Parent-Teacher Conference. These meetings aren't supposed to emotional roller coasters. And yet:
"So," Ms. S says, flipping through a folder with my daughter's name on it, preparing to dive in to a peppy discussion of my daughter's performance so far this year. I haven't gotten to know Ms. S that well yet this year. At this point, I know that she is young, bright and enthusiastic; and my whole goal for this conference is to please her. It's very important that I be her favorite parent in the class. So much so, that I'm actually a little nervous in this moment. Because obviously, none of this is about my daughter at all. It's about me.
Click here to DadCentric to read the rest of this post and find out what neurotic parents like me are thinking during these meetings.
P.S. This post is dedicated to Meangirl Garage, who recently finished up Parent-Teacher conferences from the other side of the table. Check her out. She writes about other stuff beyond just teaching. Like sex toys, for example.
How about a quick Movember update? Day 19.
The goat's looking a little rough around the edges. It's time for the next step, as we work our way down to the final 'stachegasm. You tell me: Mustache and chin moss? Mustache and soul patch? Mustache and gigantic clown wig?
And have you donated, either in my name or Team DadCentric? Cancer bad cancer bad cancer bad. Couple of bucks. Don't make me bring General Zod out here. He has a mustache and laser eyes.