slipjig3 | Consider us conferred

Today was parent-teacher conference day. (I'll pause for a moment to allow the parents among my readership to get that facial tic I just triggered under wraps.) It actually went quite well, not that I had the faintest doubt in my mind, of course. I mean, just the fact that we did not receive biweekly troubled phone messages or e-mails concerning Our Daughter makes this year clearly an improvement over last. But there's still that overwrought sigh of relief that comes with the knowledge that she hasn't, say, repainted the class hamster or organized a labor strike.

As is stands, the teacher told us little that we did already know about Abbey: great at math, great at reading, enthusiastic, outgoing, loves to draw, sometimes has trouble focusing ("My Abbey? Surely you jest.") but responds well to redirection. Just your basic Kristi in one-quarter scale, really. Even her one chronic behavior problem is as adorable as all get-out: she sings. At inappropriate times, of course, but she sings. The teacher said, "I hate to tell her to stop, because I don't really want to discourage that, but..."

Abbey herself was there, too, to my right, because there was no school (obviously) and we lacked a sitter for her. I have to say, I have never seen her exhibit such unadulterated pride before. The nature of the conference beast required Kristi, the teacher and me to talk at length about her in the third person in her presence, but she positively beamed to hear praise piled onto praise. It got to the point where she started acting shy, which is quite rare indeed; she spent half the talk trying to bury her nose in my elbow. I do hope the words sunk in enough to warm that complicated heart of hers.

Afterwards, I offered to take her to Pizzaria Uno's or Friendly's for lunch, but she turned me down. She said she'd rather have tomato soup and grilled cheese at home. I have to admit, home was the right place to be.