Taking stock
I want to thank you all for the support and help around the Montessori decision. Today I worked from home, as my car is still in the shop (see below; the story is starting to reach amusing proportions) and I listened to Noah and V. playing, and Noah played school with her. In the play, they had to work on the mat, sing and fall down, and give hugs. This was very reassuring.
I finished off my list for the day after a really good happy conference call and decided to knock off a bit early and send V. home, and then Noah and I played on the porch while it rained lightly, and then went for a walk to explore the worms and so on. He told me he was going to school and ran down the sidewalk gleefully. I think he is becoming happy there. We’ll still be very careful about it, for, oh, ever. But I feel that we made the right decision in waiting to see.
~~
It has really shocked me how much happier I am at my present job. Part of it is that my old job really had become oppressive and letting go of that and still being employable was really empowering. Also, I suppose I am still in a bit of a honeymoon period, but I really do feel like this new job is a great match. There have been some bumps and will be more but it just feels pretty right.
I am surprised at the exponential improvement in my happiness levels though. I had always thought that a working at home part time lifestyle would be a great compromise for the system and a good way to raise children, and that it didn’t work for me (at least that configuration) continues to kind of amaze me - like I gave up the dream, somehow. I keep wondering why I need the external reward of people who say things like “this is a great plan.”
But I am just magnitudes happier. I’ve even started working on that everlasting novel again, in my ten free minutes a week.
Lyria continues to have a hard time, but we seem to be working it out. Today was a good example: I might have worked through to the end of the day, but she said it was silly (it would have been much more show than substance, that last hour) and off we went to gaze at the rain with Noah. She is incredibly relieved that there is still time and space for those moments… and I agree with her that they’re essential. Getting the gold star for perfect virtual office attendence was not worth the trade-off today.
Also we have mostly still had good food and so on. Although that teacher night we did resort to drive-through… hopefully for the last time, as Noah learned the fast-food logo, and that just shows he’s too aware for us to pull that crap. :)
~~
The ironic part of the whole thing, though, is that Noah is suddenly so interesting. He is talking a blue streak - mostly still one and two words, if they can get it across, but where they don’t he can build more complete sentences. Sometimes he comes out with full phrases that just blow me away. Today he said ”now we go home all the way over there” which just about had me collapsed on the sidewalk. All the way over there, really? He also suddenly mostly knows his colours and can rote-count to ten, although he doesn’t know what the numbers mean, except that he has known for a while that two is better than one. When it comes to cookies. And legs. And minutes left at the park. (”One more minute Noah!” “No, TWO minute.”)
And the songs, they are bursting out all over. All those mother goose programmes and of course it’s now, when I go to work, that the boy wants to sing and dance. The “hoke poke” and Ring Around the Rosie (ah the plague lives on) and tonight he started spontaneously singing ee-i-ee-i-o, so of course we had a rousing round of Old MacDonald. When he brings a new song home he is incredibly proud and delighted that I know them, and claps for me as if it’s a little parlour trick I have demonstrated.
This is kind of the phase that I, personally, waited for, and now I get it in small doses throughout the week and a whack on weekends. And that is hard. I think both quantity and quality time are important and we have compromised on some of the quantity.
~~~
The car is pretty funny at this point. I met the tow truck driver at the car on Thursday morning and he insisted that boosting it would work (no, it’s not the battery, but, whatever). So I said “okay, but you wait to see what happens.” Sure enough, he boosted it, it started, we revved it a bit and then when I went to drive it - it stopped. So then he kind of sulkily towed it and I went home.
Then my dealer called with the news that the tow driver, who was the service centre’s pick and presumably tows Volvos all the time, put his hook through my oil pan. And that the parts centre was closed for inventory. And that they won’t even look at the other problem until that’s fixed. So now it will be Monday before the oil pan is fixed and probably Tues or Wed before they may condescend to take my concern seriously. Because I have been telling them that the problems they were fixing were not matching the symptoms. At least now the car is so undriveable there is no arguing that there’s a continued problem.
Not too happy with Volvo service right now, no. I should have bought a new Mazda 5, but no, I had to go for the used wagon. I do love to drive it, when it’s working. But for a 2001, it is having a lot of issues, and the repair guys do not seem to be actually using their thinking caps. My theory is that they have computer guys who just run standard tests and tell you what the tests say you have to fix. And then if that doesn’t work they get the real mechanics to… you know… pop the hood.
Because as I have mentioned and shown, under my hood, there is a big fat wire going to the battery that looks to me as though it has been melting/corroding and shorting out. But, you know, the computer says otherwise. I was willing to play this game to a point but now my patience is shot. And not very amusingly, the service reception/cs guy told me breezily that I could roll the remaining few thousand dollars over onto a 2007 model at 0.8 financing. Yah, ’cause I want to owe more than a car is worth, have it depreciate the moment I drive it off the lot, and still be dealing with you. Read my lips: Mazda. Honda. Toyota.
But then, this is Ford now right?
By the way, our Civic has more mileage on it (kilometreage?) and is a 2000… and one plate has come loose. Once. I think it cost $125 to fix but I’m not sure ’cause it did that during Emily’s life and my dad just took it and got it fixed and come to think of it I’m not sure we even have paid him back. (Oops.) But really.
Of course no one ever put their hook through the oil pan either.
Meet the teachers
Tonight was meet the teachers night at Noah’s daycare and it went really well - especially considering that my car broke down, not just leaving work, making me later to get to Noah than I ever have been, but then broke down again. It is actually still there and the service centre/dealer can bloody well pick it up since they assured me they’d found the problem and fixed it. I know I’ll have to go along but seriously.
Anyways, so after nightmare redux (Carl was working waaay across town; he left as soon as I called him, and I waited a half hr for the tech to come jump it the first time, but I still beat him to the door) I landed at Noah’s school late, and on the heels of the parent teacher night. We weren’t planning to both attend and to therefore have Noah have to stay there.
But after confirming a few times that he could walk out to our cars when he wanted, Noah opted to show me all his favourite things in his classroom (mostly, I noticed, things he is probably not allowed yet, like a loom). Then he showed me pictures of him proudly - hat day, horse riding. He didn’t look miserable in the pictures. He didn’t look miserable at school (once I got him; he was standing at the window waiting for half an hour, despite efforts on the staff’s part to distract him, due to the lateness I’m sure I can mention a few more times in this post).
He also introduced me to people in his class. He is speaking more and more and his vocabulary seems pretty good, but I’ll admit I was a bit floored that he could introduce more friends in his class than I could keep track of. “dat hannah. hi hannah. amman! dat amman!”
I kind of feel like we turned the corner, before our end-of-Sept deadline. I think unless I get new evidence, Noah will be staying at his Montessori and I can continue to love my new job.
Due to all this introducing and so on I missed most of the formal stuff; Carl listened and then we traded so I got to listen to the part about teaching kids to read, not that I care. I mean I care that Noah continue to learn to read but I do not really care if it is before grade one. I learned to read, fairly inexplicably (I never really learned phonics until I was teaching, which did make for some hillarity around pronunciation… still does), shortly before my third birthday, and it was both a marvellous boon and a terrible curse.
The Montessori method is basically phonetic, although it does word construction (spelling) before decoding (reading-ish), and I’m sure it’s great. I think the kinetic sandpaper letters are excellent. And if Noah picks out the letters to play/work with, great. As long as they’re not pushing him, whatever. He’s not in Casa yet anyway.
I’m such a bad parent educationally. I don’t really know how I went from wanting to be an elementary school teacher (well Teresa did; I wanted to be a political journalist; this may answer it right there) to being someone who would unschool if she didn’t have to stay home for it. Of course I’m paying for a pretty structured daycare sooo… hmm. I suppose I’m a contradictory parent educationally. But I know my job and I shook hands and drank juice.
I’m not sure why I care to notice and record this, but Carl and I were one of three sets of caucasian parents. There was no pattern to the rest of the kids; it’s just one big polyglot group, but it made me a little weirdly glad that Noah will go to school even more multi-culturally than I did. It is funny how I still have little prejudices - one of his teachers is Muslim and wears the hijab and the jilbab (???) - anyways, traditional dress but no actual face veil, and at first I sort of thought “how can she hug my kid wearing that?” which is so ridiculous there are like, no words. I can’t believe I even wrote that. But to Noah, it’s all just clothes, and you hug around them. I like that.
Because me, despite living where at the grocery store it is probably seriously about 20% women in some form of muslim traditional dress shopping alongside me, and where my dry cleaning clerk wears the full burqua, I still feel brought up short by it sometimes, like i am suddenly naked and stammering. And it would be nice if Noah were more comfortable with it. (Esp. as Islam is going to be even more common by the time he grows up, from all indications.)
Someone did ask me if I thought Montessori stifles creativity (because it insists there is a right way to do things, is the reason I could uncover behind the question). All I can say is, not from what I understand have seen. I think any school or adult really can do that as far as any significant adult can, and Montessori is no different if its teachers are rigid and nasty. But really I have a sneaking sympathy for the idea that things can be done right, because in my opinion, creativity is not about ‘doing whatever’ but about learning ‘the rules’ and then breaking them. As long as there is room for the break as well as the learn, I think it’s good.
In Noah’s case, I’m not at all worried. We have the wild creative spurts, the free form drawing, and, you know, faeries at our house. We’re good for that.
More ripples
Quick updates and a tiny survivor burp.
Noah really does seem to be turning the corner with his daycare, although he is still clear he would rather be home and that is - how it is. But today when I went to get him he was dancing. He did rush at me wailing, continued for all of ten seconds, and then tried to get me to come into the classroom.
But still have my eyes peeled.
~~~
I haven’t mentioned I think and I want to record for posterity that my grandfather, who abused us, was a WW II vet, and fought in the Asia-Pacific theatre. He had a particular hatred for Japanese people; he was a man of many prejudices about race and insider/outside things, but the worst vitriol that he allowed himself on the surface of things was directed at the Japs.*
So when my father flung that Japanese mind cram comment around, it was a bit like hearing my grandfather brought to life and throwing that at my son. I still feel quite wobbly about it, all out of proportion to anyone not versed in the secret language of my biological family.
* it went over really well when I was head over heels for my half-Japanese First Real Love or whatever. Oh yeah, good memories there, really!
Quick quiz
Still alive. :)
| You Are a Red Crayon |
 You have a deep, complex personality - and you are always expressing something about yourself. Bold and dominant, you are a natural leader. You have an energy that is intense… and sometimes overwhelming. Your reaction to everything tends to be strong. You are the master of love-hate relationships. Your color wheel opposite is green. Green people are way too mellow to understand what drives your energy. |
True nightmares / school update
Yesterday I had a real nightmare come true. Sort of.
You know that dream that starts in pregnancy where your baby’s in trouble but you can’t get there? (And if not, well, I have that dream at least a few times a week.) Well I fortunately didn’t have the trouble part but I did have the trying to get there part.
My car has been having some trouble starting, which is kind of one of those non-negotiables in a car, so it was in the shop on Friday. The dealership gave me a lift to work but I had to take the bus home. I thought Carl was getting home in time to relieve V (we talked at 2:30). So I didn’t rush out right at 4 (’cause I was late getting in) and left around 4:20. My Sheppard subway transfer said 4:24.
The route that on paper is most direct is to go to the end of the Sheppard line and then take two buses after that. (That this is the most direct route says something I think.) The subway part went fine. Then I got on the first bus. It took 17 minutes for it to go three blocks! So I called Carl to let him know I would be late…
… to find out he was stuck at work. By now it was well after 5, and V. is supposed to stay ’til 5:30. So I called her and she was ok with it (thus, Noah was safe. And happy, from the background sounds.)
I got home at 6:35. Yes. 2 hrs and 15 minutes later.
Despite knowing Noah was safe, I was panicked. It was very emotional and primal and I was really almost around the bend. It was really nuts, inside my head.
Anyways, everyone was fine; I compensated V. monetarily and Carl and I will work on whatever communication problem that was. But man. Stress.
~~~
Noah still seems to be adjusting to school, but I would not say that he is wholely himself there, at least not at the end of the day. They report that he gets upset when his teacher leaves and the aftercare staff come in. When I’ve snuck in (behind another parent) he has been playing, but not really vivaciously. So, we’ll see.
The Hallmark discount aisle
I have an aunt I love. Okay, she’s actually a second cousin once removed, or something like that, but she has stood in the aunt position my whole life, and in my family, that means a lot. I know that I could show up at her door any time of day or night forever and receive nothing but love and help.
I also know that she would not want to hear most of what actually really pains me. It’s not that she’s blind to stuff like abuse, it’s more that she loves my parents and would never want to hear anything about them that was negative. And somehow, that’s fine with me. It’s totally unnecessary in our relationship. She dispenses grilled cheese and chocolate milk (still) and that is sometimes all one really needs.
One of the ways she shows love is by forwarding email that sparkles and tells me that I am special and loved - with a forward list the size of my arm and an exhortation to send it to my ten best friends. And many years she buys me Hallmark-type cherubim or pastel Christmas ornaments or whatever. I read and open the gifts and then I am sorry to say that the email ends up in the trash folder and the ornaments end up donated to whichever resale charity has my attention that month, except the Christmas ornaments, because I’m totally prepared to hang them on the tree in case she ever sees the tree. Christmas is one time of year where I’m prepared to suspend my taste that way; the tree to me is not about the perfect look, but the web of connection it represents, a continuity of decor from year to year and family to family.
I hope that Noah will have such people in his life. It’s one reason we flew out West this summer.
I think even in the most cynical and swedish minimalism (err, that is, Ikea) decorated home, there’s room for a cherub or two.
! !! !!!
Ah, the exclamation mark. Or point. Is it a mark or a point? As an editor I probably should know these things, but I don’t. I will have to ask my copy editor.
Anyways, this little bit of punctuation is the current bane of my existence. Why, you say? Am I editing web copy!!!!111!!!????
No, it’s Noah’s issue actually.
We have been reading Snuggle Puppy a lot. I think he longs for the at-home cookie-baking days of the past. And as anyone who has read this tome can testify, it has a lot of bright colours and letters and exclamation…. poinmarks.
And they bother Noah. Because he wants to know what SOUND they make. I told him they make things loud, and so, in true two year old style, now he requires that I read it like this:
Everything about you is especially fine! LOUD
I’m not sure what will happen when he notices the commas.
Weekend hiatus / surprise update
As everyone can tell, Fri night was sort of awful. I was tired and out and ranted here, which is better than most places, but sorry if it felt ranty. It was ranty.
Saturday morning our usual playgroup was cancelled and I took Noah up to the zoo, just the two of us, which was something I have missed awfully. (I am looking forward to being established enough in my job to take the odd afternoon off for these things, as well as Noah being adjusted enough… if that happens).
We. had. a. blast. Noah wanted to order me around, and that was fine, so we sat in front of the river hogs for half an hour with him having me sit and stand up and stuff, and him commenting to everyone that came by “no, MY turn!” meaning not to block his view. Most people obliged, too.
Noah also commented a few times that he cried at school “crying… school,” and I said that I was sorry. Then he would say “miss mummy” and I would say that I missed him too when I was at work, and then he would give me a hug. After about three times I suspect this became more about the response/hug than expressing his feelings, but it seemed to be what he wanted to say (along with many other things; the boy is chatty). This weekend he has said some things about school, like that he wears his school shirt to school, and it hasn’t all been protesting it, so that is good.
But mostly we set that aside to enjoy the river hogs, elephants, and the otter that swam and swam. And the cychlid pond. I know that is spelled incorrectly but I am too lazy to look it up right now. Welcome to my post-gymnastics dyslexia; one of my secrets as an editor is that I truly cannot spell any word I learned after I hit my head in 1986, but at least I have a Canadian Oxford Dictionary (2nd ed.)!
The lesson of Saturday morning, if there was one beyond just appreciating the zoo and the day, was that there are days like that to be had, for the taking. I like the playgroup immensely (we have gotten to where I think we all love each other’s kids a little, and it’s very cosy) but we may have to skip out now and then for just mummy-Noah time. If not at other points in the weekend.
The rest of the weekend was the now sort of usual routine - the slightly mad rush of chores and shopping, interspersed with just hanging out (something we all seem to need, even if in Noah’s case this seems to involve an Awful Lot of washable markers and yes, trains), and hanging out online during Sat nap and in the evenings.
Noah and Carl and I spent an hour at the local park this morning kicking a soccer ball around and examining crab apples and everything else, in this glorious fall weather with the lake stretching out behind us, and it was truly a simple joy. Well worth the fact that the lawn did not get mown. (Again.)
The picture below is actually from the zoo but it captures today just fine too. (Except he is better rested today; the dark circles are ’cause he didn’t go down for a nap with V. until after 3 (!) and then wouldn’t go down Fri night until 9 (!) and then got up Sat at 6 (!), but he’s caught up some since.)
~~~
In an update, my dad just called as he just read his email. He actually was apologetic about that mind cram remark, so there you go: I assumed the worst and so far, that was unjustified. Or at least, sending the email was not a huge mistake. Yet.
~~~
And one more from last week. Yes those are Mr. Potato Head’s glasses!
No, there’s more
The other piece to my anger (still leaping off your comment here) is that my parents don’t seem to get, despite knowing it, that I have done years of therapy and worked with survivor communities for over a decade. Because who would do all that and NOT check a daycare out?
As I say this I realize maybe given the diary-x archives are not up here, that history might not be clear.
To be clear: my paternal grandfather abused me/us badly. Any past incidents will be a matter of memory and that is definitely difficult, but I think I am fairly confident in saying that it was pretty serious and should have been hard to miss. I have literal scars.
One incident of which I am pretty clear, is that the abuse includes having his hand up my hoo-ha while my dad was in the same room reading… an actually minor sexual act, but a kind of devastating betrayal of trust/lack of parenting. (I realize if you have never been lifelong abused the question might be “why did you not say something” to my 9 yr old self, but let’s leave that aside for now.) I realize it was the 70s, so there was not the awareness that there is now, but regardless.
The reason I am sure of this is that my father at one point remembered it and mentioned it. That he had thought perhaps my grandfather had his hand down my pants. And continued to take my sister and I there - and send us there alone - for 10 more years. Of course my dad was his son and I kind of understand that probably he had a horrible childhood (I don’t think he remembers it) and that there are reasons but… that was still a stunning betrayal of trust.
That is kind of the tip of the parental iceberg though. This abuse came out after my sister attempted suicide and at that point I disclosed what I remembered at that point, which now seems sort of tame. To give my parents credit, they did not doubt me… they did however call everyone in the family and go down to have it out (my grandfather admitted to it in broad general terms), which I don’t feel was a great help. About a year and a half later they kicked my sister - then 16 - out of the house for smoking a single tobacco cigarette, and fighting with them about it.
In the subsequent family counselling, for which I paid half out of my then minimum wage job, the counsellor suggested to my mother that she might have a few issues, at which point she terminated therapy, and also tried to lay charges against my sister’s (independent) counsellor.
(This is kind of how I think this daycare thing is going to go down, actually. Now that my parents have taken a stand, they won’t psychologically be able to back down.)
That Christmas and most Christmases since, my mother has commented on how she misses the lovely Christmases we used to have… at my grandfather’s. To me.
Also, after my grandfather was moved into a nursing home my parents inherited his furniture. Unbeknownest to me at the time, this included the chair and ottoman on which he and I were sitting in the aforementioned pants incident (by the way, that was how we sat… every night… but I digress), and over which I (using I loosely) have memories of being sodomized. My parents, after a couple of years, put that chair and ottoman in their living room. I told them at the time that I had been raped (I don’t think I actually used the term sodomized) on that chair and would not enter their house while it as there.
It stayed there for 3 years while I refused to enter the house. Finally, it left. Except the ottoman is still in their living room. Right now.
All this is only peripherally related, of course, but I think it might begin to explain why it is that my parents have sort of forfeited the right to tell me what environment is best for my son without being, let’s say, a little respectful about it.
The balancing act for me though, is, that even fucked up people sometimes get it right.
What I want an apology for
Haillie: Maybe I haven’t done a good job of expressing this so I’ll try it.
My parents were at the school for 45 minutes.
In that time they decided that it is a “Japanese mind cram” and not only the wrong place for Noah, but that the staff is cold and uncaring, the kids are too quiet, and that Noah’s personality will be ruined forever. They implied that we care more about Noah being smart than whether he’s happy. Then they asked us what our Plan B was and made the statement that although they are “glad to brag about your [my] job” that clearly it is not working and I should stay home, or let them be the babysitters.
In the first phone call my mother said “we love you but…” and then burst into sobs. In their visit, she cried most of the time. My father is the one that came up with the lovely mind cram phrase as well as a few other goodies.
I’m not sure where the disconnect here is, but that is totally rude and overblown on a number of levels. If they had come in and found someone hitting him or with their hands down his pants, all right. But this is that a) Noah was quiet and a little spacey, and then cried when they set him back down (which could be anxious, could be tired, could be teething - and could be terrified, yes, but only one possibility exists for them. I should note Carl was there 15 minutes before and said Noah cried, and then stopped and went into the class.) and b) as I said, they didn’t like the school for whatever reasons - which again, I can only get out of them in overblown language. Also:
- they were there for 45 minutes; we visited the school 6 times before we enrolled Noah, and we have been there every day
- they never once asked a question like, ‘did we think this might be a problem…’ etc. Their assumption is, as always, that because they were uncomfortable, the place is terrible.
- Their language is completely overblown. Noah is not “upset” he is “terrorized.” The place is “quiet like a tomb.” Etc.
Now, there is always a possibility that between the hours of 2 and 5, when we have dropped it at any time, it is a nice place and that earlier than that it isn’t. But I kind of doubt it. I think if they were putting on a show for parents, they would certainly extend it for grandparents for 45 min or an hour.
Perhaps you have to be here to understand but they have been on the phone gasping and sobbing and complained that they could not sleep or eat thinking about Noah in that horrible place.
If you don’t get why that is insulting, then I probably cannot help you there. However, I have talked to family members about situations I thought were unsafe in the past and I can tell you that I approached it very, very, differently.
It’s not that I don’t want to hear what happened. It’s that I don’t want to be in a tidal wave of “THIS IS HORRIBLE STOP IT NOW” when the things they are freaking about are not universally bad things.
The quiet is a good example. This is not fair to you of course (but they know it), but something I haven’t discussed is Noah’s hearing. Noah has extremely fine hearing - he can hear trains and trucks approaching and birds and dogs and things way before either Carl or I can, and he imitates a lot of things pretty perfectly (which is partly age related, but he is pretty exact on it.) He hates loud things and complains about them and puts his hands over his ears even if, say, at my parents, the TV comes on at a normal volume.
So one of the reasons we picked this Montessori is that yes, there are only 26 kids, the space is well divided into smaller rooms, and it is generally quiet in that area (the kids go and shriek outside, and in the winter will have a gym). So freaking that it is quiet, is a bit weird. A better way to approach it would have been “don’t you think it is too quiet?”
And I guess here’s the thing you have to be me or have been married to me for 13 years to get… that is the thing about my parents. My opinions exist only in subservience to theirs. I am not allowed to have different feelings from my mother, and never was growing up. (My mother would frequently, and still does, say things like “you say you’re happy about this, but you’re not, I can tell.”)
So because they thought it was horrible, they expected me to pull Noah out that day. And I didn’t. So they came over here to make that happen. And Carl and I didn’t. And so far they are not talking to us.
This is how it goes with my parents. Their (and I lump my dad in, because he literally feels whatever my mother tells him to feel… literally, he will say “I don’t know what to feel about this” and my mother will tell him “you feel angry.”) narcissism is complete. Now that they have decided that the school is not a good place, Carl and I can either conform, or be bad parents. There isn’t any in between. If some appears, it will be the first time.
As for whether it’s the right place for Noah, as I said, the jury’s out. What we see is that he cries at drop off, until the door opens to the actually classroom, and then he goes in. He tells us daily that he doesn’t like school, and lately he’s added that he cries there. He also tells us that he painted and he liked that, that he liked the blocks, and a few other things.
When I pick him up, my main concern is that often he is sitting on a teacher’s lap. Maybe that is ’cause it’s not the right place. Maybe it’s a long day for him. Maybe he’s still adjusting. I’m not sure yet. Then he sees me and he rushes at me wailing, wails for about a minute, and then lately shows me things (before that he would say “Noah home.”) His behaviour the rest of the time is fine.
The mom I know checked on him today when she picked her daughter up and said he was playing with one of the works on the mat.
Maybe I will add to that - I have shared all that with my parents and other people. All the sane people I know have said “sounds like he’s still adjusting” and given that he had 10 days of camp, a week’s break, and has now had 7 days of school, that’s not unreasonable (he goes 4 days a week, but his first week he went two, and last week labour day made it a three day week, school-wise).
So it remains my feeling that it’s too early to tell.
It is a huge adjustment - there are 5 other kids in his room, and total there are 26 including him, and he’s been home with me his whole life, except for V’s 3-4 hrs a day. He’s never napped in a cot or eaten with other kids or any of that stuff.
So although I feel a total obligation to listen to my parents, I think that given that he’s really had 17 days of school, their reaction is totally over the top.