"Oh, you'll hear about this for sure," says Lori when I call this afternoon to see how the day’s going. "You know how she never tells you about anything good that happens at preschool? Well today was different."
I brace myself for the first "negative" progress report from school. It took a while, I think, but it was bound to happen. She was bound to snap sometime. My little Eddie Haskel offspring couldn't be a charmer forever. She was bound to show the chink in the perfect child armor she wears for her teachers sooner or later.
"NO! NO! Nothing like that," Lori laughs when I ask if she did something wrong. "But as soon as I got there she ran over to me and said Cole took something away from her."
Of course the teacher reminded her that it had all been taken care of -- that the boy gave whatever it was back with an apology -- meaning that should be the end of it.
"But Annabel just gave her a look like 'What are you crazy; I'm telling Lori about my trauma!' and proceeded to tell me how Cole took her bread, but then he gave it back."
Lately, I've noticed, she has a little trouble letting go of others' transgressions, even those directly relating to her own.
Whenever I tell her sternly not to poke the dog, or throw toys or play with knives she looks at me with a shiny wounded eyes and announces: "You made me cry."