Caught Red Handed!

Tuesday, 5:06pm

Ok, I am not a hip hop teacher. I don't know what came over me and made me think that I could make 6 year olds learn hip hop dance from me. As it turns out, more than half of them have already taken a year's worth of hip hop lessons and basically 'schooled' me and made me look like a grandma.

Today I discovered that nothing is funnier to grade 1s than finding out that a teacher stinks at something they are good at.

After about 5 minutes the kids, in their brutally honest manner, squealed with smug delight, "Ms. Nordstrom totally sucks at hip hop!"

After the 6 year olds decided that I was to be made a spectacle of, the kids demanded that I show them the various moves again. "Ms. Nordstrom, Ms. Nordstrom!! Try Krumping again!!!" "Ms. Nordstrom, show us your kick step again!!!"

They goad me, hoping to bust a gut at the teacher's expense.

I diffuse the situation by having the 'experienced' hip hop dancers take turns teaching the class one move at a time. Then, I thanked my lucky stars that it was music class again, and I was off the hook for a whole 40 minutes of teaching.

This day of teaching totally frazzled me. After I got home from school today I frantically dropped everything in the hallway, and B-lined to the wine rack. Don't worry, I don't just turn to alcohol without considering other coping options. But journalling or yoga just didn't have the same appeal as the 'nectar of the gods' (according to the Greeks).

So, I scramble to find the corkscrew, and flip open the label cutting blade. I slice open the metalic foil covering the cork in one fell swoop.

Is that blood? I look down at my hands. They are primary teacher hands: covered in finger paint, overhead projector pen, and glitter. Bloody glitter.

I press on, continuing to drive the corkscrew into the bottle deeper and deeper. Through it all, red rivulets stream down my hand but I am finding my wine opening groove and I won't stop till I am dead or dying. The wine is finally uncorked. Mission accomplished. I pause for a moment to admire my handiwork, and I realize that the whole time I was trying to open the wine, I was actually 'krumping' (or some offensive variation of krumping). No wonder I ended up slashing myself through this process.

Aha, I have a stash of band aids in my bag for emergencies. I grab a paper towel and wrap my thumb while I one handedly unzip my back pack. In true primary teacher style, I grab fistfulls of pipe cleaners and Robert Munsch books out before I get to the much needed band aids.

Things are starting to get dire, and I begin to think that I should probably have this wound assessed by a doctor. It is deep. There is now glitter stuck in it.

Yeah I should probably go to the clinic, but I just opened a bottle of wine. Its a 2006, but still.