I’ve volunteered to be the “T-shirt Chairperson” for our elementary school’s 5th grade classes. Each year, these classes take a field trip together, (all track schedules, together), I guess as a sort of “last hurrah” of elementary school before heading on to middle school. Part of the event is every kid gets a school t-shirt commemorating their graduation out of their first school. (Calfgrit11 is in this 5th grade class.)

So it seemed perfectly proper for me to offer myself as the lead for the t-shirts. I mean, obviously.

I talked with the principal and a couple of the 5th grade teachers to get an idea of what they wanted, and what they had done in previous years. Now I’m in the process of designing the shirts, (gratis, of course). Their previous designer was the art teacher, but she’s moved to another school this year.

Let me tell you, there is a difference between designing fun shirts for my store and designing something for someone else. My kid sense of humor doesn’t really match what a public school needs to present. I can’t put bathroom gags on the school shirts.

But this is still a fun project. I have to incorporate a school logo, several sponsor logos, and teacher names all on the small space while still wanting to put something [appropriately] fun and/or cool for the kids. I’ve come up with a handful of fun slogans, but making any fit among all the other text and graphics is proving challenging.

None the less, this is a fun opportunity to do something for an organization my kids are a part of. I’ve had and turned down prompts to coach kids soccer and tee ball, and to chaperone field trips, but sports and herding two dozen kids is not my forte. Maybe this is my chance to shine among my sons’ peers.

Bullgrit

Usually, my day starts with Calfgrit7 coming into our room to let us know he’s awake. He always walks around to his mom’s side and says, “Can I get in bed with you?” She says, “Yes,” he gets in, and I get up. I grab my robe and go to the bathroom for my shower.

Before the water even gets warm, there’s a song playing in my head. It’s a different song every day, and I have no idea where it comes from. We don’t have music playing in our room overnight, so it’s not something I heard while sleeping. Occasionally it’s a song I know I heard the day before, sometimes it’s a song I haven’t heard in years. Sometimes it’s a song I know most of the lyrics for, but sometimes all I know is maybe one or two lines of the chorus.

This music in my head drives me crazy. Especially when I’m in the shower, with the warmth and drone of the water acting as a sensory deprivation chamber — a time when it would be good to calmly think about the coming day — a song is playing, repeating in my head. It drowns out all attempts to think.

This has gone on for many years. Is this normal? Is this common?

It’s the worst when the song is one I don’t like. This morning I had one verse, (the title), from Belinda Carlysle’s “Circle in the Sand” going over and over in my head. I hate that song, but it was just repeating “Circle in the sand goes round and round,” Argh! I don’t even know if that’s the actual words of the song. But those words with the music were driving me mad.

The song in my head has always faded away shortly after I get out of the shower, and “Circle in the Sand” was no different, thank God! By the time I’m finished brushing my teeth, I can think clearly about anything I want.

At one point, a few years ago, I kept a record of the songs I had in my head every morning. After a few weeks, (a couple of dozen songs), I couldn’t determine any pattern. Pop, rock, country, hip-hop, even theme music with no words, all make their appearance in my minds broken record player.

Bullgrit

Sunday evening, I was up in my office working, and Wifegrit was downstairs doing something in the living room while the boys were playing in the den. I picked up my phone and texted this to her:

I didn’t just send her the pic first thing because I knew the boys were near her, and I didn’t want them to accidentally see it.

Several minutes passed with no reply. I knew she must probably have had her phone plugged in her computer in the other room, and hadn’t heard the text alert. A few minutes later, I heard her coming up the stairs, calling out my name. I could tell by the rush of her feet on the steps, and her tone of voice that she was wanting to catch me before I made a mistake. I quickly scooped up my phone again and sent the pic before she made it to my office. I won’t have my glorious mistakes interrupted.

When she came in, she had that look of concern. “Don’t start doing stuff like that,” she said. “I can see you naked anytime. I don’t need those kinds of pictures on my phone.”

“Well,” I said, “I already sent the picture as you were coming up the stairs.”

“Oh no,” she rolled her eyes. She left my office and hustled downstairs.

She picked up her phone and checked the latest message:

I took that pic at the Fresh Market Sunday afternoon. I think it’s rather sexy.

Bullgrit

We’re a family of readers. Wifegrit and I have always been readers — when we were dating, we’d sometimes snuggle up on the couch and read rather than watch TV. We read to both boys before bedtime when they were younger, before they could read to themselves. We still read to Calfgrit7 at bed time, but he can read a lot on his own, now, too. We are a family who loves books.

Calfgrit11 is a constant reader. It’s actually a problem. (Can you believe a parent is saying that reading is a problem?) We’re overjoyed that our son likes to read. We really, truly are. But we’re also just so frustrated because he reads too much.

If he takes a book to the dinner table, he’ll forget to eat. If he takes a book with him into the bathroom, he’ll sit on the toilet for an hour. He’ll take a book with him when we go to the store, and he’ll read it in the car on the way to the store, he’ll read while walking through the parking lot, and he’ll read while we shop in the store. When he’s supposed to be cleaning his room, or getting ready for shower and bed, or getting ready for school in the morning, he often gets distracted and lost in reading a book. We’ll go find him in his room half dressed/undressed, sitting on the floor reading a book.

At school, he hides books in his desk and pulls one out to read when he’s supposed to be doing other work. He has missed hearing the teacher give assignments because he was reading. He has failed to complete assignments, (or do any at all), because he was reading. He’ll sneak his book out and keep it below the level of his desk so he can read without the teacher seeing the book.

We’ve had to seriously curtail his reading. We’ve banned books from the bathroom and dinner table. We make him close his book when we’re walking through a parking lot. And we’ve discussed things with his teachers so they take his books away when they catch him reading at inappropriate times, (but he can get them back when his other work is complete). That’s right: his teachers confiscate his books, (with our full support). Not comic books, not inappropriate books, but good and legitimate books for his age — like Rick Riordan novels, non-fiction history books, Star Wars novels, science magazine articles, etc. His teacher often has one to three of his books sitting on her desk.

He reads so much and so fast that he sometimes reads a book twice before he can get back to the library to get another, (and Wifegrit checks out a tall stack of books for everyone when she goes to the library). We’ve bought him several of his favorites, and he’s read some of them three times or more. It’s crazy.

We love, love, love that he reads. But God forgive me for saying this, he just reads too much.

Bullgrit