Speaking of mental health, my middle sister and I were comparing notes on boneheaded, absentminded stuff we've done lately. She bought her boyfriend a UVA beanie for Hanukkah. Just one problem, though - he went to VA Tech, not UVA. She does have a newborn and two other kids to look after, so I suppose she deserves some slack. The reason I called her to begin with was to confess to her that I may or may not have shipped a tin of cookies to her home. I mailed a box of gifts for my niece and nephews. For the life of me, I cannot remember if I put a tin of homemade cookies in that box. Last week I was just shipping stuff and sending out cookies like mad. The problem is that I was not supposed to put cookies in the box headed to my middle sister's house. The reason? Those cookies are full of nuts and my nephew is allergic. "Merry Christmas, sweetie! Here's a box of death for you." Anyway, I called my sister to warn her. If I did send her cookies, she is either going to toss them out or let my niece smuggle them to school or something. This is worse than the time I gave a bottle of Christmas wine as a hostess gift . . . to a recovering alcoholic.
As we get closer to Christmas, my daughter has been making a last minute push to impress Santa with her good behavior. This morning she got out bed when her alarm went off. Trust me when I say this is a major accomplishment. I immediately accused her of being a pod person who replaced my usual daughter. She also tells us she loves us about eighty times a day. Yesterday she picked her shoes up when I asked her to, which basically solidifies my pod person theory. One of my aunts had a personalized Santa letter sent to our home a couple weeks ago. The letter informed my daughter that she is "near the top of the nice list." I've told her repeatedly that I'm pretty sure this was a clerical error, but she remains committed to the idea. She believes that despite the fact that there are literally millions of children in the world, only three or four are ahead of her on the list. She said she wished she knew the names of those kids. I had the distinct impression that she was thinking of bumping them off in order to rise to the top of the list. I'm pretty sure Santa would frown on that, for sure.
Yesterday morning I attended the holiday concert at my daughter's school. She had been practicing for weeks on end, so I think I'd memorized the songs myself by Halloween. Many cultures! (clap) One world! Many countries big and small . . . I was particularly excited to attend this year because I knew she'd been selected to hold the microphone and announce the first song. Before I left for work that morning I told my daughter that I might just stand up at the concert, point at her, and yell "THAT'S MY BABY!" at the top of my lungs. I could tell from the look on her face that she was vaguely concerned that I might just do it. P was threatening to yell, "That's my daughter! She used to poop in the tub!" I'm pretty sure our child is going to petition the courts for legal emancipation any minute now. Anyway, she did a great job with the announcement and the singing, too. One benefit of her being so short: she's always in the front row of the risers and I can see her easily.
If I may be indulged in one last little brag, my little genius brought home her first report card of the year yesterday. It contained the following note from her teacher:
A is a joy to have in class. She has wonderful insightful responses in our class discussions. Her helpful friendliness, as well as her positive attitude, helps make our classroom a happy place to be. Continue to work hard and be a shining Sharpie. I am proud of you. A is reading at Level K which is advanced at this time.
I'd love for Mrs. S to see the "positive attitude" we get every morning when we attempt to get the kid moving. I am very proud of my daughter, though. No doubt she gets her genius from me (and her inability to sing song lyrics correctly from her dad - you should have heard those two butchering Holly Jolly Christmas while they brushed their teeth this morning).
|If you squint at this photo, you can see my kid with the microphone. I tried to get a closer seat but the other parents are pretty hardcore and I was afraid of getting a knife in my ribs.|