Down for the count

I am wiped out. Done. Cashed. Tuckered out. Pooped. Fried'ish. Tired. Also, my throat is killing me, and I'm achey. International Day (at O's school this morning; the reason for my having made the 100 meatballs and cut hundreds of paper strips for flags last night) was totally exhausting. Many of the kids were cute and interactive, but honestly, it seemed that almost as many were slimy, boogery, seemingly mute, deer-in-the-headlights tots. It was pouring brickbats outside, and the event was overwhelming for every parent with whom I spoke, so I get that for the 2-4 age range it was probably even more so, but still. Please at least respond with a nod of the head if you can't use a word. Sheesh. By the end I was feeling glad that at least a quarter of them refused to taste my meatballs; that meant I'd have hard-earned leftovers for my boys (who devoured them) and for us tonight. And then there was the kid who rudely held his nose and screamed, "What is that disgusting smell? YUK!" You turd; just shut up and don't ask for one. I swear, where are the manners? Are they going the way of cursive? I hope not.

Overall, the primary feelings with which I left were a) I sure do love my little boy, and b) once again, "thank god I am not a teacher." I admire teachers, am grateful for every wonderful one out there who changed my life and will surely do the same for my and many other children, I think good teachers should be paid more, I think teaching should be a more lauded and lofty profession. None of this changes the fact that I have never wanted to actually be a teacher. While I love my own children and a number of other wee ones I know, there are a great many others I'd just as soon not spend any additional time with. If I were forced to, by virtue of being their teacher, I'm just not sure I could do it.

T got home early, just in time to read stories and finish the bedtime act. Amen for business accounts that allow for expensive flights the purchaser can then change at any time.

Em-i-lis(t) of the day

Questions: 1) In Bob the Builder, are Bob and Wendy dating? Who voices Bob? And why does he sound so weird? "I don't like to wear a suuuuuiiiiiiiit." "Wendy, did yooouuuu know about this?" Are the machines supposed to be case studies in psychological disorders? 2) What is up with the Nissan Cube? I don't get it? 3) Is there anything wrong with eating just Pirate's Booty and hamantashen for lunch? Is said lunch the reason I don't feel so hot right now?

Let's talk about these hamantashen. Once a year, during Purim, the Jewish nursery school that Jack attended and where Oliver is now, has a fundraiser in which they sell homemade hamantashen, the triangle shaped butter cookies stuffed with various fillings: apricot, raspberry, chocolate, poppy, etc. I wait for this eagerly every year, and each time around, I buy more. See, I've found you can freeze them and they emerge beautifully, as if you've just bought them. This year I bought 4 boxes of chocolate and 1 apricot, and my friend, foodie C, bought six boxes (I introduced these to her last year and she hopped right aboard the fan train). These are not small cookies! They are insanely good. I envision a room of Bubbes working on these together, skilled hands moving without thought, a written recipe a silly suggestion as these were long ago committed to memory. Love it.

4) Romney? Santorum? Really? Isn't there anyone else out there who wants to run?

Naturally...

our first day of heavy rain in ages occurs when: T is out of town and can't help with school drop-off; I have a super-heavy Staub pot full of 100 meatballs and sauce + tons of cut construction paper to carry in plus Oliver and his lunch and school bags; I'm worried about all my newly planted seeds; have a sore throat like it's my job; and DC-area drivers freak out and go 2 mph or not at all when there is the slightest precipitation.