Then on Wednesday, the very busiest and most hectic day of the week, as I was recovering from the new refrigerator blues but beginning to suffer a sore throat, Dorothy informed me at approximately the halfway point on our drive home from preschool that IT WAS THE DAY, the very special and most important day, that she got to take the traveling classroom gingerbread person home, and that she had accidentally left [him? her?] at school. I considered making the gingerbread person wait until we were already back at the very same building for choir practice later that night, but instead I rallied my inner good mother and turned the car back around. "Gingy" was fetched, along with [his? her?] tote bag, and brought on home with us. Gingy listened to our daily chapter from the Little House on the Prairie book, then settled down with Dorothy for a nap. A couple hours later it was time almost time to leave for ballet lessons and I realized I should look in Gingy's journal to see just what was expected of us with regard to this plush traveling pastry. About a half dozen of Dorothy's peers had already brought Gingy home (Gingy visitation being determined by drawing names), and those students' caring and creative mothers had written long and lovely essays about Gingy's stays with their families. Things like "in honor of Gingy, we made gingerbread cake!" and long tales of Gingy-inspired adventures. Those bitches, I thought. Never mind that enthusiastic parent involvement is actually one of the things I treasure about our preschool. All the mommies who get Gingy after us will love me, though, because I took things in the journal down a notch or two out of necessity. We sent Gingy back today with just a few brief sentences about our busy day and one potentially embarrassing (given Gingy's uncertain gender) home-printed photograph of Gingy wearing a pink tutu.
And who can stay mad about houses and refrigerators with this juicy baby around to squeeze on? He's wearing a t-shirt I did before he was born, an inkjet-printed lobster applique on a plain white tee. He's turning into some adorable little butt-scooting backwards-crawling cherub-demon, and I'm afraid I'm having to babyproof this house already, even though I'd hoped to just do that in the next house!