fear, this was certainly NOT your child.

Oh! The ponytail!

I know it is wrong to love something so much, especially something that has no feelings and really can't love you back....but I have always LOVED my hair. It is the best friend I've ever had. Even when I threatened its very existence with innumerable products, blow dryers, curling irons, flat irons, bleach, hair dye, razors, gallons of hairspray and worst of all....personal attempts at bang trimming, even through all this it was resillient and dare I say, beautiful. I have often felt about my hair the way Anne Shirley felt about her nose; knowing it was beautiful and occasionally feeling waves of guilt for my knowledge and enjoyment of that beauty.
I should interject at this point that these feelings for my hair developed AFTER the terrible Dorothy Hammil years of early childhood-some sort of punishment inflicted by mother, AFTER the banana clip and sheperical bangs years-some sort of punishment inflicted by society, and of course after all the terrible tries at hair-self-government that spanned the junior high and high school years of my life. In essence it has only been as an adult I have truly appreciated my tressess.
I love the way the my hair smells, I love the way it feels falling over my shoulders and down my back, and mostly I really love the way it feels when I twist it in and around my fingers. This of course being a little habit I picked up as an infant. Although, unlike sucking my little finger, I have never been able to abandon that small comforting action.
So it was an overwhelmingly difficult day when in May of this year I cut off some of my beloved hair. (And by "some of my hair" I mean 13 glorious inches.) "Why?" you may ask would you do such a crazy thing when you have just spent 2 intense paragraphs devoting yourself to said hair." Well the answer is really a simple one-in the hope of helping someone else. I donated all those time won tressess to "Locks of Love." However this is not about my donation or the amazing person that is has made me into. No this particular entry is about my selfishness. It is true that I donated my hair, but it is also true that I have missed my locks each of the 140 days, 9 hours and 14 minutes that they have been gone. (of course that time is based on the exact moment that I wrote it-please adjust for time passed from the point of writing to the point of reading.)
I have tried during each of those 140 days to accept my hair choice and to enjoy the new looks that my current cut allows....but I recently stood in a line behind a woman with her hair pulled back into a ponytail and I stared at that most enviable of hairstyles. That is the precise moment when it hit me. I thought, "Oh! The ponytail! How I miss the ponytail....I want it back..... sob..sob..sob!" It was at this point a kind bystander rushed to my defense as I collapsed to the cold hard ground beneath me. Even with the assisstance, I regret to say that I still spent the better part of 12 hours crying over my lost hair. The plain and simple truth is that I miss my hair and after many hours of therapy-which isn't free-I have been able to admit that fact and I now know that it is okay for me to feel that way....even if I secretly try to pull my hair into a sad little ponytail every night before I go to bed.

Vegetarian?

Recently the following conversation could have been overheard taking place between myself and a family member during a sunday dinner when I chose not to eat the meat of choice that was being served.
Family Member: "Why don't you just come out of the vegetarian closet already?"
Me: "I'm not a vegetarian! I just don't really eat meat.....ever.......anymore. But that doesn't make me a vegetarian."

Still I have never really considered myself to be a vegetarian. I think if I ever was to say that I was, my cattle rancher grandpa would probably disinherit me immediately. And that is obviously something I am not interested in. However over the past year I have eaten less and less meat simply because I don't like it. The saddest of all such experiences occured recently while I was in California for a weekend vaca. I was SO excited to eat at In 'n Out-one of my favorite eateries in the world. So late one evening we called 1-800-In 'n Out (I'm not making that up-its real) to get directions to the nearest location and headed out to the glorious building. As we waited in line to order I began to have a pit in my stomach. I hadn't had any type of hamburger in over a year, and I was quickly becoming aware that I would not be able to eat one of the amazing, life altering hamburgers being made behind the counter. I was sure one bite would enduce a vomit session the likes of which might scare small children. So defeated, I ordered only a chocolate shake and fries, which were of course delicious. However as I watched the others deeply enjoy their hamburgers and fries, a small piece of me died-and I will always miss the In 'n Out part of my heart.

But so you ask-"then do you consider yourself to be a vegetarian?" The answer-well sort of-ish. I really don't like the taste or texture, I certainly can't cook it or touch any of it, smell it, walk past the meat section of the grocery store, or watch others eat it without feeling a little sick to my stomach, but I don't think I am ready for that kind of commitment. And if you are wondering the answer is yes-I sure do have commitment issues.