Sitting at daughter 4’s parents’ evening, I keep getting vague whiffs of Haddock Chowder. Can you smell Chowder, I ask her, in a hushed tone. What’s Chowder? She replies. Fish! I whisper. I had it for lunch and it seems to pervade everything. I keep sniffing at my jumper. I notice that it is covered in (non molting) dog 1 and dog 2 hair. I feel rather shabby, in contrast to the teachers, who have all made a real effort. How can they be so positive at 8 o’ clock at night? Saying the same half truths, over and over again. She’s so enthusiastic (won’t ever shut the f**k up). I have nothing but admiration for their style. As they are talking to me, I find myself wondering what they are really thinking. I try not to be too demanding – nobody wants to be that parent. The Latin teacher has a dreadful cold and I spend the appointment worrying about shaking his hand – it’s a busy week next week and I can’t take any chances.
I was slightly nervous about meeting the science teacher, on account of some homework she had set before Christmas. Daughter 4 had announced that she was going to make a sperm cake for science. What’s a sperm cake? I enquired, wondering whether, despite having conceived four children, I had missed out on something. It’s a cake in the shape of a sperm, she replied, matter of factly. She googled ‘sperm’ to get the correct shape. I hovered over the computer as she did so, just in case. Eurrggh, that’s disgusting, she said, staring at photos of real sperm. Why don’t you scroll down a bit, I suggested helpfully and look for a cartoon shaped sperm, it will be easier to make into a cake. Once made, it looked rather good: covered in carefully rolled Royal white icing. When she came home that evening, I asked her what her teacher had said about the cake. She didn’t say a lot, daughter 4 replied. Well, what did other people’s sperm cakes look like, I continued in a tiger mother fashion – did someone else make a more impressive sperm cake and if so, I want details. No one else made a sperm cake, she said. Other people made models of other types of cell. So why did you choose to make a sperm cake, I ask in a trembling voice. Because I wanted to, she replied, somewhat defensively. Oh shit, I thought to myself, the teacher is going to think we’re freaks.
The science teacher beckons us over and I give her a firm handshake and look her straight in the eye, feeling that the best way to approach this is head on. The teacher gets straight to the point: while your daughter is doing really well in her written assessments, her last practical fell slightly short. I was about to launch into an apology, when in the next breath she turned to daughter 4 and said: you have lots of sisters, don’t you? I wondered where this one was going. Perhaps they can help you with criteria next time. I thanked her and left, onto the next appointment, but still wondering whether the teacher’s juxtaposition of comments was intentional.
The Sperm Cake