“Dad! Dad! There’s a noise! We heard a noise upstairs!”
The twins, bright eyed and animated as ever came running into the kitchen. They clutched my legs, trembling.
“What do you think it was?”
(I knew exactly what it was. I had overloaded the washing machine—again—and as it tried to start it’s spin cycle began to shake pretty strongly.)
The last time I checked, I had successfully completed the third grade. OK, successfully might be stretching it as a descriptor but I made it through. And no, I do not have a diploma or letter of recognition to commemorate the occasion. But then again, I come from an era where mediocrity was not celebrated.
It was expected.
It was generally assumed that if at the end of the third grade school year your name is on the list of students moving to the fourth grade that you had completed the requirements for the third grade. There were no ceremonies, no pomp. Just move along.
How is it, then, that I find myself once again in Mrs. Reed’s third grade classroom?
The van had a button. Things were pretty easy. You want the back lift-gate open? Press a button. You want the back lift-gate shut? Press the button again. Easy.
We don’t have the van anymore.
In all honesty, that is the only feature I miss about that van when compared to our new vehicle. Well, new is kind of stretching it. It was new to us in June. New to us I have to say because the actual newness of the vehicle wore off some two years earlier when it was in fact at that time a new vehicle.
As spoken to me this morning by Zoë’s little friend, one of two who spent the night with Zoë in honor of her birthday party.
Westayedupunitlthreeo’clockinthemorning!
Wewatchedtwomoviesbutwecouldhavewatchedthree.
Thenwedideachothers’hair.
Andthenwehadapillowfight.
Afterthatweplayedwiththecat.
Ican’thavecoffeeunlessit’sthedecafkind.
MymomsaysIdon’tneedthecaffeine……
It took me a while to understand it, too.
