Well, nothing shouts out WELCOME BACK TO SCHOOL AFTER TWO FULL WEEKS OF CHRISTMAS VACATION quite like THE WIND IN THIS BLIZZARD HAS PUSHED THE WINDCHILL TO MINUS EIGHT, SO WE WILL BE HAVING INDOOR RECESS FOR EVERYONE.
If you have no idea what a gym filled to capacity with kindergarten kids, 1st grade kids, 2nd grade kids, 3rd grade kids and 4th grade kids, all at once, looks like, then you may have been slightly wiser in choosing your career than I was. When a 4th grader lobs a basketball across the width of a gym, in a no-bounce pass to a classmate, and there are thirty children between him and that classmate, and the ball knocks a 6-year-old in the head and flattens him, suddenly a job in accounting sounds very reasonable.
Except, after reading an online news article today entitled THIRTY-FIVE TERMS PEOPLE OVER FORTY DON’T UNDERSTAND, I now know I should just have typed out “v reasonable,” because that’s how the cool kids are doing it these days. I had no idea, y’all. V is the new VERY. I’m clearly late to the party, but I have every intention of using this term properly now, so that I can move back to being a cool kid.
“Hush! No snacks right now. Dinner will be v soon!”
“How much did I spend at Target online, honey? Not v much. Not v much at all!”
“I’m gonna need some v creamy coffee, v quick-like, if you want me to keep my v good mood rolling.”
Suffice it to say that two long days of back-to-back PE classes pretty much wore me out this week, because I was just coming off a vacation where I simply made another cup of coffee, regardless of the time of day, and sat down to read a stack of Christmas cards whenever I felt a little run down over the past two weeks. That wasn’t possible this week in the gym, seeing as how all the Christmas cards are over now, and it’s just back to another eleven straight months of glossy Walmart ads, credit card statements, and envelopes telling me YOUR INSURANCE COMPANY ISN’T GOING TO PAY ANYTHING TO THIS DOCTOR, SO TOOT THE PARTY HORN REAL LOUD LIKE, BECAUSE THIS ENTIRE BILL IS ALL YOURS in our mailbox. I am always plum excited to take the Christmas tree down and vacuum up the pine needles, as we embrace all the newness and hope and raw possibility that January brings, but I am NEVER excited to see the end of the Christmas cards rolling into our home.
But… it is what it is.
Back during Christmas break, when times were easier and no one had a gym full of fifty-eight kids at once for recess, my aunt and uncle mailed our family some Christmas steaks from two states over. Hubs and the boy were downright thrilled over this package that was dumped by the Fed Ex man on our doorstep, because MEAT. Thing 2 was excited about the package because it came with dry ice in the bottom of the Styrofoam cooler. I knew that we were INDEED dealing with REAL DRY ICE, when I reached inside to grab the insulated package, only to find that it was, in fact, NOT insulated. There I was, holding an enormous chunk of dry ice in my bare hand, with nothing but a paper-thin layer of cheap plastic between us. The blisters on my finger were a big indication of how much fun this was, because the folks who write guidelines for handling dry ice aren’t messing around when they type out in total caps lock, WEAR YOUR SKI MITTENS FOR THIS.
Thing 2 had only HEARD about dry ice, from his older brother, and he was thrilled to FINALLY be able to participate in playing with the stuff and get THAT checked off his life’s bucket list. He was a touch leery about it though, once he realized that I’d nearly frost-bitten my right index finger to the point of death.
The boy was hauled out of bed by a screeching Thing 2 (“Get up, Bubbie! We have dry ice! Get out of bed! It’s almost noon, and I need your help to use it!”), and he got the ball rolling, in his bathrobe and bedhead, which was his daily outfit of choice over break.
I’d even go so far as to say he had V BIG FUN!
Y’all have a v good weekend, now.