Tonight's post is rated R for nauseating cuteness...
Ah, Parents Evening. I still haven't got used to the fact that most of other parents could be, well, my parents. I guess I started early, or they started late.
And of course, the added twist tonight was that I was the only solitary person. The rest of the hall was full of married couples toasting the success of their nauseating offspring.
Yes, the school gives the parents a glass of wine. Presumably to soften the blow when their illusions are shattered. Parents Evening can be a nervewracking experience.
I (day 11 of no alcohol) stuck to orange juice and apologised to the teacher for making her have two appointments (The Ex and Boyfriend, and then me.) "Its ok," she said, "I shouldn't say this, but First-born's mother is a little, er, highly strung isn't she? I understand a bit more about First-born's behaviour now."
I, as our American friends would say, took the fifth. Personally, I think First-born's mother should be highly strung. Preferably from a lamp post.
She then spent 10 minutes showing me page after page of A-grades and merits (with last week's blip) and finally came to a poem written a few weeks ago.
"There's a book being compiled of children's poetry. We'd like to make this our school's submission. Would you mind?"
The poem was beautiful. First-born has grasped that a poem doesn't have to rhyme, it doesn't need to follow a form. It just needs to... evoke.
For some reason I couldn't speak. I just nodded my agreement and turned to the next page. She'd written a page on how happy she was to have her room in my house and how much she was looking forward to staying with me.
Then the bell rang, and it was the turn of the next set of parents.
Next time I'm low, I'll be re-reading this post.
