(My apologies for the two weeks of not posting – it’s been madness through the holidays! Regularity will return with, well, regularity now, though, and I’ll look forward to your weekly visits!)
As both a teacher and a parent, I frequently get to see when munchkins believe they are right, SWEAR they are right! But, I know they’re absolutely not. The most amusing time is when they argue about it – adamant, they can be.
To wear glasses, or not to wear glasses? That is the Question.
Some days (most days) I wear glasses. Occasionally, I wear contacts. I don’t happen to wear my contacts very often because I am too lazy to put them in every morning, and because I’m rather proud that I can stretch a 3 month supply of contacts out to about 6 months. Not because I wear them too long, but because I don’t put them in very often.
As a result, I give myself three possible “looks” for each day. I have a pair of black framed glasses, a pair of brown framed glasses, and no glasses for my options.
I have a student who is a little… well, you’ll see. Here is how my conversation with this particular student went one day.
STUDENT: You don’t wear glasses!
ME: I don’t?
STUDENT: No, you don’t. But you’re wearing some now.
ME: I wear my glasses most every day.
STUDENT: No you don’t! You weren’t wearing them five minutes ago when you were over there! (He points to another part of the room that I’d been standing in just a moment before.)
OTHER STUDENTS: Yes, she was! She was wearing them.
STUDENT: She was? But she doesn’t wear glasses!
We stared at him. This was in November – he’d had me for a teacher since August. This argument actually ended up lasting three days. (I made it worse by wearing my contacts the next day – “See! I told you that you don’t wear glasses!”)
The actual conversation wasn’t truly the amusing part – it was that he would take up such an argument in the first place! It’s like arguing with someone about whether they have a big toe. The person in question would KNOW if they had a big toe, arguing with them about it would do no good. I know that I wear glasses! I also know how bad I am about putting my contacts on in the mornings – though I love having the option. Silly, silly argument.
“I don’t like french toast!”
This is what I was faced with last Sunday morning. I had a pair of six year olds telling me, under no uncertain terms, that they hated french toast. I reminded them about the last time they ate french toast, and how they didn’t hate it then, but Mommy is always wrong. Of course.
So I told them that if they wanted cereal, they were just going to have to wait until I was done making french toast for my husband and myself, and then I would humor them with cereal. (I had a plan. Really.)
My daughter pouted her way back into the living room, and my son pouted while watching me cook. Then came the…
SON: There’s eggs in it?
SON: There’s bread in it?
SON: I want some!
ME: I thought you might.
DAUGHTER: (from the other room) I don’t like french toast!
So, fine. The toast that I was making for my husband went to my son – both slices, coated in cinnamon and sugar. (For hubby and I, I was making a french toast sandwich with cream cheese and apple mint jelly.) He wandered off into the living room and vanished.
Two minutes later, my daughter walked in.
DAUGHTER: Sammy got french toast?
DAUGHTER: I’ve had french toast?
DAUGHTER: I want some, too!
So, the next two pieces go to my daughter, instead of my husband.
Remember, they don’t like french toast.
I was able to get my husband’s sandwich fixed, finally. My own went to seconds for my son and daughter, because they obviously hated it so much that they just had to have more. Total, I went through 14 pieces of bread for 4 people – and then my son requested more for dinner. But they don’t like it!
There are the usual silly arguments, as well.
KID: I don’t want to wear my shoes!
ME: Fine, go to school barefoot, then.
KID: No! I don’t want to go barefoot!
ME: Well, then how are you going to not go barefoot?
KID: (as if it’s a novel and original idea) I’ll wear my shoes!
ME: …. fine.
Oh, to be children again. In some ways, it’d be lovely. I’d not have to work anymore, I could write letters for homework, and everyone else would be making food for me, rather than the other way around.
In other ways – absolutely not! Puberty, adolescence, having to ask permission to do things, getting in trouble… I think I’ll pass.
However, I will enjoy winning arguments while they remain oblivious to me being right. We have to find something to smile about every day, don’t we?