Thursday, December 06, 2007

Birthday Blues...

I am now old enough to legally date someone half my age. Mr. W. informs me that he does not approve of such activity.

The plan was for Mr. W. to take the girls to a Christmas parade. They would ride on the float their daddy, grandpa and other assorted males from Mr. W.'s church put together and toss candy out to the spectators. I would go home and sulk for a few minutes about being all alone on my birthday, and get over it once I realized I had peace and quiet for a good couple hours.


Mr. W. called at 5:30 to tell me that S. ended her day a half step away from a visit to the principal's office due to misbehavior. Her daily folder merely had a note stating that her teacher would be calling that evening. She offered to tell her daddy what happened if he would let her still be part of the parade (love the little bit of blackmail). No parade for S. and her sister! In fact, no fun at all for S. the entire evening.

Neither one of us could get her to fess up to what she had done, but we did get plenty of weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. After a very weepy dinner, I started in on S.

Me: S. what happened in school today?
S.: I don't know.
Me: Oh yes you do. Your teacher will be calling to tell me exactly what happened. I promise you it will be much better for you if you tell me first.
S.: My stomach hurts
Me: That's because you know you did wrong today
S.: *sniffles*
Me: You want to know how to make your stomach stop hurt?
S.: *sniffles* yes...
Me: There are two things you need to do. You need to tell me exactly what happened, and you need to apologize to everyone you did anything bad to.
S.: Why does my stomach hurt?
Me: Because there is a little voice inside you that tells you when you've done the wrong thing. I promise that if you tell me what happened, your stomach won't hurt as much any more.
S.: Is there any way to get that voice out of my body?
Me: No. That voice is good for you. It is supposed to keep you out of trouble. Now tell me what happened. Your teacher will be calling soon.
S.: *sniffle, sniffle, sniffle*
This is when the phone starts ringing and S.' eyes open very wide.
Me: Too late now, I'm sure this is your teacher, and she will tell me exactly what happened today. Go get ready for your bath.
Mr. W. carried her off while she started crying all over the place again.

I answered the phone, and sure enough, it was S.' teacher. She told me all about S.' morning. Apparently, she managed to get into all that trouble BEFORE lunch. Oh joy...

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Happy Birthday, Mrs. Wheezer!