The other day a newsletter came home in Studley's Incredible Hulk backpack. It was the update on what our little cherubs are doing at school. What artists they're studying, what they're learning in Spanish, what songs they're learning. It's pretty much the usual stuff, except I was surprised to read that the December author of the month was Keats.
Surprising, and yet it totally explains why Studley has been walking around the house reciting "It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel." Kids these days.
I wrote back to the teachers, asking if they are reading Keats, why on earth is my son singing a song about Willoughby Wallaby Wudley, an Elephant Sat on Studley? Shouldn't he be learning his scales and at least be fairly well versed in Mozart's Requiem by now? Come on, teacher people, you've had him since September. Get. On. It.
It turns out they are reading Ezra Jack Keats, not John Keats.
Meanwhile, I noticed today after our dance class that the New England Patriots are holding cheerleader auditions and I am totally doing it. I have noticed that the Patriots are lacking housewives of a certain age on their cheerleading squad and it doesn't take a genius to see the effect it had on their season.
I've been steadfastly attending my dance class since last spring, and although we're not learning cheerleader moves, I see no reason why it doesn't apply. Jack Keats, John Keats. What's the difference?
Sometimes in class we even do character dances, which is all cheerleading is, really. Our character dance today involved some latin moves, including the flicking of an imaginary flamenco skirt as we jump. Except I flipped my imaginary flamenco skirt too high. It went over my head and I took down several of the other students trying to set things straight. I will work on that move before the auditions.
And just to tie everything together for you, I will close this post on Keats and cheerleading by telling you that I hate geraniums. Unless they are spilling out of a window box in the south of France. Then they're okay. But I am not in the south of France and I just noticed an entire window of geraniums, not 6 feet away.
I have to go now.