Monthly Archives: September 2012

Concerned

This is the first time I have ever had to be concerned about possibly having to send my children to remedial school immediately following Kindergarten.  I have worried over my children’s educational progress before–believe me, I have worried.  I have worried about graduation.  I have worried about science projects, Spanish assignments, and even math worksheets.  But this, oh this is new.

Let me begin by saying I have never had colorers in these two youngest boys.  In fact, I have very vocal non-colorers.  It’s also important to point out that approximately 150% of one’s Kindergarten success seems to depend on coloring aptitude.  (Shit.)  So without further ado, I present Jordan’s masterpiece, entitled ‘The Cereal is Brown.’  (Apparently, so is everything else.)

And then there’s Jadon.  Oh, my.  Where do I even begin?  Let’s see, since school began a mere few weeks ago, he’s apparently forgotten how to write his name.  It’s now NOJAD (about half of those are backwards).  The word ‘the’ is spelled UBC.  The word ‘are’ is spelled IZL.  Need I go on?  I think not.

It gets worse.  The teacher’s note in his folder says, “We did these together in class.”  Translation:  “What the hell is wrong with this kid?  These should all be correct because we effing did them TOGETHER!”

Holy hell, we are going to fail Kindergarten.  I’m looking into online schooling options now.

Curiosity or…I Don’t Even Know If There’s a Word for It

So last night, after working my shift at the gym teaching the littles, Marissa offered to go upstairs to the kiddie area to pick up the boys for me.  (That girl is always offering to help!)
But when she came back downstairs with the boys in tow, she had the strangest look on her face.  I asked her what was wrong, and she said, “I think that lady’s a stalker or something.”  (That was 10-year-old speak for, ‘Something weird just went down.’)
When we got outside, I asked her why she thought that, and THEN she proceeded to tell me about the conversation interrogation she got when she went upstairs to pick up her little brothers.   Um, that lady just better be glad she got hold of little sister instead of Mama Bear, who happens to be WAY more vocal, but anyway, here’s the story.
Marissa went inside the kids’ area to pick up the boys, and the girl working there started up a conversation that went a little something like this:
Girl: Umm, are those, like, your brothers or something?
Marissa: Yes, I’m picking them up for my mom.
Girl:  Are they, like, Mexican or what?
Marissa: (At this point, HOPEFULLY looking at the girl like she’s a freaking alien for even asking.)  Um, nooo.  They are from Guatemala.  (Mommy, would have tagged a ‘Dumbass’ onto the end of that, but Marissa is too nice and way too young to say that.)
Girl:  Well, are your parents married?
Narrator Interlude:  (What the ever-loving fuck?)
Marissa:  Yes.
Girl:  Do you all have, like, the same dad or what?
Narrator Interlude:  (Repeats previous thought.)
Marissa:  (Probably thinking this is getting really freaky at this point, because dude, all she needed to do was pick up her little brothers, not fill out a flippin’ census report.)  Yeah.  Um, I’m just picking them up for my mom.  She works downstairs.
Girl:  Ohhhh!  Now, I know who they are.
Marissa:  (Thinking to self, My momma’s gonna kick your ass.)  Yeah, we gotta go.
End of conversation.
Um, what is WRONG with people?  I understand curiosity, but most people (and I emphasize most) will stop at one or two really dumb questions, and usually they will not make them quite so invasive.  I’m not exactly sure what makes people feel entitled to ask these personal questions, but it’s quite clear that I need to equip Marissa with Mommy’s list of standard answers.  They come in quite handy when people ask really, really ridiculous questions regarding her little brothers.
Below you will find a list of the most common questions we have received regarding the boys and the answers I really enjoy giving when I’m feeling the most devious:
Q.  Where did you get them?
A.  We picked them up over in Aisle 4.  (This one is handy if you are approached by strangers in the grocery store.)
Q.  What are they?
A.  They are actually small replicas of real walking, talking humans, except at night, we can take out their batteries, and they don’t give us nearly as much hassle.
Q.  How much did they cost?
A.  Well, they are actually quite pricey, but if you go for two, you can usually get a quantity discount.  (This one is fun, because we do, in fact, have TWO.)
Q.  Do they speak English?
A.  Only when they are not speaking Swahili.  (What the hell else are they going to speak?  Do you see them surrounded by the Cracker Brigade here?  And we are all speaking…hmmm…English.)
Of course, if none of these answers feel comfortable at the time, I can always just opt to look at people as if they have grown a second head.  That usually works, too.

That’s My Kid

Alternative Title:  Miss Beth, Please-Oh-Pretty-Please Just Follow Us Through Senior Year!
Anyway, so there’s that.  Otherwise, school is going great.  Kindergarten is one big adventure.
So far, Jadon has explained to his teacher how it’s okay for his dog to lick his wiener, because DUH!, he’s a dog, and that’s what dogs do.  He did go on to further clarify that it is not okay for humans to lick their own wieners because they can take showers.  Dogs cannot take showers.  (Jesus, help me please.  Also, I’m installing a liquor cabinet today.)
And then there’s Jordan.  Let’s just back up to Meet the Teacher Night, which he insisted we didn’t even need to attend because he already KNEW his teacher, thank you very much.  His teacher is Miss Beth.  His teacher will always be Miss Beth, and he has no need for any other teachers on the face of this planet.  Now, try explaining anything different to the kid, and face the wrath of his Star Wars sword (Sorry, Star Wars fans.  I have tried to get him to call it a light saber, and he insists on calling it a sword, for which Jason is rather certain we should punish him by taking away desserts for an entire year and possibly even removing a birthday or two.)  Anyway, I digress.  No need to meet the teacher.  We have known her for two years.  His teacher is Miss Beth.
Right?  Um, wrong-o, buddy.  Not this year.  This year is new, different, exciting!  Can I get a big ol’ ‘Yay!’ for exciting?!   No way.  Instead, I got a big ol’, “Where’s Miss Beth?”
But aside from the whole missing Miss Beth ordeal, he has settled in quite nicely.  Or so I thought.  (Cue ominous music.)
And then the phone calls began.  And the notes.
Aw, crap-scicles.  Where’s my Xanax?
So, apparently, Jordan’s teacher has observed a few things about him so far.  Oh Mah Gawd, we are only three weeks in, and she’s already observed things?  This is gonna be a long year.
It has come to her attention that he tends to move around a lot.  And that he’s a ‘very busy boy.’  (I think it’s inappropriate to respond with ‘no shit’ to a teacher’s note, right?)  And she’s also noticed that he has trouble focusing and that he likes to sort of do his own thing.
Um, BINGO!  You’ve got the right kid, lady.  Well, at least we know that our kid is getting to the right classroom every day.
I’m not sure she’s aware that he’s already taking a low dose of medication, and I’m pretty unwilling to turn him into a 5-year-old zombie, so we seem to be at an impasse.  So my only option seems to be to beg Miss Beth to move in with us and follow him to school every day for the next 13 years.  How ‘bout it, Miss Beth?  Please tell me there are other teachers out there who understand kiddos like my kiddo!