where wildly different is perfectly normal
I have a unicorn
I have a unicorn

I have a unicorn

…and I’m not sharing.

Oh, sure, it looks like a harmless piece of blue paper from the school, but it’s a unicorn. The room is full of rainbows, glitter litters the floor, the delicious aroma of fresh-baked cookies permeates the air, and soft music soothes the senses. I have a unicorn. I think I will name him Wee Schnookums Weeblie the Magnificent.

A was accepted into the Gifted and Talented program for reading.

Awww…Wee Schnookums Weeblie the Magnificent just nuzzled me, gave me a backrub, and brought me a cup of hot chai! How nice of Wee Schnookums Weeblie the Magnificent! I woooove him!

I knew Wee Schnookums Weeblie the Magnificent existed, but it’s difficult to explain him when you’re constantly told of your child’s difficulties, of his failures. You know the unicorn is out there, but you get the impression that it’s tied to achievement and not ability, and that’s just wrong.

But Wee Schnookums Weeblie the Magnificent is here and like Snuffleupagus finally being “seen” and acknowledged (HAPPY BIRTHDAY SESAME STREET!), he can’t be ignored.

Welcome, Wee Schnookums Weeblie the Magnificent. I knew you existed, and thanks for the cup of chai.

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