Oh my gosh...when will I learn?!?!? EVERY year, I dig myself into a big ol' t-shirt-shaped hole as I endeavor to elevate the decorating of Field Day uniforms into an interactively magical event. I wrack my brain coming up with a design that encompasses the personality of each year's classroom. Yeah...we've had the proverbial monkeys and unicorns, the feisty ferrets and splatter-painted dachshund silhouettes. What do ALL of these garments have in common, you ask? Hours of back-breaking labor resulting in heartache.The inspiration for this year's design came from one student's tree air-freshener fetish. He knew the entire evolutionary history of tree air-fresheners. Thanks to this little guy, Room 24 was well-versed in air-freshener lore and, most days, we were the best-smelling class around thanks to his contributions.
I was so excited as the idea developed. I would trace a tree to represent each student onto ALL of the t-shirts so that everyone could have a decorated image on each of their friend's Field Day uniforms. Trying hard not to dampen my enthusiasm too much but also wanting to shine a ray of reality through my delusional cloud, my husband hesitantly asked me if I'd done the math. "Of course I did the math," I snapped defensively, "You NEVER support me!" Like the doomed Greek myth character Sisyphus, I furiously began tracing the first shirt atop the mountainous pile.
Two hours later, I was in the fetal position under my dining room table, my body shuddering as I held back painful sobs. Brad peered at me and quietly asked, "Did you finally do the math?" I howled. "YYY--EEE--SSS!" Twenty shirts. Twenty students. FOUR HUNDRED flipping fresheners! The t-shirt pile sat on the table, one-third completed, mocking me...for days. I lay awake at night...tormented...ghostly white tees haunting me.
Yeah...I eventually got 'em done...my hand permanently crippled into the shape of a fabric marker pen. Now for the fun catch-phrase. "Why do you have to have a fun catch-phrase?" Brad asked. I growled. He obviously knew NOTHING about Field Day shirts. "What do you think about We Don't Stink?" I brainstormed. "Very aspirational," Brad replied. I settled on Don't Get Fresh With Us to represent the more sassy members of Room 24.
It was time for my Rembrandts and Van Goghs to do their thing. And boy...did they do their thing. Let's just say when our artistic visions met on the road, they careened past the fork towards the corkscrew, swerving around the spatula before landing between the blender and the whisk. Along the way, they must have picked up the grater because some of their resulting products shredded my original vision into teeny-tiny pieces. I defined the word "glob" and warned vehemently against it. I mentioned stars and swirls, polka dots, zig-zags, stripes, and hearts. Instead...I got globs. 400 globs.Heads held high...we marched proudly out to the field of competition. "Go Air-Fresheners!" the slightly confused crowd cheered. "Mrs. Mosiman," one of my little honeys whispered as we took our place in line for the first relay, "I think my shirt is melting." I looked. She was right. Globs will do that you know. "Don't worry, Team," I rallied, "I may be going out on a limb here, but I think you look tree-rific!"
