While the rest of his classmates were walking in a straight line and holding their finger over their mouths in the universal signal for "quiet" my little weirdo was twirling his lunchbox side to side and singing a song under his breath, which I think was "Camp Town Races".
This was the first time I'd eaten with him at "real" school (The teacher asked all the parents to wait until 2 full weeks in) and I had no idea what to expect. Would he tell me about what he had done that morning and would I want to even know? In the first 2 weeks he's come home on yellow roughly half the time, including once for looking under the stall door at some kid going to the bathroom.
What I got treated to was 35 minutes of him yelling either "Hey! I know that kid!" or "Hey! I don't know THAT kid!" at the top of his lungs while he totally mutilated a ham and cheese sandwich, ate half a Rice Krispy Treat before dropping it on the floor in mid-wave to the P.E. teacher and one attempt to join another class outside on the playground.
I think lunch was God's way of helping me get ready for the game tonight, where the Sox are currently losing to the Oriole's 6-2 and the Ray's are up in Tampa.
It it was, it really isn't helping much.