First day of school, morning.
Bekah is up at 6:45, showered and dressed by 7:30. As she's heading up to brush her teeth after breakfast a few minutes later, Daniel comes downstairs, hair brushed, jeans, t-shirt, flannel shirt open over top.
"SUCH a boy!" she scoffs.
"Yes, I am. So?" He's amused rather than insulted, calm in the superiority of 17 over 13.
"I've been up over an hour, I've picked out just the right outfit, and you get up five minutes ago and are all ready to head out the door - and you're wearing the same stuff you've been wearing all summer."
Daniel looks down and shrugs. "It's comfortable and it fits. Plus it's clean. What more do I need?" Fixes Bekah with his classic grin - one eyebrow quirked high, the opposing corner of the mouth up.
"SUCH a boy!" she grins up at him. Me, I'm thinking the boy has a point. No morning clothing crises for him. He gives me a quick hug, and he's off. Bekah leaves shortly thereafter.
End of the school day.
Daniel, the socially charged teen, will spend hours reconnecting with friends before coming home in the early evening. Bekah, at 13 still mostly a homebody, comes home direct.
"Hey, sweetie. How was it?"
"Great. All the grade sevens are so short. Boy, we must've grown a lot this year." (She needs to tell me this?? The kid who started out last school year an inch and a half shorter than me and is now an inch and a half taller?) "I dressed just right."
"And your teachers?"
"I have Mme. Desjardin again. For math and science AND homeroom." I groan with her. Mme. Desjardin is a very nice, very sweet, very earnest, and veeerrry boring teacher, whom poor Bekah has already suffered for two years. "BUT I have M. Renard for French! He's so cool." I perk up a bit at this. Guess I'll be going to ALL the parent nights this year. He's funny, clever, and very attractive. Way better than that brash young stripling she had last year. "OH, MUM! He's OOooLD!"
"Um, honey? So am I. By your infant standards, anyway."
"Hmph. And Ms. Wozniak for music and Mr. Papadatos for art again of course, and Ms. Adams for English. M. Lethuillier for history, Ms. Bronson for physed."
"Sounds like a good group."
"Yup. They're all easy."
"Easy?"
"Uh-huh. Except for M. Renard, all you have to do to get good marks is listen in class, do the homework, and remember what they told you and write it down on the tests."
"How's M. Renard different?"
"He's way harder. He expects us to think!"
Imagine that! I knew I had good reason to like the man.
Bekah is up at 6:45, showered and dressed by 7:30. As she's heading up to brush her teeth after breakfast a few minutes later, Daniel comes downstairs, hair brushed, jeans, t-shirt, flannel shirt open over top.
"SUCH a boy!" she scoffs.
"Yes, I am. So?" He's amused rather than insulted, calm in the superiority of 17 over 13.
"I've been up over an hour, I've picked out just the right outfit, and you get up five minutes ago and are all ready to head out the door - and you're wearing the same stuff you've been wearing all summer."
Daniel looks down and shrugs. "It's comfortable and it fits. Plus it's clean. What more do I need?" Fixes Bekah with his classic grin - one eyebrow quirked high, the opposing corner of the mouth up.
"SUCH a boy!" she grins up at him. Me, I'm thinking the boy has a point. No morning clothing crises for him. He gives me a quick hug, and he's off. Bekah leaves shortly thereafter.
End of the school day.
Daniel, the socially charged teen, will spend hours reconnecting with friends before coming home in the early evening. Bekah, at 13 still mostly a homebody, comes home direct.
"Hey, sweetie. How was it?"
"Great. All the grade sevens are so short. Boy, we must've grown a lot this year." (She needs to tell me this?? The kid who started out last school year an inch and a half shorter than me and is now an inch and a half taller?) "I dressed just right."
"And your teachers?"
"I have Mme. Desjardin again. For math and science AND homeroom." I groan with her. Mme. Desjardin is a very nice, very sweet, very earnest, and veeerrry boring teacher, whom poor Bekah has already suffered for two years. "BUT I have M. Renard for French! He's so cool." I perk up a bit at this. Guess I'll be going to ALL the parent nights this year. He's funny, clever, and very attractive. Way better than that brash young stripling she had last year. "OH, MUM! He's OOooLD!"
"Um, honey? So am I. By your infant standards, anyway."
"Hmph. And Ms. Wozniak for music and Mr. Papadatos for art again of course, and Ms. Adams for English. M. Lethuillier for history, Ms. Bronson for physed."
"Sounds like a good group."
"Yup. They're all easy."
"Easy?"
"Uh-huh. Except for M. Renard, all you have to do to get good marks is listen in class, do the homework, and remember what they told you and write it down on the tests."
"How's M. Renard different?"
"He's way harder. He expects us to think!"
Imagine that! I knew I had good reason to like the man.
Labels: children
posted by irreverentmama at
8:25 p.m.
1 Comments:
Thanks for prepping me for the reality of middle school. I like your boys's approach...I was spooning Rescue Remedy to my 9 year old in anticipation of first day....
Oh the pain of having to think....
By
crazymumma, at 11:25 p.m.
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