This is a fine example of why, thanks to my son, I get to laugh hysterically at least once per day:
As we were getting ready for school today, I remind Cooper that he goes to Miss Sheryl’s class today. (He has a different teacher in a different classroom on Fridays). I say that I think she seems super fun. Cooper replies “She is super fun, mommy, but something is up with her thumb.” I inquire further to which he tells me “Seriously mommy…her thumb…it’s like…messed up. It’s all like there’s no skin there and I can see the bone!” I try not to laugh, but am honestly quite curious about what this affliction can be. I make a mental note to try to scope out her thumb at drop off time.
I tell Cooper that what we think about something is sometimes far scarier than the truth, and that if it bothers him, he sbould ask her about it. He tells me that he’ll ask her about it today.
Later, in the car on the way to school I am making conversation and I say “Coops…don’t forget to ask Miss Sheryl about that thumb.” To which he responds with the most dramatic voice imaginable “Ugh!! Why’d you have to remind me about that!? Don’t remind me!!”
I’m sitting here at home now wondering just what the heck he’s going to find out about this bizarre disorder where her bone seemingly protrudes from her skin. I can only imagine what he’s going to tell me upon pick up.