Last Day of School

Every year on the last day of school, the teachers at the elementary school across the street give a very enthusiastic good-bye to the kids. Our neighbors brought out some watermelon, and we all sat under a tree and enjoyed the send-off.

Went to Target this morning. M is turning out to be a bad shopper. Lots of crying, cause she wants to get out of the cart and run away from me. So by the time we got out to the car, and I got everyone loaded in, we were ready to be home. Then I realized that I had left my purchases inside the store. Grrrrr.

Sniff, sniff

I have a great sense of smell. There's not much that escapes me in this department. When I was a kid I would smell the clothes that I opened up on Christmas morning and know which store they came from. I really ought to figure out a way to get paid for this talent of mine. I'm sure if I lived in a big city I could get a job testing perfume or something, except it would probably bother my allergies.


Anyway, about a week ago, I went visiting teaching to the home of an older couple. We went down in their basement, cause I had the girls with me, and they have a cool playhouse down there. So as soon as we get down the stairs I smelled an obvious smell of natural gas. I commented on it, and suggested that they call the gas company, but I could tell they didn't quite believe me. I know that sometimes older people lose their sense of smell, so my next plan was to talk to some of their children and get them to get on their parents to get it taken care of.

Well, last night she calls to tell me that she was thinking about what I said and decided to call the gas company. Sure enough, the gas man found three or four very small leaks. He couldn't smell them either, but his detector picked up on it. He told them that I must have a very good sense of smell.

Motherly Sympathy

It's possible that I don't have enough of it. Yesterday the girls and I were out in the yard, and S was barefoot, as she often is (I am totally in favor of letting kids go barefoot). She comes limping over to me at one point crying about her foot. So I take a look, and see a little thorn, and pull it out. She continues to whine and cry about it for about an hour, and beg for a band-aid. Now S used to be a very tough kid who could shake off most any injury, but lately she has turned very whiney - perhaps it's a five-year-old-thing. Anyway, that's my defense. So I continue to tell her to be brave, that it's no big deal, etc.

Then, I notice that our lawn, which consists mostly of clover, has quite a few bees in it . . . . and I realize that she had stepped on a bee! That explains why the thorn looked so odd - it was really a stinger. Oops!