The Parent Teacher Conference

This is such a misnomer. At the so called parent teacher conferences I've attended, the teacher talks and I occasionally get a word in edgewise. Think about it. Teacher holds all the advantages. I'm seated in a child sized chair looking up at my child's teacher. The last time I had to maneuver my rear into one of those little chairs I had flashbacks recalling my own elementary school years. When I reached 4th grade with Mrs. Hagelin, (an old school teacher who was never sick. She brought her medicine to class with her. Even the boys were aftraid of her.) I had to leave the room and splash water on my face to compose myself.

But nothing strikes fear into the hear of a child more than a parent teacher conference. What will your teacher tell your parents about you? Maybe the incident involving spitballs wasn't that smart after all. I recently had occasion to renew that fear. This time, however, I was the parent. Walking into my son's classroom, I got that same queasy feeling as when my parents went to the dreaded conference.

This one was for our Kindergartner. Back before I had kids, I promised myself I wouldn't permit myself to feel this crazy angst at my children's parent teacher conferences. I would arrive full of confidence and acceptance of any shortcomings of my child, should any be mentioned (which of course, there were).

I dressed in something other than my customary t shirt, jeans, and sneakers, actually applied makeup and put my hair to rights. That's when that little knot in my stomach started forming. We arrived at our son's classroom ready to hear how brilliant he was, and maybe he should skip 1st grade altogether due to his academic prowess.

That's not what happened. Have you seen a Kindergarten report card lately? It had been awhile for me, so my mother unearthed mine and read off some of the skills a Kindergartener needed to have to advance to 1st grade thirty years ago:

• tie shoes
• zip jacket
• knows primary colors
• plays nice with other children
• follows directions
• uses scissors
• washes hands independently

Kindergarten has changed. It is now what we learned in first grade. My son's list looked something like this:

• can copy sentences from board
• can write l, m, and first and last name
• knows phonics (always presuming already knows the alphabet)
• knows numbers from 1 to 100
• understands concept of rhyming words
• knows address
• knows telephone number
  
  

I sat there in stunned disbelief as our son's teacher explained some mysterious test called "Dibbels" required for advancement to first grade. I can't even pronounce it, much less explain what the heck it's for. Our child, who were were thinking of having tested for the gifted and talented program, apparently didn't perform very well on the "nonsense word fluency" part of the test. He kept interrupting the examiner, telling her the words weren't spelled right. (Apparently what he was supposed to do was sound out the letters of each word, to prove knowledge of phonetics.)

The other part he didn't perform particularly well on was breaking the words up into their parts. Excuse me? All this time we're teaching the kid to put the letters together to form words, and now you want to test him on breaking them up? His teacher explained that the test was to measure "the building blocks of reading". Since the child could already read, why does he need to be tested on the "building blocks". She didn't have an answer.

By the time we got home my head hurt from the description of these tests. We sent the object of these discussions off his room to play, where he promptly got out his trains and set up an intricate track involving switches, bridges, and a windmill (enhancing his fine motor skills). Then he proceeded to form a sculpture out of play doh (displaying his knowledge of primary colors) with his brothers before dinner (displaying the ability to get along with others). I wondered what the test administrators would have made of that.

Potty Training

I hate potty training. I mean, I know nobody actually likes it, but I really, REALLY hate it. No watering it down with words such as, "dislike" or "distasteful". Remedial Potty Training, make way for me.

And those of you smug parents out there who give me a superior look and inform me precisely how easy it was to potty train your children, go away. This article is not for you. And if one more person starts a sentence with, "what YOU need to DO is....." I will not be held responsible for my actions.

I saw a book titled "How to Potty Train Your Child in A Single Day". It caught my eye because I was out buying yet another set of 2T-3T underwear with an obnoxiously cheerful train printed on the rear. I'll leave it up to your imagination as to the fate of the last pair I bought.

Leafing through the book, I got the gist of the author's method. You buy a doll that can tinkle, then give it plenty to drink. Placing the doll on the potty, you demonstrate the basics of the procedure you'd like your child to emulate. When the doll is finished, you throw the doll a party. Works like a charm, the authors state confidently.

Well. Another mother strolled by with her kid in the shopping cart, saw what I was reading, and started gushing. She was so enthusiastic, I began to suspect she had financial ties to the publishing house. She went on and on about how easy this method was, and how fast her daughter caught on, and how nice it was to finally be done with diapers. I stood there, with a carefully neutral expression on my face, torn between manners and desire to start jumping up and down doing the "pee pee dance", just to see how she'd react.

I tossed the book back on the shelf and headed towards the diaper aisle. Are you kidding? Everybody knows that all you need is a huge bag of m&m's and not go anywhere for awhile....say a few weeks. Then again, in my case, make that a few months.