Thursday, April 26, 2012


Got a call from the lower school today.  Apparently Shef threw up in the hallway.  This is just the call that you like to receive when you've got fourteen seventh graders looking at you, ready to start class.

Lucky for me, a building sub was available. 

"Look," I told the class.  "I'm going to explain to you what you're supposed to do, and then you're going to have to do it."

They had a million questions and protested, but I stood firm.

"Come on!" I said. "If you puke at school, don't you want your mom to come and pick you up?" I asked.

Yes, they all agreed.  "Have fun cleaning up the throw up!" one of them yelled. 

When I got over to the lower school (just a trip across a courtyard), I discovered Shef prone on a cot with a trash can full of vomit next to him.

"Yuck," I said.  "What happened?"

"We were getting our writing folders, and I told Mr. B. I felt sick."

"Then what?" I prompted.

"Then he said, 'Go to the office and take the trash can with you.'"

That was good foresight on Mr. B.'s part.  Apparently that's what 30-some years of second grade teaching will do for you.


doc said...

Oh Poor Shef!!!! I hope he is feeling better now!

Ann said...

Kelly says it was very, very sad that Shef missed dance into the weekend. :(