I am in love with the boy’s 5th grade teacher this year, because she is FUN and ORGANIZED and HILARIOUS, and because she speaks my love language, which is Starbucks. And really? It doesn’t even matter that she orders skinny vanilla lattes while I order skinny, no-water chais, because we can both hold a steaming cup of happiness and get our chat on.
Plus… She sends home REAL and ALIVE salamanders with the boy, which have been caught on the school’s playground and kept, for the day, in empty butter containers, because we apparently look like a family who will offer a safe refuge to any living creature or find someone who will.
It’s the reason Cat 2 has been a tenant here for the past three years; any other family would have seen Cat 2’s SLOW-WITTED UNIQUENESS a long time ago, and they would have released her into the wild and tried their luck at getting a second housecat.
But what I don’t love about the 5th grade this year is that Mrs. M picks an MVP for the classroom every Friday afternoon, and the kid who gets his (or her) name drawn is the star for the following week. They get prizes. And small gifts. They get to lead the class line and have lunch in the classroom with Mrs. M and two friends. And then they get to make a poster at home, which tells all about their lives, and then their parents are asked to write a letter to their MVP student, which Mrs. M can read aloud to the class.
The thought of the MVP poster, people, is causing me some stress, so I keep my fingers crossed each and every week that the boy will not be chosen, because I just know we’ll have to drag out the poster board, and the foam alphabet letters, and the glitter, and the markers and get our crafting on. I’m already fearing the end of this week, because I have managed to dodge the poster bullet throughout the entire month of September, and the class size is dwindling. There are 18 students, and we’ve already eliminated 4 MVPs since Mrs. M started this little endeavor.
We have a one-in-fourteen chance to be drawn this week. Don’t ask me to convert that to a percentage, because it’s been a long day, and my mathematical skills tonight are on equal footing with my parking abilities.
Clearly… they’re stellar.
And really? This has absolutely nothing to do with my blog post tonight, but I thought that I’d warn y’all that yes! And indeed! One of these days I’ll be wailing and gnashing my teeth and yelling out, “THAT’S ENOUGH GLITTER, DADGUMIT!” to the boy as we make an effort to create the most magnificent MVP poster in the entire school’s history, because I can never leave well enough alone and not attempt to gain the gold medal in school projects. It’s because I’m a titch nerdy.
Also, the reason that Hubs and I waited five years after we were married before we had the boy is because I knew that one day he’d grow up and become a 6th grader, and being a 6th grader means SCIENCE FAIR. And Science Fair means RESEARCH and THEORIES and TESTING, all of which I can handle, but the big Science Fair Project Culmination is the three-sided, stand-up board that is all dolled up with CHARTS and GRAPHS and PICTURES and FANCY LETTERING and HYPOTHESIS WRITE-UPS, and yes! OCCASIONALLY GLITTER.
And by waiting five full years to have the boy, I managed to delay the 6th grade and that enormous craft project known as the SCIENCE FAIR PROJECT BOARD.
I keep telling myself that when it comes time to do this project, the Holy Spirit will come upon me and give me strength that I have not yet seen.
Which isn’t a bad thing, I guess, because I really had nothing else to write about tonight, other than to say that Hubs! He worked thirty-eight hours in a row. And the new county building in Smaller Town, which was just built, now has thirty workstations and a high-tech security system and phones that are capable of making calls through computers and five servers.
And all of it works!
And Hubs saw that it worked, and he saw that it was good, and he came back home after thirty-eight hours and fourteen Cokes. I think he was inside of our house for exactly five minutes before he fell asleep. Had someone asked me to stay awake and work for thirty-eight hours, I would have already puked four times and flopped down onto the floor in a sobbing heap of snot and tears and mental disability.
All that’s left tonight is for me to tell you that the boy is fully recovered from his little stomach virus, and to show you a couple of snapshots from the grand finale soccer game on Monday night. The boys actually played a round robin soccer tournament, and they were magnificent. This year’s little team did an outstanding job of playing the game of soccer, when they weren’t flinging themselves down in the grass, laughing like drunken hyenas and wrestling one another into submission.
That Y chromosome cannot survive if it goes too long without wrestling someone to the ground. I see it every single day in my PE classes, and the soccer field is a prime breeding ground for wrestle-offs with boys.
There’s Team Brown, in its entirety. The short one in front was our goalie. (Oh! I jest. That’s Quinn’s little brother, and he played for the Brown Kindergarten Team, but he cheered us on all season, even though he stole our juice boxes.)
And with all of that said, people, the Jedi Family is heading off to bed a bit early tonight. We’ve managed to kick the stomach bug down, but some extra rest will do the boy good, and Hubs is already comatose, as he slides down from his Coke-induced high.
And I’m going to bed, too, so that I can begin preparing myself for the one-in-fourteen chance that I may be spending the weekend making an enormous poster. It’s never too early for mental preparations.
Happy Wednesday evening, y’all.