It’s that fabulous time of year again … the time when teacher’s send happy, pastel-colored papers home and ask you to check off what blocks of time are best for you to come in and talk about your precious offspring.
I always get a little excited for parent teacher conferences. It’s the perfect time to get that rare insight on who the heck my child is when she’s not with me — you know — when she’s out in the real world being her own little person.
And that excitement lasts for about three minutes because then I remember what happens during parent teacher conferences — you find out exactly who your little sugar muffin is when you’re not around — but sometimes, they’re not little sugar muffins, sometimes, they’re downright assholes, so then you spend the rest of the time leading up to these conferences trying to figure out if your kid is THAT kid.
So I basically spent the past week quizzing Pearyn on all the hot first grade gossip her classroom has, things like who gets the most «yellow» or «red» days (signs that they’ve been making trouble for the teacher), if any of her teachers have had to talk to her about anything and if she understands the different stuff they’re learning.
I, of course, get the typical six
TEEN year old response of «I dunno mom, yeah … and can I have my iPad?»
Thanks babe for all that deep reflection (said no parent ever).
My anxiety was in full-throttle for this year’s conference, as last year’s had a few surprises I wasn’t ready for. Our bright, inquisitive, never-shuts-up little girl was struggling with reading. And by struggling, I mean she had no desire to do it whatsoever and so she went through the literacy support program her school offers to catch her up.
I know, I know, she’s still so young, what’s the big deal. I think it just shocked me because if my kiddos get any part of my intelligence, I always assumed it’d be my love of books, words and writing. I mean that stuff is basically genetic, right? Not so much.
We did learn however, that even though she was in kindergarten (AND despite that she was learning common core, barf, yuck, yarf, did I mention BARF), she was actually excelling way past in her math comprehension.
So how’s that karma for ya folks? I, the book-obsessed, math-loathing chubby vegan mom, managed to birth a tall, lean, not-as-interested-in-books but is a math-loving machine.
Cray cray, right?
So the good news is I went into last night’s conference ready for whatever that teacher had to throw at me. I was armed with all our knowledge from last year, all the books we read and read and read again this past summer, and her own little workbook we’ve been doing at home since school let out.
And are you ready for the big «thing» my daughter needs to see improvement on this year?
Much to my relief, our little sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice baby girl is doing gloriously in reading this year; her math skills are still ahead of where she should be; she’s a social butterfly and respectful little girl; but she may or may not have a tendency to lose her folder and leave her coat lying around for all to walk all over.
Gee, I wonder where she got that from.
Seriously though, I wish my Pear Bear had gotten some semblance of organization from her father, because if her room and my housekeeping skills are any indication of what her future holds for her, I have a feeling that little «well organized» box on her report card is NEVER going to be checked.
But ultimately, I’ll take it, as long as she doesn’t become the little asshole.
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