Free Sandy

photo credit: wikia.com

On Monday morning, my daughter, age 5, allowed her big brother to take her new Sandy Cheeks eraser to school to show his friends.

On Monday afternoon, after being picked up from school, my son reported that the Sandy eraser was now in the “June Box”.

“What’s the June Box?” I asked.

“It’s this box that if something goes in there, you don’t see it until June.”

What?

“Well, Anonymous was playing with it,” he said dramatically, “and Mrs. Teacher saw it and told him to stop and he didn’t and now it’s in the June Box.”

At this point, I start berating my son just as my daughter understands that June means a long time from now and starts crying.

I berate my son some more, over the cacophony of tears, and then propose a solution. We will tell Mrs. Teacher that the Sandy eraser is his little sister’s, while not making excuses for why it ended up in the June Box. In exchange for his little sister’s eraser, my son will supply one of his favorite erasers to take up residence in the June Box.

Yeah, that’ll work. It’s like when Belle substituted herself for her father, Maurice, in the Beast’s dungeon in Beauty in the Beast.  Mrs. Teacher has a boy and a girl herself. Surely she’ll understand when she learns that she’s holding a 5-year-old’s eraser hostage. And my son will get something he loves locked away as due punishment.

Tuesday morning before I leave for work I call and leave a message for the teacher. “That Sandy Squirrel eraser…It’s his little sister’s…She’s been crying…I’m sorry for what he did, and I’m not excusing his behavior… he’s going to give you one of his favorite erasers instead…Blah, blah…I know I’m insane. Thank you very much…Blah, Blah.”

So, dear readers, what do you think happened?

NOTHING.

Tuesday night Will reported that Mrs. Teacher would not do the exchange.

I would have appreciated a phone call on that decision, Mrs. Teacher! I’m not making excuses for whatever my son and his friends did to get the Sandy eraser confiscated, but I’ve got a little 5-year-old girl who was very mature to let her brother borrow that silly eraser and now you’re punishing her. Really? REALLY?

Am I being unreasonable?

FREE SANDY!

I’ll say it again.

FREE SANDY!

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Walk of Shame

My 3rd grader

It’s not what you think.

You see, the parental version of the Walk of Shame is when you’re called for a conference with your son’s 3rd grade teacher and none of the other parents are called. The parental Walk of Shame is when you stroll down the school hallway avoiding eye contact with anyone on your way to your parent-teacher conference.

See, in our school district, everyone meets with the teacher in November. Then, in March, the teachers get a mere half-day for conferences. So typically they call those parents who need help, i.e. their kids may be in trouble or falling behind. At least that was my take on it. And as I stood on the sidewalk on Thursday, waiting to pick up my son from a half-day of school, I overheard two kindergarten teachers having this conversation with one of their students. It confirmed my worst fears:

1st kindergarten teacher: Oh, Sally, you’re mom’s not coming in for a conference today, right?

2nd kindergarten teacher: No, you’re mom wouldn’t be coming in.

1st kindergarten teacher: You’re too good, right? You’re mom won’t be coming in.

I wanted to flip them off right there!  I was coming back that afternoon to meet with my son’s teacher.

Sigh.

It’s not like my son has done poorly in school. He’s done fine all along. He’s a bit ACTIVE, though, which has always kept me on my toes.

When I sat down across from his teacher, though, this is what I heard. “I thought you wanted to meet in March,” started his teacher, “to follow-up on the good conversation we had in November.”

Hmm. What did we say in November?!

“He’s doing everything he should be doing,” she told me.

Oh…

“Thank you for signing his homework. I never have to worry about Will not having his homework signed.”

Huh…

“His scores have gone up since the Fall. Good job, Mom.”

Yay!

I wasn’t there because he was bad? She thought I’d appreciate follow-up? He’s doing well?

It wasn’t a Walk of Shame after all!

I think I may have strutted down the hall back to my car:

Eat your heart out, John Travolta!

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