I’ve read his school report, in fact I have read all of his school reports. They all indicate that I have a relatively bright son. In fact one report even used the word ‘gifted’ when speaking about his ability in Maths.
It may have also mentioned he needs to work on his overtly competitive nature, but we don’t need to go into every detail…
Anyway, I know he is bright. His quick wit and speedy retorts assure me that I have a potential salesman in the house, the speed he can work out sums is almost scary and the fact that we need read the same books pleases me.
I’m talking Hunger Games/Lord of the Rings rather than 50 Shades here.
But for all that sass, and all the intelligent that are times where my son’s stupidity astounds me.
Harsh you may think, calling my own child stupid – but honestly, at times there are no other words.
Need an example?
Let me tell you the one about the shoes
Yesterday, he complained his shoes were too tight and his feet felt hot and sweaty. Knowing the shoes that were hugging his feet were new less than 2 weeks ago I was a little perplexed. Toes don’t grow that quick do they?
I squeezed the end of his toes and he yelped a little and I had to concede that it did all feel a little snug.
“We’ll have to get you some more mate” I said with a frown, thinking it would be a call to Grandad later.
Grandad runs a rather fine shoe shop don’t you know.
As we returned home, Owen peeled off his shoes, declaring “that feels better”, then for additional comfort he took off his socks, to reveal his school socks from the previous day.
“Wondered where they were, must have not took them off yesterday” he said with a slightly bemused look, “probably why my shoes hurt mum,”
With that he waltzed off to continue reading J.R.R. Tolkein.
Bright as a button, but sometimes as thick as a brick!
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