Ode to a Poor Lamenting Soul

Oh for the love of all things holy. And blue. And wrapped in camouflage, run over with cars and trampled through mud.

Affixed with Nerf guns, pellet guns, matchbox cars and a multitude of transformers that can only be transformed because you saved the directions. Thankfully.

I am so glad... :exhales sharply: ...that I have sons. Boys. You know; play-in-the-dirt, blast 'em, rock 'em-sock'em wrestling matches, nonstop discussions about balls, farts, penises and the increasingly common only-because-you-did-it-to-yourself-completely-overdone-grampa-pants-which-has-now-turned-into-something-I've-coined-as 'Man-toe'. Think on that for a minute.

Yep, that would be the male version of the female counterpart: 'camel toe'.

All of that nonsense and foolishness I can handle. Its nuts, stupid and supremely funny at times, and other times, its annoying, so I feign the need for 'girl time'. I don't really have to fake it. I do need it. Just a smidgen. I call my girls. You are loved, and you know who you are.

What I cannot handle:

7 year old girls crying over the band-aid that has fallen off of her 1/4" cut on her hand. That she got like 2 days ago. OMG!!! It still HURTS!!!!!

And the waterworks come on.... and on.... and on... and OMFG WHEN ARE THEY GOING TO STOP?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Backstory:

I volunteer one day per week at Dylan's school. I help out in the class room, as needed, keeping the kidlets on track moving from center to center, making sure they stay on track with their 'required' centers. Some kids are great- they get down to work right away- makes my time volunteering a breeze. Some kids need a little nudging and often encouragement. And then there are those few... those select few -you teachers know EXACTLY what I am talking about here- who you seriously want to slap and or shake the shit out of. Those would be the drama queens.



{OH LOOK! I'M A POOR, LAMENTING SOUL!} NO ONE WANTS TO PLAY WITH ME! WHINE WHINE WHINE WHINE .... OH, LOOK AT MY SCAR! MY [INSERT BODY PART HERE] HURTS!!!!! I [WHINE] HAVE NO FRIENDS! WHINE WHINE WHINE



Sidebar:
For fucks sake, our teaching staff does not get paid nearly enough to deal with this bullshit on a daily basis. Fredward thinks I don't have a heart. [There is more to that, but that is another time] I just don't have the patience- nor the tolerance level- to deal with 'OMG, I'm injured/I hurt myself 3 days ago... I'm still in pain & did i mention I'm 7???' No. Can't do it. Won't do it. I have a window. A very small window. You [said child] have a very short window of opportunity to plead your case & extract sympathies from me.

Let's say 5 minutes, shall we? And you had better pray to your all mighty that I am feeling sympathetic that day, because I might just grant you the full Five Minutes. If I'm not, I'm over your problems in like 2 minutes. And you had better be too. I don't have time to coddle you for an hour [like someone's little princess this morning], and sit you in my lap, pet your hair and put my full attention on you. Uh... in case you haven't noticed, the sun, nor the earth revolve around YOU. They don't revolve around me either, so deal with it. Time to suck it up, work through the pain [real, imagined or exaggerated] and get over it. Show's over folks! Move on.

Back to the Back story:

Okay, so I helped out in Dylan's class today, and yes, there was a little girl who was going on & on & on about this cut. I got her a replacement band aid, kissed the area [her palm], offered to go home & get my knives to cut off her hand, hell- I even flicked the wound for good measure. The flicking apparently set off the waterworks, because you know it just hurts so much!!! And then I was forced to deal with this girl who then would not get to work- or basically work period once I entered the class [before the flicking & the threatening to cut off the appendage. Seriously, with boys, I at least get a smile, if not a giggle at the thought of me wielding a knife to cut off their hands.]. She kept arguing with a boy, who happened to follow her from station to station [in her defense, he wouldn't let up either]. I think they were in the same reading group, but whatever. So I wander around the class, helping kids sound out words, making sure everyone stays on track, picks up after themselves, get them to squirrel out the glue sticks and fallen pencils from under the table checking in on everyone. The entire hour- whining, distracted, and eventually the tears from this little girl. I asked Dylan when he got home if she finally stopped crying. 'Yea, but it took a long time. Like, she stopped after Music! That's a long time!' Apparently crying over a 1/4 inch paper cut [okay, she cut her hand on the piano, but I digress] and getting over it, can take an entire day. W.T.F.

Let me tell ya; I feel sorry for this girl's parents. Not because she's a whiny first grader. But because she will easily be the hottest girl in class when she's older. She has the most beautiful eyes, and a very charming smile, and she really really needs you. She's going to get her heart broken and she's going to break many of hearts. She's needy and clingy, and wants YOU to focus on her- only her- because if you don't, she won't have a good day! :sad face: Honey, I know you really like when I come to class; I know that Dylan tries to be your friend. You don't have to try and monopolize my attention while I am in your class though. YOU are special- I'm sure your parents have told you; you along with EVERYONE ELSE in your class. I know one day she'll probably read this, because nothing gets erased off the Internets, but I don't care. I didn't mention her name anyways. I wouldn't want to call her [or her parents] out on the world wide weird anyways. She'll encounter enough obstacles without my assistance.


For the love of god, she had better not date my kid. Though, if Dylan stays true to his word [I don't even know how to feel about this] he won't have a girlfriend until he's 18. He just doesn't want one until then.

Although, I do believe he eats lunch with her.


I give kudos to the parents who have girls; whether its one or several. My cousin and his wife have 5 - count 'em- FIVE- girls. I certainly don't have the patience for that. My ass would have been locked up in the loony bin YEARS ago, had I birthed a daughter. Can't do fart jokes? I can! Things I can't do: barbies, boobies, dress up [unless I'm shopping for myself], and god-forbid: the dreaded menstrual cycle. No fucking thank you. I had to go through it myself; that was traumatizing enough. Can't do it. I went so far as to have my female dog fixed the moment she was old enough so I didn't have to go through any unplanned pregnancies with her.


No sirree, no girls for me. Thankfully, no more baby(s).