Saturday, October 23, 2010

Alexander and the Terrible...Day modification

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Sensory Day

(based directly upon the delightful book written by Judith Viorst
and real children I know and love)

I went to sleep and got cold in the night but the only blanket in my room was the itchy, scratchy blanket that always gives me an earache. Then I woke up with my feet tucked in. Mom knows my feet have to have room to move around or they wake up grumpy. Mom says feet don’t get grumpy, just little boys. What does she know, she also says blankets don’t cause earaches. I tripped on the way to the bathroom and hit my head on the counter and I could tell it was going to be a horrible, no good, very bad day.

At breakfast, Mom bought the ooshy, gushy Frosted Flakes that aren’t really Frosted Flakes and do NOT have a tiger on the box. I love the tiger Frosted Flakes. I do NOT like the ooshy, gushy plain box Frosted flakes. Mom says they’re the same and may likely be made in the same factory and just put in different boxes. I want MY kind in MY box.

I think I’ll move to Australia.

In the car, I couldn’t get my seatbelt buckled because everytime I pull on it it pulls back and gets stuck. Mom says to not pull so hard and just go easy. It kept getting stuck and then my brother had to buckled it for me and then he giggled. I was wiggling me feet and then my mom got mad and said to quit kicking her seat. I wasn’t really kicking it but she used my middle name and everything.

I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

At school, Mrs. Dickens wore her squeaky shoes and her stinky pra-fume. I guess she doesn’t agree. She said if you can’t say something nice to not say anything at all. My mom says that too, especially when I tell her how stinky other people’s houses are and exactly what they smell like. At singing time the music teacher said I sang too loud. Didn’t sound too loud to me.

I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good very bad day.

Danny was breathing on me in the line for recess and crowding me. At our school you can’t punch someone, even if they’re breathing on you and taking all your air. You’re also not supposed to yell “I hope you sit on a tack!” I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good very bad day.

My milk was too warm and the sandwich was too cold and the blueberry muffins had real ishy, squishy blueberries in them – YUCK! - and Albert’s apple munching was very, very loud. And I’M the one who got in trouble for putting my hands over my ears and yelling “be quiet”. Phillip’s mom packed him pickles again. The smell of his icky pickles made my ham sandwich taste like pickles smell. It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

That’s what it was, because after school my mom took us all to the dentist. Those awful sounds made my teeth hurt and my eyes hurt and even my fingernails and my hair hurt. I told them I didn’t like mint but they used mint to clean my teeth. The lady with the stickers said no one had thrown up on her shoes before and didn’t give me a new toothbrush or a sticker. They said I also had a cavity and to come back next week and they’ll fix it.

Next week, I said, I’m going to Australia.

On the way to the mall, I stubbed my toe. My brother said “smooth move, ex lax” and when I tried to kick him, he moved and I fell down right in the sticky icky mud puddle.
I grabbed his shirt to make him apologize and mom came back and scolded me for being all muddy, like I LIKE it, and for fighting.

I am having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I told everybody. No one even answered.

Mom said I needed new clothes and shoes. I don’t want new clothes and shoes. At the shoe store, mom forgot my special socks and I had to try shoes on with new socks with huge-mongous seams.. Mom wanted to know how the shoes fit. I couldn’t tell, all I could feel were those huge-mongous seams. I hate new shoes and we weren’t done yet. Mom said if any of my clothes still had tags they would say “two sizes too small”. Mom found some sweat pants she said are EXACTLY the same and the ones I like to wear every day. I don’t know what planet SHE lives on but they are NOT the same. She can buy them but she can’t make me like them.

When we picked up my dad at his office he said not to touch anything. And I didn’t, except for that really cool shiny stapler and that blinking button on the copier. He said be careful and I kept thinking “be careful, be careful”. And I was very careful except for my elbow and my big toe that still hurt got tripped up on the rug. My dad said please don’t pick him up anymore. And real quietly he said something, I think it was about Australia.

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

My meat was touching my vegetables and my brother was kicking his chair and my chair was too far back and I spilled soup in my lap. I hate spilling soup in my lap. When I scratched my nose I got food all over my face. Then when I wiped it off somehow food got in my hair. My mom said to try not to eat so messy. She sent me to the bath. I hate taking a bath. I also hate taking a shower and the way the water gets in my ears and the shampoo gets in my mouth. Mom says it’s my choice but that not taking either is not a choice. She likes to pretend to be fair.

The bathtub was too cold and the water was too hot. The towels were itchy, scratchy as always and I couldn’t use them. She said not to dwaddle and made me put on my pajamas before I was totally, absolutely dry. Mom said they weren’t wet but that my back was just a little damp. I hate soaking wet pajamas.

The insects outside were making noise and my brother’s creak, creak bed kept me awake. Mom said not to yell and that she couldn’t hear anything except my complaining.

It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

My mom says she may move to Australia.

1 comment:

  1. This is awesome! Thank you for your wonderful talk at the Tapestry Conference today. I wish your session could have been longer. I look forward to what you will share on this blog.