I was out school shopping with Cheyenne last week when she put her hand in front of her mouth (to avoid any lip readers in the vicinity from understanding her covert message) and whispered in a hushed voice intended only for me (but still heard by many), “That is my art teacher over there.”  I had to explain to her at the time that the whole effort of putting her hand in front of her mouth and whispering made the fact that she was trying to be covert in her communication more obvious.  I also tried to assure her that teachers run into students all the time as they go about their every day lives and are used to it.  In short, I told her it was no big deal.

Cheyenne thinks her art teacher, Mr. Wegscheid, is great.  I don’t recall ever seeing Mr. Wegscheid before Cheyenne pointed him out at the store.  I was shocked that he was so young (increasingly, I find myself in this position – all these teachers are so young- is it that I have become so old now that almost everyone else seems younger – when exactly did that happen??!!).  Cheyenne says he is really nice and awards him what I term teacher “rock star” status.  I like it when she thinks so highly of teachers – as if they exist in another universe with rarefied air (air that I should not dare to breathe in lest I cheapen the sanctity of the universe – but hey, I am not bitter). 😉

So, we saw Mr. Wegscheid at the store and Cheyenne learned a valuable lesson on covert communications – done deal, right?  Oh no, not so fast Skippy…our lives are rarely that clear cut.

Yesterday, Jersey, Cheyenne and I went to The Olive Garden restaurant for dinner and about five minutes after being seated she looked across the table at me with big eyes  and said in a smaller voice than she typically uses, “Look over at the table next to us…do you recognize anyone?”  I glanced at the folks at the table next to us, but didn’t immediately recognize anyone so I said, “No, why?”  To which Cheyenne with her big eyes and smaller voice replied, “It’s my art teacher again!  It’s Mr. Wegscheid!”

Well, I have to say – I was proud that she didn’t put her hand in front of her mouth or try that hushed whispered approach – apparently she listened to me when I explained how obvious that was.  Regretfully, the loud spontaneous laughter I emitted upon hearing that we had once again managed to accidentally run across Mr. Wegscheid in public drew significant attention to our table and us.  You can just imagine the horror on Cheyenne’s face when she realized that her successful efforts at covert communication had been dashed by her oblivious mother.  I asked her if we should go over to Mr. Wegschied and say hello and assure him that we were not stalking him – she didn’t think that was a good idea.  Well,  I say she didn’t think it was a good idea, but truth be told I am downplaying her reaction when I put it that way.  It was more like a silent but urgent plea from daughter to mother to not ruin the totality of her life existence by actively acknowledging that we saw Mr. Wegscheid.  I guess plausible deniability was about all she had left at that point.

After we left the restaurant, Cheyenne remarked that she hoped Mr. Wegscheid hadn’t seen her.  I had to tell her that I was pretty sure that he had and that I should probably send him an email and let him know that we weren’t actively stalking him.  Once again, Cheyenne was not all too keen on that idea. 

I must say though that we are fairly amazing as incidental stalkers  – twice over the past week or so we have been within feet of Mr. Wegscheid without even trying.  Our incidental stalking is like an art form of sorts – seemingly intuitive (but not), individualistic and communicative of the artist’s intent.  Hopefully the art teacher in Mr. Wegscheid appreciates the interplay between light and shadow in these two close encounters and understands that there are worse fates than being recognized as a rock star by a middle school kid as he is out and about living his life.  But just in case he doesn’t, I am going to send him our agenda for the next few weeks so that we don’t “accidentally” run across him again. 😉

Day seven hundred and seventy-nine of the new forty – obla di obla da

Ms. C