There Is A Hobo In The Shed: Theories, Exclamations and Tales of Triumph.

lavenderspring Happy Spring, everyone!

I would have updated sooner, but I got mauled by the hypothetical craft bug, which then infected my spirit and urged me to spend my extra time knitting and crocheting tails for the kindy kids to wear.  I also, in my craft fury, managed to knit two hats, a scarf… and  have begun crocheting what will become stuffed cats.  Maybe it is a slightly new addition to my already highly quirky personality…but the mention of going to a store to pick out yarn fills me with glee.  I cannot help this.  It was bound to happen.  Look at my mother.  Her nick name is “Martha”, as in for the previously incarcerated craft matriarch Martha Stuart.  Anywho, that is neither here nor there… lets get to some happenings of the past few weeks shall we?

I firmly believe that these are words a teacher never really wishes to hear:  “Miss Gina, I think I am gonna
throw up.” Oh dear.  Needless to say I sashayed that child over to the bathroom quicker than you could say Easter Sunday. It  made me immediately flash back to my childhood and the times in which I had managed to mutter those fateful words.  I never made it to the bathroom.  Those words always happened about five seconds before the actual splatter of vomit hitting carpet.  Luckily for me, Sarah, the carpet, and the child, he did not end up throwing up.  Huzzah.  However, for preventative measures he was sent home early.

There is a highly suspicious smell emanating from the games shed.  It is the smell of damp death and old Chinese takeout. I noticed it upon stationing myself close to the shed in order to be able to keep checks on all potential Aftercare gang activity.  My first thoughts were that it was the hobo that had been found making camp in the child’s playhouse that morning.  Clearly someone isn’t doing such thorough ground checks in the mornings.  Perhaps it is just a possum, or a sack of old discarded Chinese takeout molding next to the jump-ropes somewhere in there… but the thought of it being an actual body put some sort of adult Nancy Drew mystery back into my day.

One day earlier this week, I was spending my break in the sun chatting with a fellow teacher and peacefully eating some dried mango.  Lovely.  Then all of the sudden a child emerges with blood running down his arm.  Sure he had just scraped off an intense scab, but he looked a little freaked out about it so it was probably best to tend to said missing scab now and not later. I know that my breaks are supposed to be uninterrupted…but when a child approaches me bleeding, I just don’t have it in me to tell them they have to wait an additional twenty minutes for assistance while I finish my dried mango.  Anywho, I took the kid into the faculty kitchen and cleaned up his arm and put a band-aid on it…. when all of the sudden there is another child who emerges in the doorway–bleeding.  His finger got mauled by a palm frond.  I clean it up.  Band-aids were applied.  I go to walk back outside to perchance finish my mango with my remaining seven minutes of break left.  I then see a scuffle and hear a scream.  A child was struck in the head with a rock!  His head is bleeding.  There is matted hair and blood… and although once cleaned up it was not as bad as it originally looked, I have to say never underestimate the gruesome effectiveness of blood in matted up hair.

Speaking of gruesome… here are another set of words that a teacher never really wants to hear: “Miss Gina!  The toilet is clogged, the water is about to overflow and it smells really bad!!”  Seriously?  Well… fantastic.  I put on my metaphorical big girl panties, rolled up my sleeves and winced as I entered the bathroom to survey the damage.  Immediately my instinct was I needed air.  I opened the window, and fumbled around trying to find some sort of air freshener.  What I did find was some bullshit all natural watered down version of what I believe air freshener should actually be.  Fifty or so sprays later I was ready to approach the toilet and defeat the turd.  Not to get too descriptive here, because really you all just don’t deserve it, but I will say that I am not sure how what lay in that toilet was created by any seven year old child.  MY GOD. I reached for the plunger said a little prayer, and went to work.  Luckily the clog went down without too much of a fight.  Great success!!  Perchance the children need more fiber in their diet?  I dunno… but something crazy is going on there.

In other news, Satan’s Baby has once again risen…and this time out of a snapdragon in the kindy yard!  He is full grown and evil as ever.  Seriously disturbing.  I have been skirting the snapdragons all week.  I’m not getting too close to that insect’s diabolical lair.

I am sure I have many more glorious tales and tidbits, but they will have to wait.  I have to get ready for work.  It is our last day of school before spring break!  I think I’ll do a little dance…


~ by soartsyithurts on April 3, 2009.

One Response to “There Is A Hobo In The Shed: Theories, Exclamations and Tales of Triumph.”

  1. crocheting cats is a certain sign of a creepy future.

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