more from blue ridge

Buenas dias, I greet the school secretaries each morning. Los lunes, miercoles, y viernes nosotros hablamos español en la escuela--en los pasillos, los mensajes, los conversaciónes. This is excluding actual classes, where math and English are in English, and Science and Social Studies are in Spanish. I walk in at 7:35am and head downstairs where the kids are eating breakfast.

Terrible breakfasts by the way, Lucky Charms or Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Cookie Crisp with chocolate milk, muffins, corndogs, ''breakfast pizza,'' canned fruit on the side, maple bars every Friday. They don't eat much, and the whole philosophy is, ''The two meals they get at school may be all they get in a day or most of what they get for the weekend, so we have to pack in the calories,'' which I understand, but there are better ways to do that, and what they do eat, at school at least, is just packed with sugar...

Anyway, I start the mornings greeting kids, trying to engage them as they warm up for the day with food, or come down from the violence and craziness at home, and at 7:50am our ''Team Time'' starts and the whole school, teachers included, does zumba. The coffee sloshes around in my stomach but the dancing is fun and the songs are ridiculously inappropriate for elementary schoolers and I just laugh. The brothers with cerebral palsy arrive and I help the second-grade one for the first half-hour of the day. We say Happy Birthdays and the Pledge of Allegiance.

This week I was greeting a group of kindergartners with the general, ''How was the weekend? Thumbs up, thumbs down, thumbs to the side?'' when one little guy responded with, ''I went with my mom to get her... pierced.'' ''Oh her ears pierced?'' I replied, not catching the middle word. ''No, her chest,'' he said, grabbing his nipples.'' ''Oh wow, you went with her?'' ''Yeah, to the tattoo shop. She has a tattoo on her butt.''

So that was one way to begin the morning with a five-year-old.

Other funny/sad observations lately: one of my 5th graders has a new baby brother. His name? (Last name changed, don't worry). Boston Riot Young Cortez.

A Bed Full of Cats is this week's story in the first grade lit book. Disturbing visual there.

Gunner, Garrison, and Twelve Gage: the names of K. and T.'s new landlord's three elementary-school sons. He is a retired sniper. Wow.

Walking into the Y last week, listening to a middle schooler yell, ''Austin, come on!!'' then add, parenthetically, within earshot of all nearby: ''He has pink-eye.''