I Couldn't Possibly Have Been This Annoying as a Child, Could I Have?

My son's elementary school is only K through Grade 2. I love that the school is specially geared to meet the needs of this young and impressionable age group, and also that he doesn't have to sit on the bus with rambunctious, huge (to him) fifth graders.

When the kids enter school they are five, and by the time they leave most have turned eight. Three years--no big deal, right? I didn't think so, but then the other day it was brought to my attention just how much older kids are at eight than they are at five.

Last Thursday the Kindergarteners didn't have school because it was orientation for next year's batch of K-ers, but it was a normal day for first- and second-graders. It was finally decent out after a few days of rain and gloom so we headed to the elementary school playground just as school was letting out.

We had the playground to ourselves for a few minutes, but before long the after-school club (kids whose parents work) joined us.

"Where are the Kindergarteners?" one girl asked.

"They didn't have school today. Isn't it soooo much better without them here?" answered a wise-ass boy (to whom I immediately gave the stink eye).

The boys broke off to play football with one of the apathetic high school kids who only do the job because their parents force them to supervisors, while a group of second-grade girls came over to the fire-engine structure where my kids were playing.

The girls climbed to the top, leaned against the bars in a tightly packed group, and began to sing as loudly as possible:

Baby, you light up my world like nobody else,

                            The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed,

But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell,

You don't know, 

Oh oh,

You don't know you're beautiful,

If only you saw what I can see,

You'll understand why I want you so desperately,

Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe,

You don't know,

Oh oh,

You don't know you're beautiful,

Oh oh,

That's what makes you beautiful

I was unfamiliar with the song, though I figured it might be a new tune by Katy Perry or Kelly Clarkson (though it didn't sound slutty enough to be Katy or angry enough to be Kelly). It was vapid and frothy and catchy...one of those new British boy bands, perhaps? So, yeah, I Googled it when I got home. It's "What Makes You Beautiful" by One Direction, for those of you who don't happen to live with a female between the ages of 8 and 18 and therefore have remained blissfully ignorant.

The adorable faces and Bieber-esque
hair of One Direction

Over and over and over and over they screamed sang those words. Never any other part of the song--just those lines. It was super annoying.

The supervisor stopped the football game. He came over and hollered, "Girls! Enough! Sing something else...anything else! PLEASE!" (Ha, not so apathetic now, are you dude?)

Did it work? Of course not. The howling-passing-for-singing continued.

The girls reminded me of myself when I was young, except in those days we sang "Da-Do-Ron-Ron" or tunes from Grease. And that wasn't until fourth or fifth grade. I didn't have any mad crushes on pop stars until I was at least ten.

But nowadays the girls start earlier. Call me crazy but eight just seems way too young to be singing love songs and giggling about boys. 

Now I know what to look forward to when my own Little Lady turns eight. Someone please help me. 

Face Invaders

I've been looking forward to tomorrow night for a while now. The rugby team my husband played for for years is having their annual Awards/Get-Drunk-and-Crazy Dinner in the city. It was a fun event even when we lived in NYC pre-kids and went out all the time, but now that we can count on one hand the number of times we get out each year without the kids, it's downright exciting.

I will be wearing a pretty dress, heels, and mascara for the first time since summer.

So the cold sore that appeared on my upper lip a few days ago was less welcome than usual.

AAAHHHHHH, SUSAN!!! Why, why, why? This is SO YOU, just classic, gross Susan. Oh, there's an important event coming up? BAM! Cold sore!

You should hear me the week leading up to something fun (high-school reunion, Christmas party, tropical vacation, whatever); I begin reciting my pleasedon'tletmegetacoldsore, pleasedon'tletmegetacoldsore mantra. I'm not sure who I'm telling exactly because generally I'm not a prayer, but I figure begging and pleading can't hurt. (Hey, you never know who might be listening, though why they'd listen to me, I don't know.)

This week's cold sore got me thinking about my childhood and the dreaded SCHOOL PICTURE DAY. Because, inevitably, I'd get a cold sore beforehand and ruin the photo.

Oh, you think I'm exaggerating? Yeah, so did I at first. I thought maybe once I had a cold sore in a school picture and that time had distorted the memory. But then while at my parents' house over Thanksgiving, I decided to peruse some old photo albums.

And that's when I confronted The Horror (not in chronological order):

Super-cute pigtails...super-gross cold sore.

My mom calls this one my "Queen
Victoria" pose. I call it "Ugly Amish
girl with cold sore."

The smile is a hopeful one that says "Gee, I
hope my almost-but-not-quite-gone cold sore
doesn't show up in the picture!" No such
luck, Little Susan.

I loved that APPLE shirt. What I didn't love
was the cold sore that appeared on my face
 every year before Picture Day. (The glare
hides it but trust me it's there, bottom-right).

Mustard-colored 70's turtleneck=ugly
Mustard-colored turtleneck + cold sore=heinous

All five photos are from elementary school. And since I was in elementary school for a total of six years...well, you do the math. Okay, I'll do the math: over 80% of the time I had a cold sore in my school photo. That is craaaazy. And disgusting, painful, and embarrassing.

And humbling...definitely oh-so humbling.