My daughter’s battery is on overdrive. She’s acting bizarre, the way a wind-up toy functions after being overwound and released. She’s used so many words that reality has been exhausted and exchanged for make-believe.
Tonight on the way to BJ’s, she recounted an elaborate scene in which she went swimming in a hot tub in school Friday. My husband, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, looked at me like “What in tarnation is going on in the classroom! AND, Were you there?”
FringeMan doesn’t understand that our daughter still enjoys short ventures to neverland. Her imagination may be her greatest asset, but it also may cause her father a mild case of angina. Next time she goes swimming in a hot tub during school, I definitely want to be around. Maybe we can pretend I’m a swimsuit model too.
Christmas better hurry up and come because the anticipation is making everyone a bit kooky. Even the dog is excited. She ate silly putty today. Now we can press her into the Daily News and read her like a comic.
My children want to celebrate Hanukkah. FringeBoy has a dreidl and spins it endlessly. FringeKid (that’s Annaliese) is convinced she’s Jewish. I tried to explain to them that we can take part in our Jewish friend’s celebrations and enjoy their holiday with them, but that we aren’t really Jewish. It’s just not our culture. I shut my mouth tightly when FringeBoy said, “But didn’t Jesus celebrate Hanukkah? We should too.”
Next year I will buy a Menorah.