We met today with Cecelia’s teacher for the second of the twice-yearly parent-teacher’s conference. I’m happy to report that we have nothing bad to report. Without resorting to annoying parental bragging, Cecelia’s academic performance review gave us nothing to worry about. At least that’s one thing that won’t keep us up at night.
As we did last year, we discussed her behavior in class. Last year, her teacher described Cecelia as her “buddy,” who always helped out in class and was, by most measures, a little angel. At this point, I had to stop her and ask, “Are you talking about our Cecelia?”
Her teacher and others since have assured us that kids tend to act out more around their own parents. I rack my brain trying to remember if I did the same at that age to no avail. I must consider myself lucky if indeed she acts more civilized around others, but once in a while, I wish she’d at least pretend she didn’t know us.
At today’s conference, no behavioral issues came up so I had to ask. Again, no problems there. Yes, I know we should be grateful, but almost daily Cecelia and I lock horns over something. If only we could have a stretch of a few days where everyone just got along.
A few years ago, I asked a co-worker who had older daughters, “At what point can you go out and do something with your girl that doesn’t involve a lot of yelling and screaming?”
He thought about it for a while, and said, “Twelve years old.”
Ugh. Four more years.
But then, the teen years set in…