Before I begin, please don’t read this post and get the impression that all preschool children are adorable and my job is a rosy unicorn ride through candy rainbows. Most preschoolers are fantastic, but I had to write some Bad Notes today, and it’s a good think I can’t drink alcohol, or you’d be reading some unintelligible drunk prose right now.
That being said, we were cutting up a pumpkin today so we could cook it to make M&M&pumpkin pie (don’t ask), and some boys started talking about frog pickles. Apparently this is from some movie? I kept asking, “Frog pickles?”
“Yes.”
“Frog pickles? Is that a real thing?”
“Yeah, it’s a guy.”
“Ok. Whatever.”
The second thing happened at snack. One of the three-year-old boys has a rather unfortunate mole on the end of his nose. One of the four-year-olds finally noticed it today and asked what it was. Trying to be tactful, I cheerfully said, “It’s a freckle.”
The little guy said, “No, it isn’t.”
“You’re right. It’s actually called a mole.”
He downed the last of his juice and said, like I was the three-year-old, “It’s where an angel kissed me.”
See? You feel all warm and gooey inside, don’t you? But remember the Notes. And the thwarted drinking.
Brad says
I (tried to) teach kindergarteners and first graders this past week. I don’t envy you.
Jill says
I would do just about anything for drunk posts by Lauren. ANYTHING.
Lauren's dad says
Like Matthew’s repeated: A field of DYING grass!!!