The Report Card
The kids brought home reports cards this weekend – and didn’t tell us about them.
Actually, that’s not quite true. Sunday night, just as I was putting my youngest to bed, he said “wait! I need you to sign my report card!”
I straightened and looked at him. I’ll admit it. I was suspicious. He’d gone the whole weekend without telling me. Just how bad was this report card?
“I’ll go look and see you in the morning,” I said.
In the kitchen, I dug into his backpack only to find the kind of report card that you want to post on the refrigerator.
I tip-toed back into his dark room, where he was already asleep. I laid a hand gently on his shoulder, and his eyes flew open.
“Hey kiddo,” I whispered. “I just wanted to let you know how proud I am. That report card is as good as it gets. Fantastic job.”
His wide eyes relaxed, and a smile spread from ear to ear.
“Good night,” I whispered.
He rolled over and cuddled his teddy bear, looking just about as content as I’ve ever seen him.
I tip-toed back out of the room, feeling exactly the same way.