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.
Youngest Child
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.
Not All Young Animals are Appealing
Michael: What are nits?
Me: Lice eggs.
Michael: Little baby lice?
Michael still does not have lice. Rejoice.
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.”
Basking in Reflected Glory
One Sunday, the Princess did a second reading, Mr. Waffle did a bit at the start of mass and all the children did prayers of the faithful. I didn’t do anything, though, as Mr. Waffle pointed out, “We’re not the ones who need practice with our public speaking.”
As Mr. Waffle was doing his bit, a neighbour in the seat behind poked me in the ribs and said, “He’d be perfect for RTE.” I assume, a compliment. The American priest said mass; we’re getting used to him. At the end, he singled out herself for particular praise, “I would like to compliment the young lady who read the second reading; it’s a difficult text and she read it beautifully.” Everybody dutifully clapped and herself was mortified, though pleased. This kind of announcement in the church is, of course, the kind of thing I normally despise but, like many another thing, it’s never so bad when you’re involved yourself.
I think I have reached the high water mark in church engagement. From here, it’s all downhill. Indeed, Michael has recently begun pumping the air when the priest says “Mass is ended” which is unwelcome.
Contraband
A friend asked me for book recommendations for her great nephew who is the same age as Michael and Daniel. I consulted with the boys. They had somewhat different recommendations but top of the list for both was Captain Underpants. I reported this back. My friend told the boy’s mother who said, “No thank you, my son has a reading age of 12 and doesn’t need to be reading about farts and poo.” I was sorry all round – sorry for the little boy and sorry for my friend and sorry for me. The boys inquired whether the Captain Underpants had gone down well and I told them my tale of woe. Michael pointed out anxiously that one of the books which features Dr. Poopy Pants has very little farting but I felt that he was missing the point. He took it very much to heart. The next time he saw my friend, he took her aside and whispered in her ear, “I can give you my Captain Underpants books and you can smuggle them to your nephew.”
Tell me, do you have small boys in your house? Where do you stand on the question of the wonderfulness of Captain Underpants? A google search tells me that the internet is somewhat divided.