381. Circus school

I am all self-satisfaction and self-congratulation when just about ten minutes later Baby comes down with her 'worksheet' and dumps it on the lounge table.

'Done.'

And rushes back up the stairs. To do homework I'm thinking. This 'worksheet' of mine has just triggered a rush of motivation for academic work. Let's face it, I'm just great. 

With a beaming smile on my face I pick up the 'worksheet'. Oh there is no green on it. Never mind. There is a bit of orange and lots of red.

At least she knows what she does not want to do. The orange is just on the vague stuff: go to a school, study for a degree. So I get up and yell from the bottom of the stairs. Then I remember this is so old-style parenting and I yell at Siri to get Baby downstairs. It works. I can hear her on her way downstairs.

'You could have made an effort!' I tell her.

'Oh of course! You're not happy. I feel in your stupid sheet but still you're not happy.'

'Well, the point is to pick something! To decide what you like! But you don't like anything, maybe that's it, you want to do nothing!'

'Ok, so now it's like what my friend does. We can discuss this form 5 minutes every second day and no more.'

'All right.' Then I say stupidly: 'What about circus school?'

She types and clicks away and says:

'Ecole du Cirque.' She names the city. 'Application success rate: 100%.'

I mumble something. She ignores me.

'11,000 Euros.' And she snaps the computer shut. 

'11,000 Euros!!! Circus school!'

'Yep. Ok. Five minutes. Done. Speak in two days.'

I mumble something again. She ignores me again. Later on when I speak about all this with my husband I tell him: 

'You deal with her. Am done with all that parenting stuff.'