It's field day.

It was field day today.

Two quick stories for you:

1. We were playing a game where if you were wearing green you had to run. One of my little girls said, "Mrs. Overman, I don't think I should run because I only have green on my panties and that doesn't really count, right?"

No.



2. One little guy from another team fell really hard during a game and said, "Mrs. Minear, my head's pretty hard, but that one really hurt."

Eyeball

Little J often kinda "hooks" into one thing each day. Some days it's Velcro. Some days it's lamps.



Today it is a plastic googly eyeball.



You know the kind--you buy them to make eyes for creatures you make.

That eyeball has been EVERYWHERE today.

In fact, he can't be without it. So you can image the trauma when it got lost this morning:

[running around room, screaming] "I LOST MY EYEBALL! I LOST MY EYEBALL! PLEASE, I CAN'T FIND MY EYEBALL!"

Fortunately for us all, we found it.

____________________________________________________________

The kids are outside right now and the eyeball is on the sink.

Maybe I'll just throw it away and be done with it...but I have this feeling that if I do, I'll be dumpster diving by 2:00.

The Seventies and Eighties

Here is the conversation I had with a little girl at lunch today:

"Mrs. Overman, did you know my mom was born at the seventies? Or maybe the eighties. But she's been to both. Did you know the seventies and eighties are places? And they don't have TV there. And lots of things are black and white. Plus their toys are different at the eighties too. My grandpa died at the eighties. Have you been there?"


When I was there I wore legwarmers with my side-ponytail.

Manners.

We had to have a good, healthy talk about manners the other day because we've just forgotten all about them. I made a quick little sign with our most popular manner words:

*Please
*Thank you
*You're welcome
*Excuse me
*I'm sorry

One of my little ones said "please" this morning and I made a big stink about how nice that was, what a great idea it was, etc.

Shortly after that, another little girl came up and said, "Mrs. Overman! I farted during circle time and remembered to say excuse me!"

Excellent. Now let's work on not doing that at all, please.

Barnyard Animals

I have a little one who lives on a farm and recently got some baby chicks. M, we'll call her. Other names have been changed.

So M updates us on her new chicks a lot. Today was no different...well, that's not really true:

"Well, guys, you know my baby chicks? They're named after some of our kids in here--Chelsea, Holly, and Nikki. Sorry to say this, Chelsea, but the one named after you died last night."


Thanks for sharing....Meanwhile, I'm thinking up new rules for sharing time:
1. No sharing about death.
2. No sharing about body parts or functions of those parts.
3. No theorizing about what your parents do when you can't seem to get their bedroom door open. Just go play, okay?

Animal Names

Twice today I've had something come up with pets' names:

1. One of my little girls wrote the names of her puppies. One was Virginia. Did you know Virginia sounds really bad when you say it with a long i? Vir-jine-ya. But hey, when you often sound out words, sometimes they come out funny.

2. "Mrs. Overman, did you know I have a cat named Lucifer? Because he always scratches you all the time."

No, I'm not telling my kids they were right.

We are turning into second graders in my room. That means a lot of things, but lately it's meant that lots of things are much more dramatic because we make them that way.

Ugh.

So...the other day, I see about four of my kiddos crouched in a corner, murmuring something and motioning others to come over too.

"Mrs. Overman, there's a dead frog over here!"

Recalling some earlier drama, I say, "I'm sure it's not a dead frog. That is just so silly; no frogs would come in here. Now enough. Get back to work right now, please."

Later in the day, more kids, more drama...more dead-frog-in-the-corner conversations...more "Enough, please!" from me.

I finally cave and go see said frog.

I don't have the eyes of a seven year old, so all I see is a chunk of something and I report to them:

"That is not a frog. It's nothing. Keep reading."

Now, I secretly know it is something...and I'm not touching it. Therefore I make the executive decision: we're done with working on the floor today.

After school, I mention to our custodian that there's something under the cabinets and I don't want to touch it, will you please take care of it? The kids are sure it's a frog, but please just get rid of it.

He does, and says,

"Don't tell your kids...it is a dead frog."

*groan*