Thursday I was the “teacher’s helper” for our elementary co-op. My job was to help Susan Baylor, art teacher extraordinaire. Our K-3rd graders were supposed to write their names on a piece of paper with masking tape, then lightly color and paint over it also. Kindergartners aren’t too hot at writing their names with pencil, much less masking tape, so I talked some of the kids into making their initials. Still, this job took a LLLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG time.
Next, we made spider webs on our papers with rubber cement, then painted over them.
After we attempted to clean up this group and get them to PE class with the Mirons(how is Julia supposed to teach kids to jump rope?), the 4-6th graders came in. They were painting 10 sheets of paper front and back to make books next week. Cool, but paint was everywhere, but don’t tell Kelli how much of it I wiped off of the new tile. It all came off, really.
Susan, I salute you as an art teacher. I don’t know how you can do this all the time. I came home comatose. But maybe Kate’s first driving lesson in town on the way there, a trip to the library, back to Zion for a forgotten art project, to Micheal’s for art supplies, and to Super Saver for 6 more gallons of milk on the way home had something to do with my catatonic state.
My second award goes to Chris the windshield repair guy, who was in my driveway Thursday. After finally getting home from being the teacher’s helper, I had to tiredly and perhaps a bit grumpily haul my groceries across the lawn to the house. As I was doing this Chris stopped to say hello, and asked me how my day was going. I lied, and told him it was just fine. But his cheerfulness was catching. He also didn’t act frustrated, even though he brought the wrong van windshield, and would have to go back to town to pick up the right one. May I be like Chris when my timeline is not being met. SA-LUTE!, like they used to say on Hee-Haw.
My third award goes to Marcus. He asked me to go ride in his 1966 Chevelle with him to Culvers Friday night.
I really didn’t want to go, and would rather have blogged the night away quietly, or caught up on Three Cups of Tea. We will go see other old cars and smell like high-octane fuel when we come home. But after lunch I told him I would go, because I’m glad he still wants me to go after 17 years. I just hope the girls don’t say, “GET ON IT, DADDY!” Then they cackle and check out mom’s knuckles to see how white they get. Ha-ha. (Postscript: He DID get on it, and they all cackled all the way over the new Harris overpass. But if I would have stayed home, I would have missed this snazzy hydraulic car and the 1950’s Chrysler with a push-button transmission.)
My last award goes to Mom. You are so full of wisdom and interesting tidbits, and you share them with me despite that when you come out I am in the aforementioned catatonic state. Thanks, Mom.
