Outside the car, the sun twinkled its merry smile in the sky. Inside the car, however, a mystery began its churning rumble.
“How was school today?” I asked, still beguiled by the bright rays of the celestial golden orb and oblivious to the fate about to befall me.
“School’s fun!” shouted Eamon from the backseat.
The first answer giving me confidence, I immediately, and unknowingly, fell into the trap. “What did you do in school?” I asked.
“I pway with giraffe! I pway with elephant!” came the sing-song chorus.
“What ELSE did you do?” I continue to probe.
“No pway with giraffe! Sarah* pway! Eamon wait! Hmph!”
“Oh, Sarah wanted to play with the giraffe, too? You had to wait your turn?”
“Did you wait nicely?”
“Eamon, sit down!”
“But you are sitting down, sweetie…oh wait, you mean someone told you to sit down?”
“Or that you were a good boy who sat down when he was supposed to?”
“The boy…the boy…the boy, Mommy.”
“What boy, Eamon?”
“The boy…he…tickled…me! Eamon!” (Another mystery to be solved: why Eamon feels the need to clarify his pronouns, in case I was unsure who he is referring to when he says “me”).
“A boy tickled you?”
“You told him no tickling?”
“Nooooooo…” he announces with a devilish smile.
“Miss Lauren told him no tickling?”
“Mmm hmm. No tickle, Eamon!”
“You mean she told YOU no tickling? Did you tickle the boy?”
“You tickled each other?”
“Owie, Mommy! Owie!”
“You got an owie?”
“Were you inside or outside?”
“Well, which one?”
Suddenly silence draws a veil over his expression. “Shh, mommy. People working.”
“There are people working?”
“You mean when Miss Lauren took you on a tour of the school, you had to be quiet because people were working?” I feel a bit proud, because finally, THIS strange fragment of a memory I understand thanks to an earlier mass email from Miss Lauren.
“Mmm hmm. Cwackers, mommy! Eamon eat cwackers!”
“Oh, I bet that was yummy. Did you eat anything else?”
“No, Mommy. Cwying! No cwying! Be okay…”
“You cried? Why would you have cried when you haven’t cried all week?”
“No Eamon cwy. Mark cry. Be okay, Mark. No cry.”
“Oh, Mark cried again?” (Every day I hear about poor Mark crying).
“Did you tell him it would be okay?”
“Giraffe, mommy! Eamon pway giraffe!”
And that is how our wrap-ups about school go every day. I sift through these strange, half-remembered fragments and out-of-context phrases, desperately trying to piece together what the heck Eamon did for 3 and a half hours besides play with a giraffe (he seems most sure about that particular piece of information. He definitely plays with the giraffe every day. He and the giraffe are tight).
And Aaron has told me that I need to CHILL on grilling his poor teacher (not in a mean way! just in an interested, what the heck do you DO with 11 toddlers all morning because I can barely handle the 1 toddler I have! kind of way). So I am trying to be content with the assistant, Miss Savannah's, brief reports to my mother each day when she picks him up, which are always, "Eamon had a great day! He's such a good boy!"
Well, only a month until parent-teacher conferences.
*All names have been changed to protect kids whose parents probably aren't as obsessed with documenting every moment of their children's lives on the internet.
AND NOW FOR SOME COMPLETELY UNRELATED PICTURES...
What? Oh, this is just me...on my stump. You know. Some people might think it's hard to get up on a stump all by themselves, but I don't know, I've just always found it really easy. I guess you could just call me...naturally talented.
Yeah, I'm pretty modest, too.
And this is me, just kickin' back with muh dog and muh football. I like to do athletic things in my spare time, and I enjoy being kind to other creatures. Some people might say I'm quite a...catch. Get it?
Why, yes, people have told me before that I am super suave. How kind of you to notice. I don't suppose you'd be interested in playing with some small plastic dinosaurs sometime, would you? Or maybe a giraffe?