Anticipated Anguish

Once every nine weeks, I dread going there. I know it's expected. I'm very well aware. The children will act as nice as can be. But all eyes will be directed and pointed at me. The room will be small, with nowhere to hide. The parking lot full, with no one outside. The halls will seem longer than ever before. As I slowly approach and knock on the door. The chairs will be empty, except for one. And she'll say that she's glad we could come. Now I have to sit down, and listen intently. In a chair that's too small for this mother o'plenty. I will hear all the things that my sweet children do. It's parent/teacher night at my childrens school!