The other night at dinner, the boys announced that they were both contestants in this year's spelling bee. It is obvious that they inherited their spelling skills from the Queen (May She Live Forever) and not from me. She went on to the regional competition one year, while my spelling history leaves little to brag about.

I still remember the only 'C' I ever received in elementary school - 5th grade spelling. And as far as the Bee goes, I always felt the contest was a cleverly disguised form of torture; forcing us non-spellers to endure hours of nothing but listening to the spelling of words. And the prizes...didn't anyone else ever notice the delicious irony in giving a dictionary to the best speller in the school? (Not that I wanted one anyways – looking in the dictionary for a word you don't know how to spell is like calling someone to get their phone number.)

The remainder of our meal was spent laughing hysterically at the long and storied history of my children's spelling bee performances.

The Architect has been in two bees and took third place in both. The ironic thing is that both times he lost because the pronouncer used an pronounciation that was not familiar to my son. In 3rd grade he was asked to spell na – sha. He had no clue what that word was, although he knew how to spell nausea (nau – see – ah). The next year the same thing happened, and although he cannot remember the word that was asked him, he did entertain us with several of the interesting sounding words that emerged from the mouth of the pronouncer. (I guess they had a creative pronouncer that year.)

Yet the most amusing 'ghost of spelling bees past' is the story of the Artist's 3rd grade event. In his age group he was having no difficulty with the words they were being asked and had progressed to the point where there were only four contestants remaining. He had his heart set on getting a ribbon (given to the first three places) and it looked as if he was going to achieve that goal.

In the round of four, he was given a word with a double-p, possibly oppressed or some similar word. He may not remember what exact word he was required to spell, but he does know that it was a word he knew how to spell. He approached the microphone and began spelling the word. O. P. P. As he said the second P, his lip brushed the microphone and it shocked him. Startled, a third P. involuntarily slippped from his mouth.

He immediately understood what had happened and his eyes filled with tears because he knew that the ribbon was lost. He finished his incorrect word because there was no going back, due to Rule Number 10:

10. Having started to spell a word, a speller may stop and start over, retracing the spelling from the beginning. In retracing, however, there can be no change of letters or their sequence from those first pronounced. If letters or their sequence is changed in the respelling, the speller will be eliminated.

The Queen (MSLF) said that nearly everyone in the room saw what had happened, and felt so bad for the heartbroken Artist as the judge eliminated him from the competition. Several parents told her after it was over that they felt he should have been allowed to restart the word.

As we ate dinner, the mood was far from melancholy. With his "Bee Sting" far behind him, the Artist entertained us with several enthusiastic reenactments of the event. Minus the sadness of elimination, the electrostimulated 'P' itself is really quite funny.

Which is why I can't wait for dinner on January 31; after the spelling bee that day, my two princes will surely be entertaining the court with new bee tales.

(I would never give this advice to my boys, but I do think it would be funny that when faced with a word whose spelling is completely hopeless, if a student instead touched the microphone, dramatically pretended to be electrocuted and then fell to the floor as if unconscious. Nothing like going out with a bit of drama, no? Except that it might not be as funny once the paramedics arrive.)