Thursday, April 16, 2015

You Can't Make This Stuff Up...

After nineteen years of teaching kindergarten, I know this to be true:

You can't make this stuff up, but you can ~certainly~ write it down.



Discussing our upcoming field trip to a nature park:

Star 1:  Mrs. Sommerville, are we gonna talk about our moms coming with us?

Me:  Sure.  Raise your hand if your mother is joining us for our field trip.

~ five or six hands shoot up into the air ~

Star 1:  Whose dads are coming?

~ two hands wave ~

Star 2:  Raise your hand if you think we're gonna see bugs on our field trip!

~  eight or nine hands go up ~

Star 3:  Raise your hand if you're scared of bugs!

~ two hands s-l-o-w-l-y rise ~

Star 1:  Raise your hand if your mom is a TOTAL freaker-outer when a bug comes near her!

~  TWENTY-ONE hands flail wildly ~


While writing numbers on a 100's chart at our math center:

Star 1:  Did you know pie (Pi) is a number?

Star 2:  Uh, what?

Star 1:  Did you know pie (Pi) is a number?

Star 2: Uh, no.  What are you talking about?

Star 1:  Pie (Pi) is a number!  My brother told me!

~ a few moments of silence pass ~

Star 2:  Is cake a number too?

Star 1:  I don't know.


While playing out at recess, one of my Stars left the field where he had been kicking a soccer ball with a friend, and ran over to me:

Star 1:  Mrs. Sommerville!  Mrs. Sommerville!  I forgot to tell you!

Me:  Tell me what?

Star 1:  That I don't hafta go to soccer practice after school any more!

Me:  Really?  Why don't you have to go to soccer practice?

Star 1:  'Cause I told my mom and dad that I HATE soccer, but I really don't.

Me:  Do you like playing soccer?

Star 1:  Yeah, I like it, but I told my mom and dad that I hate it.

Me:  Why did you tell them that?

Star 1: 'Cause I don't like it when other kids on my team kick the ball and hit me in the penis, or kick the ball and hit me in the head.  It HURTS!

~ Off he ran, before I could think of a response... thankfully ~


Near the end of recess:

Star 1 (a girl, running by, being chased by two boys):  Nanny nanny boo-boo!

Star 2 (one of the chasers): Hey, I almost caught you!

Star 3 (the other chaser): Wait!  Wait!





Star 2:  Hey!  That sounds like "Nanny nanny POO-POO!"

Star 3:  No!  No!  Ha ha!  That sounds like "Nanny nanny DOO-DOO!"

~ laugher ensues from both boys, who stop running to roar, wheeze, and laugh some more ~

Star 1 (stops running, and approaches me, scowling): Mrs. Sommerville, how come boys always like to talk about poop?  Poop isn't funny.


As I'm reading Goldilocks and the Three Bears:

Me: ... then Goldilocks felt sleepy, and went upstairs to the bears' bedroom.

Star 1:  Whoaaaaaahhhhhhh, that girl is gonna be TOAST!

Star 2:  What?  Why?

Star 1:  'Cause she's being bad!  She's breaking and... breaking and... BREAKING AND GOING IN!

Star 2:  O...oh.  O-k-a-y.


I'm always grateful that I cry my mascara and eye liner off due to happy tears, and not sad ones.  Kindergartners are the ~ best ~. 

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