It’s already the closing of october? no, that can’t be right. really?? ssshhwwwhaaaatt??? Well I just can’t believe it but I suppose it’s the truth. It says it on every newspaper that i’ve looked at today. We’ve been keeping ourselves so busy with work and our private english lessons that there really isn’t much to report. We haven’t gone on any adventures, we haven’t run into too much trouble, and other than a major wipeout in the halls and a birthday celebration for Callie, I’d say it’s rather lame over here. First, let’s start with the wipeout...
It was a beautiful fall day in Madrid. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, it was a balmy 95 degrees (in October?!?!), and Brenna was racing around the halls of el Colegio Patrocinio de San Jose as always. I didn’t have a break in between my last class of the day for normal classes and my first class of the school of English here at school. It was a Thursday so I was running back to the teachers’ workroom to drop off my books for the older kids and grab all of my arts and crafts supplies for my 4 year olds. In one hand I grabbed my construction paper, glue, glitter, and markers and in the other I grabbed a fairly large pair of scissors. One of the teachers saw I was in a hurry and jokingly said “Brenna, you’d better not run with those scissors!!” and me, being a smartass, put the scissors point down in my hand in the safety position and said mockingly “Oh yes, SAFETY FIRST!!” And with that, I was off in a blaze. Down the hall i ran in my squeaky hot pink crocs towards the infant side of the building. I finally got down the hall and could see my students on the landing ahead of me about 6 stairs above the hall. They all saw me as well and acknowledged this by screaming “BREEEENNNAAAAA!!!!” and jumping in excitement. (side note: I’d love to say they just get this excited when I come but truth be told 4 year olds get excited for anything. ie: okay, it’s time to dance “YAAYYY!! DANCE!!” okay, it’s time to color “YAAYYY!! COLOR!!” okay, it’s toilet time... “YAAYYY!! TOILETS!!”) So there they were with their eyes full of hope, wonder and innocents and there I was running up the halls with my huge backpack on and my hands full of art supplies and death trap scissors. Well wouldn’t you know I made it up the first 5 stairs without a glitch. The sixth and final step would, however, decide my fate. The top of my hot pink croc got stuck on the edge of the stair and I started to propel in the oddest forward motion that has ever been witnessed in these halls I guarantee you. I suddenly started in a running motion as I was falling up the stairs due to the excess weight of the pack on my back. I knew I was in for it and yet I still was holding on to hope (and art supplies and large scissors) and kept running to try to regain my balance. Just take a minute to picture it. You’ve all seen the running fall on America’s Funniest home videos, or in person if you were ever so lucky. Well that was me. In front of 4 year olds all looking on in disbelief (yes children, adults do fall from time to time). Finally there was no more hope and I was going down. Faster and faster I fell until all of the sudden I hit the ground like a ton of flayling bricks. There was an instant lightening bolt pain in my right nipple. What was that? It only took me a split second to remember the scissors. HOLLLYYYYY SHIIIIITTTTT!! I just impaled myself on a pair of large scissors in front of my children and they entered via the right nipple. Not only am I dead but now all the children and EMTs that come to collect my body will remember me as the weird American girl that cut her nipple off. Fantastic. I didn’t want to breath. or move. and so for a good 30 seconds i decided to just lay there with my eyes closed and my chest 6 inches above the ground in silence. Finally i realized “IM NOT DEAD!!” that was only half the battle, now I needed to check that nipple. I looked down in pure astonishment as I realized that earlier when I mockingly said “ha ha, safety first” I inadvertently saved my life, my dignity, and my right nipple. The point of the scissors was planted in the wooded floor and the handle was so far in my chest I swear you could see the finger holes coming out my back. Slowly I got up, took my first breath, and checked my chest to make sure areola was intact and of the proper shape in my shirt. Turns out, all systems were a go for me. phewww, that. was. close! I looked over at the children and realized that their eyes were the size of watermelons and there was condensation forming in two pairs. If you ever wondered what 18 4-year olds look like scared stiff, please, re-enact the previous catastrophe. I will advise you, however, it’s THE WORST!! Before I finished telling them that everything was alright one of them was a complete ball of heat, tears, and snot and another was well on her way. I bent down to give her a hug and she clung to me like a spider monkey. Her gooey fingers tightly clasped around my neck and her snotty, teary face embedded in my hair. Wonderful. I couldn’t stand up without her so I moved all of my supplies to one hand (carefully placing the scissors in my bag, of course) and picked her up with my other arm. Plainly, I had to hold her at an arms length because the area that had been impaled was entirely to sore for a booger monster to be against it. When I stood up, the other teary eyed child immediately put her hand up from behind me and in between my legs so she had a firm grip on my groin and we were all off to class. Finally. Apart from the snot that took me an entire day to remove from my hair, a black and blue mark that is still healing on my boob, and a nice crotch grab...I’d say we still had a pretty successful day of arts and crafts.
In the United States people are so paranoid about where to touch children and how to handle them because we are complete prudes that it was a swift change to move to a place where you literally can’t go a whole day of school without kissing at least 20 students. When the little ones leave they line up at the door and I need to hand them over to their parents. I find their parents, they pull me down for a hug and a kiss, and they are off. I’m still not completely over the whole hygiene aspect of this tradition, but I’m in love with my children. The older kids interrupt class to make fun of my hot pink crocs that I wear on my feet or let me know that it’s really not lady-like to wear my hair in a pony tail everyday. But the little ones stop class to kiss me and tell me how beautiful I am. HEEELLLLOOO?!?! Does it get any better than that?? Don’t get me wrong, I’m in no rush to have a germ monster of my own any time soon, but I’d loooooovvveeee a niece or nephew.....sean...katie??? I’m just saying.
