Although you may THINK you know him, you are not privy to all of The Pony's peccadilloes.
He has recently begun carrying around a smidgen of modeling clay. He takes it to school, a fact of which I was happily ignorant until yesterday. It's his homemade stress ball. What he has to stress about at school I'm not sure. He was named a National Merit Scholar Semifinalist last week (toot toot, his horn). It's not like he's stressed over grades.
The Pony has always been a child who needed something to do with his hands. He hates writing, much preferring to type, and was in one of the last classes to which his elementary school actually taught cursive. That's probably a good thing. His writing was so bad, in fact, that an elementary teacher brought it up at conferences and I agreed to the school calling in an occupational therapist. THERAPIST, people! NOT the rapist! Her advice was to give him a stress ball for when he finished his work. Which was always a few moments after the teacher passed it out. I assume that worked. He had several of them, some like a squishy gel ball in a net cover that could poke out the openings. Not sure how long they lasted, because yesterday he told me they had all popped.
Anyhoo...I was walking back from the teacher workroom after school, and a colleague coming the other way said over her shoulder, "Oh, The Pony left his clay in my room. He can go get it on your way out."
You can't imagine the horror that filled this ol' Val's mind at the thought of The Pony carrying modeling clay throughout the building, kneading it, setting it on various desks, and kneading it again. It would be safer to eat a pizza pie made by Poppie without benefit of handwashing after peeing than to pick up The Pony's modeling-clay stress ball.
This was mere minutes after the mouth-phone incident. I went back to my classroom and informed The Pony that his clay was waiting for him down the hall.
"Oh. I forgot it there. We were setting up a lab for another class, so I had to put it down."
"You KNOW what it's full of, right?"
"Hair?"
"YUCK! Hair?"
"Well. Fuzz. It gets it off the couch when I lay it down."
"Our couch is smooth."
"Now."
"What I MEANT was...it's full of microbes. Viruses. Bacteria. Everything that you pick up on your hands."
"Oh, well. I'll get out a fresh piece."
Something tells me he missed the point.
Perhaps The Pony is stressed that he might end up just like Hick--going to auctions... making it so buildings on the family estate pop up faster than dandelions... running around in his tighty-whiteys?
ReplyDeleteYou might be onto something...Hang out your shingle, Madam. HIck can build you a psychoanalysis shop!
DeleteGerms are all over, unless you want to put Pony in a bubble. Does he cheat at Trivia pursuit? Moops!
ReplyDeleteGerms are all over, but that doesn't mean The Pony has to apply them directly to his lips.
DeleteI have not known him to cheat at Trivial Pursuit, but I think Moops is a battle he would wage. He and Genius and Hick used to enjoy a lively battle of RISK, the game of world domination played by three guys who could barely run their own lives.
Is that what they call helicopter parenting?
ReplyDeleteThank goodness you didn't ask if that is what they call Tiger Momming, or I might have wept uncontrollably. Rather than controllably. At least Genius seems to have escaped my clutches with a chance for a productive adult life.
DeleteIf a ball of clay helps him deal with stress, I say let him have it. It's cheaper than mind-altering drugs and so much safer.
ReplyDeleteThe original clay was for sticking things to other things on last year's project for the local science fair. The Pony has made good use of the leftovers. He will hardly take an acetaminophen for a headache. I think he would rather eat a ball of clay.
DeleteGerms, bacteria and parasites are a kid's best friend. Helps them develop immunity to the viruses of the world--so say a dozen studies. The Pony and his stress clay are doing a good deed for every hand that touches it.
ReplyDeleteYou'd think The Pony would have better immunity, after me letting him have that broken-off piece of chewy chocolate chip granola bar from the garage floor that he cried for as a toddler.
DeleteWho knows...The Pony may be the next Alexander Fleming.
It took me many years to make the association between play dough and the proliferation of colds. When I passed out individual bags of play dough one year, upper respiratory infections were greatly reduced. When they shared it they hacked, sneezed and licked their hands, wiped their noses. Yeah, you are right! Get him a balloon and fill it with flour.
ReplyDeleteA balloon filled with flour to take to school for stress? Why don't I just pin a sign on his back that says DRUG TEST ME FIRST! The Pony might be mistaken for a mule!
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