Math + Running = My Worst Nightmare

It is common knowledge that elementary cherubs must learn their math facts. After all, you don't want to be 28 and not know what 7 + 6 is. How incredibly humiliating. You might as well not show your face in public. With that said, I will admit that I know my math facts better NOW than I did in high school. Or college. Apparently, the day to day repetition is not only benefiting the cherubs, but teacher as well. Go figure.

The cherubs' favorite way to learn/practice math facts? Flashcards. Preferably by way of Around the World. You know the game. Moving from desk to desk, mercilessly defeating your classmates one by one as you literally spit out the answer to the given problem before your second grade rival. It's quite intense. And as the card holder, I am usually donned in some sort of waterproof parka, hopelessly trying to stay dry.

So today, since the Good Lord smiled upon the Pacific Northwest yet again and blessed us with a beautiful, nearly perfect day, I sent my cherubs outside to practice their math fact recall with my lifesaver teacher's assistant. The following pictures reflect quite accurately a typical day of flashcard fever:

"OK, kiddos. Teacher wants you to practice your flashcards. Ready? Go!"

Look at that enthusiasm for mathematics. Nice work, me.

It's best if you actually get off the ground when shouting the answer at an inhumane decible. Check out Hasselbeck's vertical on this shot. My TA is on the verge of wetting himself from laughter at this point.

And yet, sometimes, regardless of airtime, you simply weren't the first to shout the answer. Such disappointment.

This picture cracks me up. Look at that sweet cherub on the far left. What a doll face. No need to get so intense. He's deep in thought. I {heart} him.

"Phselfet...stutter...stutter...SEVEN!!!"

THEN, because flashcard fever wasn't enough excitement for one day, the cherubs were forced with the daunting task of running the mile in P.E. today. Because I'm actively involved in their education, and because I'm so NOT actively involved in other areas of my life (like running), I decided to join them. Sweet mother of pearl. "Asthma attack, party of one!" It quickly became very apparent that SOMEONE has not run in awhile. And that same someone suffers from an extremely fatal condition called asthma. I say fatal, because I want to DIE after I run any distance at all. The other day, I ran from my desk to the back of the classroom, and needed a break halfway there to catch my breath. Kidding. But there was that time that I chased a school bus down to the corner and preceded to hold up traffic for an hour when I passed out in the intersection. Again kidding. But it was a close one. But let's get back to asthma, shall we. It's horrible. A horrible condition, I say! (My fists were just beating the air. Could you picture it?) It truly is the silent killer. Actually, wheezing is not so silent, so technically asthma is the chest tightening, bronchi-narrowing, wheezing killer.

Do you think the significant chance of death was going to stop me? Think again. I was going to set a positive example for the cherubs. Even if it meant being led off the track in the back of an ambulance while hooked up to an oxygen machine.

Here are the cherubs cheering for me. This was right before the first place nugget hollered, "Come on, Miss K! You can run faster than THAT!!" Oh, no, my sweet little future olympian. I can't. If I run faster than this, I will actually be moving.

I'm done! That was WAY worse than I thought it was going to be.

Wait, what?! I came in first? Can you believe it? I can't either. Because I didn't. I came in THIS place:

Ugh. But hey, I beat my high school time, which proves nothing other than I was REALLY bad in high school.

I just need to face the music. I will never be a runner. And that makes me sad, because runners are cool. They always look so poised and gazelle-like. They never look like they're in the verge of vomiting, or worse, wheezing to death on a busy street. I guess I will need to stick to what I'm good at. Like singing. Or shopping. Or cleaning. Cleaners can be gazelle-like, right? I'm going to work at that. Come over sometime on a Saturday and let me know how I'm doin', OK?

Ghetto Barbie out...