I don't mean to sound shocked. I mean, I personally have always known they were rocket scientists. But with the kind of year we've had, and all the trouble they've gotten into, and the constant distractions they've been for one another, and the screaming and the crying and the pulling their own hair out over their math problems and reading comprehension questions and money and time...
I'm just so proud of them. For retaining it all. And actually digesting it. And then being able to regurgitate it on command. That's just skill, baby. That shit can't be taught! I would have KILLED, or at least maimed irreparably, for that talent when I was in school.
And so I'm faced once again with one of those moments where I look back and realize things obviously weren't as bad as I perceived them to be. Or maybe they were, and it actually was my perpetual insisting that got us to this point. Or maybe it just comes naturally to them and they survive and thrive despite, and maybe even in spite of, my helicoptering. Or maybe their teacher fudged their scores to make herself look better. Or maybe it's just time for Mama to take a very very very long vacation. Or some Prozac.