Due to some scheduling issues, I took The Kidling to work with me one recent day. She behaved far, far better than I could have hoped, remaining in good spirits all day, becoming infatuated with a young man in the office who I described as a “rock star helper.”
“Wow,” she exclaimed with stars in her eyes and a voice full of reverence, “I didn’t know he was a rock star.”
And I didn’t know my five year-old knew what a rock star was.
Later she asked, “Why is he here?” Because goodness knows rock stars don’t hang out in academia.
(Confidential to JMS: this doesn’t apply to you. Obviously.)
So went the day, with The Kidling making new friends, drawing original artwork for new friends (unicorn pegasus, anyone?), and The Mama actually being productive to a degree that I never could have hoped for with a child at my heel. We took several tours around my building to get her little body moving, but otherwise holed up in my office and plugged away: The Mama on work, The Kidling on art.
It was on our return from one of these jaunts about the building that we ran into someone far higher on the totem pole than The Mama. The Kidling was charming and engaging as she spoke with this gentleman who, according to my sources, also happens to be a grandfather several times over. When he asked her what grade she would be in this fall, he offered, “First? Second?”
“Kindergarten!” she replied. Fancy Worker Man was visibly surprised and commented on how much older he thought she was.
The Kidling nodded knowingly, and reassured him by acknowledging, “I have big legs.”
Big legs, long legs… it hardly matters when your personality is similarly outsized.