Dirty Little Secret

As I may have mentioned (here and to every other mother I’ve talked to in the past two weeks) Ironflower has been having a hard time leaving school. In fact, she has behaved better receiving shots than she has leaving school lately. On Tuesday, even though I made sure to drive around a bit so that Lovebug would fall asleep and thus stay in the car and I brought her juice, when I got to the playground Ironflower reacted the same old way. She screamed “No!” at the sight of me.

I did try not to take it personally. I really did. But I still cried on the way home. Though not as much as last time. I couldn’t help it. This resulted in her receiving a rather stern talking to from a sympathetic Hubby. And a suggestion for how to react when school is over and Mommy comes to pick her up. But I didn’t think it would help enough. So when I put her to bed that night (after I had calmed down considerably), I decided to really talk to her about it. Calmly, like you’re supposed to. She couldn’t verbalize her feelings, but I did find out (for sure) that it wasn’t about me, it WAS that she liked school. So I told her a story about some of her favorite characters that included the whole situation.

And then Shrek, of course, learned to act the way I wished Ironflower would. And they lived happily ever after. I told her the same story Wednesday night. And reminded her of it in the car this morning. Just in conversation, of course. All natural-like. (Thank the Goddess that pre-schoolers thrive on repetitive conversations)

And today, when Ironflower saw me and her teacher began sending kids out of the gate, she smiled and ran to me and gave me a big hug. And I only feel slightly guilty about manipulating her to do so.

parenting

preschool behavior

So on one of the many forms I filled out for Ironflower’s preschool, I indicated that I would be willing to be a class mother. I thought I just said I would help when I could, but maybe my willingness to help at all qualified me for class motherhood.

Now, the whole idea of “class mother” ticks me off in the way “policeman” and “fireman” do - why assume a gender when there are perfectly viable options (police officer and firefighter, class PARENT)? But, this is Bergen County - where the men work long hours in the city and the women wear cute clothes to go to the park (yes, I’m totally generalizing, but I grew up here, I can). Only a handful of fathers even showed up for the back to school night, so it doesn’t surprise me that all the class parents are women. It just surprises me that they ASSUME that’s how it will be.

I went to the initial meeting with trepidation, not having gotten high-heeled sandals or a manicure recently. Fortunately, the women were more casually dressed this time (maybe because they knew there’d be no men there?) and everyone seemed nice enough. But my Goddess, what a lot of work there is. Fundraisers galore, field trips and class parties to plan. My co-class mom and I are having our parent meeting next week (yes, each class has to have its own meet and greet, as if back to school night and drop offs and pick ups were not enough).

This meeting will be to hit everyone up for money. Yeah, that’ll be fun. Can’t wait.

I’m sure part of my shock at the duties of class parents comes from my teaching experience in the ‘hood. We never had official class parents, we barely had a PTA. And while I had many wonderful and helpful parents, none of them planned things for me. Or ran the fundraisers for me. Or bought me gifts. Or did half the stuff I’m going to have to do.

class mother
nursery school

So today, even though Lovebug was throwing a major temper tantrum (he really wants to go to school with Ironflower), I managed to accost Ironflower’s teacher and quiz her about Ironflower’s day. I tried my best to convey my interest, as Lovebug screamed and thrashed in an attempt to get on the playground.

But of course my triumph in convincing the busy and snippy teacher that I’m a devoted mother (I’m a CLASS MOTHER, for heaven’s sake - more on that experience later) had to be marred. I remained calm when Ironflower protested about leaving. I remained together as Lovebug threw himself on the ground at the exact moment that Ironflower demanded to be carried to the car. I ignored the fact that our little drama had an in-the-round audience of six mothers and two teachers. I picked Ironflower up after she said please, then struggled to grab Lovebug. Everyone watched in a horrified silence. I muttered comforting words as I tried to drag them to the car. Something like, “I’ll get you for this when you have your first date”.

I nearly dropped Lovebug when we were about halfway there. He was fighting me that hard (and no, before you ask, mirroring his feelings in a soothing voice was not working). I put Ironflower on the sidewalk and she began crying immediately, “Please carry me, please, please.” I wanted to ask her why she hates being carried unless it is horribly inconvenient for me (and no one else), but I decided that her continued wailing might draw more attention to us. Not since seventh grade have I wanted to be invisible so much. Eventually I just gave up on appropriate carrying procedures and just grabbed them like we were running from a fire.

Lovebug fought so hard when I tried to strap him into his car seat that I began to sweat. Ironflower was willing to be strapped in, but she was angry. She really hates leaving school. When I asked her what she’d done that day (loudly, so she could hear me over Lovebug’s subsiding screams), she snapped, “I DON’T want to talk to you right now!”

Normally, I would have realized that she was still adjusting to the transition. Normally, I would have laughed. But today I burst into tears. I feel like I have used up all of my tricks and everything just degenerates into a struggle and I am TIRED.

How bad would it be to have a glass of wine during nap time?

I was feeling pretty good about myself when I went to pick Ironflower up from school. She had run cheerfully into her classroom two and a half hours earlier, waving good-bye while running to the kitchen area. Lovebug did not throw a tantrum as we left, he even held my hand willingly as we walked through the parking lot.

Lovebug and I had a nice time at the park. After moving between the sandbox and swings at regular intervals, I let him go on the “big playground”, something he never gets to do with his sister around (neither of my children has the fear gene, nor do they have any fear of doing things on their own). He giggled as I followed him through the tunnel and across the suspension bridge. When it was time to leave, a promise of juice in the car was enough to quell his screams of protest.

He promptly fell asleep in the car and didn’t even wake up when we pulled into Ironflower’s school. Since her class was on the playground, I felt relief that I could leave Lovebug in the car. I was happily planning lunch as I walked up to the playground gates.

Ironflower ignored me. Even when I called her name. I chatted with the teacher and two other parents (whose children were more cooperative). I listened politely as they questioned the busy teacher about every minute of their children’s days. I just wanted to get out of her hair, since I know she has another class right after Ironflower’s. Finally, the teacher went to coax her over to me. Ironflower looked at me and yelled, “Go AWAY Mommy!” Talk about a touching moment. Her poor teacher had to carry her over to me as she protested loudly. I was finally calming her down and convincing her that leaving with me wouldn’t be so bad when her teacher leaned over and said, “She had a great day at school, in case you’re interested.”

I was so stunned I just gave a fake smile and carried Ironflower over to the car.

IN CASE I’M INTERESTED? What the fuck?

I feel like telling her that of course I’m interested, but I’ve been a teacher and I know that pick-ups and drop-offs are not the easiest times to talk. I feel like telling her that as a former teacher I am simply APPALLED by her comment. I feel like telling her that she is a total BITCH.

Am I over-reacting?

nursery school

parenting

teacher comments

So I just joined Bloggerwave after reading a post of Wordvixen’s. Anything that allows me to blog AND get paid has got to be very cool. The site (thus far) is easy to navigate and manage. It’s a similar set-up to PayPerPost - you post, they pay. Bloggerwave, while not having as many opportunities yet, has more better paying opportunities for those of us not blessed with thousands of readers. But there’s no reason you can’t do both.

I never meant to “commercialize this blog”, but I need all the extra cash I can get. The cute (and cheap) puffy paint I got to decorate Ironflower’s school bag (all the kids get the same bag, then one side is personalized by the parents) is not enough. All the other kids’ bags seemed to covered with expensive patches and I need some extra cash if I dare go back into Michael’s. Ironflower hasn’t noticed that her bag isn’t as cool as the other kids’ bags (I tried, but puffy paint is just not my medium), but I have. And I feel like a horrible mother. I’m sure the whole bag decoration thing is just some sort of test for the parents, like filling out a “child’s interest inventory” was in my classroom. But I was just trying to assess the lives of my students, this bag decoration thing is assessing my artistic skills (which are sorely lacking) and I don’t think that’s fair. Having an inability to puff paint is not the same as writing that your child’s only interest is “tee.v”. Is it?

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Bloggerwave

A sponsored post.

I didn’t cry. Ironflower didn’t cry. Hubby didn’t cry. But Lovebug threw a fit when we left Ironflower at preschool today. As we got her settled in, Lovebug discovered the Lego table. I think we could have left both of them there.

But we dragged Lovebug out and left Ironflower playing happily.

Hubby was convinced that we’d come back to discover that she’d thrown a fit when she didn’t get her way. I was worried that she’d be pouting in a corner (because she didn’t get her way).

Apparently, though, she was fine (except that she refused to have her picture taken, big surprise). . .at least until we got there. As soon as we arrived she was rude and unfriendly to her teachers and refused to talk to us. She did let me pick her up, but she was in a bad mood. I think the shortened day actually made it harder for her - she’s not good at quick transitions.

Eventually she opened up, but it took a good half an hour. Interestingly, she drank milk at school - she NEVER does that at home. I’m hoping this bodes well for potty training. She also made pictures of (discernible) happy and sad faces and told us that she sang a song. She told her grandparents that she played with Ryan and Jillian. She’s willing to go back on Thursday.

I’m not exactly sure how I will manage to deposit her lovingly and drag a screaming Lovebug out by myself on Thursday. But I guess I’ll worry about that on Thursday.

So last night was my first back-to-school night as a parent. It was weird walking into a school’s hall as an unknown mom instead of a popular staff member. And then it freaked me out a little bit to realize that nearly everyone there was white. I used to teach in an urban school, so I’m more used to being the only white chick than to being the only white chick not wearing high heels. Or the only white chick without a tan. This place was pale enough to be a Klan meeting.

It was pretty awful at first. Everyone seemed to know each other, or be with a spouse (Hubby had to stay home with the kids) or be designer-clad. And this is the cheap preschool. I’m much better at including people than at being included, but I did manage to chat with a few people during the main meeting.

Things got a lot better when I went to Ironflower’s classroom. Her teacher’s presentation was better than mine ever was, she seems great. AND I had so much fun chatting with two other moms (who did know each other and looked very glamorous but turned out to be former teachers) that I actually had a good time.

The only problem is that on one of the many forms I filled out to enroll Ironflower, I must have checked “yes” to be a class parent. I got a list of duties along with the regular info pack last night. The list is long. Two of things on it are extorting money for teacher gifts and calling people to harass them about volunteering. If I was good at such things I would be selling Mary Kay and have a pink car, not trying to write and driving a seven year old Subaru. I can only hope someone else was dumb enough to be co-class parent with me. And I hope she’s outgoing (I could be pc and say she or he, which I would do in most situations, but there were only about 10 fathers out of a hundred parents there last night) and likes to bother people.

I hope my failings as a class parent don’t make Ironflower unpopular.