Getting frisked twice in three days

Technically, they call it a pat-down when it’s done at the airport, but from what I’ve seen of people getting frisked on TV, cops have nothing on the TSA (Transportation Security Administration, in case you were wondering) when it comes to invasion of privacy in a public setting.

So here’s the thing, those blasted full-body scans are everywhere now. I remember when some poor saps got stuck in those lines while others skated through your standard metal detector, but no more. The putting your hands in the air like you really do care while x-rays check your personage for concealed weapons is now the norm.

From wikipedia’s TSA “How it works” video.

Sure, they still have the metal detectors standing there like old relics at a museum for people to stare at in awe and yearning as they wait in long security lines, but those are only for people who apparently travel frequently enough or can afford to pay to not have to raise their hands if they’re sure. Those people also get to keep their shoes on. Apparently rich, well-traveled people don’t conceal weapons in stilettos. Though, truthfully, the stilettos could be used as a weapon. Why am I the only one seeing this? Nail clippers are verboten, but pointy-heeled shoes? No problem. I know which I’d rather have in a fight should I need to poke someone’s eye out.

Not that I spend time thinking about these things.

The other lucky souls who got to used the metal detector were those carrying small children. To this I protest. I’M carrying a small child! He just doesn’t happen to be visible yet!

Even the random lady during my friend’s and my pre-security bathroom break, washing her hands at the sink between us, agreed with me that I shouldn’t use the giant sweeping arm contraption while pregs. [Sidenote: I love when strangers join in your conversation, and I’m not even being sarcastic. It’s just friendly and shows a camaraderie among women. Particularly when it comes to being pregnant. And being in the bathroom.]

So, with shoes off, paraphernalia in the little white bins, and suitcase on the conveyor belt, I waited for the TSA man to take a breath during his routine announcements to those in line about liquids, laptops, and I don’t know, lozenges? Are those forbidden too?

I thought surely he must be finished, but he held a blue-gloved finger up to me (the correct finger) until he completed his litany.

As heard in a fourth grade classroom, part 2

Here’s something months-old from my draft folder. It’s all I have the energy for. My youngest is six, so I am very surprised to find myself in the woes of a first trimester all over again. I’ve not been so attentive of mine or other’s blogs lately. Please forgive me.

Girl Student (teary eyed): My finger really hurts…

Me (blowing a kiss onto her finger): There we go! When I taught kindergarten a couple years ago, every time I blew a kiss on someone’s owie then it healed VERY soon. My students said my boo-boo kisses were like magic! I sure hope I still have my touch!!

Girl Student (rubbing her finger): Nope. You don’t have it anymore.

Momma kitty

My youngest loves cats and kittens. A recent visit to the library netted her this book, which became our bedtime “story.”

Ridiculously cute, am I right?

For kicks and giggles, I was subtly adding words in my “reading voice.”

For instance (not a direct quote from the book): “Cats are fun and playful just like Momma.”

“Cats are beautiful and smart just like Momma.”

Then my husband walks in and says,

Life with girls

It started as a run-of-the-mill laundry sorting, which led to an underwear fight, which I may or may not have taken part in. (There are no witnesses. I deny everything.)

And it somehow culminated in this lovely addition to my wall candle decoration.

Hamster juice

At my daughter’s birthday party, we discussed cake decorating.

In honor of my daughter’s best birthday present, someone said, “You could just put the hamster on the cake.”

E, my youngest, said, “Then you might get hamster juice on it.” After a long pause, she added, “That’s hamster pee.”

“Yes, we got it. Thank you,” I said to her.

Somehow that spurred her onward instead of silencing her.

Whose kid is this?!

My sweet, darling, adorable red-headed six-year-old, E, never ceases to astound me. But not always for good reason.

Here’s an exchange between her and her older sister, L, while they stirred up strawberry jello.

E: It’s blood.
L: No, it’s a flood.
E: It’s a flood of blood.
L: No, it’s a strawberry flood.
E: It’s a flood of strawberry blood.

The joys of homeschooling

I just came across this facebook post of mine from a couple years ago. It still cracks me up so I thought I’d share:

Phonics and spelling assessment for one child + math unit review for another = Momma gets to have a little a-d-d-i-t-i-o-n to her lemonade today!

+

= temporary relief from insanity

Remember, faithful readers, when my oldest came up with a handy excuse for her spelling mistakes, ala “a letter was missing because it wasn’t invited to the word party,” or the quotation marks were so low because “they had rocks in their boots”?

The latest came when the printer was running low on ink and the bottom halves of a few lines were faint to non-existent. My daughter said