her own distorted version of reality. The fact that Teddy might have a minor learning delay and some processing issues—what was now called executive functioning—not depression—was never discussed until we applied to Morningside Montessori and an informal diagnosis was made based on the assessments and school progress reports we submitted for admission.
Just as I start to back away from the crowd to look for Teddy in earnest, Mr. Noah begins the school’s daily briefing. He claps his hands close to his chest, then mimes for everyone to sit down. “Time for morning meeting, Peace Pals.”
In seconds, peace prevails, and there is the soft thud of a room full of little and medium-size bodies dropping to sit on the wooden floor. My eyes fill the way they often do now, at the tiniest moments of grace or beauty, always without warning. I find a wall to lean against, then wipe my nose on the back of my hand, then take a deep cleansing breath to signal to my body and brain that it is time to focus on the News of the Day.
“Our annual intensive all-school deep-dive Autumn Inhabitancy begins soon, which we’re very excited about,” Mr. Noah says, holding a large photo above his head of a group of people in animal costumes. From where I’m sitting, I think I can make out a cow, a horse, and maybe a moose. “This year, for something new and very different, the People Puppet Theater is coming all the way from Vermont. They’ll need room and board for a few weeks, so ask your parents if you can be a host family.” He stops to gasp. “I mean, how fun would that be? To have real live People Puppets in your house? Puppets-in-residence! It reminds me of college!” He stops to sigh wistfully. I squint, and though I can’t be certain, I think one of the layers of clothing he’s wearing—T-shirt, oxford cloth button-down, lightweight quilted down vest, cotton neck-smock—is some kind of bib. “But this morning we’re very excited to have Teddy Vogel’s mom visiting us for Bring-Your-Parent-or-Grandparent-or-Beloved-Guardian-to-School Day.”
Even though I still can’t see him, I know that Teddy is horrified at the mention of his name, which is not even really his name, since Vogel is my last name, and Teddy’s last name is Flynn, Gary’s last name, but the school, irrepressibly progressive, insists on allowing teachers to call children by the mother’s surname instead of the father’s, even if the names aren’t hyphenated, whenever they want to. I can feel myself start to bristle—a school should call a child by their given name, not a politically correct interpretation of what their name could be, right?—when I realize Mr. Noah is coming to the end of his brief parent-intro and that in seconds it will be time for me to get up and speak. I pull out my old dog-eared copy of Bird from my bag, the one I used to read from when I still did readings, and pick a few pieces of stray dog hair from my sweater.
“. . . so here’s Judy Vogel to tell us all about writing children’s books!”
I hug the sling as Mr. Noah waves at me to come forward, out of the shadows. When I’m standing next to him, I realize that he is indeed wearing a bib—made from terry cloth, with a little lamb on it. Maybe he wears one first thing in the morning with the preschoolers? He points at the sling.
“Teddy didn’t mention there was a new baby!”
“There isn’t.” I finally find Teddy in the crowd, and as soon as I do I almost wish I hadn’t. His face has crumpled into misery. “It’s a dog,” I whisper.
“A dog-baby! How adorkable is that?” he coos, and just as I’m about to start nervous-talking about the dog and how much I love wearing her and how she’s helped get me through a difficult time, I watch Teddy sink into the crowd and disappear, like he’s fallen backward into a dark lake that has swallowed him up whole. I want more than anything to find him and apologize for embarrassing him, but instead I pull something else out of my bag: a Bird on Your Head knit Peruvian-style hat that was part of the official promotional merchandise for the book and animated television series. I take a deep breath and put the hat on over my hair, tucking the long strands behind my ears and letting the multicolor yarn ties fall straight