Goober is an anagram of booger.

It was field day today. It was 103 degrees. I was outside from 11:10-6:00.









That was time for you to think about that. The heat index was 107, the UV Index was a 9. The ozone warning was an orange. My arms and feet are the color of a tomato and my second beer is not making them feel better yet. My classroom [possibly permanently] smells overwhelmingly of armpit, with a little sour kid + feet mixed in for good measure.

Five of the fourteen stations were water stations. Just enough time in between for each child to get wet and dry until they smelled like a moldy washcloth. We had the "We Don't Hit Other People" talk three different times until it sunk in completely. One of my freak kids got paralyzed with fear at the top of the bounce house obstacle course and claimed we were "being insensitive to his phobia of heights" when we laughed at him for screaming like a baby. My 250 pound superfluously hormoned child wore spandex. And then it got wet. I saw a lot of stuff. Quote of the day? In the midst of a sponge hurl, one of my gifted kids yells to me across the parking lot, "Hey, Mrs! Goober is an anagram of booger!" Splat. Ummkay. So, I sweated and I sweated and I sweated until field day finally ended. Then I tried not to gag on the smell of wet sock as I endured the last 30 minutes of the day.

You would think that would be enough, but after school my class was having their end of the year pool party at one little girl's house. This tradition at my school is rather nice, but I don't think it should take place on field day. My face fell when I read about the happy hour taking place after school. I quickly sniffed my pits, dried my sweat, assessed my time situation and decided there was no harm in having a quick beer before going to the pool party. After all, there's only so much one can take. So I did. Was that so wrong?

Five more days.