My younger son continues on his recent spate of...well, I'm not exactly sure what to call it, so let's just christen it "Riley-ness" and leave it at that. Here's the latest: I'm used to the older brother only sharing stories of "what happened at school today" if he considers it something truly exceptional (some examples of what he deems conversationally relevant would be "friends getting yelled at in class", "SportsCenter-quality plays in PE", or "amazingly idiotic behavior that I observed in the cafeteria"). In contrast, Riley tends to burst in the door after school and immediately commence spouting off about every little detail of his apparently 4:00 News-worthy stint in the halls of academia. I get a full reckoning of people's words and actions, the subsequent consequences, if any, and (as a bonus) Riley's commentary on the entire situation, complete with insightful analysis into classmates' reasons for making their choices, and how they could have possibly improved their results.
Sooo, anyway, he arrived home one day and announced matter-of-factly, "I had a great idea for lunch today." I was about to ask a leading question when he (naturally--no need to pull information out of this one) continued, "I'm gonna be rebellious!" Oh dear, this is suddenly beginning to sound less "creative" and more..."potential phone call from the principal"...but he explained, "Usually, lunch tables are set up with two for boys and two for girls." (I assumed he meant that boys and girls arranged themselves separately on purpose....which seems perfectly reasonable to ME!) "Yesterday I sat at the girls' table, (uh-oh, here we go...) and then some girls sat at the boys' table and some boys sat at the girls' table. So today, I'm gonna try to get two boys, then two girls, then two boys, two girls..." Huh. That's my wild child, leading the...Lunchroom Desegregation of the Sexes Movement. I didn't even inquire as to what his ultimate goal was...stimulating livelier topics of discussion? Simply mixing and mingling with interesting students in a social context? Ahem...scoring a spot next to a cute chick? (On second thought, never mind..."ignorance is bliss", and all that...)
Next, I unearthed a permission slip in his backpack, which he wanted me to sign so that he could participate in the school Chorus. I was pleased--after all, I myself L-O-V-E singing, and hoped Riley could feel the same joy that producing music gives you, blah blah blah. Besides, Derek had utterly, flatly refused to have anything whatsoever to do with Chorus, claiming it was "dumb". So, not only would this be a second chance for us to applaud our child in a concert situation, but also the group gets to perform in the Pageant of Peace on the National Mall in December, which just seems like a super-cool opportunity to me. I happily returned his sheet, without asking him any further probing questions about why he'd elected to join. I just assumed he'd inherited a teensy bit of...vocal...enthusiasm? from his mother. (Ha! Silly me!) However, at dinnertime, Husband was chatting with the boys when the subject came up again. When his father wanted to know why Riley had chosen the singing option, he nonchalantly replied, "Well, it was either that, or stay in the classroom for a grammar lesson..." I'm sorry, WHAT was that, my beloved son? Perhaps you momentarily forgot that your mother is a proud, badge-carrying member of the Grammar Police Force...those individuals for whom proper syntax is not just a hobby, but a way of life? (Okay, there may not actually be an insignia on my shirt, or anything...but it's totally understood!) He must have sensed me behind him, gaping in horror, because he quickly turned around and added, "Oh, and, um, I like singing, too!" Mmm-hmm...
So that's the most current update on the rabble-rousing...lyrical...activities of the household's 5th-grader. I can only hope that the 10-year old females he's attempting to infiltrate turn out to be a good influence on him. And that both his grammar and his glee club experiences turn out to be rewarding. Oh, and let's not forget: I pray that there's absolutely, positively NO need for the administration to get in touch with me (fingers crossed...)!