Christina M. Currie: Back to school, silliness


I think I should just apply for a job as a bus driver. I'm sure I drive the same routes, and just maybe, I could kill two birds with one stone.

Just two weeks into the school year and I'm trying to decided whether this frantic pace is worth it.

From the information that persistence has been able to worm from my girls, it doesn't seem like it.

Apparently they do "nothing" at school. On the occasions they do more than "nothing," they "don't remember" what that "something" was.

Which is why I don't understand why, when I suggested that a sickly Nikki skip preschool, she launched into a fit of opposition that ended with her feeling all better.

Never mind that we spent a sleepless night on the couch, comforted by Motrin, cool wash cloths and late-night cartoons.

Even directed questions receive vague questions.

"Did you color today?"

"I don't remember."

"Did you read a story?"

"I don't remember."

And so it goes as I rack my brain for any possible activity that may be presented to a preschool or kindergarten student.

I'd chalk it up to personality if both girls weren't saying the same thing and other parents reported similar nonchalance in response to their questions.

Then out of the blue, I hear Nikki singing a new song and Katie explaining the complicated process of chrysalis.

I'm sure we never covered that at home.

There are other indications that there's more something than nothing going on during their morning hours. They just don't want to discuss that something with me.

I'm observant though.

Katie can't talk about what she did in P.E., not because she doesn't remember, but because just the thought leaves her tongue tied.

Where the teacher intimidated her on the first day because of his size and newness, she's now intimidated because (as she whispered shyly) "I love him."

Each day when she leaves the school she has to check just one more time to see whether he's visible.

Pointless if you ask me, because if he is, she hides behind me, ducking her head to conceal an ear-to-ear grin.

She doesn't utter a single word until he leaves and then only asks whether we can go find him.

I have a feeling she's going to be very athletic.

Let's just stop at this point and remember Katie's 5 years old and in kindergarten. I'd like to say this is the first crush of hers that I dealt with, but it's not.

Seems my girl's love is pretty fickle.

Actually, I believe it's more the age. She's in that wondrous stage where people fit into two categories -- she either loves them or she doesn't know them.

It's a stage I hope she doesn't forget.

Then again, judging by her recently demonstrated lack of short-term memory, I'm not hopeful.

Christina M. Currie can be reached at 824-7031 or

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