I've got an open window in February (well, I"m wearing two shirts and a scarf) and for some reason the weather (and the 'I Am Sam' soundtrack with all of the Beatles covers on it) has got me in a pretty spiffy mood.
Which is good, because otherwise I might bitch about the fact that I'm gonna need a sledgehammer to keep my Juniors from rending my flesh with their herbivorous back teeth by the end of the year, or the colleague who took one look at my official Amy Lane T-shirt and smirked, "Oh, you have got to be kidding me!"
But I'm not gonna bitch, because my 6th period actually got Thana-fucking-topsis --they all knew the quiz questions, anyway-- and one of my favorite two administrators EVER said something very funny today. (Lucky me, two of the only four assistant bosses I've ever had who haven't loathed me on a purely molecular level work right now. It could be the reason the grand royal prickweenie didn't make me his first priority when he came back from his illness.)
Oh yeah...back to the funny thing.
This guy has four kids (like moi) except he had his kids when it wasn't considered some sort of mental aberration to have four kids and a post-graduate degree. He's sort of a grandfatherly (or, in my case, fatherly) man, and together we were watching as a colleague's twin boys (about the Cave Troll's age) came in and monopolized the entire staff room. Another teacher was teasing the little boys about how he'd be happy to take them on a walk but he had an unpleasant chore to do, so I turned to my administrator and said, "If he tried to take my kids for a walk, the Cave Troll would be hanging from his ears by the second corner. My kids aren't that well behaved."
My administrator looked at me and said, "My kids never were. We used to get kicked out of places and asked never to come back."
I'd lay down in traffic for this guy, seriously.
Oh...and speaking of the Cave Troll. And knitting.
I had to cast on an emergency sock yesterday. What happened was this:
I was getting the kids dressed, and I came out with the socks I'd made Cave Troll earlier this year (Jitterbug sport weight, 32 stitches). I tried to put them on his ginormous pre-school feet and he said 'Too small, mom! They don't fit!"
So I made a tactical error THE SIZE OF MY HUMONGULOUS ASS and put the socks on his sister.
Didn't you all hear the earth as it ground to a halt, imploded, and pulverized to little glass shards of pre-schooler squeal? It was around 7:30 a.m., Pacific Coast STandard Time. Yeah. That was the Cave Troll! Now you know.
Anyway, the only thing that would set the earth on it's axis and the stars on their courses again, was to open the yarn stash (or one box of it...I'm not a masochist) and have him choose a color for me to make him new socks. And now, for the last two days, I've heard nothing but 'Mom, are you making my socks? YOu're making my socks, right mom? Those are my socks. Are you finished yet?"
*sigh* I had one sock knit to the toe when this happened--I had to work on it like a fiend during lunch to get it DONE so it didn't interfere with his royal highness' sock (as he saw it.) Have I mentioned two impending babies in the next two weeks? Have I mentioned my Seniors have started asking for shit, and I'm trying to do that too? Have I mentioned (maybe once or twice) THE WHOLE OTHER BOOK I'm trying to write by June?
But you know what? His feet are only going to be this size once.
Blessed Cave Troll--he can have all the socks he wants.