Little kids are cute. Today a little five year old gave me a stack of papers with pencil drawn outlines of ginger-bread men on them and said they were for me. Then I asked her to write my name on them, which she did, every letter in a different crayon color.
While I was helping another kindergartener finish making her paper Thanksgiving turkey (the teacher had been out a while and the subs hadn’t gotten around to it), a little boy came up to me to make some interesting observations,
“We’re lining up,” he said “we’re going home today.”
“Oh good.” I replied, and then I thought of when the the sad days were that they didn’t go home…
“And you’re still pretty,” he added.
I don’t know what my prettiness had to do with the end of the day, but it was cute, and I’m glad he hasn’t changed his mind since he first called me pretty several weeks ago. So I like kindergarteners. I don’t like trying to get them to read though. Man. Little kids and books. They just won’t focus.
My sister just texted me, apparently my old work wants me to sing at their Christmas party. Which means that my sister has been talking me up, because all they’ve heard of my singing is my humming all throughout the work day….and the times I would randomly burst into song, quietly, at my cubicle. They also want me to play my ukulele. I don’t think they know what they’d be in for. But I should probably say I’ll do it. Mostly because it’s an excuse to leave my house and sing in front of people. We’ll see.