Some things just come naturally to me. Namely, talking too much. This isn’t anything new, either. It’s been going on for, oh, about three decades.
One day when I was in second grade, the electricity went out during the school day. If I remember correctly, it happened while my class was in the bathroom. Scary, right?
It was only out for a few seconds, and the rest of the day was business as usual. Except for one tiny detail: I got my name on the board for talking.
Talking! Too much! Story of my life!
That evening, I was excited to tell my mom about the crazy thing that happened when we took our morning bathroom break. After I told her all about the dark, dark bathroom stall, she said, “Did anything ELSE happen today?”
This was well before the days of Homer Simpson, but I’m pretty sure my little eight-year-old brain was shouting, “D’oh!”
WHY did I have to say anything at all?
{Side note: No, my mother is not clairvoyant. She worked in our small town’s school district, and my teacher TOLD her about putting my name on the board.}
You’d think I would have learned my lesson, but no. I have not.
Tomorrow is Annalyn’s last day at her daycare, but I found out that her lead teacher won’t be there. So in order to prep her for the inevitable goodbye, I reminded her about her “new school,” the one she’s going to go to soon “because she’s a big girl.”
We went to an open house at the preschool a few weeks ago, so she knows this is coming. But of course her little almost-three-year-old mind can’t grasp the whole concept.
Leave it to me and my blabbermouth to bring it up anyway.
Taking after her dear mother, Annalyn likes to talk quite a bit. After I put her to bed last night, she lay in her crib yammering, occasionally calling for me but mostly just talking to her toys, her blankets and possibly her toes.
Until I heard her crying – and I mean real crying, the sad kind, not the manipulative, I’m-mad-at-you kind – and sobbing, “I don’t want to go to my new school by myself!”
Oops.
Perhaps I should have just let the whole long goodbye thing go this time. I mean, her teachers see kids come and go all the time, and it’s not like she’s going to remember them in a few years anyway.
{Although, for the record, I do have some memories dating back to preschool. But mostly they involve boys.}
Even though I’d told her (as I do every night, because I’m a mean mommy) I would not come back into her room until she’d slept all night long, I went back and reassured her that she doesn’t have to go to a new school by herself. And I reminded her that in the morning, she’d be going to her regular school with all her friends and her teachers.
And she closed her eyes, smiling gently, and said, “Okay, mommy. Night-night.”
SCREECH! (That’s the sound of a record scratching. Or brakes stopping, for you post-record folks.)
She did smile. And eventually, she did go to sleep. But in between our conversation and dozing off, she talked to herself for another good 30-40 minutes.
What can I say? Some things come naturally. And some of those things run in the family.
Did you ever get your name on the board when you were in school? Why? C’mon! Tell us all about it!
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