My Fallen Angel
We had been anticipating the events of this past Sunday for quite a while. There had been a big build-up to the Christmas show that Mr. Personality's preschool was going to stage. I had gotten nothing but tiny, confusing snippets of non-information such as, "We took pictures with an angel" and "singing practice is boring" from my son, thus tantalizing me with odd images as well as the reminder that he is defintely a boy.
I went to pick Mr. Personality up from school on Wednesday, and I am presented with a child who had almost the entire upper half of his forehead as well as his whole nose raw and bloody. It seems that no one knew exactly what had happened, the teacher thought one of the large play kitchenettes had fallen on him. Uh, yeah, even though I realize that accidents can happen in an instant, it didn't make me feel much better that the source of all the abrasions was a mystery. Trying to get the crucial information out of a four year old only deepened the mystery even further.
So, on Sunday morning, we dressed Mr. P in his little dress shirt, tan slacks, and pretended not to notice that large scabs marred most of his adorable visage. Great, I thought, here my kid is going to be on display in front of at least a hundred people, and all they are going to think is if they should possibly call child services on the parent of the kid with the mangled face.
The show was extremely cute. If someone didn't think that forty preschoolers with tiny tinsel halos on their heads up on risers singing Christmas songs in their Sunday best wasn't cute, then that someone has ice for a heart, I tell you.
But if only I could have hung a little sign around his neck that said in big, bold letters,"Facial injuries to this child occurred here at school, I swear!" it would have been perfect.
I went to pick Mr. Personality up from school on Wednesday, and I am presented with a child who had almost the entire upper half of his forehead as well as his whole nose raw and bloody. It seems that no one knew exactly what had happened, the teacher thought one of the large play kitchenettes had fallen on him. Uh, yeah, even though I realize that accidents can happen in an instant, it didn't make me feel much better that the source of all the abrasions was a mystery. Trying to get the crucial information out of a four year old only deepened the mystery even further.
So, on Sunday morning, we dressed Mr. P in his little dress shirt, tan slacks, and pretended not to notice that large scabs marred most of his adorable visage. Great, I thought, here my kid is going to be on display in front of at least a hundred people, and all they are going to think is if they should possibly call child services on the parent of the kid with the mangled face.
The show was extremely cute. If someone didn't think that forty preschoolers with tiny tinsel halos on their heads up on risers singing Christmas songs in their Sunday best wasn't cute, then that someone has ice for a heart, I tell you.
But if only I could have hung a little sign around his neck that said in big, bold letters,"Facial injuries to this child occurred here at school, I swear!" it would have been perfect.
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