I must earn my right to read, if you can believe that...
My son and I have been desperately ill the last ten days, and we're still not out of the woods.
Well, he is. I'm not. And now my husband is home sick, too, and will be home for the next week.
But I have learned one thing: Hot Toddies are not only yummy, but they really do help sore throats, which is my current ailment, caused by fever and unstoppable coughing the last week and more.
But that aside, my husband has now declared that I have to earn my right to read a book. As some of you know, I've been home schooling my son to prepare him for American first grade in the fall (the German system starts the basics a year later). So far, he can read several English words strung together in simple stories. I'm very proud of him, but he still has a ways to go to meet our goal.
But now my husband is feeling slighted that our son can't yet read German words, an issue which will be addressed when he starts German first grade in the fall. (Assuming we don't make it to America.) In spite of countless teachers informing him that our boy more than meets the requirements for first grade admittance, my dear hubby insists that our son MUST know how to read German before September. And to add and subtract. And to write upper and lowercase letters. (Those last two are already getting covered by our current home schooling.) And to ensure that I accomplish these things, he said I am not allowed to read any more books until our son can do all of it.
Talk about pressure. On me. On our son. Talk about utter assholery. And now I have to deal with his constant presence until he returns to work next Monday. So goes another week without writing. And I'm reduced to reading under the covers with a flashlight, just like a kid.
On another continent, I would never have put up with the bullshit that I do. I often marvel at how far my head was up my bum when I got married. Shoulda coulda woulda.
