What Happens in Vegas...

Alexander brushing up on his para-military skills

In the last couple of weeks, Alexander's homework has dwindled to such a suspiciously low amount that yesterday I felt compelled to contact (in what I thought was a super secret email) my concerns to his teacher. I was hoping it would be all hush hush. Alas, his super vision is such that, when called to his teacher's desk to 'have a little chat,' he spotted and read my email (still open on her screen).

When he came home today, not unlike a young Robert De Niro playing Jake La Motta in Raging Bull, he said: "I told you NEVER to tell my teacher anything that happens at home."

Ummm, really? When exactly did we have this conversation. And what does that even mean?

As a friend pointed out today, it could be that he's referring to The Hangover franchise movies, you know the ones that follow the mantra: "What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas."

Excuse me, but this is suburban Singapore, a far cry from party town Vegas. At most somebody here chews gum brought surreptitiously into the country. (Not me, I would never do that.)

Not to mention, we rarely leave the condo, kind of like living in a Mormon compound (ok, that's a slight exaggeration). But back to the issue, you're in the fifth grade, why are we even having this conversation?

Because that is the evil genius that is Alexander. He's my firstborn and I love him. But I would rather be shot in the foot than home school him. And this is the reason why: reasoning with him is like a mental cirque du soleil. He will confuse you, change the issue, use special forces tactics.

And that's when it hit me, the summer reading (pictured above) that seemed so casual and harmless at the time...aha, maybe not so casual after all.