Today was the Sniglet's day to check out this Transitional First Grade (a.k.a. Schulkindergarten) thing, get a feel for the space and the routine, meet his teachers, that sort of thing. I left him there for two hours, and when I went to pick him up he said it was his second-best day, after the Playmobil Funpark trip. I am really very pleased, because without his cooperation this could go really badly.
Oh, update on the plum-flinging story: Chuckie did confess his part in the action to his parents, and they gave him a good telling-off, which is appropriate to the crime and his age, so that turned out all right, and Ignatz's resentment is assuaged.
And I'm sort of done with the quarter: that is, if I give up now, I still pass the class. I feel like a total heel for not seeing it all the way through, but the teacher wants to get on with his life, and I have too much else to do right now. I feel really, really bad about it, though. I am generally a pretty conscientious student, and I never feel okay about giving less than my best. But my best is needed for DrBob's book now, and most of my hours belong to my job until next month. So sigh. And drat. But okay.
Question: Germany plays Italy in the semi-final tomorrow. Should I come home and watch it with my husband on our itty-bitty tv screen? Or should I stay in Munich, watch it on a big screen in an apartment full of his friends (without him, because it's a school night and someone has to be home)? Bearing in mind that it will end around 11:30, which is too late to catch the last train home, so I would have to sleep on the futon in his office on Ludwigstrasse, which will be the primary shouting ground for the city's riotously happy Germans or Italians, as the case may be. Hm. Tough choice.
Song du jour of the day: Arclight. By The Fat Lady Sings. Dreadful name for a band, I know, but I can't not love their music. Sorry.