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.

“Okay.”

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.

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