This afternoon, The Ex and I met with The Kid's teacher for our teacher-parent conference. She had nothing but glowing reviews. Reading, writing, math, social skills: all stellar. His comprehension, organization, and memory were described as "really very remarkable."
While I was pleased with the glowing report, I was not at all surprised by it. His father, on the other hand, had been under the impression that The Kid couldn't read up until very recently. Despite years of begging him to read with his son, it's only been very recently that The Ex has started doing so. And so, upon cracking open a book and finding that The Kid could read something more than 2-letter words, he assumed it was a brand new development.
It's bad enough that The Ex is so out of touch with his son's scholastic achievements. It's even worse that he blurts it out in the middle of a conference with The Kid's teacher. But perhaps worse still is everything else The Ex blurted. The conference, consisting mostly of "Yup, he's doing reeeeeal good," could have been over in under 10 minutes if The Ex hadn't incessantly interrupted to tell stories from his own school days. I am not exaggerating at all when I tell you that we spent more time talking about The Ex's performance in elementary school than we did about The Kid's.
I left the school mildly annoyed and more than a little embarrassed by my questionable marital decisions. But mostly, I left giddy and ridiculously proud of my kid. To celebrate his stellar report card, The Kid was treated to the extra special dinner of his choosing. Because nothing encourages continued brain health like a happy meal and a bag of Skittles.
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