We had our annual parent-teacher meetings. Mr. Waffle and I went along and wedged ourselves into tiny primary school size chairs and heard that all is well. Though Michael is inclined to question the utility of much of his repetitive labours such as colouring, writing and sums which could be done much more speedily and effectively on the computer. I got the impression that his teacher did not entirely welcome Michael’s consequent reluctance to engage in these activities. However, some kind of truce appears to have been worked out. I am pleased to reveal that only other day I was summoned to the classroom to admire a project on Ancient Greece which he, his brother and a classmate had worked on. It involved both colouring and writing and they were all justly proud of their labours.
Boys
Relationship Status: It’s Complicated
Daniel: Jabba the Hutt has a son, was he married?
Michael: No, I think Hutts just breed naturally.
Me: What did Jabba the Hutt do again?
Daniel: He made Princess Leia wear inappropriate clothing.
Michael: That’s not really a problem in “Angry Birds Star Wars” though.
There’s a whole world out there.
Separating the Parental Wheat from Chaff
Daniel’s new GAA training regime is killing us. He has a match at weekends and training two evenings a week from 5.00 to 6.15. Who does this suit? On Thursdays he goes with a neighbour. When he gets home about 6.40 he wolfs down his dinner and goes to choir practice at 7.15 with the Princess and me.
On Monday, Mr. Waffle brings him and the neighbour’s child out for 5.00. I leave work at 5.30 (deeply inconvenient); cycle home like a fury; hop into the car at our house at 5.45 (left there by Mr. Waffle following depositing of children); sit in traffic for 30 minutes; collect the boys; drop the neighbour’s child home; and return, late, for our own childminder, who is at home with the other pair, at 6.40.
All I can say is, it’s a good job that Daniel really loves it.
Not All Young Animals are Appealing
Michael: What are nits?
Me: Lice eggs.
Michael: Little baby lice?
Michael still does not have lice. Rejoice.
On Perfection
Daniel: Nobody’s perfect.
Me: Nope.
Daniel: Except Jesus, Jesus is perfect.
Me: I suppose.
Daniel: Actually, no he’s not, he’s a bit of a goody two shoes.
Well Played, Child
It is after lights out and Michael comes down stairs to his parents. “What is it, Michael?” “I was just wondering whether you could sing me a lullaby; it’s ok, if you say no.”
