"Another Brick In The Wall"
When I pick Connor up from 'school,' on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I make sure to ask one of his two teachers, "Did Connor keep his hands to himself today?"
Lately, the answer has been a consistent "yes," but last Thursday, Miss J. told me, "Connor did have trouble keeping his hands to himself today. He was hitting some of the other kids, and he had trouble sharing. He also walked right up to [one of the other kids] and kissed him on the lips."
...uhhh, which of these three items doesn't belong in that sentence?!
After informing me of Connor's misbehavior, I was also reminded by Miss J. of our pre-scheduled parent-teacher conference the following Tuesday (yesterday). Obviously, given the most recent news from the front, I wasn't expecting great things.
Stacey took the morning off of work and we both went to hear about our child's performance from the first two non-family members/close friends to ever spend any extensive amount of time with Connor without having us around. Growing up, my parents (and Stacey's, too) were called in plenty of times for impromptu parent-teacher conferences, so it was nice to finally be on the other side of the fence—not worrying about what my horrid, unspeakably mean and cruel teachers were saying behing my back, and not worrying about what my parents were going to take away from me as punishment. (During one particularly bad year, pretty much the only thing I had left after all the punishment was doled out was the "privelege" of going to school.)
The summary of our 15-minute conference is quite simple, and completely unsurprising for anyone that knows this kid; Connor is very smart, but can't sit still. He's mastered pretty much every task the teachers set before him—and those that he has yet to conquer all require sitting in one place for more than ten seconds.
Oh, I already knew he was a clever lad. On the trip home from "school" last week after being told that he was hitting, I told him he couldn't get a treat out of the awesomely named "treat bag"—which we keep full of dollar-store junk, to motivate him toward pacifisim. "But I DIDN'T hit anyone," he pleaded with me. After two minutes of this, realizing that he was getting nowhere, he said, "Daddy, I hit the other kids. -pause- Can I have a treat now?"
Lately, the answer has been a consistent "yes," but last Thursday, Miss J. told me, "Connor did have trouble keeping his hands to himself today. He was hitting some of the other kids, and he had trouble sharing. He also walked right up to [one of the other kids] and kissed him on the lips."...uhhh, which of these three items doesn't belong in that sentence?!
After informing me of Connor's misbehavior, I was also reminded by Miss J. of our pre-scheduled parent-teacher conference the following Tuesday (yesterday). Obviously, given the most recent news from the front, I wasn't expecting great things.
Stacey took the morning off of work and we both went to hear about our child's performance from the first two non-family members/close friends to ever spend any extensive amount of time with Connor without having us around. Growing up, my parents (and Stacey's, too) were called in plenty of times for impromptu parent-teacher conferences, so it was nice to finally be on the other side of the fence—not worrying about what my horrid, unspeakably mean and cruel teachers were saying behing my back, and not worrying about what my parents were going to take away from me as punishment. (During one particularly bad year, pretty much the only thing I had left after all the punishment was doled out was the "privelege" of going to school.)
The summary of our 15-minute conference is quite simple, and completely unsurprising for anyone that knows this kid; Connor is very smart, but can't sit still. He's mastered pretty much every task the teachers set before him—and those that he has yet to conquer all require sitting in one place for more than ten seconds.
Oh, I already knew he was a clever lad. On the trip home from "school" last week after being told that he was hitting, I told him he couldn't get a treat out of the awesomely named "treat bag"—which we keep full of dollar-store junk, to motivate him toward pacifisim. "But I DIDN'T hit anyone," he pleaded with me. After two minutes of this, realizing that he was getting nowhere, he said, "Daddy, I hit the other kids. -pause- Can I have a treat now?"
posted by Carter at 11:00 AM
5 Comments:
What was your worst year?
4th grade...From one report card I lost the TV, Telephone, Radio, and going to friend's houses. I'm sure they would have taken away the Apple IIe computer if it had been around.
My worst year was 10th. I got a friend with a car, I realized how easy it was to skip, and I started a band. I failed 5 out of 6 classes. Including the famous "Bird house building" class as my brother likes to call it. Wait a minute...driving around, skipping school, and rockin' the skins? What am I talking about!?! I would do that all over in a second!
Smart but can't sit still = Scott Rounds---Be afraid, be very afraid.
WELP!
MISS NELSON IS MISSING!
This is my first visit to your blog; the name alone is outstanding.
Your little guy sounds like a handful; I have two and we just moved back into our house after damage caused by them forced us to move out for two days for repairs. I'll take a bad parent teacher conference anyday!
Keep up the good work and good luck on the job search.
This is also my 1st visit. I too came for the Mr. Mom quote. Kudos to you.
Work is overrated. Win the Lotto.
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