Denise Day Spencer

April 25, 2008

Hurting brain

Filed under: Random ramblings — denisedayspencer @ 7:33 am

Recently I was walking across our campus and saw that the teacher for our K-grade 2 faculty/staff children had the kids out doing foot races. Everyone was running gleefully except for one little fellow who was having a meltdown. He sat on a rock, the hood of his neon-orange raincoat pulled over his downcast head.

“It’s not fair!” he wailed. “I always lose! In every race, I always lose!”

One of his small buddies approached to offer support. He stooped slightly to get down on his friend’s level. “When I run really fast my brain hurts!” he offered. I have no idea how that was supposed to help, but bless his little heart, he tried.

Aren’t little kids the greatest?

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April 10, 2008

I’m shrinking

Filed under: Random ramblings — denisedayspencer @ 8:01 pm

Don’t you just hate it when you do something that makes you feel about a half-inch tall?

I work in our school’s print shop. One of our pet peeves is people who knock on the door. They’re not supposed to knock. They’re supposed to come in and then one of the kindly print shop workers will assist them. You see, when they knock we have to stop whatever we’re doing and go answer the door. We may be at the computer. We might be on the phone. We could be in the back of the shop, running the labeling machine (in which case we wouldn’t even hear the knock at the door.)

We used to have a particular employee who always–always–knocked, even though we’d told her countless times that she didn’t have to do that. And one of our former kindly print shop workers would tell her, “You don’t knock on the door at WalMart, do you? Just come in!” But the next time she came calling we’d hear that tap-tap-tap once more.

It seems to me that this week we’ve had an unusually high number of rapping knuckles at our door. So today, there I sat, alone at my desk when it happened again. Knock, knock. “Oh, bother,” thought I. “Now what?” It was a gentle tapping. Knock, knock, knock. “Who’s knocking? You know, I shouldn’t get up and answer it. If they want in badly enough, they’ll just have to open the door!” Knock, knock. Knock, knock. Persistent little devil, wasn’t he/she? “Oh, all right. I’ll get it!”

I opened the door and there stood “Molly,” our one-armed student. Her lone arm was holding a load of books and in her only hand was the note she was trying to deliver to my co-worker. I’m not even sure how she’d been knocking.

But Molly wasn’t irritated. She smiled brightly, as she always does. I meekly took her note and smiled back. That’s all you can do when you’re about a half-inch tall.

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