Monkey Boy had a reading test today. He’s been whizzing through his readers at school and happily reading chapter books.
I should have known his reading was gonna be good.
The fact that his comprehension was great at the age of 3 (“A man drived past creche today in his car and he tooted his horn very very loud so I just said ‘ya fucken idiot'”) really should have given it away.
As was his “tee hee hee, sexyland” a week into first year at school last year, as we drove down the Hume highway, right past Sexyland.
Anyhoo, his teacher informed me that he did remarkably well on this reading test.
He is, in fact, reading at the level of a 13 year old. He is six and a half.
Yes, yes, proud parent and all. Makes life so much easier.
Unfortunately, his comprehension isn’t so great. When I asked him to draw a gingerbread man with one leg, he looked at me like I was an idiot.
“I can’t do that. I’m not an artist.”
Yes, I know.
“If I was an artist, I could draw with one leg!”