Violet is sick; a six year old with a nasty cold, home from school. Her mom, my daughter, Amy, could probably use a reprieve and some escape from endless questions and commentaries.
“Ah, my kingdom for some peace and quiet!” I can imagine her thinking. Quiet time is a valuable and rare commodity. So I called to speak to Violet and do a bit of long distance baby-sitting. As it turned out I only listened, not spoke, to her. Does she ever pause to take a breath?
There are things on a first grader’s mind that need expressing, and this time was perfect. So her thoughts transform into words, stumbling out of her mouth and into my ears. How troubling for me to discover the news that two boys in her class are very rude. How shocking; can you imagine a rude six year old boy? That seems to be a new, unknown behavior to Violet. What a compliment to her two older brothers!
And she doesn’t understand why she makes the mistake of calling her current first grade teacher by last year’s teacher’s name. How embarrassing to catch herself in this disturbing and forgetful mind set.
I was horrified, of course, to hear the news that Piggy is losing her stuffing and dribbling soft white material all over the floor, and mommy made a sock for Piggy’s foot so her stuffing will stop falling out and upsetting the uncluttered perfection of the floors.
But the best part of my listen-fest was her offer to play the piano for me. I didn’t know she took piano lessons, I thought. But when the tinkling of ivories began I realized that her version of playing a song was free style pounding of random keys. I complimented her on her light touch and asked to speak to her mom.
“Sure, grandma” she said, and hung up.