School

I got a text message this morning from the Wife that read; "Boy's teacher spoke to me about his behaviour. Ring Me." Not what you want to read. "Boy invented renewable energy resource - we're rich!" That would have been nice. I would even have settled for "Boy wiped his bum on own." I'm not fussy.

Two days ago the Boy told me he was on a warning at school because he punched a classmate on the back for ignoring him. He's a good lad normally, so its all a bit out of character. Yesterday he came home from school and told me, hands on hips

"I'm still on a warning and I've been good as gold!"

I agreed it all seemed a bit unfair. Turns out he was still on a warning because yesterday he and a group of his classmates took it on themselves to redecorate the school toilets in hand paint. So today we re-educated him in what "good as gold" means. And hid all the paint. I have, it must be said, had my doubts about sending the Boy to school. When I announced his first day on Twitter a friend replied; "Good luck to the Boy's teachers! He's great. Love his words of wisdom wrapped up in insanity!" I'm starting to think she had a point.

Initially I felt quite sad about him starting school. I told people that it felt like the end of the first chapter of his life. That he wasn't just ours any more, we were sharing with the world. I talked a lot of shit, in short. The Wife, ever the pragmatist, said it was nice to have a few hours where she couldn't hear him CONSTANTLY TALKING. You know, you worry about the language they'll pick up (so far just "dangleberries") and the things they'll do (I'll be honest, the more I think about redecorating the toilets the more I'm just glad it was paint they used.) As with all other things to do with parenting psychotic kids, the real problems come out of left field. 

"What do you want in your sandwich, Boy?"

"Not peanut butter."

"I thought you liked peanut butter."

"I do. But someone might get hurt."

In case you're wondering - peanut allergy. They're very safety conscious at the Boy's school. Although some things go without saying

"We're not allowed guns at school."

And you can forget getting any description of what they've been doing at school because by the time they get back all they want to do is watch telly or moan. The most I've ever got out of the Boy on the subject was as he was climbing into the car when I picked him up.

"Do you know what I'm doing on Wednesday? I'm... er... Oh. I forgot." (Waves dismissively) "Ask mummy. Shut the door."

Actually, that's not true. The most he's said about school was

"I saw a duck get hit by a lorry because an angry pigeon attacked it."

But lets face it, that's just weird. I should really have learnt that he's generally interested in more mundane things than those people we refer to as "normal". Such as when he went to see "The Cat in the Hat" in London, and on his return when I asked him what he'd done he said

"We went on a train!"

"And?"

"And what?"

Or

"Remember when we went to see the show jumping?"

"Yeah. It was great. We had crisps."

Strangely, the Girl is slightly more verbose about her day. From

"What did you do today at school today?"

"Drawing. Painting. Crying."

To

"What did you do at gymnastics today?"

"Jumping. Falling off things. Crying."

I've decided after today that I'm not going to ask any more. I'm worried what the answer might be.