The teacher in our house.

Last week I had the opportunity to drop Ethan off at his school. It was the first time I had actually been into his first grade classroom. Ethan happily showed me where he put his schoolbag, and his lunch, as well as some of the things other projects they were working on around the room. When the teacher realised who I was, she was very effusive about what a wonderful kid Ethan was, how well he was progressing in class with his schoolwork and reading, and to quote her "If I had 15 kids like Ethan, my life would be a breeze." I'm sure he's not the only one in class that she enjoys. Ethan's best friend Michael is as equally a good kid.

Over the course of this week, its become more and more obvious why Ethan does so well. Its not me. I come home after a days work, cook, eat, and plonk myself in front of the telly. That is, unless we do one of our weeknight activities like soccer or taekwondo. So, I do some of the physical activities with Ethan, but I don't really do any of the mental stuff.

The one who does: who guides him through homework; who reads to both he and Aidan; and who encourages, cajoles, and generally pushes him academically... is Anth. I imagine her background in early childhood development she did at Uni helps influence this, and I now can definitely see the advantage it brings. Aidan can be a real handful, being intellectually disabled, but Anth manages this and still continues to teach Ethan all he needs to be a good student. With the baby the task is doubly hard, and yet she still manages to do it. What a great mum!

And if you think I only wrote this to suck up, well, you're wrong, but hopefully I'll get a massage after tomorrow's taekwondo gradings!

Ciao for Now, Not The Teacher Angry Dad.