Back to the days of 3rd grade. Where I felt, I was becoming, as my mama put it, “Little Miss Know It All,” in Capital letters. I took it as a compliment. The radio alarm buzzed. I hit the snooze button for the fifth time. My school clothes weren’t the neatest for a few reasons.
One, I was lazy. Two, I hated the iron with a sincere passion. Three, the iron and I have never really been good friends. I think that iron had it out for me. Just as much as I could never figure out the spout and pressure quite right. I mean- tell that to my good leg, with the burn-mark on my right knee! Humph, I rolled my eyes and walked past that evil metal-thing.
Since we didn’t own a washer and dryer. We took our clothes to the laundromat on most weekends. However, today is not Friday nor Monday. Its’ Camel lost its hump-back stupid Wednesday. I took in a deep breath and bubbled out as many spit balls as I could. Before my big haired sister Colleen, threatened to sell my baby rabbit Honey to our neighbors.
In that case, I replied, “Colleen you wouldn’t dare! Which she added “watch me” and she stuck out her cherry red tongue. After that, little spat with my sister I had to get on with it.
So did what most eight year old dreamers do. I got out, my always there when I need’em. When my hair is so crazy. Or I played too long in my grandpa’s ole’ beat up shed. Same thing, I used to spot checked my legs for fleas. Using my handy, dandy, hairdryer. My hair dryer should of been renamed superhero for all girls.
I blew out as many wrinkles as I could, in my pleated flannel skirt and dark green top.
I even made it to school on time. Read to the class. Mr. Luna sent me. Everything seemed to be fine. Nothing out of the ordinary here. I walked down the hall for lunch. I grabbed a tray of Chicken fried steak and mash-potatoes with cold peas and sat down.
That’s when Christopher Jones, tried to warn me. Some kids are daring each other in the Cafeteria. I waved my hand. “Yeah, yeah, nothing to freak out about.” Just as I uttered those very words, I heard a kid named Tommy yell “f-o-o-d fight!”
By the time, I put my fork in my mash potatoes. Scooped up one bite. I had to duck for cover. Think fast Krissy, under the table I went. Boy! O’h boy, did I pray. Please oh’ please, don’t hit me. That’s when I felt the cold ooze of chocolate milk smack into the back of my head. Drip down into my back.
No use hiding. Food was flying left and right. Mash potatoes, cold peas, chocolate milk. My dark green shirt was covered in sticky-icky milk.
Everything seemed to be going down in slow motion. I stood up very slowly. The milk crawled its way down into my shoe. My hands went into tree pose. I limped slowly out of the lunch room. Down the hall to girl’s bathroom. To see if any amount of toilet paper and hand soap would salvage what was left, of my Camel lost its’ Hump-back stupid Wednesday. Ugh! I should’ve brought my hair dyer.
kindness sister Krissy
P.S. I have lots more to share about trials and triumphs in 3rd grade. ( true stories from my childhood) As always, if you made it this far, from my soul to yours, thank you ( feel free to share any food fight days you’ve had)
There I was walking back into the third grade with my head held high. I’d made up in my mind. I was going to plead my case with Mr. Luna to let me back into 3rd grade. I didn’t quite have a plan. Yet I was determine put a zip lock on my lips, throw away the key- so help me God.
Okay not really but I’d said my prayers. Hey! I’m working on it. Anyhow, with all kinds of feelings like Chimpanzees swinging through corridors and frogs leaping over my head. Even my baby rabbit, Honey joined in. Even Honey didn’t believe. I’d last one whole day, keeping my- my-mouth shut.
The minute I made it back to Mr. Luna’s class the bell rang to go home. I walked toward Mr. Luna’s desk. I waited until he’d finished passing out our math homework assignment.
Me: Mr Luna, u-u-m-m-m-m-m, I wanted to say, I’m sorry for being a motor mouth in class. I promised God and Honey, you know my sweet baby rabbit. That if you’d let me stay in 3rd grade. You’ll see I’ve changed.
Mr. Luna: Really in only 24 hrs? Well isn’t that Peter and all 12 disciples walking on the water.
Me: I know I’m no saint, or anything like that.
Mr. Luna: Besides I hear good things from Mrs. Davis. You did a fine job reading to her class. So much so. I’ve decided to let you stay.
Stay! Like forever, forever, like never-ever come back until your old and grey and can’t fit into 3rd grade anymore!
Mr. Luna: By the way I’ve signed you up for the 3rd grade reading club, and the first book is on me. “How To Eat Fried Worms” by Thomas Rockwell
He shoved the book into my hands and said “don’t forget your math homework. See you tomorrow after school.”
After school! I barely made school, now I have to be there after the fire-siren. Which says to me it’s not a fire. Schools out and me too.
Oh’ no! No, no, no!
Mr. Luna yells, down the hall. “Don’t worry Krissy, I’ve already called your mom and told her everything!
That’s just great. Great, great, great! Now I’m death warmed- over for sure and soon to be cold again.
your kindness sister Krissy (true stories from my childhood)
P.S. If that’s okay with you, I’ll be back with the rest of my stories from 3rd grade (hopefully you’ll laugh as much as I have- just remembering the stupidest, weirdest things that happened to me in 3rd grade)
(childhood photo of me- the kindness sister Krissy)
The day that third grade change everything. And I do mean everything. I was a fairly average student. I had plenty of A’s and B’s to prove it but I never stop talking. Now that’s not to say, I talked with myself, because I probably would have. If I didn’t have Kwanna Brown, who always managed to sit next to me and sticky fingers Christopher Jones sat across the table.
Class started out like any other day passing notes, but somehow I was caught in mid pass. Mama said God’s was watching. In my case I think, God gave Mama and Mr. Luna eyes in the back of their head.
Mr Luna: You do know with grades like yours Krissy you could be skipped but you don’t know how to let the teacher- teach do you? So today is your lucky day!
Oh boy’ I’d passed one too many notes. Cracked too many stories about Honey my baby rabbit. Before I knew it, I was being escorted out of class down the long stretched hallway. I’d never even knew existed! Pass the Principal’s office -glad not to go in there.
Two doors down, plastered in blue and red letters that read, “You Are Always Welcome.” As a woman named Mrs. Davis, leaned toward me with shinny black shoes and red hair.
Mrs. Davis said “Hello Krissy, we are please to have you.”
Mr. Luna: Krissy all you have to do today is read to these wonderful students and try not to stare. Or fidget with your sleeves. I know that’s what you do when you are nervous. Just think of it as an early homework. Also don’t forget to stop bye 3rd grade after school.
I can’t believe it! My nightmare had come true. Out of all the things that could happened for passing notes in class. I’d get kicked out of 3rd grade. Now my only job was to read. Oh’ I’m dead, dead, dead, dead and Mama’s gonna kill me.
I’d looked around the room. I will never forget that eerie feeling. Mama was right. “What you do in the dark comes out in the light.” The class started coming towards me. I was being ambush and this was not your typical war zone. It was just kids, with a few less working parts.
Some kids in wheel chairs. Some kids with other kinds of sensitivities. I’m only eight, I didn’t know what to make of it. I didn’t know if I should sit or stand. Which at one point, I do believe, I was dead or frozen in place. Everything but my legs -they wouldn’t stop shaking.
Then I ran pick up the first book I saw. Which happen to be one of my first loves when it came to reading. “Matilda” by Roald Dahl, these stories saved my life that day. I read and read. Until that strange, weird feeling, Oh’ my Lord, what do I do now-stopped. My legs seemed to be running a marathon only we weren’t going anywhere.
Eventually my leg spasms seemed to fly right out the window. Pass the Principals’ Office. Don’t want to ever go in there.
Before I knew it Mrs. Davis was handing me double stuff Oreo cookies and a yellow napkin. I smiled and said thank you.
Mrs. Davis: I want to thank you for coming and reading to the class today. You truly are a wonderful reader. Keep up the good work. In fact! I’m going to ask Mr. Luna if you can come back tomorrow and be our reader until the end of the school year.
My eyes grew wider. I couldn’t respond my mouth was full of ooey-gooey-creamy goodness. I wanted to say but-but, but, that never happened. So I walked back down the hall pass the Principal’s Office, glad I didn’t have to go in there. Turned the corner back to third grade.
(To be continued, real stories from my childhood)
If you want to know what happened next, hit me up in the comments with the “words more please” and if you made it this far, thank you, from my soul to your soul
I wanted to count the days a little longer. Stay under the brightness of the winter-storm. Snow and sun, and snow, slightly picking up mesquite winds. Although our worlds are shifting.
Our Merciful prayers have never been the same. The baby birds were cooing underneath the misty drizzle. The temperatures steady but dropping. The sky and I, weeping over something weak and terrible.
I think we were enjoying too much of self pity as of late. Tasting salt droplets, like leftover pudding. Cream still there just harder, firmer now. Puppy wrinkles for eyelids and the sky too. Didn’t seem to matter much. Neither one of us seem to help the other.
Then my soul goes off without me, as if it should, wondering about darkness, sickness bending one and the same ashy-twig, frantic but holding.
Dear God, the weakness inside my soul seeps out like weeds.
the needs of your people, ever-growing but God, this is where you crack our heads open with miracles unfolding.
It was the thundering 80’s when I was conceived. A healthy brown baby doll- 8’pounds, 13, ounces. Dark brown eyes to match my glowing skin. Mama’ said “she’d stayed off drugs long enough to have me.” After that she gave her life to Jesus. Prayed that I’d turn out alright.
staying with the moment, enough- to wonder, if I’d -been born of a different time. Would I Charleston, with the roaring 20’s? Could I lap-out a scat-ta-tat-tat- tap? Or Mash Potato my way through dangers seen and unseen. Would my pen and I be the same?
Staring my imagination, right in the middle of a vivacious swing, I pulled out my umbrella, I was prepared but this rain came out of nowhere, with impeccable timing – thrashing and thrashing.
I ran into a brick wall, all because, I took the long way home. Jumped over the first puddle but hit the wall instead. The umbrella cushioned the blow. Yes, I was hurt but I pretended like I was admiring each pink and red square of that wall.
Slowly slinking away with my wounded umbrella and pride.
sometimes there are just days like this…(okay maybe just for the dreamers out there)
Yesterday I felt like my writting had hit a snag, okay, okay a slump. What- ever this is, I know can write my way out. God always makes a way out. Now that ‘s not to say, there isn’t spilled milk or crying, going-on over here. I’ve done plenty. As the old saying goes, no need crying over spilled milk. I guess the writer forgot to add, when there is spillage and honey there will be spillage.
Nobody knows how far the spill spreads, a little here, a little there. Feels like I’m swimming around in it. One small drip into a thousand more, cascades off the light pink-brown table down onto the brown rustic wooden legs seeping into kitchen cracks. I’m running around looking for a clean dish rag. Why? I don’t know why?
I know this makes no sense but that’s just the way life is. There’s the car that won’t start so I walk my kids to the school bus, only to find the milk still leaking. My neighbor stops me to tell me, that the doctors have found a small tumor in her throat. Milk still leaking.
I just need God to come through, for my neighbor, my family and everyone else around me, even those reading this right now.
As I’m cleaning and praying.
I couldn’t use my kitchen towels because my seven-year old’s glue stick project was fully occupied with slimy goo. Pasted in red letters, Happy Valentine’s mushed in-between.
I thought of the next best thing. Hey no judgment! These things happen, when the milk is being spilled.
I found some old shirts, thick enough to absorb a gallon of -precious jewels like this.
There’s nothing reuse-able about God’s holy spirit
God I know you can hear it, the cry of your people
After-all the things I’ve been through I’ve still got my joy.
That’s to say. I’ve had to let go of some very hurtful things. Hold on to my own forgiveness story. From the depths of my childhood into the lives of my very own children.
I’ve been determined to to give my children the childhood in which they were surrounded with love and not criticism,
determined to build tiny humans that hold their heads up high and be proud of the past from
once we were slaves, and servants and vagabonds
and somehow found a path of love and peace in the midst of it all.
The minutes go by so fast. I needed to slow down, rinse the world off . Share a little love. Smile at the trees blowing in the sky. Dance, while the trees are dancing. Laugh with today’s morning sun. Live a little less, with the things I must do. ..
In doing so, my spirit
is rejuvenated in love,
I am creating spirit in this moment,
The time I have taken is a blessing
and therefore I can be a blessing to anyone I meet.
Krissy Mosley Ministries 