Let the Little Children Speak

First off, Nano blows. Whoever came up with this idea should be tortured with tiny little android-like typewriter keys that pull off his toenails one by one, peck out his eyes, and attach themselves to his belt loops so that they make an annoying clinking noise every time he takes a step. Yes, that would do.

Ah, that feels better. I do promise that I will try not to write that first sentence at the beginning of every blog for the next 24 days, but I simply had to get it out of my system. Also, in case I hadn't made it clear in my last entry, my story line is so frickin' boring that I actually had the dead clown light a stick of dynamite and throw it at me. Yes, that's right, my protagonist attacked me, and rightfully so. It had to be done, if for no other reason than to jar some life into this story. Fortunately, the computer screen is much tougher than it seems, so no explosive device really came shattering through from the other side. The only harm done was to my delicate little author ego. But, since you can't blow up a clown that's already dead, I'm afraid we're stuck with each other.

Enough of that. What I really want to share today, in my last moments of wakefulness, are a few stories from my world of children. Moments such as these are what make all the stoopidity worth it.

1. Sometimes I screen preschoolers for developmental delays. On one part of the instrument, I ask the child to tell me his/her first and last name. You know, to see if they know it (you'd be surprised). Here is a recreation of a recent conversation on this topic:

Me: "My name is Miss Wicked. What's your name?"

Her: "Amy."

Me: "Well, hi, Amy. What's your last name?"

Her: "Honeybunny."

Me: (after slight pause) "Seriously?"

Her: "Yes."

2. During this same screening process, I show children a few letters of the alphabet and ask them to tell me what sounds they make. Now, since these are preschool children who largely have not been exposed such concepts, I try to glide through it quickly and get on to the more important stuff. One kiddo, though, was an earnest little bugger who knew, absolutely knew, that he was supposed to give an answer on this. And he wanted to, by gummy. Here's how that went:

Me: "Mr. Eager Beaver, can you tell me what sound this letter makes?"

Him: (after deep thought) "Arf, arf."

Me: "What about this one?"

Him: "Ding-dong."

Me: "And this?"

Him: "Vroom vroom."

And so it went, each letter sound identified as the chirping of a bird, the roar of a vacuum cleaner, or the banging of a hammer. I gave him 500 extra points for creativity, then stuck him in my backpack and brought him home. Such adorability cannot be left in the hands of amateurs.

Lawsy, I gots to go git me some sleep now. Goodnight.