The Discipline Problem

Every parent dreads having a teacher or rec program staff member ask them “Can I speak to you for a minute?’  It is the signal of your parenting sins coming back to haunt you.

 

Let me preface this story by saying The Fiend has been in day care from eighteen months and has never presented a serious problem to any of her teachers.  She is bossy and stubborn but in the preschool world they work with that.  They gently guide a child to react more positively to situations.

 

Kindergarten is a whole different experience.  And more specifically the after school rec program.  This program puts The Fiend in contact with a significant number of kiddos, far more than she is used to interacting with.  And she is no longer the biggest.  The staffers are certainly underpaid.  And they are horribly outnumbered.

 

So we are at the beginning of week three of this.  It is a huge transition for The Fiend.  I am under the impression that she is handling it very well.  Or at least I was until pick up today.

 

I walked in to find The Fiend playing with another young girl.  As I was trying to gather her up a young woman came up beside me and smiled a bit shyly.  “Hi, I’m Amy.”

 

I stuck out my hand introducing myself.  She continued to smile, “Yeah, I think we’ve already met. Umm, we’re having a problem with listening during rec.”

 

For a moment I was thrown by her use of the word “we”.  After a moment it dawned on me that by “we” she did not mean “the collective”.  Instead she was using “we” to mean “your evil spawn”.

 

“What’s the problem?”

 

“Well, we have meetings and the kids need to sit still during the meetings.  Otherwise it’s really difficult to get things done.  And she,” indicating The Fiend, “doesn’t want to sit still.  She got up to throw away her trash.  I had told her no and she still got up.  And when I asked her to sit aside for five minutes afterward she didn’t want to stay in one place.  I mean I was the same way when I was a kid.”

 

I had no idea what this girl was talking about.  I gathered The Fiend was not being cooperative, but the rest was gibberish.  I carefully studied Amy.  She was barely twenty years old.  I couldn’t tell if she was nervous or just inarticulate.

 

All that aside, I was far from pleased to hear The Fiend was being less than cooperative.  “She did have a long weekend, or is this something that is more consistent?

 

“Oh this is more a consistent thing.”

 

I nodded.  “We will be discussing this then.”

 

The Fiend and I gathered up her belongings, signed her out and went to the car to chat.

 

“Why are you angry?”

 

“I’m angry because your teacher told me you aren’t listening well in rec.  You do understand that you need to listen, right?”

 

“Yes mama.”

 

We talked about it a bit more.  I explained that because there are so many more kids than adults it becomes even more important to listen well so the teachers can keep everyone safe.  It took awhile to reach an understanding.  Eventually The Fiend seemed appropriately apologetic.  “I think we should go back in so you can apologize to Amy.”

 

So we went back inside to look for Amy.  She was busy trying to stop another kindergartener from spinning in circles in the middle of the gym far away from all the other children.  It seemed a bit bizarre to be so focused on a child who was minding her own business and not harming anyone when I had walked by a fourth grader punching a first grader in the gut as we approached her.  Far be it for me to dictate appropriate priorities.

 

Once The Fiend was able to get Amy’s attention she told her she was sorry for not listening.  Amy’s response? “Well you can show me you’re sorry tomorrow by listening, ok?”

 

My jaw dropped.  As far as I am concerned this was a completely inappropriate response to a five year olds apology.  Especially considering the fact the crime committed, while serious, was not egregious.  The Fiend was essentially guilty of being five.

 

The Fiend and I continued to talk about why it is so important to listen well.  Babydaddy stopped by to talk to her about it as well.  We ended the night well with a lot of reading and a big ol’ lovefest.

 

This is the part that I struggle with.  Being a mom alone means that I have to leave The Fiend in the care of others for a good chunk of the day.  This is something that has always bothered me.  It becomes even more troublesome now.  The rec program is huge.  The adults are stretched pretty thin.  And as evidenced by Amy’s interactions, not all of them have the patience required to deal with children.

 

Babydaddy said last night that The Fiend needs to know her place.  I would agree that she needs to listen better.  I expect her to be cooperative and respectful.  She can be super sassy.  It is something we have been working with and trying to improve. 

 

The thing is, I admire her tenacity.  I don’t want to “break her spirit”.  The thing that frustrates me so much about her sometimes will serve her well in the future.  And the thought of sometime twenty year old rec worker with no training in how to deal with children scolding The Fiend at every turn scares me.  Based on Amy’s response to The Fiend’s apology, I think it should.

Pictures from the Big First Day

The Big First Day

The Fiend’s first day of kindergarten was today.  It was so… anticlimactic.

She was ready to go wait at the bus stop, at 7 am.  I had to keep explaining no you are not going to miss the bus, it won’t be here for an hour and a half.  Five minutes later she would ask again.

I finally let her go outside at quarter of eight.  She was so antsy.  I took a ton of pictures while we waited for Babydaddy to arrive.  Then we walked down to the bus stop at the end of the street.  And we waited.  And waited. And waited.

Bayou started baying in the house because she could see us but couldn’t get to us.  So I went back to the house and brought her down.  She jumped all around and chewed on her leash and generally behaved in the incredibly goofy way that she does.

The girl from across the street came down and she and The Fiend began talking about school and playing with each others’ hair.  And we all waited.

The girl from across the street’s mom came down to meet us.  And we continued to wait.

Eventually the bus arrived and The Fiend lined up to get on.  She was ready. It was as if she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. She couldn’t wait. I had to practically wrestle her to the ground for a goodbye kiss.  She pushed me away, wiping my kiss off her face as she sprung up the steps and was led to her seat.  I stood beside her window and waved.  She completely ignored me.  I stood there trying to get her attention.  I was feeling progressively more moronic with each passing second.  The bus pulled away.  The Fiend had never looked back.

Ruminations on Kindergarten

My daughter is starting kindergarten on Monday.  Let me repeat this, my daughter, the small creature who at one point delighted in playing soccer with my internal organs, the baby who used to fit neatly in the crook of my arm, the kid who was the terror of the toddler room, is starting kindergarten. 

When The Fiend was younger people would say things to me along the lines of, “Make the most of this time while it lasts” or “They grow up so fast”.  These pearls of wisdom most often came in response to The Fiend screaming at the top of her lungs in the grocery store or after an incident of over the top honesty toddler style (Mommy that guy has boobs!).  In that context I found them terribly annoying.

If someone were to say either of these things to me today, I might burst into tears.  How did this happen?  How did five years go by without my noticing?  How is it possible that I got old enough to have a kid in kindergarten?

This precocious and spirited kid is about to be unleashed on the public school system I can’t help but have two thoughts.  “She’s grown up so fast” and “Her teacher has no idea what’s she’s in for.”

The Fiend is no longer a baby or a toddler or a preschooler.  She is a school aged child.  This is all at once awe-inspiring, flabbergasting and exciting.  But mostly it’s scary.  Up until yesterday I drove her to preschool and left her in the care of no less than three teachers.  The bathroom was right inside the classroom.  They didn’t go to a cafeteria for lunch.  And did I mention there were three sets of adult eyes at all times?

On Monday I will place my most precious possession on a school bus full of children, none of whom will be wearing seat belts.  The bus driver will be the one to make sure she doesn’t climb out the window, run up and down the aisle while the bus is in motion or try to climb out the escape hatch.  If you know The Fiend you understand these things, as well as others that I can’t even conceive of, are well within the realm of possibility.

The adult at the end of the ride will be the one to guide her to her classroom when she gets off the bus at school.  I will have to believe the person charged with the task is up to the challenge.  I will have to accept that The Fiend’s legs are short so it won’t be too hard to catch her when she eventually tries to escape.

The teachers and administrators will have the task of ensuring that she doesn’t get lost or decide to exploring on the way back from a bathroom break. I will have to will myself not to panic at the thought of The Fiend with a hall pass.

I will have to accept that all these folks have been doing this for a long time.  There are systems in place, checks and balances.  Surely losing a kindergartener is a rare experience.  But The Fiend is pretty rare.

Of course the reality is The Fiend is a bright, well-behaved (for everyone but me) kid.  I know that the teachers and busdrivers and adminstrators are highly competent, perhaps more so than I.  Everything will be fine.  In fact it will probably go swimmingly.  She may never want to come home.

Then why do I wake up in the middle of the night worried the teacher will be a slave to procedure who will make it her life’s goal the break The Fiend’s sassy spirit?  Or sweat when I see a schoolbus?  Or cry everytime I see a backpack? 

Obviously innumberable mothers and children have succesfully navigated this process.  There is no reason to think that we are so unique that we should be any different.  And not all the feelings are bad.  I swell with pride when she talks about how she’s going to ride the school bus and learn to read and eat in the cafeteria.  I am pleased as punch to see her so excited to ride the bus.  I smile broadly when she checks and rechecks her backpack to make sure everything is in order.  

I think the thing that is so difficult about kindergarten is the realization that time is short.  Your baby is no longer a baby.  Even though The Fiend has been in daycare from 18 months on, being in school seems so different.  I’m not ready to let her go yet, not even a little.  But she is ready.  My little girl is embarking on the epic journey of education which inevitably will lead to her leaving the nest.  I miss her already.