“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Crisp. Please, take a seat,” Leslie’s third grade teacher, Miss Wiles, gestured to the two third-grade sized chairs that she’d pulled around one of the larger tables. Leslie let go of her mother’s hand, waved quickly at her teacher, and went to the crayon table in the corner.
Phoebe sat with no second-glance, while Ted tested the chair cautiously with one hand before easing his weight onto it.
“We’re, um, not,” he waved his hand between Phoebe and himself, but she only smiled and him and offered no explanation to the teacher.
“Oh, I apologize,” Miss Wiles replied, lifting her eyebrows.
Ted muttered something of acceptance and then leaned forward in his seat. “So, about Leslie then?”
“Oh, I’m sure you know. Leslie is a delight! It’s always the parents of the kids who don’t need to be spoken about who show much at these parent teacher conferences.” Miss Wiles smiled fondly at the little girl in the corner. Her blonde hair was pulled into two high pigtails at either side, flipped over and pinned into spikes around her head. By her mother’s appearance, Miss Wiles assumed (rightfully) that Phoebe had styled little Leslie’s hair. It was always so original.
“Fabulous! How is she in music class? Does she play the guitar?” Phoebe asked.
“We don’t have a guitar handy…she seems to enjoy telling the other children how to play their intstruments, however.”
“Too much time with Aunt Veronica,” Ted muttered.
“I suppose it’s good training,” Miss Wiles continued, “She seems quite intent on becoming the president of the United States one day.”
BADGE:
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Crisp. Please, take a seat,” Leslie’s third grade teacher, Miss Wiles, gestured to the two third-grade sized chairs that she’d pulled around one of the larger tables. Leslie let go of her mother’s hand, waved quickly at her teacher, and went to the crayon table in the corner.
Phoebe sat with no second-glance, while Ted tested the chair cautiously with one hand before easing his weight onto it.
“We’re, um, not,” he waved his hand between Phoebe and himself, but she only smiled and him and offered no explanation to the teacher.
“Oh, I apologize,” Miss Wiles replied, lifting her eyebrows.
Ted muttered something of acceptance and then leaned forward in his seat. “So, about Leslie then?”
“Oh, I’m sure you know. Leslie is a delight! It’s always the parents of the kids who don’t need to be spoken about who show much at these parent teacher conferences.” Miss Wiles smiled fondly at the little girl in the corner. Her blonde hair was pulled into two high pigtails at either side, flipped over and pinned into spikes around her head. By her mother’s appearance, Miss Wiles assumed (rightfully) that Phoebe had styled little Leslie’s hair. It was always so original.
“Fabulous! How is she in music class? Does she play the guitar?” Phoebe asked.
“We don’t have a guitar handy…she seems to enjoy telling the other children how to play their intstruments, however.”
“Too much time with Aunt Veronica,” Ted muttered.
“I suppose it’s good training,” Miss Wiles continued, “She seems quite intent on becoming the president of the United States one day.”
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