When I picked The Kidling up from daycare last night, I strapped her into her booster seat, put my seatbelt on, and
sped off into the sunset carefully crept around the blind corner at the bottom of the hill. As always, I asked her about her day:
- Tell me about your day.
- Did you have fun?
- What did you do?
- What books did you read?
- Did you play outside?
- What did you eat for lunch?
- Have you signed up for your SAT yet?
The Kidling’s typical response varies little:
- I didn’t read. I just looked at pictures.
- Uh huh, but not much (even when she spent the entire day outside).
- I don’t remember.
- Mo-om. I’m only four.*
But yesterday was different. I got this sad monologue:
“Nobody played with me. Even when I asked 18 or 15 times. They don’t play with me, they say, ‘La la la la I can’t hear you.’ And you know what? Somebody punched me. John punched me. No wait. He shoved me. John shoved me and he hit me. It kind of breaks my heart when kids do that stuff to me.”
Hey John. You suck.
* Notice that last one isn’t blue? That’s how you know I am just making shit up. I would never blaspheme the blue type.