Not-so-open house

Last week was open house at Mark's school. Not only did I get to visit his classrooms, but the evening started off with a jazz band performance.

Mark rocked it during his songs. He's come a long way on the drums, although he still has some work to do in the rock star facial expressions department. On the other hand, he's definitely mastered the bored teenager empty stare.

The jazz band sounded great. The music teacher, Mrs. Saum, is fantastic, both with the kids and with teaching music. I feel so lucky Mark's school has such a great music program.

After the mini concert, it was on to the classrooms.

"Stay with me," I warned Mark, who frequently ignores me and pretends I'm invisible. "Don't walk five steps ahead or behind me. And I don't have ESP, so show me where your classes are."

Mark sighed, looked off in the other direction, and dragged his feet alongside me.

"Don't worry," I whispered. "All the other kids have parents, too--you're not the only one."

This time, he didn't even bother to respond.

We arrived at the first class, health. Mark tried herding me past the teacher (who also teaches P.E.), but I stopped right in front of her and introduced myself. She was sweet, friendly, and encouraged Mark to show me what they'd been learning about.

"Yeah, Mark, show me what you've learned," I said, really loudly. I know they've been studying sex ed (or whatever they call it these days), and I knew Mark wouldn't go anywhere near the board displaying their work.

"Come on, Mom," he growled. He grabbed my elbow and dragged me around the room as fast as he possibly could.

"Happy?" he grunted, pushing me out the door.

"Nice to meet you!" I called back to the teacher.

Next up was Language Arts (we used to call it "English"). A gaggle of girls was gathered around the doorway, and they perked up when they saw Mark.

"Hey Mark, why don't you buy a 'Dimensions'?" they asked, waving the school creative writing magazine in front of him.

"Yeah, Mark, why don't you buy one?" I repeated.

The girls jumped all over that.

"Listen to your mom, Mark!" they cried. "Your mom's right, Mark!" "Your mom's so nice, Mark!"

Mark buried his head in his hands. I realized now why he tries to ignore me. Little snit. So I spent a good five minutes talking to the creative writing/photography students--heck, these were my people!

The English teacher had many accolades for Mark, proclaiming him a deep thinker, with very wise, mature thoughts. That was wonderful to hear--I totally agree. When Mark and I aren't having immature contests or irritating each other, we actually do have very thoughtful conversations.

Every inch of the English room was covered up--there were even things hanging from the ceiling. I reached into the box containing the student folders, and Mark immediately tried to block me.

"Mine's not in there," he said, covering the folders with his hand to prevent me from searching. The box was full, overstuffed even, and not in alphabetical (or any other) order. I just shrugged; he's got a B in the class, so I wasn't that concerned. Besides, the claustrophobic room was closing in on me and I wanted out.

It was on to math next. This class was the exact opposite of English--the walls were covered, but in a very neat, orderly fashion, with white space in between. Everything was perfectly lined up, straight, and nothing fell from the ceiling.

Mark beelined for the box of student folders, but I beat him. These folders were also in perfect order, and I found his right away. I grimaced at the results of the last few tests, and spoke a few minutes with the teacher.

Last up was the yearbook and history teacher. Mark's doing well in both of those classes, so I heard good news there, too.

We wound our way through the campus, stopping for a quick peek at the 7th graders' new garden. It was gorgeous, and made me hungry (it was dinner time). 

 

I congratulated Mark on all the outstanding comments his teachers shared, though he was still busy moping about his math grade.

"Listen, I'm not worried about math," I said. "You'll get it together, or we'll get a tutor. That's just academic--I can teach you that."

Mark looked at me warily.

"Well, someone's who good at math can teach you," I clarified. "But all the other stuff--what a nice kid you are, what a caring kid, what a deep thinker...those aren't just learned responses or something you study hard and memorize. Those go deeper than academics--they tell me what kind of person you are. And I'd rather have that kind of kid than a straight A student any day."

He shrugged. I sighed. I wanted to hug him, but knew that was a mortal sin in a middle school--some other kid might see it.

"Whatever," I said, walking off. "I'm proud of you, and proud of the boy you are, and you can't change my mind."

Mark shrugged again and followed me silently.

"Now let's go," I said, glancing back at the growing salad. "I'm hungry!"

And finally, Mark did something completely contrary to his middle school nature.

He smiled. And agreed with me.

Maybe there's still hope after all...

The award-winning Mr. Mark

Yesterday, I attended the 5th Grade Award ceremony at Mark's school. I love those events, not only because it gives me a chance to cheer on Mark, but because any event with the kids is highly amusing.

I correctly guessed the award Mark might win--Most Improved Student! He's really come a long way since November. I always tease him that I want a "My student made the honor roll" bumper sticker--now it actually might happen!

And of course, when it came time to accept his award, Mark did so with his usual display of humility and grace.



Just kidding, he really threw his hands in the air like he just didn't care, and strutted across the floor. I laughed, as did everyone around me, because it was just so Mark.

In between awards, we listened to some kids play musical instruments (my favorite was Tristan, who acted as their music stand) and a girl who recited a long poem she learned last January. (Which was impressive, because I barely remember January, let alone anything that happened that month.)

They also showed the winning video for the 5th grade movie project. Room 23's winner was--Mark and his friends! They made a movie about idioms, which are words that don't mean what they say. Their idiom was "ate the dust." (I'd explained the correct phrase was "bit the dust," but Mark dismissively waved me off, saying I don't know anything about slang.)

The video featured Mark and his friends as baseball players. In the first scene, a literal take on the words, Mark fell halfway between first and second base. He scooped up a handful of "dirt" (chocolate milk powder) and started nibbling. Another kid yelled, "He ate the dust!" and all the other players groaned.

In the second scene, Mark refrained from eating anything--instead, he "ate the dust" figuratively, which, the narrator explained, meant "he fell down."

The video even featured a blooper reel and a dance number at the end. I laughed my head off the whole time. It was pretty creative.

The ceremony ended with a song, performed by Mark's friend Jack. Jack looked like a mini-politician in his blue suit, but he worked the stage like a rock star. He danced and lip-synced a song as the crowd went wild, first shouting, "YEAH, JACK!" and then "Encore! ENCORE!" after Jack ended.

The teachers thanked the parents for coming. And with that, Mark's elementary school career was over. His school is K-8, so even though he'll technically be a middle-schooler next year, he'll be at the same campus. There was no pomp or circumstance, just cookies and punch in the classroom afterwards.

I smiled as I watched them all file out of the auditorium. They'd come in as elementary school kids, but they left a rowdy, happy bunch of middle schoolers. I watched them push, shove and nudge each other out the doors.

But hey, at least no one ate the dust.

It's the moooooost wonderful time of the year

School started today, and I've never seen so many giddy parents!

I opened the door to walk Mark to school, and there was a whole parade marching down the street. Clusters of kids with new clothes and new backpacks shuffled slowly down the road, reluctant to reach their final destination. Behind them their parents pushed them onward. "Hurry up," they said, as the children groaned and the other parents laughed.

Even the crossing guard noticed the chipper mood. "It's like a party," she said as our group approached the cross walk.

"I think the parents are happier than the kids," one dad replied, and the crossing guard said, "I was talking about the PARENTS."

The whole school yard was filled with parents and kids. I made Mark stand in front of the school sign so I could take his picture, and I threatened him with multiple shots if he didn't cooperate. "And I'll be loud," I told him. "I'll scream, 'Take another picture for Mama! One more pose! Over here, baby!'"

He just glared at me.

"Or," I said, "You can take one quick picture and I'll leave you alone." I got the shot, and a scowl to go with it.

Mark then trudged across the playground, trying to ditch me. (I marveled at the children who actually clung to their parents--or at least stood by patiently, unembarrassed.) He couldn't find any kids alone, without parents, to play with. So he turned back around, passed me silently, and headed for his classroom.

As soon as he entered the class, the bell rang. We found his seat, complete with a Mark D. name tag, and he explored the inside of the empty desk. "Whoa, this thing is TINY!" he exclaimed. "My desk last year was thiiiiis big," he said, pushing his hands out to the edge of the table. I felt sorry for the two girls sitting on either side of him.

I waited in the class with the other parents for an extra five minutes, just to torment Mark and hear him growl, "You can go now!" I'm convinced it's his way of saying "I love you" in public, so I told him I loved him, too, and to have a good day. "Don't forget to go to the nurse and test before lunch," I said as I left, and he laid his head on the desk, dying a quiet little death by embarrassment.

All joking aside, I am grateful for him being back in school. The nurse seems really knowledgeable about diabetes, which is an immense relief. It's the scariest thing in the world to leave your kid anywhere, especially when that kid has a chronic illness and must be watched carefully. The first day of school is always a relief to me--I'm leaving him with a trained nurse on staff, and that thought is more comforting than I could ever articulate. I know my son's in good hands, medically and intellectually, and really, that's all a mom can really hope for.

That, and a picture of my scowling kid to frame and put on my desk at work...

Well, that was NOT fun

Q: How do you completely stress out a mom?

A: Tell her a week before classes start that her kid's not enrolled in school.

Oh, and for bonus points, remember that this is a kid with diabetes, who requires LOADS of extra planning to ensure his safety and well-being!

Man, that was my week. It started when I found out, by accident, that Mark wasn't enrolled in after-school care because he wasn't enrolled in school. (What the WHAT????) Classes were full, so I was supposed to show up on the first day of school, and probably take Mark to a different school with openings. And maybe (maybe not) a school nurse. And definitely a staff not trained in diabetes care. And not even in our neighborhood.

Talk about stress!! To say I flipped out is a bit of an understatement. I was like Bruce Banner, but instead of the Hulk, I turned into Mad Mama Bear. Luckily, as my mom noted, I've got my grandmother's genes. I wasn't going to roll over easily.

And so I went into hyperdrive, phone and keyboard in hand. I called and emailed pretty much anybody working in the departments titled "superintendent" or "board of education." I spoke to everyone in the front office at the elementary school, including the principal and the counselor, multiple times. I brought out the big guns--my letter writing-skills, diplomacy and even the D card (diabetes), and my sense of indignation that, yet again, my child was being denied access to his neighborhood school. I pleaded, implored, rampaged, and ended up taking more Tylenol in the past few days than I have all year long.

But it worked! With much help from the superintendent's admin assistant and the principal, the school opened up another 3rd glass class, and my son's enrolled in it. Grandma was right--a little hell-raising helps.

Whew...it was quite the Chinese fire drill (without the car, of course). But he's in, he's got after-school care, and I'm relieved. I have no idea who his teacher is, but right now, I don't even care. I'm just excited that for...well, the first time EVER...my son can walk to his own neighborhood school, safely, in less than 10 minutes, and spend the day learning with other kids from our neighborhood.

I guess it's true what they say about the harder the battle, the sweeter the success...this one's been 2 1/2 years in the trenches, capped off by a crazy week before school starting, and victory couldn't possibly feel any sweeter than it does now. :-)