The boy is going to receive his diploma.
It's been a not-so-fun past 2 weeks, wondering and guessing and talking to the guidance counsellor at the school to find out, whether or not he'd be receiving the Booby Prize Empty Envelope, or a diploma.
I am so filled with pride.
The eldest of my Spawnlings will be receiving a diploma. It's a soul-stirring moment for me: He has managed to pass his classes (even the one he's repeating from last year) with a solid 70% average.
Keeping in mind that this is the lowest possible average to still be considered passing, I am beside myself with joy. He has managed, through sheer stubborn willpower, to maintain the position that *mediocre isn't all it's cracked up to be*.
While I secretly applaud his determination to not live by society's rules, I am not so delusional as to think that being a hair above a miserable failure is a grand and glorious thing.
I feel robbed. I should be enjoying this moment with bittersweet tears. Instead, he has forced to me eat antacids and lose sleep in the stress of not knowing. I suppose that part of the joy that is the Spawnlings is in keeping Mom-of-the-Borderline-Control-Freakness in limbo, and I want nothing more than the joy and happiness of the Spawnlings--if sacrificing my sanity is what it takes, so be it. I am nothing if I am not a good mother.
For myself, I am able to extract some joy from this situation (much as I hate the limbo-ness of it all): I am able to declare his future plans as being "Clown College" and a "Reality Checking Account".
It's been a not-so-fun past 2 weeks, wondering and guessing and talking to the guidance counsellor at the school to find out, whether or not he'd be receiving the Booby Prize Empty Envelope, or a diploma.
I am so filled with pride.
The eldest of my Spawnlings will be receiving a diploma. It's a soul-stirring moment for me: He has managed to pass his classes (even the one he's repeating from last year) with a solid 70% average.
Keeping in mind that this is the lowest possible average to still be considered passing, I am beside myself with joy. He has managed, through sheer stubborn willpower, to maintain the position that *mediocre isn't all it's cracked up to be*.
While I secretly applaud his determination to not live by society's rules, I am not so delusional as to think that being a hair above a miserable failure is a grand and glorious thing.
I feel robbed. I should be enjoying this moment with bittersweet tears. Instead, he has forced to me eat antacids and lose sleep in the stress of not knowing. I suppose that part of the joy that is the Spawnlings is in keeping Mom-of-the-Borderline-Control-Freakness in limbo, and I want nothing more than the joy and happiness of the Spawnlings--if sacrificing my sanity is what it takes, so be it. I am nothing if I am not a good mother.
For myself, I am able to extract some joy from this situation (much as I hate the limbo-ness of it all): I am able to declare his future plans as being "Clown College" and a "Reality Checking Account".
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