Miss Wisabus » Kids

A funny for Friday.

Elizabeth — Fri, 01 Jul 2011 12:30:28 +0000

I’m the one with the big white bow, lacy collar, and right in the sights of my younger brother who is sporting a pair of black cowboy boots that were LITERALLY the only shoes I think he wore in 1989. I don’t even know what to say about this.

P.S., I scheduled this to post before the incident with the gun outside our house last night. I might blog about it later. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, check my Twitter and Facebook feeds. We’re okay, but it was a scary night and there was not much sleep to be had.

How I came to be “Miss Wisabus”

Elizabeth — Tue, 08 Feb 2011 13:01:55 +0000

The ad was in the OU Daily and I’d seen it a number of times. “Daycare workers wanted,” it read. The address was close to my house and my parents were really starting to lean on me about getting a job. It wasn’t that I hadn’t tried. I’d filled out so many applications for retail stores and on-campus jobs that I could hardly see straight. During all that I also learned (the hard way) why it’s not the greatest idea to tell people you think are your friends about the jobs you are applying for. Especially not when they turn out to be people who are actually very leechlike and obsessive. And not your friend.

Anyway, the day school was me waving the white flag, giving up any chance of making slightly above minimum wage, admitting I was desperate.

I walked in that afternoon after class and waited in the front office for the director. The front was quiet. Nothing but the occasional “Put your head on your pillow and go to sleep” from the neighboring classroom full of napping 4-year-olds. The director appeared from the back of the building, very chipper and excited to see someone there inquiring about the job. Now, remember, I was only there for an application. When she started asking me about myself, my experience with kids, and what I was studying, I assumed that she was just being nice and trying to have a conversation. Then she handed me the application and a few other bits of paperwork and asked me to go ahead and fill them out there in the office. I did so. And it took a really long time because there was tons of stuff for background checks, experience in a classroom, discussing how I would teach a lesson, discipline, etc. I mean, it covered everything. When I was done, I let her know and she grabbed my hand and said she’d take me on a tour of the buildings.

We visited all the classrooms during their naptime. She then had me stop in one classroom and soothe a child who had no interest in sleeping. Two hours later, at the end of the “tour,” she asked, “When can you start?”

Uh. I was a little confused that I was being offered a job a few hours after walking in to the establishment, but I wasn’t going to argue. I gave her my start date and then came the most important part.

“What would you like the kids to call you?”

By this time, most everyone in my life was calling me “Liz”, the nickname I’d acquired in college. But I’m so undecided as to how I feel about people thinking of that as my real name. Ever the people pleaser though, I tried to make it simple.

“Well, I prefer to be called Elizabeth, but if it’s easier for the kids…Liz–”

“If you prefer Elizabeth, we’re calling you Elizabeth.”

And from that day on, much like my great-grandmother, she pronounced my name properly, which is rare around here.

I started out with the babies. A little scary in the beginning because I’d specifically told them that I felt the most comfortable with the oldest group (Fours), but I grew to love the itty bitty new ones. My time was split between our youngest ones and the next group up — the Transitions. That group of kids remains my favorite and it’s hard for me to believe that they’re all in kindergarten and first grade this year. My little babies…

Anyway, this group couldn’t really say much yet, but they were learning. As they grew, they learned to say my name, the same as the kids in the Toddler House who I sometimes subbed for. And so it began.

Wissa.

Issy.

Missawissa (all mushed together).

Uhwissa.

Buh-buh.

Biss.

Miz Ninnabuh. (Okay, that one always made me laugh because it sounds like the town of Nineveh from the Bible. It wasn’t until later that it dawned on me — the child that called me this was named Jonah.)

And finally, the one that seemed to stick — Miss Wisabus. I never corrected any of these versions of my name because, well, it’s hard to say for grown-ups. Even when I was a child, I had a cousin that referred to me as Wibbus, so I was used to it. These little people were just learning to speak and it was so. stinkin’. cute. In fact, it was so cute that any time we had a new student, I checked to see how they said my name. Some gave up altogether and just shouted, “Hey, hey!”

Hope that answers all the questions

Happy Independence Day, y’all.

Elizabeth — Sat, 03 Jul 2010 16:41:26 +0000

Imagine. If we’d never declared independence from the British we’d (likely) never have had the south, big hair, tacky sequined vests, and the great American creation — Glamour Shots.

Have a great, safe weekend!

The Last Ride of Eco Warrior Flint: A Real American Hero

Elizabeth — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 16:13:07 +0000

As a kid, I didn’t get in a lot of trouble. Go ahead, ask my brothers. They’ll tell you I was spoiled and received preferential treatment because I was the oldest and the only girl.

I’ll tell you I didn’t do stupid stuff.

Okay, there was that one time when I was 5 and decided to launch rocks over the house with my little shovel. It was a feat of engineering for someone my age. Mom didn’t see it that way when one of the rocks came crashing through the front window. Oops.

But seriously. I was well-behaved. My brothers were…boys. Kyle and I are 18 months apart and Ryan is 2 and 1/2 years younger than him so we’re stair-stepped pretty nicely. From the start, right after Ryan was born, I was placed in the middle and it was for a reason. Then it was because they were both in car seats and I was the only one who could wear a seatbelt. After they both grew out of their car seats it was because they would go after each other like a pair of rabid wolverines.

Kyle and Ryan bickered and picked at each other like there was nothing more fun in the world. Back and forth, all the way to church and from; on the way to school and on the way home; roadtrips — forget roadtrips. Those were the worst. “Stop touching me!” “You’re too close to me!” “He’s got more leg room!” “I want to sit on this side!” “No, I called it first!”

Gripe gripe gripe gripe gripe. My parents wonder why I was so bossy. I felt like a referee in the middle of that mess! And everyone knows that the person in the middle is the one suffering. Four words — feet on the hump.

The fact that I was in the middle never did what Mom and Dad intended (reduce the number of fights between them). Instead, I was just caught in the middle. After a while I think I started finding humor in it. I could get away with a lot of tiny things because my brothers were always going at it and my parents were too busy scolding them. I am what my dad calls “a pot-stirrer.” I might not have been in the fight, but I was definitely fueling the fire.

One evening, we were on our way back from The City and I don’t remember the exact circumstances, but what I do know is that my dad had had enough. The boys were fighting, we were almost home, and it had been a long day. And Kyle had one of his favorite G.I. Joes with him. Flint.

Flint had this awesome pack he wore (pictured above) that you could fill with water and he would shoot eco terrorists. With water. (Sidenote: The Gulf Coast could really use you right now, Flint.) He also had “color-change battle damage.” You know, the same old thing that happens to you when you get covered in toxic waste, acid, deadly oil spills, etc. So that was pretty cool. We all liked Flint. Personally, I liked to put his helmet on my finger and play like he was a little puppet.

Kyle, however, liked to put the helmet in his mouth. Now, he was still pretty young and those little pieces are choking hazards no matter what the age. For Dad it was probably a combination of that and the fact that everyone had been touching that helmet. Germs are not something you mess with in this family. And like I already said, Dad had enough. Enough. When that word came out of my dad’s mouth, you knew it was serious. And he had told Kyle twice already to get that helmet out of his mouth.

I think the threat had already been made. When Dad looked in the rearview mirror and saw the helmet on the tip of Kyle’s tongue for the third time, he said, “Give it here.”

Hand it over he did because there was no more messing around at this point. Down rolled the window and out flew the helmet. There may have been tears, I don’t remember, but things were never the same. What is an Eco Warrior without his helmet? He faces a world with traumatic brain injuries and deadly poisons seeping into his gray matter around every corner. And so he retired. I’m sure he still saw some terrorist fighting action, but not as much. Eco Warrior Flint was the first G.I. Joe I remember the boys having that had gear of any kind that you could control. Not long after, he was relegated to a life unfitting for any G.I. Joe at Sudsy Waters Seaside Retirement Village and Bath Tub with Moosel the Wuzzle.

The Great Oklahoma Deep Freeze of 2010

Elizabeth — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 12:30:55 +0000

Brr.

Okay folks. (I had a teacher in 8th grade who said that to get our attention. And then just got louder until we shut up. Folks. FOLKS.)

It’s freezing out there. Where I’m sitting in Norman it’s currently 18° F with a windchill of -1° F. Winds have picked up to almost 30 miles per hour here this morning.

Need I say, BRR again?

The puppy, who is usually an outside critter, has been spending the last few days indoors in the evening. Today, tomorrow, and likely Saturday she will be inside all day. I noticed her morning tinkle break took a whole lot less time today. That and now I’m thinking she may not be the early riser that I am. Brought the girl back in and she settled in on her pillow here in the living room to head back to dreamland. Lucky dog.

In the meantime, Kevin and I will be getting ready for the day and heading to work at school. Our district is one of the ones that has chosen not to close this morning, but there are many around the OKC metro area that called their closing yesterday. More have been added to that list this morning. I hear complaints from people raised in other areas of the country that they dealt with temperatures and conditions much lower when they were in school. You know, your typical, “I walked to school in 3′ of snow, uphill both ways!” Yeah, okay. This is Oklahoma. A lot of these kids live below the poverty line and don’t have pants to put on today before they walk to school. I think people might be surprised at the number of kids who wear shorts year-round. And maybe a hoodie. The fact is that not all these kids are prepared and I feel like the Oklahoma City and Edmond districts made a smart decision in closing for the cold temps. The students are the most important thing to consider in a situation like this, not whether mom and dad are going to be late to work because they have to drop them off somewhere or find a sitter. Kids who have a regular ride to school and their parents might not understand the necessity of closing, but if you were in the group that had no choice but to walk and had no parent or family member who cared to clothe you or make sure you had a safe way to get to school, I think you might get an idea.

Now I’m having coffee. And putting on a parka.

The Ceremony

Elizabeth — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 12:44:40 +0000

I was walking down the aisle on my dad’s arm. The moment I had dreamed of since I was 2-years-old (no lie) was here and very different than I had imagined it. You see, by this point I thought I would be crying. In fact, it’s what I was dreading about the whole thing: getting up in front of all these people and crying so much that they couldn’t understand what I was saying.

But there I was, walking. And there Kevin was, standing at the end of the aisle. It was all so surreal. Instead of looking around to see who was there, like I’d thought I might, I was looking straight ahead, focused on my goal. At this point our ring bearer was pretty raucous down in front of the stage, but Heather finally managed to grab him. When we arrived at the front I kissed my mom on the cheek and then proceeded with Dad to be given away.

I’ll let the video say the rest.

A few things to explain: the violins (that I walked down the aisle to) were not miked and neither was the piano during the lighting of the unity candle. Both were plenty loud during the ceremony, that was just one detail that was forgotten. Scott (vocalist & pianist) did a fantastic job on the song. And my blinking during the vows, well, all I can guess is that I was trying not to cry and I was really focusing on what I was saying. Oh, and my veil almost fell out. Dad got a little too enthusiastic when he lifted it. Surprise! I never cried.

Bridal Chorus as it sounded at the wedding (minus the cello, we had two violins, played by Jennifer White and Kevin Lai):

Read all about The Honeymoon (in order)!

Saturday Morning Cartoons

Elizabeth — Sat, 07 Feb 2009 13:00:23 +0000

I’m dedicating this one to my brother Kyle, because he was obsessed with watching Captain Bucky O’Hare for a period of time. It came on Sunday mornings and he had this coloring book that he would carry around…a lot of places. This was also around the time that he was always wearing the yellow (I think? Correct me if I’m wrong on that one) ball cap, olive green quilted vest, and either black or red cowboy boots. He was like 4 or 5. Man. There’s video of that ensemble somewhere.

Saturday Morning Cartoons

Elizabeth — Sat, 17 Jan 2009 12:22:15 +0000

This guy spent about as much time telling me and millions of other kids how things work as he did completely freaking me out. I’m talking about “Beakman” who starred on Beakman’s World (which I believe aired on CBS Kids on Saturday mornings). I guess the appeal may be in the grossness of the program. Nasty sound effects are endless in any of these clips. The one I’m posting is particularly “tooty.” Or as we called them in my household when I was a kid, “uh-ohs.” Not kidding.

UPDATE: Looks like this show is still airing. Click here to find out if it’s available in your area.

Manipulation 101

Elizabeth — Tue, 23 Dec 2008 12:45:09 +0000

Threatening Your Grandmother With “No Storytelling” To Get Your Little Brother To Leave You Alone

I still pout the same way (can’t keep a straight face if I’m pretending) and sometimes my bottom lip sticks out involuntarily when I am sad, but I’m not quite as manipulative.

(Kyle, if you are reading this, I have tried to keep you out of this as much as possible since I know you don’t like it. But if you’re cool with Bethlehem now that you are 21-years-old and not 2.4 years, then we can talk. Not going to post that one without your permission. Because you are wearing little underpants.)

The Christmas Story According to 3-year-old Me

Elizabeth — Mon, 22 Dec 2008 02:38:34 +0000

My Christmas gift to you: me, telling the Christmas story to my grandparents, aunt, and uncle. It’s basically me making a lot of excuses, stalling for time, and thinking of things as I go along.