Thursday, August 14, 2014

A Kindergarten Cleopatra in a Kaleidoscope World

I think it's pretty common knowledge that boys and girls are different. Not just innies vs. outies, but we're wired differently. If you ask a little boy what he wants to be when he grows up, he'll probably say one of three things:  a professional athlete, a fireman, or....just like daddy. If you ask my daughter what she wants to be when she grows up, she'll say one of these:

  • A mermaid gymnast
  • A teacher
  • An upside down dancer
  • A baker so she can "do the fondant and make delicious treats" all day
  • A ballerina
  • The lost princess
I'm good with most of those options. As long as she works hard, is happy, and is doing something to make the world a better place, I'm fine with it.

Despite her tiny packaging, she has a strong foundation in leadership and is developing her authoritarian voice exponentially with each passing day. (Did I pull that off?)

We're one week into school, and she has already made her mark on her school. The other morning, I dropped her and Rae-Rae off in the morning, and the famous Mr. T. (the coolest teacher in the universe according to my kids) helps her out of the car. Now I don't know what kind of happy juice this guy has in the mornings, but somehow, he makes the kids feel like they're stepping out of a limo at the Academy Awards instead of out of Bessie behind the school. He helps Emma out and walks her to the sidewalk, where she latches onto his finger and won't let go. So what does he do? This tall-as-a-Redwood P.E. coach lets himself be drug down the sidewalk behind a 3-foot nothing ball of assertiveness donning a twinkly Frozen backpack and seizure-inducing strobe shoes.

On the first day of school, apparently not all the children in her class were as confident and prepared to learn as she.  I expected as much as during the Assemblage of Supplies Pertaining to the Health, Artistry and Literacy of Tomorrow (ASPHALT) (a.k.a. school orientation), one child was doing the baby monkey grasp of terror, one was doing a headstand in his cubby, and a small cooperative of young girls may or may not have been reenacting 'Frozen'  in the book nook.

(Let me preface this by saying that we are still working on our 'r' pronunciation. I'm not making fun of my daughter by any means, but to grasp how difficult it is to keep a straight face sometimes, I will be writing the following recollections in Emma-nese).

My daughter comes home the first day, and says, "Mom, we have a wunnah in our class. Every time my teachah walked away from the dah, this little boy would twy to wun away and find his mommy. Do you know what my teachah said? She said 'No sah! No sah! You cannot wun away!' And she had to put the twash can in fwont of the dah so that he couldn't wun away. And do you know what I said? I told hah that he's childish."

Since then, I've learned quite a bit about her classmates.
  • Some little girl's poor father has staples in his belly. The reasoning behind the staples is still under investigation... as is whether or not the poor man lived... as is the name of this newfound best friend.
  • 99% of children in the class are juvenile delinquents and will surely be on "Beyond Scared Straight" by Labor Day. 
  • Another interesting fact....apparently, if there are two children in the lower 48 with the same name, they will be placed in the same class. Yes, Sasquatchetta Smith of Kansas City and Sasquatchetta Goldbloom of the Bronx will have to be bussed in to make things as confusing as possible for their teachers. a class of about 20 kids, there are 3 sets of name twins! C'mon, random class generating app, give the teachers a break!
It's been a great start to a colorful year, and though I'd rather wash down some kimchi with Tabasco than second guess authority, I do have a minor complaint. I pack my children's lunches each day, and have found these nifty little divided containers with fitted lids. As the lids are fitted, they are a little tough to remove. My daughter asked the lunch monitor at their table to help get the lid off, and was told that she needed to bring something she could open herself...that it's not the monitor's job to open her lunch.

Wait a minute, back that Twinkie up! YOU WORK FOR A SCHOOL. YOUR JOB IS TO HELP CHILDREN. But that's not the part that bothers me the most.

What kind of people do you think these children will grow up to be, when during the first week of school, they're told to stop asking for help and do it themselves? I understand that Ms. Lunch Lady Monitor Gone Rogue doesn't want to open 20+ lunch containers, but are you kidding me? Would it kill you to be nice? Not for the whole year, as that would probably cause cancer, but at least for a week or two? How about you help show her that she can do it if she tries, instead of condemning her choice of lunch containers and making her cry?

Well, guess what, Corn Dog Commandant? I hope you have a blessed day anyway, though I may or may not have wished for your keys to get locked in your car. Just call the police or a locksmith, right? Oh, wait, I also wished that they would tell you "It's your problem. Fix it yourself."

I hope your applesauce gets ALL UP IN your cracker compartment.

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