Lunchroom

Nothing's been happening worth blogging about, but as soon as I decide to get out of my new bed I'm sure something will come up.  I did get emails from both girls' teachers this week.  It seems there was an altercation in the lunch line.  Here is what happened, according to Olivia:  "A girl cut me in line in the lunchroom and I told her to get lost and she grabbed my arms and said I was mean and I started crying."  I finally figured out that she wasn't cut with a knife, but that the girl cut in front of her.   Grace saw the girl grab Olivia and ran across the lunchroom to her, and the lunch lady got mad at Grace for getting up from the table without permission, but Grace refused to go sit down until she figured out what was going on.  The teacher said Grace was telling everybody to stop looking at her sister and mind their own business, while hugging Olivia and demanding to know what happened.  At this point Olivia was hysterical.  Finally, everyone got calmed down and went about their business, and the cutting-in-line girl was made to apologize to Olivia.  We told Grace that she did the right thing, and we would expect her to do it again, even if the lunch lady got mad.  This made Grace smile from ear to ear, because having the green light to challenge authority in the second grade flipping rules!

Olivia told me she wasn't crying because the girl squeezed her, but because she had called Olivia "mean".  At this  point, Jack and Henry, who were listening to the whole sordid drama, burst out laughing.  "You ARE mean!"  they said.  "Yeah, but only to you guys, and you deserve it," she said.  And really, the boys are right.  Olivia is mean to her brothers, but they egg her on because they think it's funny to see her "fists of fury", as she calls it, coming at them. So they do deserve it.  I try to stay out of it unless they interrupt my peace and quiet, at which point I give them all chores. 

Olivia is somewhat of a wild child, a bundle of impulses that she has pretty good control of at school, but often lets it rip when she gets home.  Every morning Mitch and I kiss her hands and she stuffs Mitch's kisses into her left pocket and mine into her right pocket.  That way, during school if she's starting to feel upset she reaches into her pocket, grabs a kiss and rubs it on her cheek.  Because of this system of hers, she refuses to wear dresses because they don't have pockets. As long as it keeps her out of the principal's office, I'm happy to let her wear jeans every day.  Maybe I should volunteer at the state penitentiary and offer kissing hands to the inmates?  I  know of some political whackos who could use some kissing hands, too. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to flip my pillow.