Let’s start with yesterday.
It was horseback riding time. And since SIRE will be part of a jousting event, his teacher decided to go ahead and have a jousting class. Because, you know, kids with swords on horses…what could possibly go wrong?
Okay, to be fair, nothing did. They were foam swords, and the kids got to remove rings with them and knock rings down and ride around and wave them. (The rules included not hitting the horses and not hitting their side riders. Pretty fair rules.)
Simon had a ball.
We were both exhausted. It’s about an hour drive each way, often more because of traffic. And it has been a long, long, long, long week.
But Simon loves it. He thinks it’s cool. He can tell you the name of his horse (Kansa) and what makes him walk (walk on) and what makes him trot (trot).
So we’ll be enrolling him in the summer classes. And in the fall classes. And in the spring classes next year, too. Because, well, it’s horses!
And then I crashed and burned after his lesson because my head was pounding, and when we stopped for dinner at Cracker Barrel, I foolishly sat where the sun could get at me. It speared my eye on and off for the whole meal, which is what brought the headache to full migraine status. Hence yesterday’s blog.
Now, today, he got off the bus, and the bus driver motioned to me.
Apparently, there had been a kid on the bus who had gotten upset over something – not specified by her – and the kid had been whining and crying and making noise at a really high pitch. The noises had been bothering Simon, and so she wanted me to know, in case he had a bad afternoon once he was home.
Well, he didn’t seem to be bothered by the kid on the bus. But he did read the flyer that came home from school, the one that said that there was a parent support meeting tonight.
“We go to the dance,” he told me.
“We go to the dance,” he told me, pointing to the flyer he read.
“It’s not a dance,” I pointed to it. “See? Parent Meeting.”
I think you get the picture. I’m really not sure why he decided that the flyer was for a dance. He kindly pointed my finger to the “Dickinson High School” and made me read it for him so that he could repeat it multiple times.
I finally got his mini-fit calmed down by sitting on the couch with him and by reassuring him that when there was a dance, we would let him know, and, yes, he could go to school tomorrow.
(And the parent meeting tonight was also good and successful, although a bit poorly attended, possibly due to all the lovely weather rumbling through tonight.)