>Chief Complaint: Hypochondria

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We have an 80 year old man in one of our kindergarten classes. If it’s hard to read, this totally healthy kid is claiming: eye pain, stomach ache, headache, and heartburn. Oy!

On a side note, kinder nurse notes are infinitely more fun- the kids can’t read, so the teacher can write what’s really going on. It’s so funny to watch a kiddo strut into my office, say they got hit by another student and “the teacher said to call my mom”, and then hand me a note saying that they, in fact, were the instigator. Busted.

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>Romeo’s Broken Arm

>Well, it took a few weeks for Romeo to join me again. I swear that kid just gets cuter and cuter. This time his arm was broken. As usual, meditating (OHHMMMMM), laying on hands, dropping the “better bomb”, and tickling had him laughing, but still “broken”.

As soon as I pointed at Santa Bones and informed Romeo that Santa Bones only delivers the cool stuff to HEALTHY kids, he changed tactics. He put his jacket over his face and attempted to walk into a wall. I almost let him, until I remembered that these aren’t *actually* my kids, and that parents generally prefer their children to be returned to them unharmed.

Santa Bones has been attracting some attention. He’s not quite done, so no pic for a few days, but you can imagine that he’s inspired some interesting questions. More to come on that.

>Why I Love My Favorite Secretary

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Christmas decorating just got a tad classier at my Favorite’s house. As so obviously stated above, Thanksgiving must’ve been a doozy. Like all families, they’re somewhat dysfunctional. This is good. I don’t hang with people who aren’t able to let their hair down and tell the world how they really feel.

Anyway, we debated bringing the plaque to work (just to see how long it would take the boss lady to notice), but decided that it would be in poor taste and/or could potentially get us fired. Our Main Goal is to stay in our current positions for as long as humanly possible. It wasn’t really a question of dirtying our innocent charges minds, as they have heard the word and have no doubt used it in front of their own parents without recourse. Regardless, I think I know what I want for Christmas…

>9.5 feet of Pure Awesomeness

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Maybe the owner means it to be a theft deterrent? If anyone WAS to want to try, they’d never actually make it into the vehicle. I’m guessing this thing has to lower before the door can even be opened…

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>Darth Vader Has Really Terrible Stock Options

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This is one of those days that  reeeeaaallly wish I had had time to jot down a conversation I enjoyed with a slightly odd little 2nd grader. He is normally very quiet, and kind of crotchety. I of course like to torment him by asking lame questions like, “How’s your day going?” or, “Heeey, man. What’s up? You got something good to tell me yet?”
He speaks in 2-3 word replies, so I was flabbergasted when he walked into my room today, and said, “I work for Darth Vader.” He then continued for a good 5minutes, telling me about how “Darth Vader was sooo mad when I didn’t get him a present last year for Christmas. He just chopped my leg right off. And then he gave it back. But then he fired me.” This was all presented to me in monotone. Of Course. 
Whoa. You lost your job with Darth Vader because you forgot to get him a present? What a jerk! Well, now my little Jedi is working for Luke Skywalker, who apparently is muchmuch easier to deal with. He doesn’t require a secret santa gift exchange, and the benefits are lucrative. My Jedi states that he will never have to lose another appendage, and if he did, he would have good insurance. You know, so it won’t be a Big Deal. Just lost an arm? Whatevs. 
And, because I love it so, here is Darth After the Dentist.

>In the BLACK!!!

>This blog is largely about my work, but right now I need to shout from the rooftops: I have officially made profit with my pecans!! Okay, okay, 9 dollars is usually an HOURLY wage, but hey. Because this is the first year, and I had PLANNED to screw up over and over again, I’m just glad that I’ve not had to sell the property or any kidneys due to poor business choices such as these:

1. Deciding to sell hand-shelled pecans for $4/lb. My coworkers were very understanding when I informed them of the $1 price-hike following an ill-spent thanksgiving weekend. I think my dirty and damaged hands made them pity me. Whatever works!
2. Deciding to collect the nuts myself. Turns out I could literally work every single hour of free time, and still not make a dent in the nut population. And while climbing the trees and releasing rage on the tree branches is incredibly fun, it won’t get them all out and then the shaker truck has to come anyway. 
3. Hand-shelling: see above. It takes about 1.5hrs to shell one pound. The first person to buy 10lbs got processed nuts. Still debating this one, because they’re so much prettier when hand-done. 
4. Sucking at math. Realizing I’m only making about $2/lb because mechanical shelling leaves so few nuts. This one really got me. 
5. Said profit does not actually count any man hours. I enjoy it, and would probably do it anyway. Luke, on the other hand, probably would not. And I guess I could pay myself a salary of, ohhh, about $0.07/hr..
Next year when I go into full-blown pecan fever, please show me this post. Something tells me I’ll do it allllll over again. =) Oh, and I have pecans for sale…

>Beiber Mania

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My favorite 4th grader told me today that he prank called a “white girl” and told her that she won Justin Beiber tickets. According to him, “they were all screaming, even the grandma was screaming!”

I can’t speak for all white girls, but THIS one would be screaming in fear. And running far, far away.

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>Quotes of the Day

>We have a kid who is supposed to be starting ADHD meds at lunchtime. Apparently, the family has had the prescription for over a week, and haven’t had it filled.

Exasperated Teacher (ET): Do you have the prescription??
Energetic Child (EC): uhhhhh…. yeah…..
ET: Well, did your mom take it to get filled?
EC: Yes. We took it to walgreens and they said it would take 9days.
ET [smiling now]: Oh really? That’s funny. They usually can get it done in a day.
EC: Oh yeah. They said 9 hours. It should be ready today.

In this case, the difference between 9 days and 9 hours is muchmuch more than the actual time. It works kind of like dog years. The teacher has aged approximately 9years for the 9days gone without medicine. On a personal note, I’m not keen on medicating every rambunctious child that walks in the door. I can say with certainty that some kids really benefit from the added help… some kids forget their meds and actually behave BETTER. Really, who knows? I certainly haven’t found any hard and fast rules related to kids and medication.

Well, okay. One Rule: Do not accidentally drop a child’s medicine in the drinking fountain drain. You will not get it back, and will have to fill out an embarrassing waste report. ie: 1 dose of medication accidentally wasted into drinking fountain. Witnessed by Guffawing/Cackling/Teasing-Favorite-Secretary.

Another quote:

Little girl with pinpoint scratch to tip of finger (on why she wants me to call her dad): “Well, my dad said that sometimes, when I get hurt really bad, and it’s really deep, he um, he wants me to call him so that it doesn’t get infected. You know, cause it’s really deep. And I got hurt really bad. And I fell.”

Love it.

>Eau De First-Grader

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There’s a little boy here who’s visits to the nurse were increasing in both frequency and duration. I began to suspect a tough case of CON (crush on nurse) syndrome when he came in one morning, chest puffed out, leg dragging behind. According to him he had been playing football outside and made a miraculous run and tackle- thereby establishing himself as Hero of the Playground (for that recess at least). On completion of this amazing stunt, he fell and hurt his knee. Of course, by the time he was done telling me all this he’s bouncing around and obviously not injured. Once diagnosed with CON, the rest of a child’s visits are somewhat suspect.
 
Later that day, he came in with a rip in the seat of his pants. I made him a patch out of tape and explained how to stick it to the inside so that he could make it home a half hour later without flashing his drawers at his classmates. 
In retrospect, he spent WAAYYY too long in there (do NOT have a dirty mind- it’s not what you think…geez). He comes back into my office and stands real close to me. I’m immediately bowled over by the “scent” he’s emitting. He smells like a cheap wh*** in an English rosegarden.
 
Me: Whoa. Wha? *cough* Whaaaat is that smell??!
Pepe Le Pew: [shrug] It’s perfume.
Me: Umm, men’s perfume or ladies perfume?
Pepe: Men’s. I put it on this morning.
Me: [Wondering how the heck I had missed this] Just so you know, girls like it better when boys don’t wear perfume. If you DO use it, you’ve got to use muuuch less. Like, barely any.
Pepe thinks about it for a moment, says okay, and wanders back to class. He’s no doubt plotting his next assault to my senses, and my only goal is to prevent that from occurring.
 
Well, I then remembered that there is body spray in the staff bathroom (the one I had sent him into). I run in there and see that the lid to the bottle is off and the bottle is almost empty. Mystery solved. I went along with my day until I hear someone cursing quietly in the same bathroom. I go to see and our poor librarian is on her knees picking up about a million of those little blue air-freshener beads. Strike two.
 
The conversation was short (due to the lovely odor) and to the point. Pepe Le Pew knows now not to mix floral scents with household scents. He also knows (very clearly) that alas, we are not to be. Poor kid was devastated. I think it took him a whole 3minutes to recover.

>Perspective: He has it.

>One of the kindergarten associates (classroom assistants) was telling the whole class about how the Police are good, that they are here to keep us safe, and how when you need help, you can call them. A little boy’s hand shoots up in the back. “Mrs. Garcia, you’re wrong. The police are NOT good. One time my dad and the police were in a race, and he beat them. The police were mad that my dad was faster, so they took him out of the car and put things on his hands, and took him away cause they lost.”

How’s that for spin?