Birthdays are pretty crappy these days, these years. There'll never be a party like my twenty second, never a present like that little box video game I got when I was 10. Christmas day, New year's eve, St Patrick's Day, all a load of shite. I normally work on March 17th and make the fuckers climb to Banana Republic and sprint to the Sick Bed of Cuchulainn. New Year's peaked in Carlow back in '95, and even then it was a senseless, sickly day. And the consummation of this eight week orgy of lemming like consumption which we are currently credit carding our way through? Just a day, just another fucking day with the tiresome addition of sherry and familial commitments.
But folks there is one day to which I look forward all year long. And in 2007 that day is today. This very afternoon susposably at 2.55 but more likely sometime closer to 3.30, Common Law and I will attend Riker's parent teacher meeting. And maybe this year her teacher will not tell us that we are the parents of a smart, hard-working and well behaved child. Maybe this year there will be no mention of her enthusiasm, her creativity, her kindness. Maybe this year the news will be bad. Yeah, and maybe Bertie ain't a beater.
The trill of anticipation will last all morning and the glow of satisfaction will linger for days. The satisfaction is born of what I will tell myself is a job well done, though deep down I sense that the persistent playschool punch ups of her, shall we say, feistier sister Data, indicate that all this Rikerly good behavior is considerably more about the nature than the nurture. But who fucking cares either way? Not Gimme. Our Gimme will be courting proud and smug for the foreseeable. ..
An afterthought: The odd thing about this year's seven minutes of heaven (the winners only get seven minutes folks, the losers are the ones holding up the show) is that both Common Law and I have yet to meet the teacher. I can't help but wonder if this latest mentor, this senior side swami is, well, hot. Just one more thing to look forward to.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
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16 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:
Make sure you don't wear the dead beat dad attire or you won't get praised by the teacher, Gimme.
best of luck with that then.....I remember my dad going to my parent/teacher meets. He stood at the back of the gym showing my mates how to throw a cigarette into your mouth. Oh happy days......those were dark days I should add.....
She really is very kind and clever. I wonder does she feel an outsider in our family?
Medbh:
I dressed super smart. Even wore shoes, though I left out my penis pointing tie.
Manuel:
That it is an important skill and yet another thing I miss about smoking.
Were you the teachers pet, Manuel? Always bringing the teacher apples and deep fried brie?
Ellie:
Ha! I swear to God it's turning into an episode of Family Ties (pun intended) around here.
Soon everyone will be leaving my blog so that we can have our end of episode problem resolving chat.
Here's hoping that all of Riker's teachers are females who appreciate it when the boys stand too close. Curious though. Why doesn't the actual teacher participate in the parent-teacher meeting?
Head wrecking shit Gimme. Do you really need someone, who's motivation may be a lifestyle choice over any vocational intent, do you really need this person to tell you about your child ? And the adjustment thing, the social graces, who makes them the arbiters of behaviour. As long as she's happy , that's the deal brother. There is nothing else. Okay, my gang have had frank and open exchanges with the department's doers, and we were not impressed, no not at all. I'm not convinced our educators open their minds to possibility ( read, close their minds entirely to alternative ), and I've seen no teaching Rohaldihno or Messi, it's mostly John Terrys and Andy O Briens. Take no shit man.
I bet we've been together for a million years.
And I bet we'll be together for a million more.
Oh, it's like I started breathing on the night we kissed,
And I can't remember what I ever did before.
What'll we do baby, without us?
What'll we do baby, without us?
And there ain't no nothin' we can't love each other through.
What'll we do baby without us?
Sha la la la
la la
Treehorn:
Riker goes to an all girls school.
And the actual teacher does participate. I must have been unclear. We hadn't met her before today. She turned out to be not so hot. Not Mary Harney, but not so hot.
Sniffle&Cry:
Your ability to apply footballing metaphors to any situation gladdens my heart.
I think the Messis are more inclined to want to work with the older children. Teaching eight year olds must be heartbreakingly dull.
Ellie:
You didn't need to check the lyrics, did you?
We must be due a Sky One repeat. Though I suppose we may have to wait for MJF to croak it.
"eight week orgy of lemming like consumption"
The eating season started here a week ago today with Thanksgiving. It's sugar, lard and alcohol with the benison of the baby Jesus from here on through to January. Monstrous amounts of food will be eaten and thousands of miles of arteries hardened. Eat! Eat for the Lord! And drink egg-nog! Blessed are the egg-nog drinkers!
actually recipes......dad was the head chef in the local "big hotel"
These days, many of the teachers are younger than my elder offspring and I can't take them seriously.
Oh wait. That should read, "I never took them seriously anyway, the self-important, half-educated fucking dim-wits".
Apparently the first season is out on DVD in the US.
Hey Gimme, was Riker's teacher hot ?
Well? Are you basking?
Sam:
And cheese. Blessed are the cheese makers as Jesus said in 'The Passion of The Christ'.
Manuel:
I never knew it was dynastic thing.
Bock:
They intimidate the fuck out of me, particularly the ones that are younger ones. I have teacher issues.
Sniffle&Cry:
Not my type, Sniff. Too much sincerity and eye contact.
Fatmammycat:
I'm basking for Ireland here. No. 1 is No. 1, making me, you guessed it, No 1.
Woo hoo!
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