Hot Husband and I attended parent-teacher interviews last night to chat with the teachers about the kids’ end of year reports.
I’m genuinely proud of this statement, because usually I forget to book an interview, and a very nice lady from the school office phones me and asks me if I am wanting to book one, because they noticed we aren’t on the list yet. Every. Single. Time.
Not this year! We were booked in, waiting at the door, ready to go.
I always find this experience just a little bit daunting, because in my head, my children are actually completely flawless geniuses, and I worry that I might have to start flipping tables like the Hulk if the feedback says otherwise. And I can’t help but feel like we are being assessed in some way, as we cram into those little chairs, and cross our hands together neatly on the table, as we wait for a gold star, or detention. One or the other.
Yes, Miss. I promise to work on my parenting, Miss. I will commit to the nude food policy next year, Miss, and I swear I’ll do a better job at sending back permission slips and library books. Oh, and Miss? Here’s the fifteen bucks for that library book we couldn’t find, and a handful of school jumpers that belong to someone else’s kid. Ok, thanks, bye.
All jokes aside, let me just say, I’ve absolutely loved our kids teachers this year, and I love the relationships that they’ve built with our kids. They have the patience of saints, honestly, and I think every single one of them deserves a big, fat payrise. There is no way I could ever do their job and remain as sane and lovely as they are by this point in the year. They’ve gotten to know our mini humans really well over the course of the year, and as we sat down with each teacher, the discussions highlighted what we already knew: our kids are polar opposites of each other.
The Boy Child is the kid who just cannot sit still. He’s constantly moving, constantly thinking, constantly working the room. This kid has got some serious charisma, and no matter where he is, or who he’s with, he’s finding people to talk to. He’s playing sports, he’s grabbing onto every fad, and he’s putting himself out there, front of stage, thank you very much. In fact, on a trip to the park last week, after bumping into and chatting briefly with a friend I knew, I looked across to the playground to see the Boy Child, surrounded by about eight children, entertaining them all with card tricks he’d just learned. We’d been there for all of four minutes, and the kid had a fan club. It’s just what he does.
Conversely, the Girl Child wouldn’t get out of the car that day. She was busy reading a book (her third for the day), and simply wound down her window so she could sit in the warm car with her story book. Being the centre of attention is her worst nightmare, but she’s a solid little worker; a stickler for the rules, with a memory like an elephant, and a creative writing streak that would put J.K Rowling to shame. She floats through life in her own dreamy little world, and loves her own company, although she has some dear little friends that she really treasures.
In a political world, he’d be the President, and she’d be writing the policies.
They couldn’t be more different to each other if they tried.
It is quite fitting that one of the few TV shows we watch together as a family is “The Middle”. The Boy Child could BE Axel Heck, trait for trait, while the Girl Child is a dead ringer for Sue, with Brick’s love of books.
It’s funny, when I was pregnant with each of them, I used to wonder what they’d be like; what their interests would be, what they’d look like, and who they’d hang out with. And as they’ve grown, they’ve surprised me, by being exactly who I thought they’d be, whilst simultaneously turning out nothing like I expected.
Despite the same upbringing, in the same family, in the same environment, they’ve grown, and continue to grow, into their own, completely unique selves. And I think that’s just about the coolest thing ever.
Now, if only the Boy Child would stop talking so much in class, and showing off in front of the girls….
Yeah, good luck, Miss.