Mom didn't drive, but the elementary school my little sister and I attended was only three blocks from our home, so she could walk there for our teacher's conferences. One year she had a 1 p.m. appointment with Mrs. Cate, who was my seventh-grade teacher, and another at 1:30 with Mrs. Scaly-Legs, who was Robin's teacher for second. (I called and asked her teacher's name, and this is all she could remember. Which should tell you a lot, right there.)
Somehow, during that short walk, Mom managed to lose track of which teacher she was meeting first, and she sailed into her conference with Mrs. Cate convinced she was there to discuss Robin's second-year progress.
Still pretty normal, but this is where it gets good: these two women spent a half-hour discussing our progress--Mom talking about a 7-year-old, Mrs. Cate about a 13-year-old--without ever figuring out they weren't on the same wavelength. Mom told how she'd promised Robin she'd be able to read simple books by the end of the year and how pleased she was with all the gold stars she was bringing home.
If you're wondering about the names, Mom started out saying "Katie" (which was Robin's childhood nickname), and then apologized. So when she switched over to "Robin," Mrs. Cate just went along with it, apparently figuring names were a pretty fast-and-loose construct at our house.
I have no clue what Mrs. Cate thought about Mom, but Mom admitted she left the conference thinking, "There's something just not right with that woman."
In the next meeting, however, Robin's teacher quickly figured out that the claims Mom was making about my accomplishments couldn't possibly be those of a second-grader.
And here's the coolest thing about my mom: she went back afterwards and told Mrs. Cate what happened. Mrs. Cate suggested "just keeping this as our little secret," but Mom said, "This is too good not to share."
I'm telling you: if she were alive today, she'd be a blogger.