Other Peoples Money
Why does LiveJournal redirect me to some info page when I choose rich text mode? WTF?
Anyway...moving on. This weekend I got to spend about $400 on toys and stuff for my room at daycare. It's like Christmas here at my place. Except without the drunken aunt and the crying and the not getting what I wanted part. I got to open all the boxes and remove all tags and it was fun. The best part was that the money wasn't mine. It was work's money. I was told to "Upgrade The Out of School Room" with whatever I deemed appropriate. SO much fun.
I had done a fair amount of research into what my kids (not mine as in they came from my loins but mine as in I take care of them for 4 hours a day and have developed a certain relationship with them so that I feel protective and parent like towards them). Mainly my research centered around asking them what the hell they wanted me to get coupled with what I thought of as good quality toys. My oldest kid, a ten year old boy, wanted Wrestling Action Figures. And I really wanted to get them for him. I really did. I went to Toys R Us with full intention of getting them. But then I walked down that isle. And I was hit with such a powerful force of the Sheer Stupidity of the WWE phenomenon that I couldn't do it. I had a package of 3 burly, scary looking guys in my hand. And I stood there staring at them for the longest time. They came with a dented tin garbage can. Presumably to hit each other over the head with. Another pack came with a tall ladder that they could jump off of to land on the other guys.
And I Just. Couldn't. Do it.
So I spent the money that didn't buy the WWE figures on a slightly more expensive Boom Box for the room. So now they can listen to books on CD as well as all their horribly inappropriate music that I turn a blind ear to most of the time because I am Such a FUCKING cool teacher most of the time.
I hope he understands when he's older why I didn't buy him those toys. He thinks I am super cool. I can fix his bike and get my hands dirty and don't bitch about how the tire goo is getting all over my clothes. And I tell scary stories that freak the hell out of them. And I stress that if I can't HEAR them swearing then I can't get mad at them and I can't HEAR them when they go to that far corner over there. And I tell them how to get to the really high branches of the tree that the school doesn't let them climb. And I compliment them on their creativity even if they creatively just made a semi-automatic weapon with popsicle sticks and tin foil. "I like that you're creating and using your imagination, Billy. Now put that in your cubby before you get me fired. Thank you."
But I can't buy them 3 burly men with mean faces that's only purpose is to beat each other to a pulp with chairs and golf clubs. I just can't do it.
I'll make it up to them by letting them make a haunted room with blood and guts.
Anyway...moving on. This weekend I got to spend about $400 on toys and stuff for my room at daycare. It's like Christmas here at my place. Except without the drunken aunt and the crying and the not getting what I wanted part. I got to open all the boxes and remove all tags and it was fun. The best part was that the money wasn't mine. It was work's money. I was told to "Upgrade The Out of School Room" with whatever I deemed appropriate. SO much fun.
I had done a fair amount of research into what my kids (not mine as in they came from my loins but mine as in I take care of them for 4 hours a day and have developed a certain relationship with them so that I feel protective and parent like towards them). Mainly my research centered around asking them what the hell they wanted me to get coupled with what I thought of as good quality toys. My oldest kid, a ten year old boy, wanted Wrestling Action Figures. And I really wanted to get them for him. I really did. I went to Toys R Us with full intention of getting them. But then I walked down that isle. And I was hit with such a powerful force of the Sheer Stupidity of the WWE phenomenon that I couldn't do it. I had a package of 3 burly, scary looking guys in my hand. And I stood there staring at them for the longest time. They came with a dented tin garbage can. Presumably to hit each other over the head with. Another pack came with a tall ladder that they could jump off of to land on the other guys.
And I Just. Couldn't. Do it.
So I spent the money that didn't buy the WWE figures on a slightly more expensive Boom Box for the room. So now they can listen to books on CD as well as all their horribly inappropriate music that I turn a blind ear to most of the time because I am Such a FUCKING cool teacher most of the time.
I hope he understands when he's older why I didn't buy him those toys. He thinks I am super cool. I can fix his bike and get my hands dirty and don't bitch about how the tire goo is getting all over my clothes. And I tell scary stories that freak the hell out of them. And I stress that if I can't HEAR them swearing then I can't get mad at them and I can't HEAR them when they go to that far corner over there. And I tell them how to get to the really high branches of the tree that the school doesn't let them climb. And I compliment them on their creativity even if they creatively just made a semi-automatic weapon with popsicle sticks and tin foil. "I like that you're creating and using your imagination, Billy. Now put that in your cubby before you get me fired. Thank you."
But I can't buy them 3 burly men with mean faces that's only purpose is to beat each other to a pulp with chairs and golf clubs. I just can't do it.
I'll make it up to them by letting them make a haunted room with blood and guts.