On any given school day, I had the following conversation with both of my children in the car on the way home:
Me: So, how was your day?
Them: Great!
Me: Oh yeah, what made it great?
Them: Hmmm, I don’t remember.
Me: Well, what made you laugh today?
Them: Hmmm, I don’t remember.
Me: Did you do anything out of the ordinary in class?
Them: I don’t think so, but (better sit down for this revelation) I don’t remember.
Every day I asked them how their day was, every day they give me scraps. Until bed time, of course, and then they were an open book.
I gave my daughter a kiss on her nose before bed a few weeks ago and she told me to be careful because her nose still hurt.
Why would it hurt? What happened?
Someone threw a basketball at her face, hitting her nose hard enough to tear up but not bleed (her words, not mine).
So my question is this – is it wrong that I was less interested in how her nose was doing (she was fine, by the way), and more interested in finding out which juvenile delinquent threw the ball at her so I could find him on the school yard and whisper-scare him from ever hurting her again?
whisper-scare: verb – the act of whispering something to someone with a sweet southern smile on your face, while quietly convincing them that you see and know everything, and will hunt them down like a dog if they mess with your baby again… But for real.
I always like to channel the late, great Dixie Carter when performing the whisper-scare. Works every time.
#TheWhisperScare
#JuliaSugarbakerIsMyHero
#ILoveTheRandomLateNightTalks
#OpenBookAtBedTime
Outrageously Ordinary 