Billie: “All the girls in my class like Anna and Elsa but I just wanna watch Bob’s Burgers and Fraggle Rock and eat cinnamon sugar toast. Is that too much to ask?”
Billie Smash
Me: “How does it feel in your body when you get angry?”
Billie: “I feel like I’m getting crushed by a volcano.”
Me: “Whoa. That’s intense.”
Billie: “Maybe for the volcano. I kinda like it.”
Great. Now I’m terrified.
Hugs. Handshakes. High Fives.
Today and every day I am thankful for my 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Walliser.
She was a 6’2″ Norwegian lady who wore the title of “The Meanest, Strictest, Nastiest Teacher On Campus” like it was a damn badge of honor.
I remember finding out I was going to be in her class and crying.
Up to that point, I was a rather feral child. Every doctor I had ever had recommended extreme medication for my “overwhelmingly excitable nature.” My parents refused, preferring I learn to “harness my energy” by natural means but that usually manifested in me setting things on fire and spending copious amounts of time in the principal’s office. So, naturally, when I found out I was going to be in the insidious confines of Mrs. Walliser’s care, I cried. A lot.
But Mrs. Walliser surprised me. The second day of class she took me aside and said, “I don’t need you to stay still. I just need you to focus. Some people will confuse you and trick you into thinking those are the same thing. They’re not. Just. Focus. Can you do that?”
And I could. She taught me how to dispel my energetic tendencies in the form of creative doodles while she spoke. I learned to quietly tap out rhythms with my fingers on my jeans while learning algebra and memorizing speeches by past presidents. She was the first teacher to introduce me to the idea that I didn’t have to learn like a still faced- mannequin who acquiesced to the authority of the room unquestionably. I could participate. I could actively engage. I could move.
And, regardless of how amazing or terrible (in my case, usually terrible) the day went, she ended each day standing by the door offering hugs, handshakes, or high fives.
Did you have a hard day and pull 6 tags in the first five minutes of class? You ended the day with a hug.
Did you fail that super important test? You still get that A+ of a hug.
Did you stab your desk mate with a pencil for trying to jack your fruit snacks? You got a referral to the principal’s office. But, when you came back, you also got a hug.
Some of the most important lessons I ever learned came from that classroom in the form of a take- no- prisoners- Norwegian giant. She single handedly taught me that I was worthy of being taught.
I wasn’t a lost cause.
I wasn’t a problem child.
I didn’t have to be still.
I just had to focus.
And even when I failed, even when the noise and stimuli of the world won and I became its flailing, spastic victim, even then; I still got a hug.
A Gaseous State
Billie: “Look, mom! Look at my video game! It’s a fart peeing!”
Me: “Whoa- what?”
Billie: “A FART. PEEING. This is AMAZING!”
Me: “Your game is about the periodic table of elements. That’s Radon. It’s not a fart.”
Billie: “Is Radon a gas?”
Me: “Well, yea, but–”
Billie: “And farts are gas.”
Me: “Sweetie, I—”
Billie: “And this gas is peeing, right? So LET IT RAIN FART PEE BABY!!”
Me: “That’s not how any of this works!”
Doug: “Are you seriously trying to talk sense into her after she discovered the phrase ‘fart pee?'”
Me: “It’s just that–”
Billie: “FART PEE FART PEE RAINING DOWN ON MOMMMMMY!”
My kid’s going to be a scientist.
Life Lessons And Long Car Rides
Billie: “You should NEVER yell at the driver. He’s in charge of the bass.”
Laryngi-Just Stop Talking
Me: “Billie, make sure you brush your teeth. And remember your lunch. And your pants are on backwards–”
Billie: “Mommy? I thought daddy said you were losing your voice.”
Me: “I am. But slowly. My throat is just sore now but I’ll probably lose my voice in a couple days.”
Billie: “Oh. Well, could you lose it sooner?”
…walked right into that one.
The Death of A Butterfly
The kids found a dying butterfly outside the front gate of the school this morning.
Some kids just wanted to observe the butterfly and wonder at how swarms of ants were chewing up its wings.
Others preferred to study the butterfly, remarking how they could figure out the cause of death by slicing it open.
MY kid danced around the butterfly in a bizarre mourning ritual screaming, “Live, man! LIIIVE! For Jesus’s sake take another breath!'” Then she gently picked up the butterfly with a stick and put it in the planter so it “could die in peace.”
I’m simultaneously proud and terrified.
A Musician Of Sorts
Billie: “My morning farts sound like Trombone Shorty.”
Stay Classy
Billie: “I’m ready!”
Me: “Sweet! Wait, why is there a bulge in your skirt?”
Billie: “Well, I knew I had to wear shorts under my skirt, cuz I like to do that, but I realized I could wear shorts with pockets. Now my kitty cat can go with me everywhere! I’m a genius! A genius, Mother!”
Me: “Agreed. Did you remember your underwear this time?”
Billie: “Oh. …I knew I was forgetting something.”
Just because the day is calm doesn’t mean I have to be
Let me set the scene:
My kid, in the middle of an empty schoolyard (empty because the first bell has just rung and the classrooms are full) flapping her arms like a frantic baby bird, screaming at the top pf her lungs, “IT’S A CALM DAY! IT’S A CALM DAY! YA HEAR ME, HUMANS!?? CALM!!”
“That is so great, sweetie,” I whisper at her, ” but, if that is the case, we might need to calm our energy.”
Her response?
“NOPE. THE DAY IS CALM AND MY ENERGY IS VERY EXCITED ABOUT THAT.”
She eventually skipped away but, as she pounced into her classroom, I could hear her mumbling something about being so happy she would do “circle handstands” if she could.
I can only assume she meant cartwheels.
And I can also only assume that her teacher will not be as thrilled as she is about the day…
Billie's Momma 