One lesson for this week at the preschool was about words that rhyme.
Last week, two girls argued over who was Hannah Montana, so I made everyone's name into a rhyme by making up a new last name for them.
This week, I could make rhymes among the kids' real names.
We had a Semiyah, Makiya, Shaniya, TriNiyah, Zaria and possibly one or two others out of 17. I became Charleyah, until they started calling me Charlie Griffin for mysterious reasons that can't have anything to do with real Charlie Griffins. However, they seemed to like chanting it at the top of their lungs.
Another impromptu lesson came about when the kids started bringing me "food" from the play kitchen. We try to get them to pretend to eat the food instead of put in in their mouths, and we sometimes succeed.
I pretended to eat a cookie, palming it and dropping down the neck of my t-shirt. That led to offers of more food, and I began to consume pizza, cherry pie, chocolate cake, bacon, fried eggs, green beans, peppers, broccoli, croissants, french bread, french fries, watermelon, honeydew melon, cantaloupe, a glass of milk, apple wedges, a pear, oranges, tomato slices, cheddar and swiss cheese slices, hamburger buns, lettuce, more cookies, raspberry tarts, pancakes, bearclaws, salisbury steak, tacos and a few other delicacies I've probably overlooked.
I drew the line at teddy bears and babies but accepted pegs from a puzzle as hard candy.
At several stages, I pretended to be full and refuse more food, only to be tempted by one more item I loved. Eventually, my shirt sagged in a lumpy approximation of certain sportswriter's girth and I groaned while the kids examined my ears, listened to my heart and took my blood pressure — all on their own initiative.
They declared an operation was necessary, and I emerged cured.
Whether this was a successful demonstration of the perils of unbridled eating and addictive behavior, I can't say, but we all had fun.
