ABOUT ME

About me: My husband Chuck, our six-year-old Junior, our three-year-old Everette and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.

Saturday, June 22, 2013

Kiss me! No, never again!


Yesterday was Junior's last day of kindergarten. It's been a long year, full of lopsided attempts at writing and sentences that made me laugh out loud. The teacher was big on having the children keep a journal and sound out their words, so I saw a lot of stuff like "brte" (birthday), "prizit" (present) and my favorite, "My gremee is heer."

So endearing. And yet so visually atrocious.

The year was also full of bus strife, which I'm happy to see end. Junior shared a seat with two girls, also kindergartners, who were merciless in accusing him of having morning breath.

(I can just imagine the morning conversations these girls must have overheard between their parents:

Mother: "Kiss me, darling!"

Father: "No! Your breath is rancid!"

Mother: "Don't you love me?"

Father: "Yes, but your morning breath makes me want to vomit! I'm leaving you."

Or something along those lines.)

Junior was heartbroken over it: "Mom, I'm such a nice guy! And I brush my teeth! And I don't have any cavities! Why won't they leave me alone?!"

I spoke to the bus driver. Junior switched his seat. Then he switched back because he was lonely. Then he switched again.

Finally, we nailed it: As Junior waited at the bus stop he chewed mint gum. He had a napkin in hand so when the bus pulled up he could spit it out. As soon as he sat down, he exhaled into the faces of the little girls and exclaimed, "Ah, minty fresh."

The teasing stopped for awhile, but every so often it would rear its ugly head and we'd have to return to the gum-at-the-bus-stop routine. A First World problem, yes, but when your kid's in tears and he hasn't even gotten dressed for school yet—"I hope they leave me alone today, Mom"—you quickly find yourself consumed by it too.

Ah, the sticky world of adolescence. Whether it's a lisp or tartar, some brat will point it out. But—but!—summer is here now. Popsicle breath is en vogue. Ice cream breath is en vogue.

In all fricken flavors.

1 comment:

Keely said...

Aw, poor little guy :( That's a pretty ingenious solution.

Here's hoping Grade 1 is better.