The last night of Christmas vacation I was lying in Jake’s bed with him having just finished our book reading for the night. We’re deep into the 5 Ancestors series and it is sheer Chinese brotherly 1600’s Cantonese kung-fu bliss. As we said our goodnights, I asked Jacob if he was ready to go back to school the next day, after two holiday weeks.
He looks at me and rises up on his stomach, his eyes glimmering with hope and says, “Really? We’re going back tomorrow?”
And in an instant I realize the literal mistake I’ve made. He does not take my clarification gracefully. The light is extinguished and he harrumphs his displeasure and disappointment. I’m not making that mistake again.
So last week when James showed me something on his phone that had the words March eighth buried within three Parent Square pages of blah blah blah, I didn’t take it too seriously. We’ll see Dr. Prater. Or is it Praetor?
Yesterday we got another message with this whole March eighth date again for third through sixth graders.
So I’m thinking of telling the boys… on March eighth.