Utah, This is the Place

Today was the day we have all been waiting for: the 4th grade history program.
The kids sing songs about Utah, do skits about trappers, and have speaking parts.
I guess it's kind of a big deal.
Maybe someone should have told me that we were dressing up (since it was dress down day at school).
I decided there was nothing I could do about the jeans I had on (as opposed to the other teachers' dresses), so I just dressed up in Western clothes like the kids.

Handy my classroom is cowboy themed.

I pulled my cowboy hat off the wall and shoved it on my head.
Shoved is really the only word to use because I discovered (a little too late) the Western hat was probably given to DI after the "junior cowboy" who owned it went on to bigger rodeos.  I wore it through half the program before deciding that if I left it on any longer, I'd pass out.
I didn't pass out.  I just had a huge, red stripe around my forehead (which looked stellar to meet and greet all those grandparents).  "Hi, I'm your grandchild's teacher.  Yes, the one not wearing a dress, with hat hair and a giant stripe on my forehead.  It's nice to meet you."  It must have been a good look for me, because someone gave me the name of a boy I should date.  He's in medical school.

We made it through fairly well for the first little bit.  Everyone, even the boys, sang the songs.  No one forgot their parts.  They stood up straight, kept their hands to the side, and didn't even scratch their noses.

And then, before I knew what had even happened, one of my little girls came running out, her face entirely green and I knew it was too late.

So...there was a big space in her spot for the rest of the program.
I wasn't sure what to do.  I wanted to go check on her, but I was in charge of the music.  I thought we should maybe clean up before there was a chain reaction, but how do you do that in the middle of a program?  All I knew was that the girl beside her was starting to look not so good herself.
I have a feeling that ten years down the road someone will say, "Hey, remember when you got puked on in the fourth grade program?"

It seemed that just as everyone had pulled it together and moved on (although, truly, they did remarkably well.  Most of the audience didn't have a clue!), a boy in the front started "whispering."

"MISS WAITE!  MISS WAITE!!!"
Ignore him and he'll stop.


(More loudly) "HEY!  Miss Waite!"
Seriously, do you have to use my name?!


"My doctor says I can't stand on my leg for a long time.  I can't stand here.  I need to leave."
Your leg has been fine all week practicing.  You haven't injured it.  If you had, I think your mom would have let me know.


"MY LEG!"  Miss Waite!  Hey, Miss Waite!  I can't use my leg!"
Really?  Really, are you still having this conversation with yourself?  It is obvious I am not responding.


It lasted for part of a speaking part and an entire song.
I suppose he eventually figured out that he wasn't getting out of the program because his leg seemed to recover and he made it through just fine.

Somehow, I knew it would.
And really, it wasn't just his leg that made it through.  We all made it through.
Well...mostly.