I love kid questions. Last week I subbed at Abbey's school for three days in a third grade classroom. It was good to get an insider's look at the people who run the school and how they do it. It was also a good reminder about why I got a secondary teaching certificate instead of an elementary one. They asked me where I was from, what my favorite color is, and what my favorite food is - all the important stuff.
So as I was introducing myself to these third graders I began asking them where they moved from. There were kids from Syria, Peru, Mexico, New Zealand, Jordan, and the U.S. There was a kid there from Minnesota, but he wasn't sure if that was in the United States or not. On the second day, as I was walking around helping students with their math, one little girl from the Phillipines asked if she could touch my hair. I asked her why she wanted to do that. She told me that she had never touched hair that color. So I knelt down and she touched my bleached split ends. I asked her what she thought. She quietly said, "It's dry." I just had to agree. I didn't want to explain how my favorite expensive shampoo was wasted when it spilled all over our duffel bag during our trip to Doha - ruining my Relief Society manual, Brett's dress shoes, and my hair's chances for thick, conditioned richness until we go home in October for Ben's wedding.