Career Day

Today was Career Day at my kids' elementary school. For some reason, the idea of talking about medieval culture to a captive audience of third graders struck me as appealing. At least on paper. Over the past few weeks, I have spent all of my free time fantasizing about how I would do such a good job in the classroom that my kids' school would be inspired to modify their curriculum to include a 2 week unit on medieval literature every year--taught by me of course.

In my make believe world, everyone was interested in what I had to tell them about the fourteenth century.

In real life, not so much.

All of the things that I were convinced were going to be big hits were met with blank stares. None of my daughter's classmates were at all interested in learning about how a medieval manuscript was made, or even touching the piece of reproduction parchment (ie. animal skin) that I bought on E-bay expressing for this occasion.

While the third graders could care less about all the things I wanted to talk about, they latched on and would not let go of something I said in passing while I showed off a scale replica of a medieval church. "Some people liked to go to church so much," I told them, "That they walled themselves into small rooms inside the churches and stayed there until they died."



Eighteen hands shot up into the air when I said this.
"What happened to the body?"
"Did it smell bad?"
"Did they mummify it?"
"Did rats eat it?"

My daughter's teacher began squirming in her chair. I tried to change the conversation by writing a sentence in Middle English on the white board. "Anyone want to guess what this says?" I asked.

A little boy raised his hand. "I'll bet a ninja could kick down the wall of the church if he wanted to."

Thankfully, I made brownies.

Unfortunately, when I lifted the foil cover off of the plate, I realized that Cameron had eaten at least six of them while I was in the shower earlier in the day.

I put the foil cover back on the plate.

Camber's teacher looked longingly at the wall clock. "Well thank you," I said and gathered my stuff up into a pile.

The teacher practically shoved me out the door. "Thanks so much," she said as enthusiastically as possible, which wasn't all that enthusiastic.

"I am a disgrace to society," I told my husband, who was waiting for me in the parking lot with Cameron.

He gestured to two cars that had just pulled up. Out of one them emerged a physician who was dressed in scrubs and rolling what appeared to be a dialysis machine.

Dang doctors and all their toys.

The other person was wearing mouse ears and carrying a box full of Lightening McQueen gift bags.

Stinking Disney.