Every 25 school days, Kid comes home from kindergarten with a cow-themed satchel containing. . . . nope, not a cow, but "Cuddly Pup," a small stuffed dog who spends overnight at each child's home and brings with him a math book, some spelling and reading exercizes and a journal in which each happy child is to draw or describe the thrilling adventures had with Cuddly.
We had CP for six days over the holiday and had not a thing to share with the class come Tueday morning when school was back in. I desperately flung him into the red vehicle on the way to swimming lessons and then stuffed him, it, whatever, into the locker while Kid was in the pool and then tried to make it look like we'd been to the pool as a family, remembered to take CP and carefully documented the whole madcap go-round of gaiety. Kid was having none of it. "Dude," he says to me he says, "we COULD write that we imprisoned Cuddly Pup in a dark locker with only my Spiderman underpants to keep him company while we had fun. That would be the truth."
This whole taking care of Cuddly Pup thing is kind of the last straw with me. I have enough to do without worrying about the wellbeing of an understuffed toy that, frankly, smells kind of yucky and wants me to do math with a five-year-old. Five year olds should do math only to the extent that it enables them not to know how much things cost, whether five jellybeans is less or more than eight jellybeans and that clocks do sometimes run backwards, meaning that bedtime tonight is at 7 and not 8 because 7 really is 8 just for this once.
Teachers. I can tell they're going to be a problem already.