The Talking Scissors

I caught myself acting strangely yesterday, ok stranger than usual. And it really bugged me.

 

Nicholas, our seven year old son, told me he lost his scissors at school. No big shocker. If its not permanently attached to his body, he will inevitable lose it. Without asking, he digs through our junk drawer, pulls out a pair, silently looks at me, asking for permission as he sticks the scissors in he pack back, and goes about his day. 

 

Sol I’m alone in my leaving room, and the scissors start talking to me. “better put me in a envelope.” Ok, no biggie. I get a envelope. I put the scissors in, I put the envelope in the pack back, zip it, and throw it on the chair. There. I feel better.

 

About 5 minutes later the scissors call to me again. I look around thinking this is weird even for me. Sure I talk to an occasional spirit every now and then and the peanut gallery in my head, but I’ve never have formed a relationship with scissors. “You forgot to seal the envelope.”

 

This is crazy. I’m not going across the room, get Nicholas back pack to seal a perfectly good envelope. I got up, got a fresh coke and went back to my desk. As I tried to answer a email, the orders of the scissors echo in my head. 3 minutes later I’m on the floor pack back ripped open with the disgusting taste of envelope glue on my tongue.

 

“Happy?” I mumbled, maybe a little too loud. “Not really, do I really have to write my spelling words five times?” my son with bionic ears answered from his room. He assumed I was talking to him. I didn’t correct him… He’s too young to know mommy has officially gone mental. “You really do…” I yelled to him, believing my little episode with the scissors was over.

 

I sighed, but before I could stretch, again scissors. “You need to write a note for Nicholas to take me to school.” I laughed. The scissors are talking to me more than my husband did the entire last week. I wonder if the scissors would buy me coffee and talk to me about Sex, Politics, and Religion. Just a thought…

 

Ok, this has gone from weirdly amusing to border rubber room obsessive compulsive. Stop Theriot. Get a grip. Bobby will be home soon and he can slap you back into reality.

 

He gets home. And I carefully explained that Nicholas needed a new pair of scissors at school and I was afraid to let them take them to school because I wasn’t sure the definition of zero-tolerance. If I know Nicholas he would take the scissors out on the bus to cut out dinosaurs and get expelled. I kinda left out the talking scissors. Bobby might have gotten jealous.

 

Then I wait for that look from Bobby. That “I adore you but you’re really a dipsy blonde at heart ain’t ya?” look. “You should called his teacher tomorrow and ask if we have to drop them off.” He was dead serious. My paranoia is spreading. How cool is that?

 

I don’t like discussing politics because I can always see the other side. I just think it odd to worry about my sweet seven year old son being expelled for taking a pair of scissors to school. If that what it takes to keep Nicholas safe, I’ll do it. And I will always ber a little sad that kids are losing their innocence at such a young age.