In which Quirkie unashamedly brags about her kids who are the best in the entire galaxy.

It didn't even occur to me til I read Rodney's post about his kids. (Such is my commitment to frivolity and nonchalance). But I'm really proud of my kids and I don't mind blogging it.

Having gone to a really little primary school (there were only six graduating year 7's) Polly was concerned that the academic achievement certificates she used to win were just for show; her great fear was that when she went to a big highschool she would fail miserably (or worse, be mediocre) when compared to her peers. Well, she and her old primary school mate tied for dux in one core subject, and she was nominated for another one. Not a bad show for our little primary school kids. Ha! In your face all you critics (who don't read this blog anyway) who said I was 'limiting' my kids by sending them there. Ha!

Even better, this same Polly rounded up her old year 7 class to go back to the primary school's final assembly to bid farewell to their old retiring Principal (who was really touched). Then the little gang took themselves over the road to the cafe (this was so sweet - they're only 13) where they decided to form a band over this school holidays. She's such a great kid that sometimes I think I'll bust and I don't know how we could be related.

At the assembly, Mayday was required to sing a solo. Mayday, who, you may have heard, actually you haven't, because, unbelievably, I haven't blogged about it, battles endlessly with anxiety, particularly about going to school. This is partly becasue she is highly strung. Also, she is the middle daughter of three, which immediately set her up to be unusual by necessity, in order to distinguish herself. She looks like Nikki Webster, talks like Wednesday Adams and does better impersonations than Robin Williams on acid. However, she is torturously shy on stage which resulted in a humiliating disaster earlier this year (how did I not blog about that? I wanted to kill people, I really did). So Mayday sang her solo (which I fretted about behind her back all week, and couldn't stop myself from checking "Are you sure you want to do this? Because you don't have to, you know?" at regular intervals). She grinned all the way through it, apparently because the teacher and secretary kept winking and waving at her, and she did it by clutching onto a little crocheted cross which the secretary had given her. (This cross is doing the rounds. The secretary was given it when she needed courage, under instructions that it was to be passed on. Mayday will hand it on next, and I wonder where it will end up.) SO Mayday sang! She sang like a little bird. I wept through the whole thing, but thankfully I was far enough back in the crowd that she couldn't tell, so I didn't put her off. She was disappointed that she didn't get the academic prize this year like she did last year, but I told her that just proves there are two brilliant kids in her class now.

So with Polly, as the oldest child, carrying the heavy burden all my hopes and ambitions, and Mayday, carrying the weight of my terrors of being an awful parent, Noisie, as the cherished and pampered baby of the family was free to have fun and run amok. But she took out the academic award for Pre-primary anyway.

Ta-daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!