My oldest is in 6th grade, ruling the school as only 6th graders in elementary school know how. They’ve had a section on the medieval time period (yes, I successfully spelled medieval without the spellcheck!) which culminated in a great Medieval Feast this week. Every year I’ve seen the 6th graders come to school for their feast in actual medieval costuming. I’m talking serious costuming, not the homemade or Walmart kind.
My mom raised me in homemade costumes, and most of my kids’ costumes have been homemade as well. I’d like to say I’m creative that way, but really I’m just kinda cheap. I didn’t want to take the homemade route for Blake’s medieval feast, though. I mean seriously, my oldest will be in junior high next year! This feast will be one of his best memories from elementary school. So I surprised him and rented a really beautiful knight’s costume (from a wonderful shop owner who gave me a good discount since it was a school event).
Blake was also supposed to bring in a non-paper and non-plastic plate and cup. I was so excited to provide him with a metal Armatale platter and a stainless steel
adult beverage shaker goblet. I packed it in a brown cloth bag that I never use and sent him to the feast.
And I flirted with, but refrained from, giddiness all day, resisting unusual urges to pop in at the school and check things out.
When we picked Blake up from school, I was surprised at his less-than-enthusiastic response when I asked him how his day was. He handed me the bag of dinnerware as he said, “There was something weird in the bag, Mom.”
“What was it?” I asked.
“I don’t want to say,” he said.
Israel and I exchanged the typical parental glances you have all exchanged yourselves if you have children who know how to speak. I opened the bag up and saw the platter. I saw the goblet. It all looked fine so far. And then I moved them out of the way to dig deeper and found something rather strappy and made of fabric. I pulled it out, shook it a bit to untangle it, and then shoved it right back in again when I recognized the Victoria’s Secret logo etched into the thong waistband.
Israel and I started cracking up. I think it’s better for Blake’s recovery that way — you know, to laugh about it.
“I’m so sorry, Blake!” I told him. I swear I don’t remember ever using that bag before.
I encouraged Blake to talk about it. For therapy.
So here’s how it went down. He pulled his platter and goblet out of the bag, and out slipped the above-mentioned accompanying item.
“What’s this?” he said out loud and began to untangle said strappy item while his friends watched on, curious, until the nature of the formerly unrecognizable item became apparent. And then he shoved it back into the bag.
At least it wasn’t in any sort of showy pattern or color. And I think it’s better for him that there was less of it, rather than . . . more.
I think. . . ?
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Note: Today’s blog post is a response to the Carpool Queen’s Confession post and her question: “Because Iâ€™m all about
laughing ministering to the needs of others, what can you confess to and make everyone else feel better?”