Michael: "Did you see the note?"
Me: "Note?"
Michael: "It's in her bookbag."
Me: mmm kaaay...
I probably shouldn't have laughed out loud when I read this. Was it the thought of the bewildered and nearly-stumbling Payton that made me laugh? (I'm a sucker for well-executed slapstick and pratfalls -- even if it's a five-year old.) Was it the noises I imagined Lizzy making on the rug? Or was it the frowny face hand-drawn at the end of the note, depicting the exasperated teacher? Bad Lizzy. Bad.
Either way, laughing at a teacher's cry for help doesn't guarantee me a spot on the list of Top 100 Mature Parents. Thank goodness Lizzy was already in bed so I didn't have to explain my guffawing to her. I couldn't quite interpret Michael's reaction, though. Was he, too, trying to stifle a smile? Or did his look mean, It's not funny and clearly you don't understand the severity of the situation. Our child needs help. I'm still not sure.
All of this reminds me of a story Michael's mother used to share with me. One day she, too, received a note from Michael's teacher. I think he was in kindergarten or first grade. Along with general information about his academic progress (he's a genius, etc.), the teacher wrote about his questionable conduct at school which included running to the drinking fountain. Really, I'm surprised he's not in jail.
But wait... I remember something from my past, too -- a little red-haired boy named Kevin. We used to ride the bus together in fourth grade. The bus picked me up first and Oh how I enjoyed waiting for him! When he climbed the bus steps, I could not resist the urge to jut my foot out ever-so-slightly into the isle as he walked to his seat. He tripped every single time and flashed me a scathing look which sent me over the edge. The crazy part is, we were friends. We hung out together at lunchtime. (He was obsessed with the Bermuda Triangle -- obsessed -- and we talked about it endlessly.) So I wasn't a bully in general -- just to my friends. (Which may explain why they dumped me on the playground that one time...)
Where was I? Oh yes, Lizzy!
So you see, either she likes Payton a lot and admires his obsession with the occult, she's a sucker for slapstick, or she's destined for a job in the video and/or web industries. Who knows?
All I know for sure is... where she gets it.
Me: "Note?"
Michael: "It's in her bookbag."
Me: mmm kaaay...
Mr. & Mrs. Cords and Fleece,
Lizzy did fine today. But I just want to let you know that she gave Payton a scare. While Payton was walking back to his rug spot, she put her arm out as if to trip him. She pulled her arm away just in time so he wouldn't fall. She apologized, but if you could talk to her that would help.
Thanks!!
Lizzy's Teacher
P.S. She's also been making noises at the rug. :(
I probably shouldn't have laughed out loud when I read this. Was it the thought of the bewildered and nearly-stumbling Payton that made me laugh? (I'm a sucker for well-executed slapstick and pratfalls -- even if it's a five-year old.) Was it the noises I imagined Lizzy making on the rug? Or was it the frowny face hand-drawn at the end of the note, depicting the exasperated teacher? Bad Lizzy. Bad.
Either way, laughing at a teacher's cry for help doesn't guarantee me a spot on the list of Top 100 Mature Parents. Thank goodness Lizzy was already in bed so I didn't have to explain my guffawing to her. I couldn't quite interpret Michael's reaction, though. Was he, too, trying to stifle a smile? Or did his look mean, It's not funny and clearly you don't understand the severity of the situation. Our child needs help. I'm still not sure.
All of this reminds me of a story Michael's mother used to share with me. One day she, too, received a note from Michael's teacher. I think he was in kindergarten or first grade. Along with general information about his academic progress (he's a genius, etc.), the teacher wrote about his questionable conduct at school which included running to the drinking fountain. Really, I'm surprised he's not in jail.
But wait... I remember something from my past, too -- a little red-haired boy named Kevin. We used to ride the bus together in fourth grade. The bus picked me up first and Oh how I enjoyed waiting for him! When he climbed the bus steps, I could not resist the urge to jut my foot out ever-so-slightly into the isle as he walked to his seat. He tripped every single time and flashed me a scathing look which sent me over the edge. The crazy part is, we were friends. We hung out together at lunchtime. (He was obsessed with the Bermuda Triangle -- obsessed -- and we talked about it endlessly.) So I wasn't a bully in general -- just to my friends. (Which may explain why they dumped me on the playground that one time...)
Where was I? Oh yes, Lizzy!
So you see, either she likes Payton a lot and admires his obsession with the occult, she's a sucker for slapstick, or she's destined for a job in the video and/or web industries. Who knows?
All I know for sure is... where she gets it.
Comments
"Noises?" She needs to be more specific.
And yes! More specificity on the noises, please! (Although, I can imagine...)
And the noises???
P.S. I talk to my rug, like, all the time.