Third Grade

Dear blog readers who are seething with upset-ness because I haven't posted in like.... forever,

Super sorry. Remember in my first week of blogging when I was all "Imma post every 6 hours!!!" And now I suck at posting regularly... Well it just all balances out now, doesn't it?

So it Christmastime! I'm in Colorado visiting my very first little nephew, Garret. He's a little prince.

Today I've decided to talk to you about 3rd grade. 3rd grade was a weird, weird year.

First of all, my teacher disappeared and never returned. It was a very strange thing. After about a month into the school year, Mrs. K was reaching up to point at something on a map, and hurt her back. She just kinda paused and didn't move for a moment. Then she walked out and another teacher walked in. Mrs. K never came back. She supposedly spent the rest of the year in the hospital, though I feel like I should be more suspicious... like maybe she was a Russian spy. Very likely.

We received a letter from her about half way through the year telling us that she missed us and telling us that she was ok. We went from substitute to substitute for the rest of the year.

Second of all, the students started disappearing as well. We started the school year with about 22 kids in our class. Then they started moving or transferring to other classes. We ended up with 17. A third-grade class of 17 was very small and very strange. Especially when combined with the fact that our teacher disappeared.

Third of all, that was the year after my dad died. He died in August and third grade began weeks later. Everyone was talking about their summers and I remember when Jeanette Moses asked me how my summer was. I said, "Bad." She said, "Why?" and I whispered to her that my dad had died. She didn't believe me. I let it drop. This was also the year that Melanie Somethingsomething told me that my dad had gone to hell. Screw you, Melanie Somethingsomething.

Fourth of all, this was the year when substitute number 6 said, "Raise your hand if you're left-handed!" I was the only one that raised my hand. I felt simultaneously super alone and super awesome. Awesome has won out.

Fifth of all, well.... I don't know if I have a fifth of all. Hopefully the first four points were good enough evidence to convince you that my year in third grade was strange strange strange.

The rest of elementary school was less weird for sure, though I was still a trouble-maker. In fourth grade, I cried and cried when my water bottle tasted slightly like soap. They sent me to the office and I had to call my mom about it. In fifth grade, I went sorta crazy when I got a little bit of paint on my uniform dress. I took it off and started to wipe it down with a wet sponge. I got yelled at and cried some more.

Looking back... it makes me want to call all of my elementary school teachers and tell them that I didn't grow up to be a serial killer. Dear Ms. Wakefield, Mrs. Liimaata and Mrs. Kumovai (sp??), I grew up to be just fine(ish). Sorry to worry ya!

Here's me in the 4th grade. Why do I look homeless? It was medieval day or something. I also played the recorder.

 I just remembered another third grade tid bit. We were in a recycling competition with the rest of the third grade classes. I wanted to win so bad that I started ripping unused papers out of my notebook and sticking them into the recycling. That's dedication. We won a pizza party. Boo yah baby.