The other day I went to parent teacher conferences at school, where I heard about all the lovely things my children do every day and what a good parent I am. Not quite! What I heard was that Julia is greatly improving in her school work, but has trouble sitting still. Also, that at recess, she's out picking flowers in the far reaches of the playground—so far that she fails to hear the whistle or her name being called. Her teacher told me she's had to chase Julia around, as I'm sure I've done many times. Of course I sat there and felt awful over my wild daughter who won't respond to her name being called, hair and wildflowers flying as she runs and teacher runs behind, stumbling, crying out her name, "Julia!" It's funny and not funny. Proper punishment shall ensue.
Then in Liam's class, I found out he was the perfect example of a good little boy; respectful, obedient, patient. And I'm thinking, right. Is this the same kid who comes home every day at lunch and barks orders to make a sandwich, get him something to drink, cries, tears all the heads off his sister's barbies? I smiled politely through that teacher/parent meeting as well.
With a few days off of school I strapped them in the car and we drove around town to witness these windy, brilliant days of fall. Despite the drought, all woodland life has decided to be generous and blaze out in full red, yellow, orange all against a grayish, gravestone October sky. I'd read about a real haunted house in town so we drove through the older section pausing at crumbling Victorians and shady-looking bungalows. No ghosts appeared, but the kids sat in perfect silence as we scanned windows and doorways for paranormal existence.
Any ghosts in your neighborhood?
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