Reading and math logs

Just a short rant here. Do any of you with school aged children have to suffer with these odious things? I hate, hate, hate them. And I fought the battle against them last year. It chaps my ass that I have to do it again this year (and probably every year from here on out until T. gets out of elementary school). Can anyone tell me anything good about them? In the meantime, enjoy reading my latest teacher communication and then be grateful you don't have to deal with me as a parent. Yes, I suspect my children's teachers hate me. For your reading pleasure:

Ms. T.,

I mentioned in my note on T.'s log, I have a few thoughts I want to share with you about the reading/math log.

I am abrogating the responsibility for filling this out now that the first quarter is finished. Going forward, if this is part of his homework grade, then T. can fill it out himself. I will cheerfully enforce the reading and math facts practice but it will be his responsibility to write it down, not mine. I feel this is important for several reasons. This is not my homework. I no longer do homeowrk. It is his and therefore he should be the one doing it. If the point of the log is to teach responsibility and accountability, it is better served by making the child, who is more than capable ability-wise, fill it out and learn those lessons himself. If I do not fill out the log, there is no correseponding consequence for me. There is only a consequence for him. Rather unfair, don't you think? If it is his responsibility and he doesn't fill out the log two days in a row, he will not get a sticker on his calendar chart leading to the potential of not earning a homework pass. Logical consequence given to the actual culprit. Much fairer.

He filled out his own log last year for Ms. M. and it worked out fine. She told me that it is school policy for each child to have a reading log. I disagree heartily with the policy (I'll elaborate a bit below) but hope that you are willing to allow him to do this chore himself as she was given the reality of the policy. I'm certain that my stance is unpopular and as I understand it, he was the only child in first grade to have to complete his own reading log, but I think all of the children who are capable should be doing it themselves so if he's the only second grader doing as such as well, I am fine with that.

Quite honestly, I don't understand the whole reading/math log thing in general. I know that it is designed to ensure that children are doing their requisite amount of reading and math outside of school but in practice it doesn't actually measure this in any legitimate way. For starters, this method of tracking was originally designed for at risk student populations, clearly not the school dynamic at M.R. E. S. Even in the designated situations, it hasn't been successful. Human nature being what it is, parents sign off on logs whether their child has done the intended work or not.

My conversations with friends here, in other states, and even friends who are teachers themselves, while merely anecdotal and not statistically significant, has revealed that every last one of them has filled out the forms even when their children haven't done the work. And my small sampling consists of highly educated, driven people who quite value education. Not very promising with regards to the efficacy of measuring reading and math practice via logs. Quite honestly, I signed off on T.'s on Monday night despite the fact that he came home from school and fell asleep immediately, waking briefly to take Tylenol for his migraine before going back to sleep for the night. Now, I doubled his practice and reading time last night as a result but many nights that wouldn't be an option and honestly, as an overall trend, he gets more than enough. So should I have not signed the log and let him take the fall for not doing the work? How would that solution have benefitted anyone? Obviously this is just one example of how the logs fail and one of a million reasons why parents sign the log when the work hasn't been completed but it is instructive in the failures inherent in the logging process and requirement.

Perhaps as important as the trend towards fudging, I have also never met a parent who likes having to sign off on the daily logs. I am certainly among those who find it an annoyance. And it makes me curious, given the almost universal dislike of logs and its questionable efficacy why it continues to be such a focus in elementary school here. Out of the four elementary schools my children have attended over the years, this is the only one that uses this outmoded teaching tool.

I'll stop now but as you can tell, I loathe logs and question the use of them. I am all for parental involvement in children's education but not in this pointless and ultimately non-meaningful way. I am only there to help guide my children along the road to responsibility and accountability, not to take over these aspects of their education. I am always available to help with questions on homework but I certainly don't do even a portion of it for them. In this spirit, the log is now officially T.'s so expect his handwriting on it and no initialing on my part. I will make certain his work is completed (incidentally, I think his homework from last night is in his backpack, not in his folder, if my perusal of the folder this morning is anything by which to go) but he can take over the responsibility of letting you or the mom helpers know that it was indeed completed.

Thanks,

K., the offical parental pain in the ass

OK, so I didn't sign it this way but this *is* the letter I sent. If his folder already doesn't note that "Mom is difficult" I suspect this will have cemented that opinion and made it into the official record of note to be passed along with him forever and ever until the end of time, amen. As long as this teacher doesn't try to give me a lecture on the importance of reading (just in case I wasn't aware!), I think I can now rub along fine for the rest of the year, she says hopefully.

Parenthood: What a long strange trip...

This parenting gig is worse than a roller coaster. I mean, yesterday, when asking my oldest about school, I also suggested that since the kids had the day off (today too) perhaps he'd like to call a buddy and have him come over. W. looked at me patiently and with pity in his voice, "Mom, I don't have any friends at school." I'm honestly not certain if the pity was for himself being friendless or for me because I'm so damned clueless about the state of his (non)social life. Don't you know that this long-suffering and yet somehow matter-of-fact admission just about stabbed me in the heart?

I mean, sure, he can be a colossal pain in the ass but for the most part this child of mine is the kindest, most loving, thoughtful and loyal kid around. He's even generally nice to his younger sister and brother (not that he doesn't have his moments). And somehow the other little shits at his middle school haven't cottoned on to what a wonderful friend he can be. I know W. has struggled for years with the social thing. He's never been completely at home in his own skin since we moved away from Ohio when he was going into 3rd grade. And that makes me sad because he's great. Really and truly great and not just because I'm his mom either.

Last year adjusting to being here was a struggle and he had some issues with behaviour at school. And now I wonder if he'll ever be able to overcome the fact that he cried in class. The teachers last year warned him he'd be ostracized if he kept it up but the fact that he was being ostracized before it happened seems to have passed everyone by except for overly sensitive mom. And given the fact that I burst into tears when I am angry or frustrated or upset too, no one tends to take me terribly seriously either. I wish I didn't do it and I sure as shootin' wish that W. hadn't inherited the low frustration threshold and the overactive tear ducts from me. At least his friendlessness put his younger brother's poor test results in perspective a bit.

And then today, while I have been moping around wondering how on earth I can fix life for the 7th grader (I know. I know. I can't.), the second grader asked if we could go shopping. Now I'm not big on shopping but I thought getting out of the house and out of my own head would be good. So T. and the $3 he had burning a hole in his wallet since that delinquent tooth fairy finally showed up and forked over cash for his grungy teeth and I went shopping. And I bit my tongue as he spent every last penny he had to his name on whoopie cushions. He even had to borrow some change from his sister to pay for tax. So I got to listen to wild farting and giggles and blame flying back and forth all the way home from Target. And I suspect the joke won't wear off any time soon either. Might be the best $2.99 anyone in this family has ever spent.

Sometimes kids break your heart and sometimes they make your belly hurt from laughing so much. I guess you can't have the one without the other but man the latter is way more fun.

Sentimental motherhood and (not) me

I sometimes wonder if I am missing some vital gene that mothers are supposed to have and if the day someone figures this out will be the day that they revoke my mom's club membership. I am completely and totally unsentimental and even the alleged cuteness of my spawn (I had to restrain myself from writing demon spawn given the way our day's gone so far) rarely makes me choke up over anything they do.

For instance, today was T.'s acting and singing debut at school. He's in first grade so the fact that he memorized his line and remembered most of the lines of the songs was huge. And his fellow classmates did the same. As I stood in the back of the gym in order to have a better shot for my pictures (see, I do have *some* mom abilities), I lost track of the number of moms who looked over at me with tears literally glistening in their eyes and said, "They're so cute. They're going to make me cry." Not trusting myself not to rudely ask why, I simply stuck with the head bob that they all took as a sign of mutual feeling. But I didn't feel that way. Why for all that is holy would a first grade play choke anyone up? As I watched T., I noticed that he was louder than anyone else and flatly tone deaf. Given this, I might perhaps cry because of bleeding ears but really, I had to restrain myself from visible wincing. Sure, he's darn cute. He loves to perform, especially when there's an audience. And he nailed his lines, garnering the biggest laugh of the play (and why not, since he was a "walrus in love with a tuna"). But a tear jerker, it wasn't.

But then I am clearly a philistine when it comes to getting sentimental over my kids. Did I cry when they were born? Nope. Did I cry when any of the little buggers graduated from pre-school? Nope. Did I cry when I put oldest child, W., on the bus for the first time? Nope. (I actually did a little happy dance. And I did a bigger happy dance when R. followed him onto the bus the following year. I practically stripped my shirt off and ran around the soccer field in just a sports bra when T. hopped on the bus. Oh wait, that wasn't me. But that's how I felt about everybody being at school all day long.) I just don't cry over their stuff. Don't get me wrong, I do love them and all. But I don't understand the weepies over the milestones or the manufactured cuteness moments. Like I said, I am not a sentimental mom. Maybe I'll save all my tears for after the kids are out of the nest but I somehow doubt it.

I'm even so unmaternal, I delight in finding new way to embarrass the kids. Today's discovery was that it is completely mortifying for mom to stand at the self-checkout line at the grocery store and feed all of the assorted coins in her purse into the cash slot. Nevermind that I had about $25 in change because the pre-teen has suddenly decided that he needs bills rather than change and has gone into my purse, aka his own personal bank, to exchange my bills for his change. The fact that I was determined to use said cash, was terrible enough but to actually stand there and have to listen to the ka-chink of each coin as it went in was the height of mortification. Made me feel postively gleeful, it did. See, the non-sentimental mother will find devious and inspired ways to pay back (literally) any snarfty pre-teen behavior because she is unburdened by remembrances of sweet toddlerhood. I know, I know. The official notice of motherhood rights revocation is probably in the mail even as we speak. I most likely won't weep over that either.

I Quit!

Hollywood has a lot for which to answer. I took my child to a PG-13 movie two weeks ago. Mind you, W. is 12 so he's not terribly far off the "acceptable" age to see this movie without permission. Also note that I didn't know it was PG-13 before I took him (not that that would have changed my decision, mind you, but I probably would have left the 7 year old at home--I have standards, ya know). It has taken two weeks of pondering this movie but I finally got a question worthy of making me want to turn in my parenting card. My 12 year old got in the car and promptly asked me what a douche bag was. Holy guacamole! Is it too late to resign my motherhood?! First I asked him where he'd heard it. Thank-you 17 Again! Zac Efron as eye candy in no way makes up for having to field this question!!! Once I got over the relief of knowing that he hadn't called anyone a douche bag and hadn't been called one himself, I had to decide how graphic I should be. Never one to shirk embarrassing questions (I leave that role to D.), I settled on a vague and prissy, "It's a bag of liquid used to clean a woman's parts." Luckily that was more than enough for W., who turned a tad green and got very quiet. He agreed with me that it would be a terrible thing to call anyone. Not that I don't fully expect him to break it out the next time someone tries to bully him. I can hear the phone call now: "Mrs. K., we're going to have to suspend W. for calling a fellow student a douche bag." Should I practice choking back the laughter now? Really, I shouldn't be allowed to quit as mom, I should be sent back to Remedial Mothering 101. Graceful and erudite, that's me.

How to know you are winning the poor parenting sweepstakes

Have your youngest tell you his teacher thinks he sweats too much on the playground. When you sarcastically ask him what her solution would be, listen as he tells you without blinking that she wants you to look closely at his clothing and make sure he's not wearing any of it the following day. Then search back in your memory to a day when he wasn't wearing said clothing. Keep searching. Finally light on a day. Now search back and remember when you last saw said clothing in the laundry. Keep searching. Keep searching. We'll wait. Be very glad that he seems to have missed your sarcasm in asking for a solution to the sweating. Wonder when it will be most convenient for Child Services to come and check out you and your spacey, neglectful self so you can try to plan to not be at home (although they would probably be impressed by the lack of dirty clothes around the house--they are all on his back, of course--and by the amount of clean clothing hanging untouched in his closet).

This makes continually forgetting to make a derm appointment for the kid with warts or a second family counseling appointment for all of you messed up wingnuts sort of pale in comparison. As for the dentist...

Eloquence

When your 11 year old son cuts his own hair (no, R. is not the only one with impulse controls issues it seems), gets the best and shortest haircut he's had in a long time to minimize the damage, and then comes home and tells you that the 8th grade girl next door has taken to calling him "Mole Rat" in honor of his new look, just what exactly do you tell him? I was not at my eloquent best with my heartfelt, "Huh."

I never would have passed a test that assessed my fitness for motherhood. And yet, I was still allowed to have 'em. Poor kids!

One step forward, two steps back

W. is failing science. He has C's in two other classes. His only A is in gym. He is far too smart to be getting grades like this. As Charles Schultz said, "There is no greater burden than great potential." (Thanks for the quote, Barbara!) And he's clearly bogged down by his burden. I somehow suspect that this means I am failing as a parent. I tried very hard to have a calm and reasonable discussion with him about his grades this morning. He cried; I repressed righteous anger as hard as I could. I used the parent trump card: "I'm so disappointed in you." I never raised my voice (if you know me and my temper, you know that I darn near threw a blood clot keeping an even temper and a soft voice). I even complimented him on actually turning in *all* of his homework without my nagging, which is something we've worked very hard at the past 2 years. Only the best parents can throw a compliment into a scolding lecture, right? But for that step forward, we are now dealing with sloppy and substandard work. Letting him figure this out on his own is killing me (provided his sister the budding pyromaniac doesn't do me in in a blaze of glory). Doing homework is definitely a step forward but the unconcern about the quality he's turning in is at least two steps backwards. Why didn't these kids come with a manual? Without some clue, I am definitely never going to get mom of the year. At this rate, I won't ever even be nominated. :-P

They hate me

So all three of my children have been banished to their rooms. One of them is sobbing quite heartily and repeating "I hate my mom" almost like a mantra. I have my suspicions which one it is. So, should I go up and check? I really don't care (nor do I believe it for an instant). Or simply let the child wind down and hopefully drift off to sleep? Actually, I wonder if I can just hand in my parenting resignation right now. No one seems to be available to take my notice though.