What they don't know will only hurt them if they still believe it at 40

Today is devoted to those little mementoes of truth that children "learn"... before they grow up to discover that the "magic" in their "magic fairy wonderland reality" exists only as the crispy critter crumbs in the bottom of the toaster. (Yes, they /are/ genuine waffle tears. )

Yes, so I teach 3rd grade. Fragile year of learning, blah blah blah. But /me/ spoil a 9 year old's misguided belief in the world around them? Oh ho ho! I think not! That's what parent's are for!

Title: Baby Showers

Jimmy: Mrs. Ferrell, what's a baby shower?
Me: Well, Jimmy that's where women get together to wash babies.
Jimmy: No no! I /know/ that's not what it is. 'Cause my mom had one, and she wasn't washin' no babies.
Me: Well Jimmy you're just too smart for me! I might as well tell you the truth. A baby shower is where everyone gets together to decide if you're going to get a brother or a sister! See you have to bring a gift, and the more pink gifts people bring, the more likely you'll have a sister, and the more blue gifts people bring the more likely you'll have a brother.
Jimmy: oh wow! That makes sense. My mom got a lot of pink stuff and now I have a sister!
Me: See!! (*goal*)

Title: Adult Language

Barbara Ann: Mrs. Ferrell! Mrs. Ferrell!! This sheet says a bad word!!!!!!!!!
Me: Oh really, Barbara?
Barbara Ann:  It says bubble in your S - E - X!! And that's a bad word and it says it RIGHT HERE on our BUBBLE SHEET.

[class shocked expression]
(*I like how they spell out bad words... like it makes them less /bad/ somehow.*)

Me: Oh that. It just wants to know your gender, you know, if you are a boy or a girl...
Barbara: oh I thought it was something bad 'cause my mom told my cousin George that s-e-x was /wrong/!!!!
Me: Maybe he colored in the wrong bubble on his bubble sheet.
Barbara: [thoughtful look] Yeah,  you're probably right. He's not very smart. (whispers: and mom says that his girlfriend isn't either.)
Me: and now to continue with homophones...

Title: Babies

Hannah: Mrs. Ferrell, where do babies come from?
Me: Well you find them in the cabbage patch of course.
Hannah: What?!
Me: Well cabbage smells bad, and babies smell bad, so they /must/ come from the same place!
Hannah: Nuh uh! Babies are not cabbage!
Me: Oh no, babies aren't cabbage, they just get laid in a cabbage patch, babies come from the  stork.
Hannah: But storks are birds.
Me: and?
Hannah: They can't carry babies in their beaks. Really, Mrs. Ferrell, /where/ do babies come from?
Me: Well you see, Hannah, when a Mommy and Daddy really love each other, they do things together that only mommies and daddies can do.
Hannah: Like what?
Me: Well, they get married, then they drive to a cabbage patch, stalk out a stork egg and hatch it into a baby!
Hannah: *giggle*
Me: I know. I bet you can't wait to get started on that.

Title: Marriage

Garith: Mrs. Ferrell, I'm gunna' marry Janie when I grow up. How old do you have to be to get married?
Me: 84
Garith: WHAT? But you are only 23 and you are married!
Me: Yes, but /you/ have to wait until you are 84.
Garith: But why??
Me: Well, it's easier to get out of chores if you are old. So, when Janie yells at you to do the dishes, you just pretend that you can't hear her and play video games instead.
Garith: That sounds like a good idea.
Me: I know. 

Me @ home: Jeff, honey, your turn to do the dishes!
Jeff [husband]: huh? I can't hear you over the sound of Splinter Cell.

Me: [*dangit*]

Daylight Brown

30 seconds

the time it takes to realize that the automatic car door opener isn't going to unlock the front door

...

Oh, so /that/ was the strange beeping sound

Hermit Crab Heaven

Oh glorious, glorious spring! Today, I flung my window open to enjoy the crisp and cool early morning spring breeze. I tossed out several mounds of hibernating clutter and scrubbed the kitchen until it was sparkly clean. I even went to put some new shells into my hermit-crabarium... and discovered something ABSOLUTELY TERRIBLE.

George the Third, my biggest and most prominent hermit crab, had died a terrible and agonizing death.

I spotted the telltale signs a mile away.
Clue 1: His upside down body was lifeless next to the food dish.
Clue 2: His crabby claws lay scattered around the tank.
Clue 3: Fred, the other hermit crab, was running around with his unused shell.

Poor George III. As the knowledge of losing him chinked away little pieces of my heart, I knew I couldn't REST until I had uncovered the true cause behind his unfortunate death. It took several hours and very finite analyzations of the clues left behind in the tank, but at last, I was able to piece together an infallible conclusion.

He died because I named him George.

There really is no other possible explanation. Look at his /name/! George the THIRD. He was the THIRD George to die in my hermit crab tank.

George the First: Dehydrated while being crab-sat by my parents, died, and was eaten by Fred.
George the Second: Molted, and was eaten by Fred.
George the Third: DIED THROUGH AN UNFORTUNATE LAPSE OF NAMING JUDGEMENT

If only I could go back to change things :( Time, you cruel mistress.

Eulogy to George:
*sob* You were loved. Everyone who knew you loved you. I will forever remember the way you would give me love pinches with your claws and how much fun we had playing hide and go seek when I tried to pick you up. And how you always put poop in your water when you were cleaning out your shell. I will miss you, and will devote myself to keeping your name alive through spreading the word of "the cursed name of George"! Fred and I will carry your memories in our hearts, and Fred will also carry out your your life memories by wearing your shell.
( end eulogy )

After all of the love that George had bestowed on my life and on my heart. I carefully took out all of his loved items... his friend Fred, his water bowl, and food dish, and his climbing tree, and grassy wall... Finally, there was just George, laying on a mound of his home soil.

I did the only thing there was left to do. I said a little prayer, vacuumed him up into the shop vac, and replaced the dirt in the tank with dog food.

Fred and I will always miss him, but now Fred will at least have the comfort of "Alpo Premium Brand" to keep him company.

Rest in Peace George.

Environmentally Unfriendly?

Today I have chosen to make the world a better place. Today I have chosen to become a better person. Today, my fellow readers, I have taken one step into mankind's inevitable tree-huggging future.

Today, I /purchased/ a grocery bag!

It started innocently enough. During my weekly trip to the Bi-Lo (to pick up some milk and cookie dough), I walked in and immediately noticed a giant rack of bright red Bi-Lo bags marked "Environmentally friendly!" "Discounted Grocery!" Now, I'm a frugal type of person, and I liked the idea of getting discounted cookie dough just as much as anyone else, so I examined them a bit closer. Apparently plastic is ruining the world, so Bi-Lo is /selling/cloth grocery bags for customers to bag their groceries in (and plus they give you 5 cents for each bag you have at checkout time!)

I don't know about /you/. But to /me/ the most uncool thing in the whole world is pushing one of those stupid squeaky carts. You push it one way, it goes another. You walk away to pick up a bag of chips, and a random crazy soccer mom steals it out from under you. You try to push it away from oncoming traffic, and you accidentally ram it into some rotten 3 year old kid playing with the cereal boxes. WELL, MA'AM YOU SHOULD HAVE STRAPPED HIM INTO HIS UNCOOL BUGGY CART SEAT.

Obviously the only viable alternatives to the dreaded buggy, of course, are to carry everything you can possible in your hands, while trying to simultaneously not drop anything. (This usually ends unsuccessfully in a "clean-up in aisle 5" incident) OR carry your items /in/ something. Today, I bought a red bag.

Happy as a lark, I crammed all of my groceries into the glorious cloth sack and quickly made it to the checkout counter without any major incidents or embarrassing broken spaghetti sauce jars. I was especially delighted with the fact that I wasn't ice cold from cradling the milk and sour cream containers against my skin for the twenty minutes it takes to get to the cashier.  

As I was standing in line, I began to notice that /everyone/ in the generally vicinity was eyeing me oddly, and I also began to notice that not ONE SINGLE OTHER PERSON in the entire store was carrying a purchased red grocery bag. The longer I stood the more self conscious I became and soon the only thing that kept me from outright fleeing the line (and the store) was the knowledge of the fact that my groceries were going to be discounted and that I was helping Bi-Lo become more environmentally friendly.

When it was my turn to check out, I put the groceries down on the stand and beamed a pretty smile at the cashier--expecting some praise for my open "oneness" with nature.

"I got one of the red bags!" I said, "So, you won't have to waste the plastic ones."
Cashier: *gum snap *eyeroll
Bagboy: "Aww man not another red bag. HEY FRANK, do we /have/ to put the groceries in those things?"

My brain exploded into a FRENZY of SHOCK!

WHAAAT!!!!! YOU MEAN TO TELL ME, You make me BUY this thing, AND NOW YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE /FUN/ OF ME FOR FILLING IT WITH MY GROCERIES, INSTEAD OF SUFFOCATING BABY ANIMALS WITH THE CRAPPY EASY-TO-TEAR SEE-THROUGH .5 CENT PLASTIC BAGS?!!!!

MAYBE THIS WEEK, I DON'T WANT MY BAG TO BREAK BECAUSE SOME INCOMPETENT ADOLESCENT BOYS DON'T KNOW HOW TO PACK GROCERY ITEMS.

MAYBE I DON'T WANT THE WORLD TO SEE MY CHEAP SHAMPOO ROLLING ACROSS THE FLOOR OF THE STORE OR KNOW THAT I HAVE TO BUY SECRET'S "EXTRA-STRONG-PROTECTION-ANTIPERSPIRANT" DEODORANT INSTEAD OF THE REGULAR KIND.

MAYBE I DON'T WANT EVERYONE TO SEE THE LABEL OF MY FAT-FREE CHEESE PRESSED AGAINST THE SIDE OF THE PLASTIC WRAP, OR MY DIETARY FIBER PEEKING OUT OF THE TOP OF THE BAG

MAYBE - JUST MAYBE - I WOULD RATHER HAVE MY GROCERIES ACTUALLY SIT STILL IN THE BAG FOR ONCE INSTEAD OF ROLLING ABOUT IN MY CAR FLOOR AND SPILLING INTO THE SEATS"

I guess the Bi-Lo is too cool for THEIR OWN red bags. I recovered my composure, paid for my items, and head-down made the "walk of shame" to my car. With my damaged pride firmly hidden under my mask of idealism, I happened to look down into my bag. Readers, just let me inform you. Inside my "environmentally friendly" "biodegradable" "discounted!" "cloth" bag,  -e-v-e-r-y- -s-i-n-g-l-e- -o-n-e- of my items had been wrapped .....*sigh*....... in plastic bags.