Yeah, that’s right, I said “scissors.”
You’re nervous aren’t you?
You should be.
Emma started going to preschool here in Mississippi a couple of weeks ago. Her very first day of school she got in the car and said, “Momma, dey hab sizzors eby-way-are!”
Not, “Mommy, I made you a picture!” or “My teacher is so nice!” or “That boy was mean to me.” No-sir-ee.
They had scissors and she was allowed to touch them. Not only was she allowed to touch them but she was encouraged to play with them…to cut Play-Doh with them. It was the single most amazing experience of her life and she was beyond excited.
My friend Lizzie picked Emma up from school today, because Emma is totally in love with her and begged me not to come pick her up but to “Call Miz Wizzie and tell huh ‘you go get Emma in da stwoller,’ Mmm-kay, Momma?”
When Lizzie walked in my house and announced that Emma had “an accident” with her scissors, I assumed we were going to be sporting a crew cut for the next few months. But no, she attacked her dress instead…