Back-to-School Night

Saturday, September 20, 2008
This week my husband and I went to our first back-to-school parents night. Our daughter's teacher’s name sounds totally Indian -- let's just call her "Sita." You may think she’s Indian, but you’d be wrong. She informed me that Sita is her spiritual name, and that she’s been living at a Hindu ashram for the past 20 years. I wonder if that makes her love my daughter more than the rest of the children. You may laugh at this, but seriously, she had nothing but good things to say about her!

On the Montessori “work” periods: “Some kids are not great about putting away their work when they’re done. Your daughter is very good at putting away her work.”

On socialization: “Alex totally does his own thing and doesn’t like to play a lot with others. Johnny is a social butterfly, sometimes to the detriment of his work. Your daughter is a bit of both; she really gets into her work, but then she’s social, too.”

On eating: “Some of the kids only sit for 10 minutes. Your daughter will sit the longest – she eats very well.”

On the potty: “Your daughter never has any problems with using the potty. Do you want to share some advice with the rest of the parents on how to potty-train?”

In general: “Your daughter is really easy for us. She cries right when you drop her off, but as soon as you leave, she never cries or causes us any trouble.”

Oh my God, my child is a superstar! I need to alert the Nobel committee, start the Harvard application, put her into Mensa before age 3!

The very next day, Friday, which is her day with me, she has a meltdown at her playdate which causes me to leave early with her. On the way out she starts yelling so loud people on the other side of the street are laughing (okay, it was Deepa who was laughing, and Deepa’s son was so shocked that he stopped crying himself). She has a tantrum at home before napping, a tantrum when she gets up, a tantrum on the way to the park, a tantrum AT the park, a tantrum getting in the car, a tantrum getting OUT of the car… you get the point.

I have decided we’re just really bad parents. But at least we did something right, because apparently she is an angel the second we’re out of the room.
3 comments:
deepa said...

(Yes I know--I am commenting on my own blog. Oh well). This reminds me of the yoga instructor we had named "Yogita"--her spiritual name. Doesn't that stuff make you cringe? I mean--I didn't even mind that much when Urban Outfitters started selling "henna kits" or when all the girls in my little cousin's elementary school class wore bindis on their heads a-la-Gwen and Madonna. But the pseudo-spiritual stuff gets me every time. Oh yea--also let me know if you need a letter of rec for Kiks, happy to help get our girl into Harvard. I've heard tantrums build character.

Lyvia said...

I went to my very FIRST back to school night on Friday night and discovered that my 2 yr old son was a closet "neat freak"! Apparently ... allegedly ... he is the best teacher's helper and LOVES to put things away. He sorts the toys and puts them all back at "clean up time" into their proper binds and HAPPILY does so! ENTHUSIASTICALLY does so!

I looked around to see who the heck the teacher was talking about ..and sheepishly tried to clarify that MY son was Ayan -- this one over here! The teacher smiled, nodded and said "yes", she was talking about Ayan. :0

As I took my son home, I wondered aloud "why do I spend 2 hours every night picking up your toys after you are asleep?" Of course my 2 yr old never replied ... but I saw a very suspicious smirk through the rear view mirror (or was that just my imagination?)

So in response to your blog ... I too wonder: What makes them angels at school? Is it me?

btw: Ayan's teacher's name is "Miss Kitty". yep ... no kidding!

monica said...

Lyvia -- a friend just wrote to me and said "My mom says they are the worst with us because they love us best - and know we'll love them no matter what!" But isn't that an annoying excuse for bad behavior? Then again, I'm in my 30s and I think I STILL give my mom a harder time than anyone else! (Okay, except my husband.)

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