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Apparently, I say “what the heck” a lot. Well, this is according to my third graders, my five 8 year old boys who are the big fat bane of my existence. But I’ve made a deal with these jokers, that I will stop saying “what the heck,” if they stop yelling “Jesus Christ!”
These are the same boisterous bananas who refer to me as “Lanizilla” complete with drawings and stories of my “atomic breath” and going to battle with entire cities. Oh, they’re a hoot, alright. Talkative smarty pants who like to talk in “cavemonics” (aka “caveman speak”, replacing “I” with “me”) and arguing the differences between “opinion” and “fact” often to the detriment of my fragile sanity.
Interestingly, my "teaching" time with them has coincided with the worst migraine I ever had, complete with tossing my cookies in the bathroom to the witness of a now-scarred second grader. [Although, to be fair, Bua is allergic to cats but also loves them, so you could argue she was already scarred.]
As a result of all these “great stories” I’ve been collecting, I’ve had zilch time or energy to read and write. But instead of drinking copious amounts of wine to assuage my pain (I know, I know, it’s not too late!), I started watching Ted Lasso. And it has been such a healing balm of laughter, tears, and positivity. I can see why it’s gotten the attention it has, and will miss it when I reach the end of the season two.
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