Snitching a pack of peanut M&M’s off the tables, WG came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me.

“You smell like peanuts!” I said.

WG stood with his arms around me for a moment before I realized he was holding his breath.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Holding my breath.  I didn’t want you to have to smell my peanuts.”

(If you don’t see what’s funny about that, try saying it out loud.  You”ll get it.)

My dad and second mom visited my classroom on Friday, bringing with them smiles and hugs and encouraging words to the kids (and me!) and some extra sets of flash cards that we were in need of.  We put one set to good use today, when we found we had a few minutes of unclaimed time before recess, by playing Around the World.

I will admit, right off, I don’t play this game often in my classroom, mainly because it’s a special treat when my sub is here but also because it feels like two kids doing math facts while everyone else sits and chats and waits for their turn.  I much prefer games that are more engaging for everyone, but I digress.

So, today we played.  We are focusing on learning one set of addition facts at a time, so we have only learned 0’s, 1’s and 2’s so far.  We had a fun time playing and I found myself full of heartbreak for those that kept getting beat every.single.round, but also thrilled to see my kids encouraging and cheering for each other.

My little K, full of giggles and a thousand, “I love you’s” every day got so excited as she made her way through the desks that she was nearly skipping by the time she got back to her row.  When she successfully landed back in her seat, having beat everyone in the class with her speed, she threw up her hands and laughed and giggled and ran to hug me crying, “I’ve never won this game before!”

She talked about it for the rest of the afternoon and even as we walked to the bus, she was still glowing.  I reminded her that she’d better keep practicing because there were a lot of kids that would want to beat her now, and she was pumped up and ready for the challenge.

I know there are so many in my room that feel defeated; they know they aren’t good readers; they know they aren’t the fastest at math.  I hope I can remember to find ways for all of them to have victorious moments like K did today.

Walking through the hall at school this morning, on my way to make copies, One of my second graders came bounding up to me with all the spunk and enthusiasm that only a seven year old can experience at that hour of the day.  Full of hugs and giggles as she always is, I said, “K?   I think it is so wonderful to be such a happy person as you are every day! Are you always happy?”

To which she giggled back, “Only when I see you!”

Making me, just as excited about the day as she was, even for that early hour.

“The race is on tonight, babe.”

“The race is on?  It’s on a channel you get?!  It must be on Fox.  THAT’S why my ball game isn’t on.  Stupid Fox is broadcasting the race!”

“No, it’s just your cheap girlfriend that doesn’t have cable.”

“One day, you might just come home and turn on the TV and find….”

“…that I have cable?!  I’d better have a husband AND cable then.”

“Well…you might have cable THEN a husband…”

“Priorities.  I see where your priorities are!”

Every Wednesday night at six, Flash has marching band practice.  He returns home well-past nine, starving.  Leftovers don’t last long in this house and I certainly know better than to think there will be anything to grab on a Thursday morning for my lunch unless it’s hidden in the vegetable drawer.

This week, Flash came home and mush to his ravenous delight, discovered leftover pork chops in the fridge.  While the chops reheated in the microwave, Flash search for barbecue sauce.  There wasn’t much left in the ogle, but enough for him to get by on for his fourth meal.  He tried to shake what little remained down to the top, but it was cold and thick and not easily persuaded to pour out so he did what any teenager, but no knowing adult would do, holding the bottle like a sword over his shoulder, he sliced it through the air, successfully moving the sauce from the bottom of the jar, but using so much force that he popped the lid off and barbecue sauce fling across the kitchen floor in a gashing arc.

Reading a book upstairs in bed, I heard the thwack and the tell-tale, “Oh crap!” from my child.

“Everything okay down there?” I asked with trepidation.

“Yes,” he said unconvincingly.  “I just spilled barbecue sauce on the kitchen floor.  I will clean it up.”

I heard water running and scrubbing, so I went back to reading my book.

Eli came bounding up the stairs for safety reasons, I suppose, but stopped at the top landing of the stairs.  I could hear excessive licking.  “Um, Flash?  Did Eli get into the barbecue sauce by chance?”

“I don’t see how he could have, Mom.  Maybe he just stepped in a little,” Flash assured me.

Eli came to lay in his usual spot by my bed.  As I lay cuddled up in warm blankets reading, I realized I could smell barbecue sauce quite well.  “I think Eli might have gotten into some,” I tell Flash.

“If so, it can’t be much,” he responded.

I continued to read; the dog continued to lick; I continued to smell barbecue sauce.

I put my book down and peered over the edge of the bed at the dog.  Running down his spine, like an excessive dosage of Frontline, was a huge blob of barbecue sauce that he was desperately trying to reach.

Poor thing was a direct target of the assault, had it washed off by Flash before he could even lick it clean and then had to suffer a bath.

Standing over her shoulder, checking her journal for creativity, grammar and penmanship, I noticed K had written, “In the desert you might find those animals with hips.”

“The animals with hips, K?  What do you mean?”

“You know, the ones that you can ride on?  Some of them have one hip, some have two?”

“Oh, humps!  You mean a camel!”

Never a dull moment reading second grade writing!

Standing next to the car while the tank filled at the gas station, WG remembered that he wanted to give me some grocery money and started peeling bills off his bundle of cash.  Having some fun with the moment, standing outside the car looking in, he teased, “I don’t normally have to pay this much for these services, but I guess you were worth it….”

I was worried about all the wrong things, apparently.  As WG and I approached the doors of our first jewelry store together, I was reciting in my head words to ensure that he would not be sent into a tailspin four seconds in the door.  I was worried that he’d die of a heart attack on the spot from sticker shock.  I was concerned that he might find my tastes in rings to be hideous.  I stressed over how he might react to pushy salespeople.  I took deep breaths, and walked in ready to guard him, and protect him from all evils that make men loathe jewelry shopping.

We were immediately greeted at the door by two very eager saleswomen.  I swear I even held my arm out in a “back off!” gesture while I quickly clarified that we were only browsing, and we had only just begun, hoping to clue them in to the idea that we would NOT be leaving with carats in our pockets.

The woman nodded and tried to lure us in with beverages.  “Can I get you something to drink?  Water? Cappuccino?”  I politely declined, but thinking that WG might certainly enjoy this process more if he had a delicious cappuccino in hand, I turned to him as the saleswoman inquired if she could get him anything.

To which, WG retorted, “Oh, we aren’t together!”

I think the saleswoman was pretty well filled in that we weren’t going to be purchasing anything that evening.

I am, in all honesty, surprised at how fast WG and I have moved from the hypothetical “do you think we’ll get married some day?” to riding in his Jeep to a local jewelry store so he has some idea of the sort of ring to put on my finger.  I am trying not to panic.

We drove to the next biggest city on this quest and so there was time for trapped conversation en route.  We talked over this potential issue and that; we discussed concerns and fears.  We were open and honest and vulnerable, as these steps in the process need to be.  We carefully worded our concerns, avoiding defense techniques or worse, scaring the other one off because we didn’t take the request for a satellite dish seriously enough.  Hypothetically speaking, of course.  Ahem.

There were a few moments of silence while we pondered points made and opinions offered, when WG said he had something very important to ask me.

Believing beyond doubt that my man was going to propose while driving, I worried about the intensity of his question and was already preparing myself to not get defensive, but to stay calm and open to whatever he was going to say.

WG took a deep breath and said, “What are we eating for dinner?”

Sigh.  No worries that he will become a sappy romantic anytime soon, that’s for certain!

Flash emerged from his room and asked if he could get me anything.

“Sure,” I replied.  “A husband, a million dollars, a teaching job without administrators and a dessert that makes me lose weight.”

Flash replied, “One: I think that’s your responsibility.  Two: Fine, but I am going to need about a million dollars to buy enough tickets to get the winning one.  Three: Start your own school, and Four: There’s this amazing French dessert that does the trick.” He continued with flair and a terrible accent, “It’s called aire!”

Oh that kid.  Wherever does he get his sense of humor.  Oh right….