100th Day, Take 2

     Your day can start one of two ways when your kindergartener jumps off the bus before the bell rings, smirks, and sings, "I've got a surprise for you."

Notice both my surprise and my awesome body language.

      Is this going to be a surprise like the one you left for the bus driver last week when you peed in your seat on the bus?

     Should I brace myself for you telling me that you saved me a special burger, my getting excited (despite it being 7 in the morning), and then my dreams crashing as I remember you affectionately call boogers burgers?

     Or is this going to be a good surprise like you doing your homework?

     Today, it was D. None of the above.

     Today the young gent surprised me by donning a shirt he'd made with 100 letters all over it in honor of the 100th day of kindergarten. It was pretty darn cute.

     Phew.
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     While I failed myself by only have 61 temporary tattoos, no fabric glue to hold on my 100 googly eyes, and even running out of time to build my back-up plan's back-up plan of a 100 necklace, my kids salvaged the day. They made me glad I failed to follow through with last year's resolution to roll from Day 99 to Day 101 this time around.

Why?

"What would you be like if you were 100 years old?"
"I would be like you." (I am reassuring myself by rationalizing that she meant that she'd be a teacher...)
"I would walk funny."
"I would say, "Ahhhh, my back. It hurts!"

     Also, this:
     One of my kids from last year moved at a snail's pace. I kind of adore her attitude toward life, but I've got to admit it can get pretty difficult to appreciate in the classroom. If I had to pull out the big guns and warn her of impending consequences if she didn't follow directions, threatening to make her run always led to surrender.

     But because the 100th day is a day of anomalies--the day perfect kids lose their minds and crazy kids find them--today she put on a show. A fast-paced show.

     I hadn't seen my beloved pal move this fast since she tried to run away from me on Field Day. I looked up on the playground, and she was running. Like both feet moving at the same time. Feet off the ground. Moving on purpose. And when I looked around to see who she might've bopped or what she might've stolen? Nothing.

     Naturally I joined her on her jog. She giggled. Then she stopped to boogie. After praising her for the best running I've ever seen her do, I asked her why she was running.

     Her answer?

     "Boys."

     A girl after my own heart. Run, girl, run.

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     (P.S. But not really because you can do anything they can [and probably better.])