Nate loves preschool.
Instead of being greeted with an earnest, quietish “Good Morning, Nathan,” he gets a teenaged guy who says, “Naaaaaaaaate, dude! Punch it!” Then they have a rather complicated routine that ends with them punching each others’ fists. Heaven.
That girl with the scrawny braids is Sophie.
Today I took Willow to the eye doc. She’s fine, which we knew. I had to fill out a form (cause, ya know, a three inch thick medical chart just doesn’t suffice) that asked for our address. It had an area under the address that asked you to indicate what type of address you’d given. Was it:
a) permanent, or,
If temporary, were you:
a) staying with a friend
b) in transitional housing
c) in a shelter
d) living in your car
f) in jail
I thought about checking other and writing in, “being held hostage by small, demanding children who pee all over the house, please help!” but then I thought maybe it’s not always a good idea to be a smart ass.
Lexy’s loose tooth came out while I was gone. He then lost it by accidentally (get it?) throwing it on the floor into a big mess of spilled popcorn. Vaccuuming was verboten! until the tooth was recovered. I made them vaccuum anyway, promising to check for the tooth in the canister thing. Never buy a bagless vaccuum; they suck in a bad way. Anyway, he went to sleep without finding the tooth. I cleaned up the living room a bit, and there it lay under a chair. When he wakes up tomorrow he will find a note folded over a small plastic bag (the extra button size bag). In the bag, with lots of glittery fairy dust, is the tooth. The note says, in a super-flowery script, “I found this tooth. If it belongs to you, Master Alexander, leave it under your pillow and I will return tomorrow evening.” I love this sort of thing. I know it may be unhealthy to sell the santa/bunny/fairy myth to them, but it’s fun!! And they can go to therapy. Uh, more therapy.