In The Middle

            Naomi is absolutely brilliant at figuring out ways to get out of schoolwork.  It is fascinating to listen to the new and very novel excuses she comes up with.  Wednesday before Fall break she was on full tilt with her latest tactics.

            Naomi began the day by visiting with me before school started to explain why she didn’t have her assignment ready for Science class.

            “I didn’t do the plant worksheet last night because I didn’t have my paper when I got home,” Naomi announced.

            “Did you leave the worksheet in your locker?”

            “I don’t know.  I guess.”

            “Why didn’t you go on the teacher’s web page and print it off again?” I asked.

            “My mom said I couldn’t play on the computer anymore, and I had to do my homework.”

            “But Naomi,” I countered, “Did you tell your mother you needed to print off a worksheet for school?”

            “No.  She wouldn’t have let me even if I asked.”

           

“Now Naomi, I don’t believe that.  You should have told your mom that you needed to print off a worksheet for school.  Or you should have asked your mom to print it off for you.”

            “Oh, she wouldn’t have done that for me,” Naomi immediately countered. 

            “Why do you think your mom wouldn’t print off some schoolwork for you?”

            “Because I’m a middle child,” Naomi answered sadly.  “Middle children get ignored, and I’m a middle child.”

            This is new, I thought.  And so cleaver.

            “Naomi,” I explained, “Your teacher is not going to accept that as an excuse.  You’re going to have to do that worksheet in study skills class today, and it will be late when you hand it in.”

            “All right,” Naomi conceded, “But it’s not my fault that I’m a middle child.”

            I thought I had had my Naomi-getting-out-of-work contact for the day, but she was still on a roll when she came to Math Class.  As I was passing out the day’s warm-ups, Naomi made an announcement.

            “I feel really bad for my Uncle Joe.”

            A few heads turned to look at Naomi, which pleased her.

            “Why do you feel sorry for him?” I asked.

            “He’s getting his middle finger cut off.”

            Everyone was watching Naomi now.

            “He’s getting his finger cut off,” I exclaimed, “Why?”

            “He hurt it a couple weeks ago, and now it’s infected.  So he has to get it cut off.”

            All chattering had ceased, and the room was totally silent.  The spotlight was on her, and Naomi reveled in her new prominence.

            “That’s terrible,” I said.  “He must be really sad about that.”

            “Well, I think he should just get his whole hand cut off,” Naomi declared.

            “Why would he do that?”

            “Well, if he’s going to get his middle finger cut off, he might as well just have his whole hand cut off.”

            “Naomi.  That’s ridiculous,” I scolded.  “He needs his hand.  He can do a lot of things with his hand even if he doesn’t have his middle finger.”

            “No he can’t,” Naomi countered.  “He might as well get his whole hand cut off.”

            “I know something he couldn’t do without his middle finger,” Roberto yelled excitedly.

            Roberto’s announcement shifted Naomi’s dramatic story to a classic middle school comedy.  Two boys started laughing, and the rest of the girls began to smile.

            “What couldn’t he do?” Naomi demanded.

            Even the girls began snickering.

            “Naomi, they’re talking about a very bad gesture you should never do,” I offered.

            “What’s a gesture?” Naomi was truly puzzled.

            Oh good grief!  The wheels had totally fallen off the wagon now.

            “A gesture is something you do with your hand or arm,” I explained.  “If I wave at you when I see you coming to school, that’s a friendly gesture.”  I was waving at Naomi hoping this would divert her thought process.  But no luck.

            “What do you do with your middle finger?”

            Everyone was laughing now.  They all waited for my lesson on the obscene gesture.  And I was not going there.

            “Naomi, it’s something none of your parents want you to do.”

            Just then I had my “Ah Ha” moment.  I figured out how to get rid of the problem – toss it to someone else!  Naomi had brought this whole subject up because she shared some family business. Family business should be handled by her family.

            You’re a chicken, I scolded myself.  Yes, I am, I answered.

            “Naomi, your parents – really none of your parents – would want us talking about this in class.  If you want to know about what Roberto said, you need to ask your mom or dad.  And Roberto, you are not to talk about that kind of stuff in class ever again.  It’s inappropriate.”

            “Inappropriate” is the classic teacher catch-all word.  It covers everything from “I don’t feel like talking about this now” to “I’m so angry I could break something.”

            I had delivered my last words slowly and firmly, and my go-to “inappropriate”  had shut down the conversation – almost.

            “I can’t ask my parents,” Naomi sadly moaned.  “They won’t tell me.”

            “Naomi, I think if you explain to them what you told us in class and what you heard, they’ll tell you what you need to know to understand what was said,” and hopefully don’t call the school complaining about me, I thought.

            “No they won’t,” Naomi wailed again. “They won’t tell me anything.  I’m a middle child.”

Vaccines

          Middle school students are usually very aware when they are going to be pulled out of school early for an appointment.  It adds sparkle to an otherwise dreary day.  Leaving school early is a little bit of Christmas at the end of the day.  It’s also fun to announce it to your fellow students like it’s a prize you won that they didn’t get.  We all look for our little shots of joy where we can find them, and checking out of school early is like winning $100 for a middle school student.

            I was surprised when I got a call from the office 7^th period saying Naomi’s mom was checking her out early.  Naomi hadn’t said anything about it, so I decided it was probably a surprise to her too.  Her face lit up with a big grin when she was told to report to the office.  She actually skipped out of the room to her locker.

            I was curious (snoopy actually) about it the next day.

            “Naomi, did you forget about an appointment you had yesterday?”

            “No.  I didn’t know I was going to leave early.”

            My inner adult told me to mind my own business, so I let it drop.  But Naomi wanted to talk about it.

            “I had to go get a shot.”

            “Oh yeah?” eyebrows up.  “You got your flu shot?”

            “No, I got the flu stuff in my nose.  I got a Gardasil shot.”

            Oooh, I thought.  Not going there.  End the conversation now!

            “It’s a vaccine shot,” Naomi added.

            “I got a vaccine last week along with my flu shot,” I offered trying a diversion.

            “What shot did you get?”

            “Well, I got a Tdap.  It stands for Tetanus and some other things.  You have to get it every ten years so you don’t get Tetanus.  Now I’m done with my shots for the year.”

            “What was my Gardasil shot for?”

            “Well, (Oh phooey) it keeps you from getting sick in the future.  That’s what vaccines do.  They help you not get sick.”

            “What does Gardasil keep me from getting?”

            How do I get sucked into these conversations?

 

            “What did your mom tell you about the shot?”

            “She just said I had to get it.”

            “Because your mom loves you and wants to keep you safe.”

            “Safe from what?”

            We were now in the stupid realm.  Naomi knew when I was evading a question, but if her parents wanted her to know what the shot was for, they would have told her.

            In the movie, “Chicago,” there is a great scene where Richard Gere plays a lawyer skirting around the truth in the courtroom.  A voiceover announces, “And now ladies and gentlemen – a tap dance.”  Richard Gere verbally dances around his arguments, while literally tap dancing.  I suddenly had the mental picture of me tap dancing in front of Naomi.

            “Weeeeelllll, the vaccine prevents you from getting warts.”

           

            “How will I get warts?”

            “You won’t get them.  The vaccine keeps you from getting warts.”

            Ta da! I thought.  Great save.

“Oh.  OK.”

            Success!  I had effectively tap danced my way out of the conversation.

Two periods later Naomi was back in my room with Roberto for a reading class.  As I was putting the attendance in my computer, I overhead Naomi talking to Roberto.

            “Is that a wart on your hand,” Naomi asked.

            Roberto studied the side of his pinky finger.

            “Yeah.  I’ve had it burned off twice, but it keeps coming back.”

            Naomi studied his hand closer.  I could see it coming just like a train.

            “You really should get a Gardasil shot.  I got one and now I won’t get warts.”

            Roberto studied his finger closer.

            “I don’t like it when I have to get the wart burned off.  I’ll ask my mom about it.”

            I minded my own business and stayed out of the conversation, but a part of me wished I could be a fly on the wall when Roberto asked his mom when he could get his Gardasil shot.

Getting Ready For Christmas

            Hobby Lobby set a new record this year.  A week after July 4^th, they were clearing shelves and setting up Christmas trees.  A week after July 4^th!  So I don’t feel too silly telling you I finished putting a Christmas picture together for the fireplace mantle this weekend.

            About three years ago I stumbled on a painting by Gerrit van Honthorst called “The Nativity,” and I fell in love with it.  It’s the typical Joseph, Mary, Baby Jesus, and two shepherds nativity scene, but the two shepherds are two young boys who are absolutely enthralled with the baby. 

            Honthorst was a Dutch painter in the 1500’s whose paintings tend to be dark, interior scenes with a light source only from candles.  The center of his paintings is usually lit, but the edges often fade into darkness.  In “The Nativity” the source of light is, of course, the Baby Jesus. 

            It’s the expressions on the two young shepherds’ faces that drew me to the painting.  Most nativity scenes show Jesus surrounded by somber worshippers, but Honthorst’s painting shows Jesus being looked on by two young boys who appear to be absolutely delighted with the baby.  The expressions on their faces remind me of how young children look at Christmas.

            It took me two years to crank open my wallet enough to buy a print of the picture, especially since it would only be on the mantle for two months out of the year.  But then art.com had a 30% off sale and life is short, and you know how it goes.

            I had a frame I found at the Goodwill store this summer that’s been lonely for a picture to fill it.  Hobby Lobby had their mats 50% off, so it was easy to spend a few more dollars buying the mats so the picture would fit in the frame.

            Here comes the fun part.  I painted the frame white this summer, because I wanted a beach picture, but that never worked out.  After I got the mats home for my Nativity picture, I slipped the picture under the mats and laid the frame on top.  It was obvious the frame needed to be painted black.  So I hauled it out to the garage and spray painted the frame yet again. 

            I was so eager to get my frame painted that I didn’t notice that it had picked up all sorts of fibers from the rug I had laid it on in the living room.  As I sprayed on the black paint, tiny hairy fibers became very visible all over the frame.  It was too late to do anything about it, so I let it dry (kicking myself for being in such a hurry) and then grabbed some sandpaper.  As I sanded off the fibers, the frame took on a really neat distressed look.  I took it back inside and laid it over the matted pictures.  The distressed wood looked perfect framing the stable scene.

            So what’s the takeaway?  Get on art.com’s email list?  All good things come to those who wait?  Dust the fibers off before you spray paint?  Haste doesn't always make waste?  I don’t know; take your pick.  And check out my Christmas picture while I go get some Halloween candy.

White People

            Naomi was absent.  Whenever there is a planned absence, Naomi announces it several times a day for the two weeks prior to the day she will be gone.  She had said nothing about being gone, so I was pretty sure she was sick.

            Around one o’clock in the afternoon I got an email sent from Naomi’s phone:

            MRS. JONES.  I AM SICK TODAY, SO I WON’T BE IN SCHOOL.  WHAT IS MY HOMEWORK FOR MATH.  PLEASE CALL ME AT 5551234567.  YOUR STUDENT, NAOMI.

            Naomi is never sick, so I was sure this staying at home business and calling for your schoolwork was a new, exciting experience for her.  I was so glad when I saw the email.  The day had been pretty dull, boring actually, without Naomi.  It was funny that she asked for her homework.  It was like paying the devil to get work out of her during a regular school day, but somehow she felt compelled to do homework when she wasn’t in school.

            I was not going to telephone her because I didn’t want to set any kind of precedent, so I decided to send her an email instead.  Three minutes after I hit the “send” button, my telephone rang.  It was Naomi.

            “This is Mrs. Jones.”

            “Hello Mrs. Jones.  This is Naomi.  I’m sick.  I didn’t come to school today.”

            “Yes, I noticed that.”

            “I called you to find out what I should do because I wasn’t in school today.”

            “Well, are you feeling OK?  Do you feel well enough to do schoolwork?”

            “My throat was really sore this morning.  It got sore last night and I woke up.  I had a fever too.”

            “That’s sounds awful.”

            “And I got really pale.  I was white.  Really, really white.  You should see how white I was.  You wouldn’t have recognized me.”

            “Are you still white?”

            “Well, my fever went away, so I’m not white anymore.”

            I worked hard at not laughing.  Naomi was always a pretty healthy kiddo, and being sick was something new for her.

            “We had a test in Math today, but you can make it up when you get back.”

            “So I don’t have any homework to do?”

            “Not for today.  We’ll start the next lesson tomorrow.”

            “Well, I might still be sick tomorrow.”

            “We can work things out when you get back.”

            “I hope I don’t get a fever and turn white again tonight.  My mom said she would take me to the doctor if I did.”

            “I hope you don’t get sick again either.  You should rest and get better.”

            “Thank you Mrs. Jones.  Goodbye.”

            “Bye bye, Naomi.”

            Sick days are fun!