Hey...it's about three. Um, I was just gonna try to grab you before you got here at four to let you know that, um, oh, these kids...it's so pretty outside we let 'em out. The yard's dry, but this area around the edges are reeeeally muddy...The little guy is just sooo...we decided, you know, he just...got full of mud & we were gonna change him but then he kept playin' in it and so I thought well you know he's just full of mud...I'm just gonna ask you to bring some clothes but I think he's got some here...Actually he's not really as full of mud as he is wetLITTLE GUY, NO!!! I'M TALKIN' TO YOUR MOM RIGHT NOW...don't know if he thinks I'm talking to you (unintelligible)...And right in front of me he's smirkin' and he'splayinginthispuddleohlemmegoBye.
I headed to school to pick my son up and found him in his own dry shorts and t-shirt, no underwear, some dry socks and some white light-up heart sneakers with pink trim. The teacher for his class had forgotten that he'd come to school that morning with a pair of galoshes as well as his regular Cars sneakers (since it was raining cats and dogs yesterday morning), so he changed back into his frog galoshes and we returned the light-up heart sneakers to his classroom.
Now, you have a sense of humor, right? He's really really really in need of, um, some shoes, too.
I think his teacher was really freaked out by a possibility that I was going to give her hell for his being a typical kid. Another parent had come in to get her waterlogged daughter and was not amused. I, however, was laughing my head off. The little guy is the yin to a puddle's yang. Plus, he is washable, as are his clothes.
Yes, on the one hand, the teachers should have been a tad more thoughtful and realized that the ground out there was still very wet after the rains. On the other hand, ultimately, no harm was done other than the use of some electricity to get his damp and slightly muddy clothes washed and dried along with a regular load of laundry that had accumulated in the house.
C'est la vie. What a hoot!
And, in other blogpocheh news:
Tim is leaving his 'hood for many, many good reasons. Shehecheyanu v'kiy'manu v'higianu laz'man hazeh.
Mark Folse's spouse is recovering from appendicitis. R'fuah shleimah to her and her family from me and mine.
Expectant mamas abound in the local blogosphere, and their due dates are around the corner. Wish 'em well. I know I do. Remembering what the homestretch was like with my pregnancy, I'm sure these women are wishing the kids would pack up and move already.
On the one hand, Greg Peters wants you to buy him a beer. On the other hand, there is an ad that pops up in Google Ads on his blog's sidebar that has a link to "10 Rules to losing belly fat" at www.FatLoss4Idiots.com. My suggestion: go in and screen your ads, Greg. I had to when one showed up in my sidebar for "Dating Outside Marriage". That just ain't kosher.
Dangerblond made it through her bar(f) exams. Woohoo! See that Shehecheyanu link up by Tim's news, Kim, and have some stiff drinks. You deserve it!
And, once again, it is raining out. The only footwear my son has on today is the galoshes, as his sneakers are still very waterlogged. And he does have an extra set of clothes, with underwear, in case he decides to pull a Gene Kelly.
Don't get worried...get prepared.
Update, 3:05 PM: Mazel tov to Editor B and Xy on the birth of their daughter, Persephone Jean. Welcome to the blogger spawn ranks, baby girl!
6 comments:
galoshes?
When I was 8 in WV. I had a pair.
I never wore them and ditched them whenever possible.
Where does one purchase a pair of goulashes in New Orleans?
Why doesn't he have a pair of Shrimp Boots?
Check the Target. And when they begin carrying shrimp boots, I'll let you know...
;-)
Kids are made to get dirty. That is why they never seem to notice when they are dirty. Me? Can't stand to have visible dirt on my hands. Kids? Not only do they not care, they will eat finger food with that dirt on their hands. Mud must be a nutrient kids need to grow well.
My son MIGHT have gotten past this stage, but for a while, it seemed that whenever he played in the dirt, he had to try some just to confirm that it still tasted bad. The looks on his face that would result from the tastings said it all.
I think of your post that said everybody should be able to teach one child to say "Whee-eee!" (paraphrase). Right on!
That was actually Jill Conner Browne, the Sweet Potato Boss Queen. However, she speaks the truth. Back in Queens, when I would let the then-six-month-old little guy pull himself up on the lower rungs of the playground equipment in his sockfeet, I'd tell other moms about it and the reactions I'd get from some of them would be very telling: "But..but...won't he get DIRTY???"
Uhh, yeah.
Big whoop.
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