You know what they say about assuming . . .

Allow me to explain now the worst assumption I believe I have made in recent history . . .
To begin, there are two little girls of the same name in my class, we will call them Lily E. and Lily S. to protect the innocent.This is a fact so vital that even I didn't notice it at first, as so many vitals go rather unnoticed in this world.

So, it's lunch time on a Friday. That's just a disaster in itself. You see, at my school, Friday is an optional extracurricular day . . . which, in essence, means all the children turn into over-sugared banshees of a sort . . . in an only mild exaggeration. It is not at all an exaggeration on smoothie/ice-skating day. Oh my lanta. Anywho, back to the point. Lunch on Fridays consists of altering between Domino's Pizza and Chik-Fil-A. This was a pizza day for our students who order hot lunch. I come down to the gym to pick up my pizzas to nourish the first grade class, and the lady in charge firmly and clearly says, "Lily E. is no longer ordering hot lunch, so she will have a lunch from home today--she will not get pizza." Easy enough.
How is it that the seemingly simple never is?

Now, little Lily E., is a quiet, sensitive child with a perpetual worried puppy-eyed expression, always seeming on the brink of tears. She saw that pizza, and you could see desire in her eyes, so quickly squelched by my announcement, "Lily, I'm sorry honey, but the office says you no longer get hot lunch."
Silent, confused "I'm about to cry" stare. Finally, she opens her mouth with the barely audible "But it's on my nametag that I get hot lunch."
"Yes, honey, but the office said that you no longer get hot lunch. Do you have a lunch with you?" I ask, thinking I can salvage a couple of pieces for her, if there was a mix-up and she was truly without food.
She shakes her head, her pleading puppy dog eyes hardening into hatred.
"Honey, you don't get hot lunch any more. Can you show me your lunch box and will check for your lunch?"
Death glare.
"Lily, where's your lunch box?"
I-hate-you-with-every-fiber-of-my-being-stare.

At that moment, my friend Cait entered the scene, took Lily aside, in tears now, and was able to weasel out of her where her lunch box was while Lily whimpers that she wants to go home, quit E-Zone and just go home. I pick up that pink princess lunchbox, unzip it, and find the prettiest, neatest little sandwich half, chips, and apple juice packed snuggly away. "Lily, this is such a yummy lunch."
She shakes her head, eyes red-rummed. "I don't like it."
"Lily, this is a perfectly good lunch."
Silent shaking of the head, glaring, pitiful puppy eyes.

So we take her to the office where she eats in silence, still recovering from the emotional wreckage of my lunch-time announcement, then goes to third period. I, meanwhile, leave third period for my lunch break, and one of the staff announces, "Oh, Sarah, Lily's not going to the sportsplex, today. She's going home early."
"Is it because of her meltdown?" I ask.
"I don't know. Her mom's picking her up early, so she'll need to go to the pick-up area in room 210. "
It never ever EVER crossed my mind to ask WHICH Lily was not going to the sportsplex. 

So, third period ends, and the kids get ready to go either to ride the bus to the sportsplex or go to the drop off room. I approach Lily E. "Lily, you're not going to the sportsplex today."
There it is. That I'm going to cry face again. "No, I'm going to the sportsplex."
"Honey, I just spoke to the office and they said your mom is picking you up. You need to get your backpack so I can bring you to the pick-up room."
She sits back down and begins coloring.
"Lily, you need to go get your things, please."
Not a word. As if she couldn't hear me.
"Lily." I can feel my own temper-rising.
Nothing.
"Lily, go get your things." Firmer now, a real teacher voice that means business, and still not an eyelash bats in response.
The other teacher in the room steps in, "Lily, obey Mrs. Bocchino and go get your things. I'll bring you to the pick-up room."
She obeys, casting one more bitter, hateful glare in my direction.

That is the last I hear of Lily E., though Lily S.'s mom picks her up right as class ends and takes her home instead of going to the sportsplex like she usually does. Did it cross my mind that maybe I had sent the wrong Lily to pick-up? Nope, not once. Lily E. wanted to go home, suddenly, I receive news that a Lily is going home early. Which Lily? Not the one I sent to pick-up -_-

As I'm chaperoning the swimming class at the sportsplex,  I receive a call from Lisa, my mother-in-law who works in the school office, sweetly asking what the mix-up had been. It didn't dawn on me until her call that I have TWO Lilys. Luckily, Lily E.'s mother was contacted before too long and she was taken home safe and sound. I immediately apologized to my supervisor, who laughed and said things like that had happened before, so it was all ok.

That doesn't keeping me from being humiliated. I'm apologizing to Lily's mom next time I see her . . . and Lily, if she'll speak to me. I'm beyond positive that she officially hates my guts now.


What a day . . .