The time had finally come, but just the thought of Parent / Teacher conferences strikes fear to my very core. For a tiny portion of my day, I have to admit to another person that my kid has issues. I know if my kids have problems sharing or telling lies or throwing tantrums or being too physical or eating paste, but having another person, who isn’t obligated to even like my child let alone love them, point out my beloved’s flaws is not my favorite moment as a parent. Now, if this was a meeting about how great The Kraken is at gross motor skills I would have no fears whatsoever. I mean he learned to ride without training wheels when he was three and a half. Unfortunately, this meeting is about kindergarten readiness, meaning how well he gets along with his peers, fine motor skills and attention span. These are not The Kraken’s strengths.
I arrived for my scheduled conference a bit early and sadly heard the tail end of the meeting before mine. Apparently Ariel* is the picture of patience and kindness, can already read and writes her full name beautifully. The teacher, Miss Triton*, only wishes Ariel would assert herself more often and stand up for herself. Hmm. Didn’t know that kind of child existed. Miss Triton and Ariel’s mom finished in record time and had a few minutes to shoot the breeze. In that time I learned Miss Triton really hates these conference thingies especially when she has bad news to deliver and coincidently she saved the “best for last.” Great. It was my turn, and I was asked if I was ready. “Sure,” I said, “though I have a feeling we are about to rumble.” Both ladies just stared at me like I had a rhinoceros horn on my head, which is why I wish there was some sort of “air quotes” for sarcasm. Neither was amused. Awesome. Ariel’s mom was my last potential victim for Operation Make Some Friends.
For the record, I really like both of his teachers. They have been teaching forever and have the right mixture of kindness and sternness. I would bet the classroom shenanigans are kept to a minimum. This certainly wasn’t her first dreaded conference and so she expertly began with, “Do you have any concerns?” This simple question can alert her to the bozo parent that has no clue what their kid is capable of or can cut right to the quick of things to end the agony for herself and, in this case, me. Long story short, my concerns are in fact her concerns: The Kraken can be manipulative and sneaky. This is no news flash.
Here’s what I learned: They do not send the kids to timeout. Instead they send the kids to the puzzle table for a quiet activity and time for reflection. The Kraken is really good at puzzles.
In all the millions of times I have grilled my little man for information on what he did at school each day, I have never, ever heard one small hint that a puzzle table even exists. I don’t blame him, I don’t often tattle on myself either, but I am also oddly impressed. Seriously, not one mention, ever. The Kraken’s biggest offense is walking past someone’s block tower and “accidently” sticking his foot out just far enough to send it crumbling to the ground. He also enjoys taking three cars from the overflowing car bin which just so happen to be Flounder, Sebastian and Scuttle’s* favorite cars, (which isn’t a horrible thing in and of itself, if he had them first, but we all know he is trying to push buttons and make people cry). He gets his wish as both crimes induce angry eruptions from his classmates. It seems he has done enough sneaky nasty deeds that if anyone at all cries out in misery, The Kraken is the one all the kids point at. Apparently he was blamed for a classroom scuffle one morning when he was in fact home sick with croup. Poor little Kraken. Poor little classmates. Miss Triton left me with these parting gifts, “It’ a good thing he is so cute. That curly hair and dimple are to die for. I feel you have a class clown in the making.” Super.
I confronted The Kraken first thing, not on his behavior but on the existence of the puzzle table. He got the hint. Each and every day I now ask how his day was and if he had to go to the puzzle table. Overall, he has been pretty honest about it (the child is NOT a good liar just in case you think I have gone soft). On Monday however I knew there was something he wasn’t telling me even though Miss Ursula had told me herself his behavior had improved by leaps and bounds, and she hadn’t sent him to reflect for quite a few days. Here’s the official report . . .
“Well, I probably should have gone to the puzzle table. But Eric* did have to go. He has curly hair too so I yink someone got confused.” Your secret is safe with me son, just this once.
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent. : )
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