So I had my first parent teacher conference ever a few weeks ago. I felt so….motherly.  What is this ‘responsibility’ nonsense and why am I smack dab in the middle of it? Anyway, I got to sit in the little chairs in a school late at night and go over boog’s work. I am fascinated by the artwork of kindergarteners. I kind of want to be able to harness that reality-but-yet-not perspective again, where the sky is always blue lines on the top of the page, and it is perfectly OK for robots to have two heads.

Boog is doing brilliantly as expected.  He got the equivalent of all A’s in his classes, and he is so advanced in reading that the teacher is pulling him aside with the other advanced readers to make sure they keep that up. Boog’s teacher? awesome. She’s just going on about how great boog is, and how well he catches on, and she wishes she had a callsroom full of him. Admittedly, my reaction to that was “OH TRUST ME YOU DONT,” which, after that just kinda fell out of my mouth, probably sounded really bad. But anyway.

I’m sitting there all beamy and giving myself mental high-5s and congratulating myself for gestating such genetically superior offspring, and that’s when everything just kinda stopped and the teacher put in that big “BUT…” and insert record scratch here.

He’s spitting at people in class.  Spitting.  Mind you, I didn’t expect boog to sail through school being a perfect angel.  In fact, I have spent many a moment wondering just what boog sized havoc he was going to wreak upon his unsuspecting teacher. ‘Spitting’ never made that list.

Well, it’s gotten to a point where Jeremy received a call from boog during the day Friday, where he had  - yet again – launched his salivary product at one of his cohorts, and his teacher marched his little butt straight to the principal’s office and have him call Jeremy to tell him exactly what he did.

We are both baffled as to why he is doing this, as he doesn’t do this at either of our homes. It all reminds me of that episode of Roseanne where Darlene barks in class. Roseanne is my parenting role model, btw.

We’ve discussed and executed suitable punishments, but the mystery continues, and I gotta find slight amusement in this. Spitting? Really, boog? Surely you can come up with something more ingenious. You can mow the lawn and use belligerent correctly in a sentence, for crap’s sake.

I am contemplating making a sandwich board with the words I SPIT on it and making him stand out in the front yard after school.

Ok, not really. But the thought of it amuses me.

I got a buttload of recipes to unload, so keep an eye out for those.

Originally published at batty.us. You can comment here or there.