The Mysterious Kristen

It’s ‘A’ week in Pre-K, and Hattie Belle cannot decide which ‘A’ object to share at Circle Time.

“An anteater?” suggests Sophie from the toilet down the hall.

“NO,” states H, flatly.

“An alligator toy? A doll named Amy?”

“I don’t like that name,” says H. “NO.”

Finally, Sophie and I hit on something: my mom’s old silver necklace, with a stone of amber in the center.

“Amber! See this? This is AMBER,” I say.

H. looks skeptical.

To sweeten the pot, I tell her Polish princesses used to wear amber. I am not sure if this is true, but I know there is some connection to Poland. I am sure some princess at some time in Poland’s history may have known what amber was.

H. thinks. Soph and I hold our breath.

“OKAY,” says H. “What is it called again?”

“AMBER,” say Soph and I.

“Right,” says H.

*****

The next night, at bedtime, I ask H. how Circle Time went.

“I don’t remember,” she says.

“Come on,” I coax. “You must remember. Who went first?”

She thinks. “I did.”

“And?” I prompt her. “Did people like seeing the amber?”

Hattie cocks her head to one side, a bemused expression on her face.

“OH,” she says, musing. “I thought it was a Kristen.”

“What?”

She laughs. “I thought it was a Kristen. I told everybody it was my KRISTEN.”

“You told them your ‘A’ word was Kristen.”

“Yeah,” she says. “My special Kristen.”

I can’t stop laughing. Hattie can’t stop laughing. We are rocking on the glider and breaking down in total hysterics. I love that she gets that this is funny.

Sophie yells down the hall, “What’s so funny? WHAT? WHAT IS IT???”

I yell back, “Your sister took the amber necklace to Circle Time this morning and introduced it to everyone as a ‘Kristen.’”

Sophie falls off the toilet laughing. The dogs come to see what is going on on the second floor. Total chaos. We are all peeing ourselves over the mysterious Kristen that perplexed a room full of pre-K kids learning about the letter ‘A.’

“What did your teacher say?” I finally manage to ask H.

She sits up. She does a perfect, spot-on impression of her teacher. At least I know she is paying attention in class. “Ms. C said, ‘AAAAAAOOOOH-kaaaaaaay?‘”

This knocks us dead. She slays us. Sophie and I are crying, we are laughing so hard.

H. is now hiccuping. She cannot stop. She laughs, then she hiccups.

“I LOVE LAUGHING, MOMMY! MAKE ME LAUGH AGAIN! SAY SOMETHING FUNNY RIGHT NOW!”

I wipe my eyes. “Oh, funny bear, the thing is? Laughing is about surprise. The best laughs have to come from the unexpected stuff. But don’t worry. I’m sure something will come along soon.”

When we all finally settle down, I get H. tucked into bed. She grabs my arm and squeezes it.

“Mommy, I love you so much I want to HUG YOU SO HARD YOU DIE,” says my ardent H-Belle.

“Wow, that would sort of defeat the purpose, but I know exactly what you mean,” I say, squeezing back. “I know exactly what you mean.”