Of eisteddfod and other brain numbing endevours ….

Yesterday I am sitting with Isabelle and Georgia in the tv room.

Georgia is colouring up a storm, and I asked her something about her picture.  Conversation finished I look back at the television to see if the teletubbies will actually just say good bye once without jumping out from behind the grass and going “uh-oh” for a change.

Georgia says – totally out of the blue: “I like to kiss boys!”

I go:  “What?”

She repeats: “I like to kiss boys!”

Of course I snigger and go: “I am sure your dad will love to hear that news, best you don’t tell him.”

So she goes: “I am a kissy-kissy girl,” and for effect says it twice.

Later the same evening, off to an eisteddfod prize-giving with Connor.

Which in short, is a very long hour of: children’s names being read out, kid comes up to the stage, faces the incorrect direction, is manually turned around by the teacher,  stares out at the audience as their name is repeated and it is announced what they did and their grade, kid smiles, shakes the hand of the certificate-giver and then goes to the end of the stage and waits for the rest of the kids.

Repeat this a few dozen times, and it is about as exciting as it was.

Once your child’s name is read out, your interests disappears totally.  It does not even taper off, it just evaporates instantaneously.

Our kid’s surname is very close to the beginning of the alphabet, so he is pretty much first up and from B through to the V’s is a very very long list – in a primarily Afrikaans school the names towards the end of the alphabet were rather numerous. I tried to read my book, but Kennith told me I was being very rude, and made me close it.

Kennith did come up with a good idea going forward, he suggested we pay the maid extra and get her to come and cheer for the kids next time.

I reminded Kennith that soon we will have two kids at this school and because one will be in junior phase, and the other in senior phase we will get to do EVERYTHING twice.

I decided not to make him aware that at some point we will have three kids at school and then well, we might just shoot ourselves or fake a heart attack to get out of these evenings.

Kennith looks at the programme and goes: “Connor is in Grade 2, right?”

My look sort of summed up that I really did not think he was being a very hands-on parent if he had no idea what grade his child was in.  However in his defense, he has no guarantee that Connor is his …. sorry, I was really bored, so my brain had started to stray.

I thought I would make idle chatter with Kennith as I was now past being rigor-mortis bored … and told him about what Georgia had said earlier in the evening.

To which Kennith responds in a hushed whisper which is always louder than you intend it to be : “You really should not encourage her with that sort of thing!”

Somehow something I am doing as a parent makes Kennith think that it is making Georgia a rampant boy-kisser on the playground.

Prize giving evenings are really slow and boring and you do feel an overriding urge to discourage your child from getting involved in these things to prevent you having to attend these evenings.  Maybe another reason why my “Best Parent of the Year” Award has been revoked!

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