Sunday, April 23, 2017

bees make cheerios

April 17: It was Orange Day. Most of my kids still struggle to peel the oranges at snack, so they’ve developed a habit of sticking their straws straight through the skin and doing their best to suck out as much as they can.

April 18: While in the throes of my third cold this year, I woke up at 4:50 in the morning, pulled a raincoat and Doc Marten boots over my pajamas and wandered out into the drizzly darkness to go look at a fire hydrant.

April 19: I caught Abel pulling two twenty-dollar bills out of the pockets of the black sweatpants he wears every day. All morning, he had been desperately trying to leave the class so that he could find Antoine, who was going to sell him a single Pokemon card. His dad has now learned the lesson to not leave his cash on counter tops.

April 20: Paloma is teaching her third grade class all about interesting bugs this semester. She is in the middle of her bee course and paused a video about queen bees to quiz them on what bees make.
“Cheerios!” they all shouted in unison.

April 21: My class of seven-years olds is the most terrifying group of people I have ever met. Today, our school’s Vice Principal passed out popsicles to only two of my fifteen students there that day. They spent the next hour going into graphic detail about the different ways they would mutilate his various limbs.

April 22: Paula Poundstone is the first to admit that she is a bad driver. She also wants people to know that honking at her does not improve her performance. Her personal theory is that the angry driver behind her wants that moment of friction when they try to berate her. But she usually ends up disappointing them because she rarely disagrees with them. If someone were to blare their horn and yell “asshole!”, she rolls down her own window and yells back “you don’t know the half of it!”.

April 23: We placed third in the 90’s Simpsons Bar Trivia this month. Rob texted Kristen to let her know about our victory. She asked if there were only three teams competing.




much love,
hedgie

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