School Functions

Today was interesting.  At the elementary school I work at, they were holding the first annual Digger Dash.  What's that, you ask?  A fundraiser, I believe.  But I couldn't say for sure, since I'm a part-time employee punching a strict District time clock.  I was out of the loop today, and wasn't mentally prepared for the rigors of the Digger Dash.  Right off the bat, things were off.  I couldn't find a parking spot and had to park around the corner on the street.  So I punched that time clock 5 minutes late.  Then instead of following my usual routine, and going straight to the Learning Lab, I met the whole gang on the field... prepared to run the Dash.  Every child had a punch card to show the number of laps they were able to complete.  I was immediately put in charge of Tyler, one of my regular kindies.  Tyler is in a wheelchair.  The Digger Dash was in the field.  On grass.  And I was informed that Tyler didn't want help.  The horn blew, and the Dash began.  I knew Tyler wanted to be competitive, and I knew that there was NO WAY he would make even a single lap on his own in that grass.  So we started off.  At first I just pushed with one hand... you know... to be discreet, like I wasn't really helping.  After the first lap, I just grabbed on to both handles, told Tyler to keep working those wheels, and we went around.  And around.  And around.  Have I mentioned that we've been unusually hot here in Colorado lately?

14 laps in all (okay, maybe 12... I think those ladies punching the cards were throwing in a few extra punches).  Very respectable.  Tyler's ego still intact.

Then we went inside.  That's when the heat settled in, and I started sweating like a... I can't even think of what sweats that much... a peri-menopausal hot-flashing 42-year-old woman.  My face got super red, the hair on my neck was drenched, and I felt streams of sweat flowing down my back.  Good thing I showered this morning.

After work, I ran home to shower again, so I could make it to the high school Homecoming assembly.  The cheer team would be performing their routine for the first time, so several of the parents had planned to go watch.  I hoped that Lexee wouldn't see me, since that kind of thing is so embarrassing.  My neighbor and I found a seat in the parents section and settled in for the entertainment.

This was our view of the freshman and sophomore classes.  Shilo is on the far left, about a third of the way up.  It was my good fortune that the junior class was seated on the same side as the band and the parents, so Lexee wouldn't see me.

Toward the end of the assembly, thanks to some "friendly" class competition, a yelling match began.  The junior class was yelling, "This is OUR house."  (This particular chant drives me absolutely bonkers. I hate it with a passion.  When Taylor and Britta attended Chaparral, their home games were always played at a stadium on the campus of a rival school.  At every game played against that school, their students would chant, "Whose house?  OUR house!")  Then the freshman class all booed and gave an accumulative thumbs-down, and the sophomore class started chanting, "We don't think so!"

What's wrong with this picture?  

I wanted to march right down there and give those kids a scolding.  Tell them they all go to the same school.  Can't we all just get along?  I hoped the principal would say something to bring them all back together in his concluding remarks, but he didn't.  Bummer.

I'm sure all will be forgiven at the game tonight.  I'm trying to mentally prepare for the random idiotic chants and antics that I'm fully aware accompany such events.  I don't want to be caught off guard again today, thank you very much.

And I've promised to be mellow.  Not to draw attention.  No idiotic antics here.
Wish me luck.