Hey, let's get together!

I spend a bit of time reading things on social media. 

A recurring topic lately has been class reunions. 
People want to know!
Do you go, do you decide against it?
If you went, how was it?

There are many stories, mostly people who went and now they're sorry they did.
 
Anecdotes about how the same cliques exist, the same feelings of being left out, the same social awkwardness. Yanks people right back to the angst years. There is some gloating. 

(Wow, the cheerleaders didn't age well and Bertha is like 350 lbs and Bob is bald!!)

I've skipped every single reunion since my graduation in 1979. 
I'm in touch with a few people who were high school friends. 
I still consider them friends, but of course our relationships aren't the same 48 years later. Occasional messaging and Christmas cards, primarily.

Everyone else I went to high school with is off doing their own thing, as I am.

A few weeks ago, Mr. Superjock posted something on the book of face. 
He's not on my list of friends, but is on the list of a couple people I know, so I occasionally see his posts.

He was going on about a school track record he broke back in 1978 and how no one else had even come close. He seemed quite pleased with himself. This caused me to reflect on how sad it is for someone to have peaked at 17 years old, is now 65 and still living back in his glory days and posting about it on social media. 

What's really crazy?
The people who fawned over him and followed his mean ass around, shitting on other people still do it. They yuck it up when he makes some stupid joke and all of them chime in with some comment to make sure he sees them. 
They click 'like' and respond to his commentary every time he posts.

It's really weird. 
They're still afraid of not being part of the 'in' group.

I remember him differently.
We met in 5th grade.  

Mostly I had nothing to do with him until my sophomore year in high school. 
That's when our "teacher" introduced the idea of debate. Steve was (surprise!!!) STILL AN ASSHOLE!! Tolman was an asshole, too. Just the grown up variety. Huh. Wonder if he was a Steve when he was in school?

Anyway, there's really not a big point to this post.
It's what's on my mind this morning.

Do you go to your reunions?
Are you in touch with the people who were your friends back then?
Did you have a guy like Steve in your high school? (We had more than one, he was just the worst.)

I think we all live partly in the past, how can it be otherwise? The things that happen to us and around us become part of who we are. But we can choose to limit our exposure to continued trauma/angst/aggravation. Being around Steve, even in small increments was detrimental to my mental health at a time when there were many other things hurting me. So his part in it was magnified.

He was still an asshole, though.

Sometimes, Shit Happens

Remember Ethan from a couple weeks ago? 

He's still having some issues with the afternoon bathroom thing. My theory is that because of the way his day is structured he doesn't have time to sit in the bathroom and has to hold it in all day. When I list '25 things I don't like about mass education', young humans not being able to listen to and trust their bodies always makes the list. 

When school gets out, the first order of business after checking in and washing hands is snack time. 

Ethan loves snack time. He's always starving when he comes in. 
This is a normal thing for kinders, their little bodies are used to a different schedule most of the time. 

Many of them are accustomed to eating/snacking all day until school starts. 
Then school starts and everything from peeing and getting a drink to moving your body is on an externally-imposed schedule.

Regulated/regimented.
So confusing and overwhelming for a small person to handle.

After snacks and clean up, it's time to go outside. 

And that's when Ethan's eyes get big, his little face looks urgent and he runs to me doing the butt tuck scooch (hard to describe but I'll bet you know what I mean) and he says, "I have to go to the bathroom!!"

So while we're counting kids and lining up and getting the equipment cart and official bug out bag out the door, he's in the bathroom. One of us has to stand in the open door of the building until he comes out, sometimes it's 10 minutes or more. We don't leave a child inside the building without supervision.

Next is another predictable thing.
He comes out of the bathroom looking sheepish, embarrassed, timid.

"I think there's some poop on my butt."

Translation: I had to wait all day to poop, I can't wipe properly and now I'm a mess.

Poor little guy.
Sending him back to clean up doesn't work, he isn't able to take care of it once it's happened.

There's one good thing about his timing, though. 
Everyone is playing outside and no one has even noticed that Ethan is having a problem. 

I always assure him that it's not a big deal, that sometimes it happens.
"It's okay, Buddy. Come sit outside and I'll call your dad."

The way I put phone numbers in the site phone is in alphabetical order with child name first. 

Like this: Ethan Dad Jack (599) 555-1234.
My reasoning is that if someone is subbing at my site there's a better chance they will know a child's first name rather than a parent's name and it will be faster to find in the event of an emergency. 

Dad is patient and not grumpy, but a little disbelief creeps into his voice when I call.
"This is not an emergency. But..."
"Again?"

Since we're outside, Ethan can sit on one of the benches while we wait for his dad and none of the other kids catch on. As far as they know, he's just getting picked up.

On Wednesday, Ethan once again came running to me while we were getting ready to go outside.

"I have to go poop RIGHT NOW!" he said as he ran toward the bathroom. I gestured 'go ahead'.

He passed me on the run, took another four or five running steps and paused.

"Don't worry," he said with that engaging little grin he has. "I've been practicing my wipe skills."

Ding Dong

This week in wtf-ness...

Wednesday afternoon there was a lot of silliness with the kids, mostly girls, who were still there at 4:45 or so.

They'd been running around the room and being loud. 

No one was doing anything wrong, just high energy going on. I got out the speaker and put on some dance music. That helped for a bit, but they decided on doing what passes for yoga in kidworld. If you've ever seen kids do their own idea of what yoga is supposed to look like,  you'll understand. 
If not, well, it's funny.

Highly recommend you observe it if possible. 

I had Maria, Bailey, Steffie and a few others. Maria was leading.

They were all doing some sort of downward dog except they were falling over on the rug in fits of giggles. Steffie sort of laid down on her tummy, hands a little below her waist.

Bailey got a horrified look on her face, took the four steps necessary to get next to her sister, drew her foot back and kicked Steffie in the upper thigh.

"Steffie!!! We do not ring the devil's doorbell!!!"

There were some surprised looks from the other kids, Steffie said indignantly, "I wasn't!" 

William was closer and reminded Bailey that we don't kick. 
Bailey said to him, "Our parents don't want us touching our dirty parts!"

Saying anything to them about my own thoughts on the matter is out of the question. They're not my children. 

Obviously I don't agree that a child should feel guilty about touching their own body. However. Having been raised as an Evangenital Christian, I understand the whole guilt thing. There's potential for guilt in almost every action a person can do. Some sins are worse than others, depending on which branch of the cult you're in, but it's standard to make a kid think feeling any kind of enjoyment while touching one's own self is sinful. A one way ticket to H-E double hockey sticks!

::sigh::

I also disagree with making one kid responsible for monitoring the other, whether implied or straight up told to. Bailey should not feel responsible for Steffie's actions. She shouldn't have to worry about whether her sister is 'sinning'.

The family is very kind. They've been appreciative of my efforts. The kids are adorable, intelligent, well-spoken and thoughtful. I enjoy their presence in my group. As with all of them, I consider it a privilege to be able to spend those hours with them every day. They're creative and funny, too. The idea that those sweet kids are carrying around the black cloud of fear of sinning over their heads at all times makes me sad for them.

I can't say anything or do anything about it.
Undermining parents is not part of my job description. 

Commentary on religious beliefs is also way outside the scope of my job.

Not easy to just observe and move on.

High-pitched Bears

First couple weeks of school means a fundraiser. 

When I was a kid, Scholastic Book Fair wasn't a thing.
We did order books every few weeks, though. We got a flyer that looked like this one, printed on cheap newsprint, and for a few days we huddled over them, imagining which ones we'd get and bringing our $2.99 in cash or check to the teacher.

Book order day was like Christmas. Everyone looked at what everyone else got and vowed to make different choices the next time.

Do you remember?

I don't know why they call it a book fair, it's more of a trinket and token thing.

The kids are more interested in the toys than the reading material, although they do buy books.  Diaries that lock with a minute silver key. LEGO books with a mini fig included. Spinning tops. Shark teeth. (those come with a book.) 

Mostly they buy silly toys that will go home to rooms bursting with other silly toys and the novelty will wear off and they'll be on to the next big thing in a few days.


At today's  book fairs, you get stuff like this. 

Goddamn Effin'  Poking Sticks

If you don't look at this photo and understand the soul-deep anguish the sight of one of them brings to me, congratulations. 

You're probably not working in After School.

And hey, if you didn't get a GEPS, how about a bear?

Shrieking Bears

Despite today's title and the photo caption, they're not electronic and they don't make sounds.
 
They're just jelly toys that look like Gummy Bears. 
But in the hands of the three girls who bought them, they found (loud, annoying, shrieking) voices of their own. 

In a tone that would either melt glass or ensure you'll never have earwax again, the bears 'talked' all afternoon. The girls made little paper houses for them, carried them around the playground while we were outside, took them to the sinks several times to wash them (that gummy stuff gets gross really fast) and generally were obnoxious.
I did ask them to play with them on the far table in the cafeteria, when they were closer to me the noise was giving me a headache.

I was ready to torch those stupid bears.

It's funny, though. It was a fad for a day or two, and I will almost certainly never see them again.

I'm okay with that. 
They're too loud.

And this is why I call them germy, booger-pickin', butt-diggin' little weasels. And Bobapalooza 2026.

Near the end of the afternoon yesterday, as we were all cleaning up the room so we could get the five o' clock box out, I glanced up to see Ethan (Kindergarten)  standing in the middle of the room with his pants and underwear at his knees. He was holding his waistband with his left hand and digging in his butt with the right.

Sheesh.

Couple of the kids were laughing, a couple more were saying, "DUDE!"

He looked around, perplexed, but pulled his pants up about the time I reached him.

"Ethan, what's up, Buddy?"

He looked at me, blinking his brown eyes, and said in explanation, "There's poop left in my butt and I was trying to get it."

"Okay, well, you can't do it out here where people can see you. Go to the bathroom and sit on the toilet and clean your bottom. Then wash your hands, okay?"

He wandered off, still looking confused.
Geez.

So while he was taking care of business, I called his dad. It was the end of the day anyway, but I wanted to get an idea of how far away he was and have him hurry a bit if possible. 

I mean really.

I always start a phone call that's not urgent with these words. "This is not an emergency." Getting a phone call from your child's day care can be scary.

Told him what was going on. 

He was apologetic, said he'd talk to Ethan about keeping his pants up in public. I told him that it was age-appropriate and that none of the other kids would bother Ethan about it. And that in the 22 years I've been doing this job, this isn't the first time that's happened.

Funny that he was more concerned about the little guy showing his butt than what was in his butt. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

You know the difference between inlaws and outlaws, right?
Outlaws are wanted.

Bob was here from September 5th to the 17th. 
I love the guy, but I know I've discussed that timing with him before.
Visiting us during the first few weeks of the school year is really a lot for me, personally. I'm tired, harried and hurried and not fit company for man or beast as they say. 

If you don't believe me, you can ask the man or beast I live with.
He'll tell ya, and he won't sanitize it. Ha.

Bob is 89. He'll be 90 in July. He's still mentally sharp, doing fairly well physically, too.

Good thing on the physical condition, since he caught some creeping crud on the airplane flight and brought for all of us to share. 

About that... Eric got the same respiratory crap. Lyssa also was ill. I got sick last weekend, ran a fever the entire two days and slept about 28 hours. No kidding. But I didn't get the respiratory stuff. In case you wondered. Now, back to the story.

Bob was hacking and snorting and congested. He's in decent shape for a guy his age, but pneumonia can creep up really fast and I was concerned. 

Eric took time off work to hang out with his father, so on Tuesday as I was leaving for work, I told him, "Your dad needs medical attention. He sounds awful. Don't take no for an answer, he needs to go to urgent care right now."

I was right. They started him on some serious antibiotics.
Couple days later he was feeling a lot better and told me that on the day I insisted he see a doctor that he was 'so weak he couldn't get up from his bed'. He explained that he had actually rolled out onto the floor and pulled himself up on a chair.

Ugh. 

Someone explain men to me? Maybe with small words and diagrams?

On October 14th, it will be 47 years since I met Bob. 

In that time, he has never said a negative thing to me. 
Not one. 

He complimented me on my children, thought they were wonderful (they are, just so we're clear) told me more than once that I am the best thing that ever happened to his son, and didn't say a word against homeschooling or anything else we did while raising our young humans. 

But if you'd told me 47 years ago that I'd be wiping up big ol' Bob Lung Cookies from the bathroom sink, I might have run away screaming.

No way of knowing now, I guess.

I think the lid is leaking...

Friday afternoon was mostly a normal afternoon.

I opened the program at my current school in 2023 so this is the beginning of my 4th year. 

During one of our group discussions, the kids asked if we could have 'stuffie day' sometimes. We decided to have it every Friday, the rule being that if you bring a stuffed animal to school, it needs to stay in your backpack all day because we don't want to disrupt classes.

"If any of your teachers tell me that it's a problem, we'll have to stop doing it, I don't want anyone getting into trouble."

They've never had an issue.

But some of them don't have stuffed animals they can bring or they forget. I have a bin of beanie babies that I've had since Lyssa outgrew them. It's on our Friday cart along with the dollhouse stuff, a bin of marble run and another bin that's full of fidgets. I try to rotate toys and other items so they have different choices as needed.

The room was extra noisy all afternoon. 
We ended up in the gym again instead of going outside, it had been raining off and on all afternoon and the playground was wet. As we were deciding whether to go out, it started pouring rain again anyway.

When we use the gym, everyone goes in for 20 minutes. After that, if they want to go back into the cafeteria, they can. I station myself in the doorway of the gym where I can see the door to outside, the kids in the gym and the kids in the cafeteria.

William stays in the gym with the kids who still want to run around and yell. It works out nicely, I love our program space.

We had a mass exodus of kids about 5:20. Suddenly my end of the room was almost silent. William was at a table next to the back door, playing a game with Shelly. She was the last kid.

I grabbed my laptop and finished the weekly report that I'm supposed to file, and that's when I realized I was hearing water dripping somewhere.

Not good at any time, but of particular concern because this past summer, they completely re-roofed our school. 

Great.

I left William in charge and went to find one of our custodians, but was unable to locate either one of them. 

I called our manager and told him what was going on. Asked him for a number for facilities or emergencies. He looked up a couple and texted me. The first number went to voice mail, so I left a detailed message and hung up. Called the second number, and while I was waiting for their message to finish, the phone let me know the first number was calling me back. Our phone is new this school year, so of course it's not familiar to me, and I was having a terrible time trying to disconnect the other call so I could answer the incoming one. 

After swearing to myself and poking/sliding 'buttons', I succeeded in hanging up on both calls.

Shit.

So I called the first number back. It rang and rang. I was going to hang up when she answered.

We agreed I'd put a sign on the wall where I heard the water and that she'd be sending out whoever was on call.

Everything got put away and I managed to limp on out to the parking lot. 
I was pulling out of my space when some guy came screeching in and parked in front of the gate.

I rolled my window down.
"Are you here about the leak?"

He was.

So I got out of my car and limped back into the building so I could show him where the noise had been coming from.

He wasn't thrilled, but commented on the fact that due to the three day weekend for the holiday and being on call his paycheck just grew a bit. When I left he had plans to get a ladder and remove some ceiling panels and was getting ready to phone a friend for help. 

So I saved our school. Or at least that part of it.

If our kids had been picked up in their usual fashion, I probably wouldn't have heard the water, as it wouldn't have been quiet at my end of the room. For whatever reason, things worked out.

It certainly doesn't make our company look bad, does it?