The scattered musings of a dissertating mother on her break

The other night Edith erupted with a wild set of mishmashed consonants and vowels at the dinner table.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Spanish."

***

This morning we were hunting around for something that started with D to bring in for show-and-share. Edith emerged from my room hopefully holding up a tampon.

I had to explain that her instincts were right but that the initial consonant in that case is actually exploded, not voiced.

Wait, her instincts weren't right...?

***

We are going to have to start working on the important art of accepting declarations of affection gracefully.

Harrison has been eager to spend time with Edith after school this week. Apparently he was bereft when she didn't appear on the playground one afternoon. Then last night we promised to come play after dinner only to get sidetracked by a telephone call. By the time I was done talking, it was too late to play. I called Campbell to let her know. A minute later she called back. I could hear crying in the background.

"This is a bit strange," she said, "but Harry was disappointed and wanted to talk to Edith, so we told him he could call her."

I put Edith on the telephone.

"I love you!" exclaimed Harrison.

"Thank you," said Edith, calmly picking her toe nails. Then she looked at me, smiled, and laughed. "Harry!" Then back into the phone. "Night night."

We're going to work on being a little less blase. A girl doesn't want to trample on the tender feelings of her best friend.