"She did what?" I asked.
"Stood on the desk and refused to answer any more questions." said the teacher, with a tired edge to her voice.
It was parents' evening last night. The Ex and The Boyfriend had had an audience with the teacher earlier in the week. It had not gone well. Tonight was my turn.
I was looking at First-Born's latest set of metrics, which required a degree in advanced statistical analysis to understand. Sadly, there was no factor for stood-on-desk-and-refused-to-continue and so one of the scores had dipped dramatically.
"Her English is, as before, excellent. We can't measure her reading or writing age; our charts only go up to age 12 and she's way beyond that," continued the teacher, a hint of pride entering her voice (First-Born is 7), "and the math is improving. She tells me that you and she do her homework together?"
"Yes," I replied, "She stays over twice a week, and we do it then. Thats why its sometimes late - her mother doesn't really do math."
"Mmm hmm," said the teacher, leaning back, "Her mother. In light of the desk incident, have you considered counselling?"
I knew this was coming.
"Yes," I agreed, "I think its a good idea."
I signed the proffered bit of paper and hoped First-Born would forgive me.
The teacher smiled, "For what its worth, you shouldn't blame yourself. Maybe you should go and have a look at her work."
And that was what I did. Which is how I came to be wiping some more grit from my eye as I read stories about how she and I were going to EuroDisney for her birthday next month and how much she was looking forward to it, how she'd loved christmas, what she and I did at the weekend and so on. I also understood why The Ex had been so angry on the phone the night before; there was nothing about First-Born's other life at all...
