Sit back and get ready for some stories.
1. Yesterday was picture day at ye ol' middle school. I had the glorious responsibility of marching each of my classes downstairs at our designated appointment. Picture day is fun; I love encouraging my kids to get all gussied up.
Couple of not so fun instances:
5th period: We ventured down to the auditorium only to find that there were two classes in front of us, and two right behind us filing in. What the? We definitely were right on time, so what was the hold up? Turns out two out of the three photographers had gone to lunch, and now we were all backed up. I crinkled my eyebrows; couldn't they have gone when we were all at lunch? Shrug, no biggie because we had managed to get everything done before we headed downstairs. Unfortunately, a little too late to prepare, I realized that we weren't going to make it back up to class before the next bell rang. I ran up on stage, told my remaining kids to meet us back up in the classroom, and me and my class bolted back. The bell had already rung! We didn't hear it in the auditorium, so everything turned in to a mad scramble, and my little 7th graders were terrified to be tardy to their next class. I pat shoulders and arms as I threw them out my door with an assurance that I would get a message to their teachers to excuse their tardies. So 6th period had a rough start, but we kept it together.
7th period: Arrgh. I am still fuming.
I'm insane about organization, and my class had the perfect system going to ensure fast moving lines. I placed the kids in line, keeping in mind which photographer had them in and out of there quickly, then sat back down in the auditorium seats and waited for them to return after they'd posed and smiled. I chatted with them as they came back to me, encouraged them to sit nicely and be respectful, and chatted a little with Mrs. Anderson and her kids. Two girls came up to me timidly, one was my student (Jessica), the other a girl I've never met.
Other girl, "Um ... Mrs. Bateman? They won't let Jessica get her picture taken."
Floored, my focus turns to Jess who I notice is absolutely sobbing. I lept to my feet, grabbed her hand, and pulled her away from curious ears. I didn't understand, but my mind was making assumptions like: she didn't bring her money, she forgot to get a parent's signature ... So I tenderly asked Jess to explain to me what was going on.
"He (the photographer) won't let me get my picture taken because of my hat."
My shoulders sagged, my heart broke, and then I was absolutely livid. Jess has cancer and so she's allowed to wear a hat.
"What did he say to you?" I asked as I envisioned ripping his photograph clicking fingers off.
"No hats ... I don't care if you have a pass. No hats ... Get off the stool, it's the next kid's turn."
"Oh Jess, I will take care of this, you will get your picture taken. Sweetheart, go to the bathroom, get a drink, take your time to calm down. Seriously, take as much time as you need, then come find me on the stage. I don't want you to have to have cryry face in your picture. I'm so sorry, but I will take care of this. Jess, did you tell him why you wear a hat?"
"No," and she looked at the ground as she continued to cry.
"Can I tell him Jess?"
So I watched her slowly walk out of the auditorium, and I stomped up the stairs, grit my teeth, and waited by the guy with arms crossed and foot tapping. I wanted to call him names, and point out his stupidity, but we were drenched with students. I explained the situation, got no reaction (I guess I was expecting him to slap his forehead), got a shrug and a, "Go talk to her." So I waited for the photographer on the other end, explained the situation, and she said of course Jess could get her picture taken, "Send her to my line."
So Jess got her picture taken, but she had been crying, and I still wasn't satisfied with how things were handled. That guy had no remorse for making a 7th grade girl cry in school (which no kid ever wants to do), and for making her feel worse about her already crappy situation. Fine, have a rule about not wearing hats, but use common sense. It wasn't a gang hat you big stupid dork.
I told my dad the story, and I love telling my dad stories like this because he gets just as mad as I do. He told me to tell my principal to never let that guy back in our school. Apparently, my dad has told many people to never come back, photographers included.
2. Yesterday, I chose to wear some shoes that I bought in Taiwan. I love them, and I rarely wear them, so I listened to them when they were crying to get some show time. They were hand-made for me;I got to pick out the fabric and wood. I chose to get a "shark wedge" they told me, and red fabric to cross over my foot. Unfortunately, not so comfy. I was very much looking forward to taking them off when I changed clothes to get ready for climbing with some other teachers in Draper.
My ankle kind of hurt when I switched shoes, but my feet were grateful for my chacos.
My ankle kind of hurt as we hiked to the wall we were going to climb.
Then I forgot about it as I belayed a million people, climbed once, and got creeped out by a new guy who solo climbs.
My ankle really hurt as we hiked back down to the car.
This morning, my ankle really hurt, and oh great, it's swollen too.
So ... I called my mom. I never get hurt, I have never broken a bone, rarely bruise, but I do all the things that seem to go hand-in-hand with these injuries. My body always just shrugs everything off.
1. Jumping as high as I could off our trampoline, wow! Left foot plants itself on a sprinkler head. Of course it hurt, and I rolled, but body says "No problem."
2. Crashing so hard after trying a jump on my snowboard that I am literally yanked out of my boots. How did that not break or sprain anything such as legs/ankles/wrists/arms?
3. Flying off of a motorcycle after Laurelin got too close of a look at a big oil barrel. Road rash, yes. Bruises? None. Limp? None. Bones? Healthy as ever
And of course there are many more to back up "My body is a superhero's body" theory.
I didn't know how to doctor my own ankle. Do I ice it? Put heat on it? Elevate it? My mom suggested four ibuprofen and ice to axe the inflammation. Guess my ankle is just irritated. Well ankle, I'm irritated because I keep forgetting that you hurt, but then you'll give me lightning painful reminders:
- trying to run up the stairs in my house
- pushing in the clutch in my car
- trying to run up the stairs in my parent's house
- choosing the wrong foot to tippy-toe on to reach in the bottom of the freezer for a dang bean and cheese burrito
- kicking the steps to get dirt off my shoe
- using my toe to point at one of the stupid cats hanging out under the barbecue
My mom bought me a bag of peas at the store, and I downed four more ibuprofen.
Keep it together ankle!