Festivus Friday

There's a phenomenon around our house I like to call Festivus Friday. When I meet the kids at the bus stop (they stay in "after school" Monday through Thursday, and get to ride the bus home on Friday to watch television for three hours relax until Brief gets home), we walk home and there is an Airing of Grievances. 99% of the time it is my son doing the airing, as has been his habit for the two years past where we've had this Friday arrangement.

The grievances have included any of the following which have happened to him during the day (some multiple times):

• Someone shoved paper in his shirt
• Someone looked at him funny
• His homework was hard
• He only got one library book (but could have gotten two)
• Something smelled funny
• His toe hurts

There is nothing a mother loves more than the knowledge of being a confidant for her small child. There is apparently, however, a limit to the amount of unloading I want to be the receptacle for. Now, on the whole, he doesn't have a lot of complaints, so this seems to be his "thing", and I can respect that. I mean, I've read that I can't tell him to start shoving his feelings into a secret inside box until he's at least nine, so clearly I've got to suck it up for a couple more years at least.

He should at least have the courtesy to get a pole, though.