Minor Emergencies

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This is one of those things we try to let slide. But ever since this was pointed out to me by my favorite secretary (all she had to say was, “watch for the special turkey”), I can’t walk by without noticing his big pink marshmallows.

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>They say: I feel like a shark is biting me in the stomach
Translation: I’m hungry. I will eat all your backup teddy grahams, then stand up and shake all the crumbs onto the floor. That’s how I roll.

They say: Someone call my grandma!! I think THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!!!
Translation: I was running outside and collided with the large, hard skull of the student in front of me. There is a small drop of blood of unknown origin on this tissue. I think I can smell my own brain, but really, it’s a smear of chili on my shirt from lunch. Chili is my favorite lunch. What are we having for lunch tomorrow?

They say: [while blubbering. snot bubbles have formed and are growing dangerously close to the upper lip] THEREWASTHISBOY! ANDHEWASCHASINGMEANDMYFRIENDTRIEDTOHELPMEBUTHEPUSHEDMEANDIFELL!!!!
Translation: There was this boy. I was chasing him and he turned around and pushed me and I fell.

More to come as I navigate this new and confounding language.

>We have a little boy I’ll dub Number One, or NO for short. This is fitting, as he is extremely difficult some days. He also happens to be painfully cute- I’m starting to notice this trend. His eyes twinkle and curve into little half-moons when he grins. I won’t even start on his dimples.

His verbal skills are somewhat lacking, and we consider it a win if he learns a new [swear] word at home and manages to string it into a sentence. F-you b!tch? Good job NO!! But really, for some reason this adds to his charm. The cherry on the cake is how, when he decides not to go with a verbal response, he’ll look down, brow furrowed intensely, and decide which finger to flip you off with. He usually goes with an index finger, and will look at you with his mean little half-moon twinkle eyes. You’re…. number…. ONE! At least, that’s what we’ve decided he means.

This kid is not to be messed with.

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Apparently this is an existing medical condition. But really, its the illustrations that do it for me. I believe this may actually be the basis for Mr Hanky the Christmas Poo. Same premise: sneaky poo is a naughty poo that surprises the kid and gets him in trouble by making big messes. Should I go on?

>A good portion of the school year is spent screening the kids for various problems. We check vision, hearing, height/weight, and dental as well as look for scoliosis, skin problems and head lice. I was checking the vision of a 1st grader and asked him the standard question, “Do you have any problems reading what’s up on the board?”

His reply: “Only when someone’s head is in the way.”

Well played, Kid. Well played.

>This conversation was repeated to me by a first grade teacher. A little background: The southeast NM state fair was in town and was the site for one of the first field trips of the year. The livestock show is one of the bigger draws, and the first graders were touring the building.

Kid: Pee-YEW! These cows smell SO bad.
Ms Bliss: Well, they sure smell good when they’re outside grilling… (sly smile)
Kid: (making a “duh” face) Ms. Bliss, Cows can’t cook!

>The first three words of this post is actual documentation- a few minutes later I was still smiling at this kid and couldn’t resist getting our conversation recorded for posterity.

Pt enters office, limping dramatically on L leg. Sts, “I broke my leg!” When asked to see, he pulls up pant leg, swings leg onto my knee, and points to a small scuff on his calf.

On a normal day, I see up to a dozen of these life-threatening injuries. I have a large box in my office containing 5000 bandaids for this purpose. When busy, I sometimes will just put a bandaid on these little “boo-boos” without much thought or conversation. Then there are the days that Nurse Sara needed another cup of coffee, or another hour of sleep. On those days, sympathy runs a little short. I’ll add that they happen rarely, and are usually interrupted by a cute kid with a big smile (or a big pout and a couple alligator tears).

So, back to my little Romeo. I’ll say now that there are those truly great days that give me the energy and patience to have a little fun with these kids.

At this point, I’ve diagnosed him with Acute Needs Attention Disorder [ANAD]. I proceed to heal him using witchcraft, sawing it off with a plastic spoon, blowing it up with a pretend bomb, counting to 100, and singing the “my leg is better” song. Before I’m halfway through my bag of tricks, he’s snorting and laughing uncontrollably, dimples going full force. Romeo is shutting down my “healing” techniques one after another, saying, “NO! It didn’t work! Oh no!!” All the while balancing precariously on one foot.

You see why I can’t help but tease these kids.

Anyway, by the time Romeo left he was in possession of one “healed” leg, one bandaid, and a sticker with a crown on it. My little king lives to fight another day.