Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Proud Moments in Parenting II

Last night was back to school curriculum night in Weaselville.  You know, the night that parents get to go school, sans kids.  The teachers go over the class syllabus and talk about how their individual classrooms run.  It's all very nice, friendly and informative and I hate it!

Yes, I like the Weasels school.  Some of the teachers we met with have been working with Weasels for years and some are having their first experiences in getting to know the Weasels.  They all are wonderful, loving and caring teachers dedicated to their students.

"Well then WeaselMomma, what's the problem?  This sounds like a positive experience.  Why on earth would you hate it so much?", I can hear your gears grinding now.

My problem is that this night is too informative.  It's not that I get information that I shouldn't  know, it's that I get information that I didn't want to know.

Case in point; File # W752.4-S

The first grade teacher, who is quickly becoming familiar with the Weasels via a school supply list flub of not having school supplies labeled and thus causing confusion in a room of 20+ six year old wild natives, told a story regarding snack time to the parents sitting at miniature desks around the classroom.

"There was one child who appeared to be eating chocolate cake.  The sweet lovely little child informed me that it was not actually chocolate cake, but 'a look alike' when I questioned the snack choice and reminded them that snack time is for a healthy snack only.  'See those chocolate chips?  Those are healthy.  My Mom would never send me to school with anything that wasn't healthy".  I gave the student the benefit of he doubt, but it sure did look pretty moist".

I bowed my head to allow my hair to cover the combination of shame and amusement that were broadcasting across my features.  I instinctively knew who that student was as I collapsed my face into my hands and shook my head.  I did not want that information.

Now that I had that information, I had to address it.  I don't need this kind of nonsense cluttering up my brain.  It's already a mess in there.  After the talk/presentation I now had the honor of introducing myself to the teacher in person, meeting for the first time the woman who I have consistently sent in late paperwork, unlabeled supplies and now, unwittingly, chocolate cake.

"Umm, hi.   It's nice to meet you" flashing my pearly whites in stark contrast to my blushing cheeks.  "I'm Smallest Weasel's Mom and yes, that was indeed chocolate cake".  I went on to explain that the cake was for her lunch dessert and that she always has an appropriate healthy snack in her lunch box for snack time.  The teacher smiled, chuckled and was very kind and I assured her that I would bust Smallest Weasel when I returned home and to feel free to call SW out on any snack that seems as questionable and moist as chocolate cake.

She explained that it was not her intention to get the child in trouble, just to share a funny ice breaking story with the parents.  I told her, "Welcome to Weaselville".

Mr. Weasel had been covering the 7th and 8th grade presentations while 1st and 5th grade had been my conquests.  He heartily laughed as I related the story to him as we exchanged mental notes in the car.  "It's a look alike?, that's awesome!", but soon we had to put on our game faces to enter back into the house.

"Oh, Smallest Weeeeassseelll.............come tell mom and Dad about snack time".  She tried to talk her way out of things, but we let her know that wouldn't fly and I asked about healthy chocolate chips and how to go about getting some.  Tears started to flow with an immediate request of, "I'm tired and want to go to bed".  Her passion, inflection and mini meltdown sent Mr. W and I into an uncontrollable  laughing fit.  We kissed her and sent her off to slumber, where she had a fitful night of bad dreams that for the first time in her six years she didn't want to talk about.  I'm sure that they all involved getting in trouble at school.

Yes, I acquired much good information last, but I also managed to bring home with me shame embarrassment and laughter.

Now do you get why I hate actually talking to teachers?

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