Excuses, excuses!

There are only a handful of words and phrases that Margo still bumbles now that she’s 5 ½ but I adore them and hope they hang around a while longer. She says “decides” when she means besides and we don’t go to festivals we go to “festibulls.” When putting something together it’s important to follow the “constructions” and her favorite fruit is “canvalope.” Stuff like that. The Monday morning after daylight savings when I woke her up to get ready for school, she hit the trifecta of cute, sassy and borderline inappropriate: “Daddy, it’s not even morning yet. It’s bitch black outside.”

Unlike the freewheeling days of preschool, the rules and regulations of Pre-K are firm and tardiness is not tolerated but we never learn. Every weekday morning in our household features two frantic adults waking, preparing, feeding and readying at a pace that would indicate that we overslept by an hour. Our children on the other hand more closely resemble the offspring of molasses and a yawn. So it’s something of a miracle that Margo has only been late for school a handful of times this year (Kristen and I probably deserve a trophy).

When the 8 a.m. cutoff is not met however, there is protocol that needs following. The reception desk has a form with a section where we explain why we are late. I’m always tempted to say “because she’s 5” because really, that pretty much covers it. But I think they want something more specific. There is what I assume to be an O ce Use Only section where a box is to be checked next to Excused or Unexcused and I always think that if I word this just perfectly, a pass may be granted. So the other day I thought better of writing “because it’s bitch black outside” and substituted “daylight savings protest.” Not sure if it was deemed excusable.

You have to be quick on your feet though because there are usually other truants waiting to fess up behind you and the parent-child dynamic might not be enjoying a peak moment. So I’ve gone ahead and banked a few solid excuses to call upon quickly and keep her record as blemish free as possible: the milk tasted spicy; shirt sleeve felt kunky; couldn’t nd other wristband; pants are scratchy; string cheese was broken. Feel free to borrow!

I never went to Pre-K. Was it even invented yet? Probably. Probably it was a thing that existed and perhaps I could have learned something about punctuality or other valuable lessons but I deferred those two more years to first grade. Because to me, even Kindergarten was more of a meet and greet anyway—an open house if you will. Stop by if you can. I walked to school solo and along the way puddles were jumped, birds were fed and chestnuts were collected. All in a day’s work right? One time I came home and regaled my mother with how I actually got to school before the bell rang. So apparently I was late every day except for that one.

This is where I might jump in and say something annoying like “and I turned out okay, didn’t I?” But the truth is my wife has this gigantic brain and both my kids seem to have inherited it so I want them to turn out better than me. Is that wrong? And Pre-K has been awesome for Margo. She learns, she laughs, she plays in the dirt. If it’s the first step towards a rewarding career as an author or artist or astrophysicist, then we’ll do what it takes to get her there on time. That being said, as long as these precious mispronunciations might linger you won’t ever catch me correcting her. Decides, who better than a 5 year old to put things perfectly anyway?

Tim Sullivan grew up in a large family in the Northeast and now lives with his small family in Oakhurst. He can be reached at tim@sullivan nerugs.com.