I don’t know. I’m just so tired. So very, very tired. There are so many things for which the Sprogs deserve to be punished every day, I can’t keep up. I need a fulltime personal assistant just to monitor their various infractions so that each one may be properly addressed. It’s like, they’ll go for a week without sneaking cups of sugar out of the pantry at 4:30 a.m., and I’ll think we’re making progress, but then William will draw a picture of an elephant butt taking a dump in the upper right-hand corner of his spelling test where, actually, his name and the date should be. I suspect that his teacher has adopted a strategy of ignoring this kind of jackassery, based on the fact that this came home without a note of concern from the school counselor. And what a refreshing contrast this bears to the half-dozen phone calls I got from a certain unnamed person with a BA in psychology when William, in first grade, spent a month signing all his schoolwork with the nom de guerre “Sausage.”
On the other hand, parent-teacher conferences are next week, and I have a vision of walking into the classroom only to be assailed by a very thick, three-ring binder detailing my son’s many offenses. Compiled by his teacher’s fulltime personal assistant.