You know, sometimes I sit watching my kids, and I think…they’re morons.
That doesn’t mean I love them any less, but they’re most definitely going to get horrible grades in school, make all sorts of wrong decisions and screw themselves up royally, ending up in some dead-end cashier job until they’re 70, even in an era when cashier jobs don’t exist.
The sooner I accept that, the better. And I have accepted it; my job from now on is basically just damage control. Long gone are my dreams of little Tia founding her own firm of conveyancing lawyers, because this morning she built a block house and told Jason that the way homes are built is by stalks dropping cinder blocks from the sky, and then conveyancers parachute in from their sky-bases (because only the best people live in sky-bases, and conveyancers obviously have access to the best stuff because of their job) and plant a flag on the roof, and that’s how we get home settlements.
I’m just sitting there thinking ha ha, this kid is actually, truly, irreversibly stupid. She at least remembers some terminology from the picture book I bought her- Cassandra the Caracal Cavorts with Conveyancers– but alas, she has learned nothing. Jason objected at that point, and hope flared within me. But he just wanted to say that not only was his sister a stupid-head (true, but still rude), but houses were actually built when you put a brick in the ground and feed it a mixture of water and sand every day. Someday, it’ll grow into a house, after which the first conveyancer to lick it gets all the documentation and becomes the owner.
That’s Jason’s current way of declaring ownership over everything. See what I’m dealing with? Our planned excursion down to a conveyancer in Clifton Hill is on the verge of cancellation. Probably should start training them now to say ‘would you like fries with that?’ It’ll take them a couple of years to get it, at this rate.