I could easily fill an 800 page book with the things I see and hear and have to say (you know, things like: “Please don’t use your scissors to cut your nose hairs. You have at least 20 years yet until that becomes a necessity.”). They really are funny little people who give me endless material to chuckle about constantly.
For some reason this year, it’s really cool to sit under the kidney tables (a big table, shaped like a kidney that’s usually used for reading instruction). I’m really not sure why this is such an exciting thing, but alas I am constantly saying, “Please get out from under the table, we are all leaving for lunch/music/recess/home.”
I don’t get it.
Well, one of the boards that I use for process grids and charts happens to be right behind one of the blasted kidney tables. I teach at this board a lot, so I’m also having to say, “Please get out from under the table, so you can see what’s happening up here,” A LOT. I mean, I really just ought to get a recording of this exact quote, because I’m really freaking sick of saying it.
So, the other day, as I was emphatically explaining how the Inuit tribe would use trained dogs to sniff out seal breathing holes, I see one of my more precocious darlings under the freaking table.
“Um, Sally (obviously, not her real name), the learning is happening up here!” I even helpfully waved.
She lifted her head just enough so that her eyes, wide like saucers, were the only things visible.
She went, “Oh, hi.”
She looked like she had no idea who, what, where, why, when, or how. I’m sure, like every other eight and nine year old I’ve ever known, she got distracted by her shoelaces or the texture of the carpet. Basically, ANYTHING OTHER THAN MY TEACHING.
When she slowly lifted the rest of her face above the table, I saw that she had the two ends of a bandaid (you know, the sticky end) on both sides of her upper lip.
She looked exactly like I do when I’m waxing my upper lip.
I just stood there and stared at her bandaid mustache.
I knew if I even moved a muscle, I’d lose all semblance of control and start laughing like a crazy person.
So, we just stared each other down.
She was a deer in headlights, because she knew she’d just been found out with someone’s random bandaid on her lip.
I was a deer in headlights, because every cell in my body wanted me to laugh and say, “So, it’s mustache day, I see. I feel ya.”
But a real, grownup teacher never says things like that (we only think them and write about them later).
So, after what felt like hours in a Mexican stand off between my adult self and my immature AF self, I was finally able to say, “Sally, we don’t put random bandaids we find on the floor on our face,” like a real grown up teacher.
I was a strange, precocious child. I was the kid that makes every teacher silently mouth, “What the fuck” several times a day. I never stopped talking. I also did weird, inquisitive things, and I said, probably, thirty times a day, “Mom, watch me do this!” I was annoying with a capital unbearable.
I recently shared a memory on Facebook about a time when I was envious of the dog’s dinner. I’ll just share a screenshot:
If it was ever any wonder where I got my random weirdness from, I think the mystery has been solved. When I shared this memory the other day with my mom, this is what she said:
“Oh, I thought canned dog food looked really good, too. In fact, back when I was a kid, they put barley in it and it looked almost exactly like beef and barley soup, before the water was added. So, um, I would eat it.”
Along with salivating over the disgusting can of wet dog food, I would also sneak butter. Half of the stick of butter would be missing from the butter dish all the time. I would escape to the hall closet with my prize, and it was usually blamed on my dad. Win!
I think this is a testament as to why I’m weird and fat.
So, this random smell-induced memory led me on a nostalgic trip down memory lane about all of the weird things I did as a kid.
Care to hitch a ride?
1. I was fascinated by penises at an early age.
I was quickly barred from bathing with my boy cousin when we were just innocent babes, because whenever they put us together in a bathtub, I thought his little member must have been a fun pull toy. His little face would be in agony and his eyes big as saucers, and they’d realize pervy baby Katie had her fist clenched over his pee pee again.
My dad stopped taking me places solo, because inevitably I’d have to go to the bathroom (I used to have to visit the bathroom at every single place we went to-creepy, random gas station and all), and, obviously, he couldn’t let a young child go in the restroom by themselves. So, I’d have to accompany him in the mens’ room. That was a recipe for disaster from the get-go.
After I did my thing, he needed to use the restroom too. He told me to stand in one place, where he could see my feet as he was in the stall. Almost immediately after he closed the stall door, my feet disappeared.
Where did he find me?
On hands and knees, under the urinals, staring up at the men using them.
To this day, I still pray they just didn’t see the little girl with stark black pigtails under the urinal when they unleashed their no-nos.
That was my first adult penis, I just didn’t know it at the time.
My dad was appalled and stopped taking me anywhere, other than the drive thru, by himself from that day forward.
2. I was way too interested in urinals (obviously).
When I was a toddler, up until I started Kindergarten, I went to a daycare called, Thumpers. When it was potty time, they would line up the boys and girls in separate lines. Even then, at such young ages, the girls took twice as long as the boys. As such, they would have to let the girls start going in the boys’ bathroom, or the girls would be in the line for the restroom all day. I always volunteered, or I would push myself to the front of the line, so I could go to the boys’ bathroom. I was always so jealous that they got to stand up to pee, and use such a strange apparatus to do so.
Well, one day, a kid pooped in the urinal. Since I had pushed my way into the boys’ bathroom that day, I got to see the offending excrement with my own two eyes. I immediately ratted out my cousin (the same poor kid who almost got his weiner ripped off by yours truly).
I had no obvious proof, but it had to be him.
Still, to this day, I swear it was him, only now he punches me and holds me on the ground with his giant Popeye arms. It’s kind of scary. I never learn.
3. I had really fun bad ideas.
Speaking of Thumpers, it was there that I did the only truly naughty thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.
One of my favorite teachers was this older lady named, Doris. She was so nice and fair. I really don’t know why I chose her as my victim.
One day, as she was putting my lunchbox in the refrigerator and I was just standing there, right behind her, twirling a thumbtack between my thumb and pointer finger, I did it.
Let me explain a little better. I was following her a little too closely, and when she bent to squeeze my lunchbox into the fridge, her ass was just millimeters from my face. And I had a tack.
So, I did it.
I stuck the tack deep into her rump.
I really don’t know why I felt that was a good idea, because I spent literally all day in time out. It was then that I realized being bad did not pay off.
4. I had a loud speaking voice.
My mom’s second favorite story to tell about me involves penises (again), my favorite soda, and KFC.
I was pretty young when this happened, so it’s still thought of as a cute, kids-will-say-the-darnedest-things-outburst.
We went out for a special dinner at the local KFC (we didn’t go out much. Not because we were super poor, but because it wasn’t the thing back then to eat out all the time). I was very adamant about making sure I got what I wanted all the time, especially when we ate out. I think I told my mom thirty times that I wanted Dr. Pepper, but I was still afraid she maybe missed hearing me somehow.
As my mom went up to the counter to order, from across the busy, family-filled restaurant, came my booming voice, because I had to make sure…
“Mom, I’ll have a Dr. Pecker!!”
I couldn’t properly pronounce “pepper” and due to the urgency of the matter (she might have accidentally gotten me water-gasp), that’s how it came out.
I’m always sure to embarrass, still to this day.
5. My surprised reaction was (is) a loud, “whoa!”
As we’ve learned, it was always a crap shoot taking me anywhere. I might shout “penis!” in a quiet library, or maybe I’d be lost and then found on the ground of a restroom, staring up at a man’s taint. You never knew, and I think that was the real danger that was being around me as a child.
Around the same time that the “Dr. Pecker” incident occurred, I struck again. Why my parents took me anywhere was beyond me.
I was never shy about pointing out painfully embarrassing things about people and things. I was a real asshole. So, the fact that the #1 embarrassing Katie story occurred at a buffet, is almost too obvious. It’s almost like my parents wanted me to shout to someone random, clear across the room, “Why do you have red dots all over your face?!”
After nervously scouting the entire restaurant, my mom was cautiously optimistic about where we were seated. It appeared there was no one around us that stood out in any real, obvious way.
She was able to relax for precisely two minutes.
Then, of course, I needed to use the restroom, which was obviously on the opposite side of the restaurant.
The trip to the bathroom was uneventful. Then, my mom saw them.
They were immense. I want to say they took up several chairs between the two of them. My mom knew her jerk of a kid would say something mortifying.
She did everything she could to keep my attention away from them during the trip back, but I turned to look behind me.
And, just like that, all of my mom’s efforts were in vain.
It reverberated off the ceramic dishes and cheap metal cutlery. It made a ripple effect in the lumpy gravy at the buffet stand. A tacky reproduction of The Birth of Venus fell off the wall. It was heard by the entire restaurant.
I’ll just skip to the part where I had to apologize to the couple, even though I didn’t know that what I had done was wrong. My mother’s only wish was that they thought my “whoa” was in reaction to their oxygen tanks, and not their behemoth size.
I think these stories of what an utter embarrassment and pain in the ass I was is likely why I don’t think I want kids. I know my karma comes in the form of a deceptively cute, but terrifyingly mortifying child. I’ll just pass on that, thanks.
This is going to be a very half-assed post. I’ve been so busy this past week that I haven’t had a moment to sit down and write a proper post. Just to reassure everyone that I’m still alive and well (I know you’ve all been quite concerned *hehe*), I thought I would share some things that have made me laugh lately. Enjoy, and have a fantabulous Friday.
How did someone find my personal collection of shame pictures?! Seriously though, this is real life. I found this on Facebook, but I’ve seen it lurking around Pinterest for awhile. It’s a classic.
Hide yo’ kids! Hide yo’ wife-this ain’t for virgin eyes. This is my brother attempting yoga. Lord Jesus, and all that is holy! I had no idea there was something scarier than moi doing stretches!
These next few pictures are of notes left by one of my students. The absolute funniest thing regarding these adorably hilarious notes is that this child is painfully shy. She’s that kid who is very smart, reserved, and speaks so quietly, you only hear half of what she says, if that. Who knew she had such spunk?! She better be a brain surgeon, or be a writer for SNL. Something amazing is in store for this darling.
This last one is from a different student, but had to be included, because, apparently, I’m a man.