February, 13, 2009
Erin came home with a cloud over her head after school yesterday and pronounced that "Today has been the worst day of my life." She proceeded with a litany of complaints:
"Someone stole both sets of my gym clothes;"
"We had to write an essay in math class. . .imagine writing in math class. . .you're supposed to do math in math class;"
"I had a Spanish test that I completely forgot about;"
"It was hot in social studies, and Mrs. Williams made us keep the door closed so the 8th graders wouldn't make faces at us when they walk by to the cafeteria;" and
"I got ten points off on my art test because she said I didn't write half a page on my essay."
I could bare keep from laughing in her face. For a girl whose life over the past six and a half years has been a parade of chemo, radiation, surgery, et cetera, et cetera (as the King of Siam said), this day of stolen gym clothes and other junior high foibles is the worst day of her life? Any middle school teachers out there? Doesn't this sound more like "typical" than "worst?"
Interestingly, she got over it and went to fencing. Then, afterwards, when I was carting her and Jackson to the ice cream parlor for a post-en garde treat, she wound up her angst yet again, and did a encore recital of the "Worst Day in My Life" for Jackson's benefit.
After we dropped him off, she said, "I always love to complain to Jackson. He always agrees with me."
Funny thing is, while yesterday may have registered as a completely bad day by Erin's standards, today is likely to rank really high on the other end of the spectrum. Some ladies have a surprise planned for her after school that ought to jerk her quickly back in the other direction.