How To Talk With Your Child's School

In the back to school chaos, some things get forgotten.  It's nobody's fault; there's supplies to purchase, drop off/pick up times to arrange, and lunches to pack.  Even when parents come to "Meet the Teacher" events, there's often so many other parents there that the teacher can only spare a moment or two with each person.  A number of teachers hand out an informational sheet which lets parents know about general rules, homework, and they may provide a phone number or an email address at that time.  Parents rarely think that they will have to contact the teacher, for any reason.  The expectation for most parents is that the school year will run smoothly, and they won't have to use that teacher's number or email.

Unfortunately, that doesn't always happen.  

The best communications between school and home are purposeful, focused on the child, and end with everyone feeling that they were heard.  Over my years in public school, I've spoken with many parents. I've seen what gets results and what does not.   There are a few tips for successfully communicating with your child's school.

Work WITH the school, not against.  Believe it or not, your child's school has a system in place.  Kids having problems with learning or behavior are identified by teachers and interventions are put into place to address those. Sometimes a little attention is all it takes to get a child back on track, sometimes more is needed. Those decisions by a school are based on data, such as test scores, observations, etc.  The goal is to intervene just enough to help without limiting the child's ability to learn independently.  

Listen.  I've had parents walk into meetings already angry and screaming.  Nothing happens when people are screaming; it is too loud to think, let alone talk. 

Ask Questions.  If you don't understand, ask.  If it's not explained clearly, ask again.  You have the right to understand what is happening in the education of your student.

Speak positive. Find the good.  It's right there in front of you.  Is your kid happy?  Does he or she like school?  That's a good thing.  Point that out.  Start your concern with a positive. For example:  "My child loves coming to school every day, Ms. Fisher.  She loves your class.  I have a concern about the amount of homework, however.  Can you explain the policy to me, including accommodations that might be available?" 

Follow the chain of command. Nothing makes me angrier than being blindsided by a problem I didn't even know I needed to fix.  If a parent has a problem with something I said or something I did or didn't do, then I am the person to talk to first.  It's the same with teachers.  Talk to the teacher first. An email works better than a phone call, but if all you have is time to text, that's great.  

If the teacher does not respond,  make another attempt, then contact the principal.  Ask for a meeting politely and schedule that meeting.  Show up for the meeting with data--emails, work samples, etc.  Speak your mind, ask questions, and discuss your ideas for a solution.  

Moms and Dads, your engagement with the school is necessary and a vital part in the success of your child, no matter who they are or where they are.  Schools, your engagement with parents is necessary and a vital part in the success of all children, no matter who or where they are.  

We are on the same team.  Remember that. 

 

  

Back to School We Go--Mask Up

My tiny baby, my precious, IS IN THE EIGHTH GRADE.  I am trying not to freak out about it, but it is difficult, because HE IS IN THE EIGHTH GRADE.  In my head he is still little, even though he is about to hit 5'9".  We have had to take all of his school pants back and get new ones, and I don't know if these new ones will make it to October.  Zane is growing so fast that his bones actually hurt.  At least that is what he tells me.  Often.  Teenagers like to complain, apparently. Who knew?

He starts school Monday, and it will be face-to-face.  Zane insisted on getting the vaccine immediately when it was approved for his age group.  He hasn't been back to school in person since March of 2020.  He's going to have masks in his back pack, and the class he will be in is small.  He seems to be more mature about the entire event than his parents.  

I have been at work since July, but the kids start on Monday.  I am not sure what my district was planning to do once the covid numbers began rising in Bexar County, but the Mayor of San Antonio and the County Judge got a temporary restraining order against the Governor of Texas in order to implement a mask mandate for the area.  As of now, masks are required at schools.    

Masks save lives. That is a fact that has been verified by research. No more arguing about that, no more conspiracy theories about that.   

I confess that I am not a huge fan of masks.  In the heat, I feel like I can't breathe sometimes, and it freaks me out.  But I keep my mask on, because it is the right thing to do.  I get tired of all the idiots who are hollering about their 'freedoms' and particularly all of these hateful and angry people who come to school board meetings to scream and threaten people who just want their children to be safe.  

That is it.  

Parents just want their children to be safe. I want my child to be safe. My neighbors want their children to be safe.  My brother wants his child to be safe. Most parents want their children to be safe.  That is to be commended, not jeered.  And school is supposed to be a safe place.  How does that happen if a school cannot even take steps to protect their students because a governor is trying to impress a tiny minority of idiots who just want to scream at people?  Why is this such a hot button issue in the first place?  Knock it off, you guys.    

 

A Boy's Life Is Complicated

"MOM!!!!"

"What?" I walked to the back door, hoping that whatever Zane was excited about was not squishy or stinky. 

"There's a bug outside!" 

"There are lots of bugs outside, son." I started to turn around and head back to whatever I was doing, but Zane grabbed my hand.  

"No, Mom," he said as he pulled me outside.  "Come see!"

And there, in the middle of the patio, was this huge bug, legs up in the air.  It was as long as my thumb, and very dead.  

At least, we hoped it was dead.   You really can't be too careful with creepy crawlies.  

But I'm supposed to be the brave one in the family. After I established that the bug in question was not a giant cockroach(my persistent phobia), I flipped the bug over. A Rhinoceros beetle revealed itself.  A beautiful insect, and I was sorry that it was dead, but secretly not so much.  I explained to Zane that this was a perfect specimen, as it appeared to be completely intact. 

"You should take it to school and show your teacher," I said. Zane was skeptical, because he really wasn't convinced that the colossal beetle on the patio was actually deceased.  It still retained that lifelike sheen, as if it were about to slowly shamble into the grass.  I got one of those plastic tubs from the kitchen, and used a stick to roll the rhinoceros beetle into it.  Then I put the lid on and handed it to Zane.  

"Put it in your backpack for school tomorrow," I told him.  Zane was now in a quandry.  He wanted to be brave, like his mom.  And he wanted the 'street cred' that he would get as a nine year old with a beetle on steroids for show and tell.  On the other hand, creepy dead insect which might not actually be dead? In his backpack, possibly eating his lunch?  Big negative, Ghostrider!

My son and I share a fascination with insects and other creepy crawlies...from a distance.  Like pictures in a book kind of distance.  We enjoy watching bugs on television, for instance.  Or bugs on the other side of the glass at the zoo.  Bugs in the house, not so much.  I know that my issue stems from straight up heebie-jeebies--the feeling of those little hairs on insect legs crawling on my skin!  GAHHHH!!!  It is possible that Zane has picked up on my anxiety.  Kids are sensitive to such things.  Or perhaps genetics play a role.  All I know is that when there is a cockroach in the house, Zane and I are on the couch, feet up, while Larry dispatches the intruder.  

My boy sucked it up.  He put the container with the big beetle in his backpack.  He checked it three times before bed, to make sure it was still in the container.  He checked it in the morning.  I'm sure that he checked it on the ride to school, but I was driving.  His teacher was suitably impressed, and Zane basked in the glow of teacher approval. 

"She said it was cool!" Zane told me on the way home from school.  I told him that I was very proud of him for taking it to school.

"Okay," he said. "Can you take it out of my back pack now?"

 

School Supply Shenanigans

I move much more slowly than I now than I normally did these days, but I am trying to get back on my feet again.  The chemo left me feeling weak and tired and while I am not interested in spending my life in one of those motorized wheelchairs right now, I have had to face reality and make adjustments.  My usual, night before, last minute frenzy of school shopping will not be on the menu for this year.  I've had to actually think ahead.

My son hasn't been happy about it, but I went ahead and ordered all of the special shirts for his school uniform that he will need.  They came in the mail in June.  I went online to download the school calendar, so that I might be aware of any school holidays or teacher workdays that may not coincide with my school calendar.  And I downloaded the school supply list, hoping to get those items purchased well before the first day of school.

And I had a minor coronary.  What in the name of Harvard were these teachers thinking?

Zane is going to be in the second grade. Still learning to read, not yet reading to learn. They need supplies, and the parents are expected to provide them.  We aren't supposed to label any of the supplies, so they will be communally shared.

I don't mind that.  I understand that second graders need pencils.  But 36 "special" Ticonderoga #2 pencils? Why not just generically random #2 pencils  Why does a seven year old child need that many pencils, anyway?  I still have a few pencils from high school.

And crayons.  I understand that elementary school students use crayons.  But Zane is supposed to have FOUR boxes of Crayola crayons.  As well as two boxes of Crayola washable markers.  And colored pencils.  How much coloring is a kid supposed to do to go through that many Crayolas?

I understand that kids get sick, and that kids can become little snot factories during allergy season.  Zane's school supply list calls for tissues.  But EIGHT boxes?   In a classroom of twenty children, that is 160 boxes!  Even in an allergy-prone area like ours, it seems excessive.

What I did not see on the school supply list was notebook paper, or spiral notebooks, or journals. I'm hoping that last year's group of second graders supplied that particular need.  Second graders need to write; it helps with eye hand coordination as well as learning.  Even if second graders do most of their work on iPads, they will still need to write.

Am I being unreasonable?   I don't think so.  When I added all the items to the Amazon basket, the total was around 150 dollars.  If this is how much second grade costs, I don't even want to think about high school!

Mom Poem

At
the end
of the
school day,
my sweet
angel
who
never,
ever
EVER
seems
to
stop
talking,
Leaned in
and
whispered,
church-mouse quiet:

"I got a yellow."

Adding yet
another color
to his behavior chart
did not surprise, but

Dare I ask?

"What were you doing that you got a yellow?"

His response?

"Talking."

To think that we were
once convinced
That he would
never,
ever,
EVER
say a single word!




Go visit Kat Bouska of Mamakat fame, and check out the rest of the bunch she inspired this week with her writing prompts.  My choice for this week was  2.  Write a poem inspired by the last conversation you had with your child.

My Creativity Only Goes So Far

Zane brought this letter home from school the other day.  Actually, he stuffed into his backpack, and I found it when I was attempting to pull out his lunchbox.  Because organizational skills are genetic.

Dear Parents/Guardians,

The 1st grade students will have a nutrition parade on October 27th (Monday) at 10:00. Each student will need to dress up as a type of food. Please be creative!!!

Examples:

*Grapes- use balloons attached to a shirt.

*Cereal Box- decorating a box and cut a hole out for their head.

*Sandwich- using poster board or foam.

~Students can dress up as any type of food.

The parade will take place in the church parking lot (weather permitting).

On October 27th the students will also need to bring a food from the food group to share with the class. (Store Bought Only)

Please have the students bring their food to class with them in the morning.

The students will receive a participation grade for the costume and food item.

Thank you,

The 1st Grade Teachers

I'd hoped we could avoid such events, especially after last year and the Egg Incident. My son and a few of his classmates were overheard making fun of one of the girls in the parade. The poor girl was dressed up as an egg, and the boys couldn't resist.  Everybody knows that eggs should never be unescorted; they should always be accompanied by bacon.  The principal disagreed, of course, and we got a note AND a phone call, unheard of in the world of private school discipline. You can bet that my son heard all about it.

Now it is Zane's turn.  Ever the vigilant mother, I leaped into action. Box of crackers for the grain group?  Check.  But then...I reread that part about the costume. 

Be creative?

My first reaction was to become defensive.  What the heck is that supposed to mean, "be creative"?  Are they insinuating that my child-decorating skills are lacking?  Be creative? Are they saying that I can't make a blankety-blank costume for my own child?  Is that what they're saying here?  Blankety-blank.

Yes, I went there, and I spent a good twenty minutes griping to myself about it.  Then I got a little depressed.

Be creative?  Really?

I can create worlds inside my head, kingdoms full of witches and fairies and knights in shining tin foil, and put those worlds on paper.  I can write a relatively decent song lyric.  I can do a passable watercolor, one that sort of looks like whatever I was going for.  I can make my own jewelry.  I can cross stitch, and crochet, and occasionally dance.

But my creativity only goes so far.

When it comes to making a stupid costume, I'm all thumbs, and I knew that.  I had to face reality:  I have difficulty using scissors without cutting myself at least once, and I cannot sew in a straight line.  I broke one too many needles on my mother's sewing machine and was banned for life, so that was out as an option.  Staples and duct tape, my usual clothing repair choices, are probably not going to work here.

I just am not a Macgyver Mom(if nobody else has coined that yet, dibs), who can whip something up out of leftover toilet paper rolls, paper clips, and wire hangers. It's not going to happen, either.  More than my lack of skill in costume making, however, I realized that I was panicking at the thought of trying to rush through creating a costume in the middle of working, soccer, housekeeping, and cancer.  I know myself.  I would spend more time freaking out about the costume in a fit of indecisiveness than actually working on the costume, which would likely be completed at 2am on Sunday, October 26th. Except that I have my lumpectomy scheduled for Friday, October 24th, and who knows how that's going to turn out?  I'm supposed to be outpatient, but at best, I'll be doing a lot of lying very still and not moving.   Not a good position from which to work on a costume. Something had to give in this situation. 

In the words of pop culture, "Ain't Nobody Got Time for That!"

The extent of my creativity in this particular venture, after all of that angst?  Amazon is a mom's best friend! They actually have costumes of food! Zane is going to be a fried egg, because I have a quirky sense of humor, whether the principal appreciates it or not.  The boy is going to participate by making himself some bacon out of construction paper to carry with him for his little parade. 

He is better at using scissors than I am, anyway.

Is It Time For School Already??

Tomorrow my son starts first grade. He will put on his new white shirt and dark blue pants, strap his backpack on, and walk up to a brand new classroom in a brand new building to meet a brand new teacher. He is excited.

I am a nervous wreck. I am always a nervous wreck, at least on the inside, whenever my son steps onto the trail of a new adventure. Will his teacher like him? Will he fit into the routine of the class easily? Will I get a lot of phone calls from the principal's office?

My memories of first grade are wisps, hazy smoke hovering in my head. There was my homeroom teacher, Mrs. Walker, who was kind, but didn't leave much of an impression. Mrs. Hunt, my reading teacher, had a very scary and enormous bee hive of a hairdo.  I liked to read, and I was good at it.  Writing was fun.  Math was evil. There were no cliques, no bullies. Everyone played together reasonably well.

What I remember most? School was fun.

I want that for my boy. I want him to love school, to look forward to learning new things, to be entranced by the wonders that education can bring.  That is what I wish for every child. I hope and pray that teachers are up to the challenge.

Geometry is Evil

I liked school. No matter how many times we moved, school was always there, and I appreciated some consistency in my life.  I thought that I was pretty good at learning things, and I loved listening to my teachers give lectures, even if I didn't necessarily pay attention to everything they said.  I'd sit near the front, and more often than not, I'd be that kid that raised her hand every single time the teacher asked a question, because I'd actually done the homework.  Yeah, I was that kid. In hindsight, that explains why nobody would sit with me at lunch.

Yes, I loved school.  Except that I loathed Geometry.  Hated it with the passion of a thousand white-hot suns experiencing multiple solar flares. Math and I generally shared an easy truce over the years, but Geometry lead to a suspension of diplomatic relations. Geometry is the reason that I tell people that Math is evil.  I'm not saying that Geometry is a horrible thing, and please don't send me an email about it.  There are many reasons why I retain a strong dislike for Geometry to this day, but over the years I've refined my theories and honed them sharp as a blade, or at least down to my main three.

First, my first Geometry teacher was the "Basketball Coach".  He wasn't really all that interested in actually teaching; he was all about winning state championships. Mr. D would stand up at the front of the room and...read directly from the book.  If you asked him a question, he would point to the book, and tell you to read it. It didn't take long for us to figure out that all of the answers to the homework were in the back of the book.  Forget all of that "Highly qualified teacher" crap.  I don't even know if the guy even had a teaching certificate, back in the day. I was so thankful at the end of the first semester because I would be changing teachers.  Finally, I thought.  I'll get a real teacher who can explain all this mumbo-jumbo to me.  Except that they gave me...the Baseball Coach.  (It didn't get better when I took Trigonometry.  That was taught by the Soccer Coach.)

Also, I am a not a sequential learner.  I never have been, and it's been a problem for me.  Math is a sequential task.  Every step of math builds onto the next step. You miss a block or two, and you're indescribably lost.  I never got beyond the basics of Geometry because I missed a few crucial steps, and the horrible teacher wouldn't stop and reteach.  I couldn't stay after school, because he had basketball practice.  I also have to understand the "why" of a thing, otherwise my brain won't process. Why did a particular theorem prove that?  Why didn't another, equally pretty, visually stimulating theorem work?  I might have been okay if I were allowed to start from the end and work my way backward, but that's not what was in the book, so the "teacher" nixed that idea. 

Finally, Math is a foreign language.  Don't tell me that I'm the only one who noticed this?  Every equation is a sentence.  If you read the symbols aloud, there's a grammar to it, isn't there?  Pretty crazy.  Algebra is like learning Russian, with its hard cadences and all those extra letters thrown in like an extra shot of vodka.  Calculus has many qualities in common with Chinese.  But Geometry?  That's pure Latin, right there, with it's black and white rules about everything and those theorems and such. Latin is a dead language; its parameters are finite.  Geometry is the same way, a finite set of rules used to prove or disprove a statement of geometric "fact".  Unfortunately, I have enough trouble with English.  Throwing other languages at me is not a good idea.  Geometry never made sense, no matter how hard I studied.

Because it is evil.

So, what was your least favorite subject in school? 




5.) Your least favorite subject in school.

So Random

One of the elementary schools where I work is all about going to college.  Which is great--if you have any college at all under your belt, it equals a larger paycheck. And college is not that difficult--it's more about perseverance and focus than it is smarts, I've learned.  Anyway, The school has placed pennants from every single college or university they could find, no matter how big or how small it might be, or where it might be located.  I found a pennant from Quincy College, where I believe my parents met way back in 1963, and there's pennants from the schools such as Duke and SMU.  But my attention, and my stomach, was riveted by one pennant in particular:

Bacone College?  I spent a few moments considering the possible degree plans, and how delicious they might be.  Could an MB, Master of Bacon, be in my future?  Or a Doctorate of Bacon Administration?

My son was a little upset with the Turtle Man, the star of Animal Planet's Call of the Wildman.  Since all the animals in Tennessee were hibernating last winter, Turtle Man and his crew decided that Texas was the place to be.  Zane could not understand why Turtle Man did not come to visit him, and I explained that we did not have any critters for the Turtle Man to catch. We do not have bats, or rats, just cats.  Turtle Man doesn't catch cats, and that's that.  Hey, I accidentally rhymed!  Hopefully that goes away. 

We bought a new car, an SUV, because my best friend will no longer speak to me if I buy a Mom Van.  Since Larry still works in New Braunfels for now, we needed a second car. We marched into Carmax with a purpose, which I will tell you is sooo much better than wandering aimlessly around every car dealership.  I'd looked up the 2009 Hyundai Santa Fe online, so we already knew our price range and what we wanted. We'd even talked to Zane about loans and how they worked.  Zane's take on that was to march into Carmax and tell the guy, "We want to buy an SUV, but we don't have any money."  Lucky the salesman had a sense of humor!  This will be Larry's vehicle.  He has wanted something that could be used to haul all the things he needs for the soccer field, and now he has it.  Zane is beside himself with happiness. Because the backseat has a cupholder! Remember when little things like that made you feel like it was Christmas? 

My BBF(Best Blogging Friend) sent me an adorable birthday present.  She knows me so very well!  Andrea(from over at Maybe It's Just Me) sent me a Lego Statue of Liberty for my new desk.  I spent a happy five minutes putting it together, because I'm older and my fingers are not quite so nimble.  But I was so very pleased to have a moment to play!

I've been watching Ghost Adventure on the Travel Channel. It's very different from Ghost Hunter on Syfy.  Where GH is all about disproving a haunting, GA went all out and drank the Kool-Aid.   Those guys will practically jump for joy when something happens, no matter how mundane.  They're all about the scare. 

Today is Zane's first day back at school, and he will be in Kindergarten.  We attended Open House with all the other parents. When we entered the room and introduced ourselves, both the teacher and her aide said "So YOU'RE Zane!"  Larry and I looked at each other, concerned. What parent wants to hear that their child has been discussed that much around the xerox machine?  We needn't have worried, though.  One of Zane's friends from last year, Austin, showed up before we got there, and all he could talk about was how Zane was in his class, and this is where Zane will sit, and this is Zane's cubby, etc.  Austin reportedly just went on and on about my child, as if Zane was the best kid in the whole world.  That was how the teachers knew my son.  Larry and I felt better after that.  We interrogated talked with the teacher about her behavior system, which involves some sort of rainbow.  I am not sure how Zane will do with that--he tends to do better when things are laid out more simply.  But she's the teacher, and I will let her figure all that out.  Or not--Zane might surprise us. 


Stacy is still moving across country.  She will be back in September, I think.  I am keeping the random going for her, but I'm being even more random by posting this on MONDAY!!!!

To Post or Not Post?

I wasn't going to post anything today, but then I saw this "Bloggers Who Aren't Posting Because Of The Tragic Events" meme floating about.  It bothered me, the apparent commercialism of that idea.  I am sure that is not how it was meant--I think actually people were to link to a place to send money to help the victims.  People want to help, in any way that they can, and I hope that they raise lots of money.  But I have to be contrary.  It's how I cope--that, or I watched Hawkeye Pierce too often in my formative years.   In deciding to post, I found myself in a quandry about what to post about, so this is sort of random.   

I'd like to say that I'm not bothered by the events of Friday, but I am.  I'd like to say that I'm not sad, or angry, or scared, but I am.  I will probably feel that way for some time, as many people will.  This was a tragedy for the nation as well as for the families of the victims, and everyone will be grieving. This affected me on two levels, as a school professional and as a parent.  Like Mary Sherlach, one of the victims, I am a school psychologist.  I am a school psychologist because I want to help children and teens.  I even call all of the students I am responsible for "MY" kids, because I feel that responsibility deeply. I want them all to succeed.  Mrs. Sherlach went in the direction of the gunfire, to see if she could help, I am sure of that.  It's what I like to think that I would have done, under the circumstances.  She was trying to do what was needed to keep children safe, and that is heroic.  All of the adults at that school did what they could do, what they were trained to do.   

I am a mother who has tried extremely hard to not be overprotective.  I even have fights with my husband, who is more overprotective than me, because Zane has to explore the world.  He has to fall down, he has to cut his finger, he has to experience risks.  But this event makes me want to just keep my son next to me from now on. I don't even want to drop him off at school.  I want to just hold him close and never let him go.  If I do that, hold my son close and never let him go, he will be stunted in many ways.  He needs to experience things.  We will take him to school, and we will drop him off, and we will go to work.  I have to trust.   I have to have faith that he will be safe at school. 

We have not said a word to Zane about what has happened.  How would I even explain what I don't even understand?  As far as I can tell, he hasn't heard a word about any of it, and it would be nice if it stays that way.  Enough innocence has been lost.  Zane's concept of violence and death is limited to what he's seen on cartoons and the Lord of the Rings movies, and I am not sure if he would understand what he hears.  However, if he does hear about it, and he asks, we will sit down and discuss it in a way that is age appropriate.  Or as age appropriate as possible, since I am not sure even what vocabulary would be appropriate under these circumstances.  A parent has to balance what is necessary and what is just gratuitous, and I am still not sure how we are going to deal with that. 

Really Randoms

Every now and then, I get annoyed that women can't grow beards.  Because it would be pretty cool if I could have a beard, at least on days when I have a zit on my chin.  I could braid my beard hair, once it got long enough.  Maybe add a few flowers or hair gems for a bit of flair.  I think that I would like a beard because it would give me another way to fidget.  I could stroke my chin thoughtfully, or pull on my beard in staff meetings to keep myself from falling asleep.  I am sure that my husband is reading this right now and he's going to immediately bring up Tolkien and dwarves, right before he vetoes this.  At least, he will do all that once he is able to stop laughing.  Women with beards would look ridiculous.  And if I am honest, shaving is not something that I am skilled at, so that would mean trips to the emergency room and stitches.  Okay, the beard idea is silly, and probably the product of exhaustion.  

This person had nary a Mary Kay sticker on their vehicle!

I've discovered that my son is a serial sneezer.  Most people only sneeze a couple of times.  Serial sneezers sneeze anywhere from three to ten times in a row.  I try to wait until the final sneeze, but sometimes I just have to toss a "Gesundheit!" at the person as I run off.  I don't have all day!  And yes, I say "Gesundheit" instead of "God Bless You" because I like to be specific when I pray, and "Gesundheit" means "good health". 

Zane likes his teacher so far.  Good.  It would be bad if he didn't, because I have no idea what we would do.  As much as I want every single person on earth to love my child as much as I do, he is going to meet people who don't like him.  That is reality.  There are also going to be people that he doesn't like much either.  And this is an important life lesson for my child to learn:  we aren't always going to like the people around us, but we still have to make nice and get along with each other.  Now, if only Congress could figure that out.

Isn't summer wonderful? I guess the shortness makes it seem more special!

Speaking of Congress, wouldn't it be great if they all just brawled one day like they do in the legislatures in other countries?  Just whale on each other until they've exhausted themselves, then shake hands, take a nap, and be friends.  That's the way little kids iron out their differences, and this current Congress is acting like toddlers.  Plus, the sales from the pay-per-view would completely erase the national debt!

I am hooking up with Stacy over at Stacy's Uncorked because she is awesome, not because she gets me drunk or anything spurious like that.  She is just a wonderful blogger!   Go check her out!

School? Already?!!

On Monday, my son had his very first day of Pre-kindergarten at an actual school.  We had talked the new school up quite a bit, pointing it out every time we passed the building.   We emphasized that Zane was a big boy, and therefore he needed to go to a Big Boy school. As we picked out his supplies, we let him choose a few items, all the while telling him that he was going to have a great time at his new school. We even bragged on the merits of the new playground!

Zane was all on board with us, until last week.  Last week, he decided that, no, he would not be attending school this year. 

"Next year," my son said. 

I patiently explained about nonrefundable deposits and how they were NONrefundable, but this meant little to my son because I did not preface my explanation with the words "Lego", "Ninjas", or "Candy".   I finally just told him that he had to go to school because Mommy and Daddy had to go to work, and that was that. School is, after all, the "job" of the child; they just get paid in different currency. 

The morning of the big day, Larry and I were both up before the alarm, our anxieties on high alert.  We kept our game faces on, however, so Zane would be more amenable about going to school.  We let him pick out his favorite soccer jersey, some team called Chelsea.  We let him pick out his shoes.  We tried to feed him breakfast, but he wasn't interested, so we bundled him into the car and drove to school, just like 14,000 other people did.  14,000 people, a parking lot that holds 100...it was chaos.

We thought that Zane would be impressed with all the other kids attending his school.  He wasn't.  Instead, we got this:

We didn't exactly drag the boy to his classroom, but Zane walked with all the enthusiasm of the condemned.  This was just pitiful. 

Scientists have previously only observed this sort of behavior in the American teenager; large, well-funded grants are needed to study this new phenomenon.

Now, here is where I could have been a firm disciplinary type.  I could have clearly stated limits and offered incentives.  I could have, but I did not.  Instead, I did what many, many parents before me have done:  I offered a bribe. 

"If you smile and go into your class and listen to your teacher, I will bring you a 'SUPER SECRET SURPRISE'."  At my words, the boy perked right up.  He wanted to know what the surprise was, of course, but I felt that I should honor the definition of the word 'surprise'.  Zane will do many things for a 'SUPER SECRET SURPRISE'.  Even if the 'SUPER SECRET SURPRISE' is a piece of candy. 

Gone was the dragging of feet.  Now Zane was all smiles and downright perky. We went into his class, he met his teacher, he sat at a table, there were Legos...and he was fine.  Zane was just fine with the world. Which I hope his teacher appreciated, since several other kids were screaming and crying their fool heads off as their parents left the room. They probably should have included ear plugs on the list of office supplies.

I did hold it all together until we got out of the classroom.  All the other moms in the office told me that I would cry, and they were right.   I cried on the way back to the car.  I cried in the car on the way to work.  I cried when I got to work and people asked me how it went.

I'm a softie about some things, I guess. Watching Zane grow up has been a joy, and it seems like this day got here too quickly.  I wanted a little more time to enjoy his being a little boy, I guess.  A little more time to hug him and play Ninja Shark vs. Pirate T-Rex  But just like I'm getting older and creakier, my child is growing up.  We both have to deal with it.