The Agented One.

It’s official.  I signed by representation contract today and mailed it back.

The giddiness is renewed and  fresh!

The Bandit seems to be loving “kinnygarden”.  He is making a batch of new friends.  There is one in particular he has identified as his new best friend.  The boy’s uncle is quite famous and prominent in the news right now, but of course, The Bandit knows none of this.  He and his new buddy eat lunch together everyday.

“Who’d you sit with at lunch today, dude?” I’ll ask, vainly trying to suck out any details of his day.

“It’s Buddy, Mom, always Buddy.”

This morning when I dropped him off at his class and helped him shove his backpack in his wee little cubby, Buddy’s dad came up and introduced himself to me again.  Apparently, Buddy had inadvertently hit The Bandit in the eye and he wanted to apologize.  I’d heard nothing about this, so I’m certain it was a non-event and I told his dad so, but Buddy had made an apology card.  It was adorable.  The boys hugged it out.  All is well.

When I spoke with Sassy’s new 2nd grade teacher, I learned that she is “quiet as a mouse” in class.  I have no idea where Sassy goes after I drop her off at her class, but clearly she has found an imposter to attend in her stead.  “Quiet” is not my daughter.  Not even with strangers.  She is a talker.  She chats.  Her report cards tell me so.  This is a mystery I will have to dig into a little deeper.

Speaking of Sassy and talking.  The other day we were in the car and she asked me, “Do you know what the two bad “F” words are?”

I’m 41.  I grew up in the 80’s.  My husband plays heavy metal and I’m tattooed for God’s sake.  I know all the good curse words and their appropriate conjugations.  But two F words?  I know the BIG one.  We all know the BIG one.  But I was puzzled about what the other could be.  There are several candidates but I just wasn’t sure.

“Sure I do,” I told her.  “Do you?”

“Yeah.”  She seemed fairly impressed with herself.

“What are they?” I asked.

“You won’t yell at me if I say them, will you?” she asked tentatively.

“Not this one time,” I assured her.

“F**K is one and the other one is….”

Drum roll, please.

“Friggin.”

Whew! I exhaled in relief.  I’d much rather her know both of those, as inappropriate as they are for a 7 year old, then fag which is where I thought she was going.  Fag, while not having the impact of the BIG one, is just a mean and nasty word when used in the appropriate context. 

Not that I want her using any of those three words, you understand.  But isn’t that what summer camp is for?  Learning the stuff your parents don’t want you to know?  I’m glad I got my money’s worth.