I went to a parent-teacher conference for Zach the other day, at his religiously-affiliated preschool. The conference was immensely gratifying, almost as much so as Elise's (in which her teacher reportedly said she wished she had a classroomful of Elises and compared her to J.K. Rowling! *Cough, cough,* genius daughter!).
Zach's teacher says he is doing wonderfully, talking up a proverbial storm, and generally getting along great. This is especially nice because I haven't even been the one responsible for bringing him to his school, packing his little lunch, or doing the majority of the Zach-upbringing, in months--except for schlepping him around to his siblings' after-school activities, and immersing him in the requisite swearing-while-driving.
Thank goodness for family, community support, and good help when a new baby is born.
So we're (Zach n' I) driving home from the conference and have the following exchange:
Zach: (singing, making preschool-sanctioned hand gestures) Open, shut them. Open, shut them. Give a little clap, clap, clap! Open, shut them. Open, shut them. Fold them just like that!
(bows head in prayer) God is great, God is good; let us thank Him for our food. A-MEN!
Me: Oh, you're praying before you eat your sandwich, just like you do in school.
Zach: Yeah!
Zach: Hey Mom.
Me: What.
Zach: (Shouting at top of lungs) G-D DAMMIT!
In retrospect, Zach's teacher seemed to be laughing about something and looking at me out of the corner of her eyes during the conference.
It's back to the Swear Jar for me.
Thursday, October 29, 2015
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Sunday, October 11, 2015
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