Oh, The Shame or How I Failed as a Toddler Parent Part #342

Dear Parent,

It has come to our attention that your child has shown up to school without some requested Learning Material. We understand you may be used to a home school environment, where you merely walked across the street in your pajamas and willingly dropped your child off with a mixed-age group of bandits to do God knows what with Nobody knows who.

We here at La Petite Academy* expect something a little different from our Parents. We have carefully laid out a curriculum to make your daughter a productive member of society. As such, we expect that our Parents not only participate in, but also embrace our philosophy of collective learning.

Perhaps you look at your child and simply see a teething diaper-wearing toddler on the precipice of discovering the potty and a big girl bed. You scoff: but she's not even two years old!

Well, Parent, we here at La Petite Academy expect just a little more from our Parents. We expect involvement in your child's curriculum. After all, do you think President Barack Obama got where he is today by having a Mother who simply ignored a calendar curriculum? Had she said to herself "Oh, I am so busy, my toddler is throwing tantrums today, I can't be bothered to bring in the required Learning Material," what would have become of the man we know today?

I think our point is clear, Dear Parent. We respectfully request that you reconsider your lack of participation in this matter and bring in your pre-presidential child's required Learning Material at your earliest convenience.

Thank you for your attention and cooperation in this matter.

Sincerely,

La Petite Academy Faculty, Toddler Director

*Names changed to protect the innocent
** Okay, here's what really was sent home, but the message is clear, no?

*** My shame knows no bounds.

My Second Childhood

You guys, there isn't much I don't love about the daycare that sparked the DAYCARE DILEMMA.

Except one major thing. They give a lot of homework.

For me.

Sunday afternoon while watching the Patriots I spent an hour searching for family photos. Because apparently next week my child will be making a family tree.

It's cool. She's not even 2 and still sees pictures of a baby and sometimes says "Momma" (yeah, I'm youthful like that), but she's going to be going all Ancestor.com up in her toddler classroom.

I wish this was it. The week prior I spent my Sunday organizing her clothing for the week because it was Color Week and she was to wear the chosen color of the day.

Lest you think they're too structured, Friday was Favorite Color Day. Also known around these parts as Well, What Does She Still Fit Into Day (kiddo had a growth spurt, we're all reeling a bit).

You guys, I love that they expand her mind, I truly do. I find things like book orders and School Picture Day adorable and goofy.

But this requires actual work on my part, and I just don't have the energy. I feel especially bad for the people there who have school-age kids with ACTUAL homework and permission slips and the like who now have to add color coordination to their already packed to-do list.

But maybe they don't feel the need to be A++ Valedictorian Mom and I just have issues with perfectionism?

No that can't be it.

Can't you just put up a color wheel like everyone else? Can't you draw a stick figure in a dress and call it Momma? Or...okay, a stick figure in work pajamas. I've spent close to two hours on these projects and I'm pretty sure the highlight of Wee 'Burb's day will STILL be snack time.

Anyone else have overzealous school preparedness daycares? Am I just overly cranky and denying my child a great education?

Lousy with Louses or Balding Gracefully

On Wee 'Burb's first day of her new daycare, I saw the dreaded note on the door. Parents of the center daycare will know what notice I am speaking of.

It's the infectious disease report, usually a one-page note letting you know one of the rhesus monkeys your toddler has been sharing spit-laden toys with has come down with some sort of plague.

Given it was her first day there, I didn't pay much attention until I caught another look at it.

LICE!

When I was growing up, lice was like herpes. Every girl dreaded getting it, and we all avoided talking about it as long as possible if we got it.

For half of my life, I had hair down to my butt. Thick, beautiful hair. Thick beautiful hair that I didn't want to lose.

For you see, my first experience with lice was when it made its way through my elementary class, somewhere around third or fourth grade. The dreaded note came out and my mother did her usual check, and all was clear.

The next day I went to school. There were two girls, sisters, who I was sort of mildly friends with. Inasmuch as I was friends with anyone at that age. I was painfully shy and withdrawn.

Anyway, we'll call them the M Sisters.

The M Sisters were on the playground, being actively avoided by the other kids. I approached and then took a step back.

The M Sisters were BALD! Their newly shorn pates shining brightly in the sun. The M Sisters were possibly the whitest kids in our school. They were borderline grey. Their naked scalps were nearly transparent.

You guys? They did NOT have lice!! Their mom just freaked out so much given this was the third or fourth outbreak of lice, she took preventive action. By shaving their heads.

From that day on, any time a letter came home about lice I would sob hysterically while my mom checked me, positive that my luscious locks would be shaved as soon as one of those egg sacks was found.

Thank God it never happened (and my mom assured me years later, she NEVER would have shaved my head).

But to this day, when I see the word "lice" I immediately grab my hair protectively, positive someone will show up with a razor and leave my scalp exposed.

Do you think shaving a head is kind of crazy? Have you had to deal with these infectious outbreaks? Has your child ever been Patient Zero on any of these? Do you admit it? Are you itchy now just thinking about it?

Guest Post: It's Blogworthy Explains Why I Got a B.S. in Communications

I discovered Amanda at It's Blogworthy and fell in love with her pie charts and goofy work stories. Since then she's had little Baby Blogworthy and, if possible, gotten even funnier. She's also the one who convinced me to join Twitter...so thank her or punish her as you see fit. If you learn nothing else from this post besides why Stephanie got a B.S. in Communications (true story), please remember text books don't speak. And forgiveness is a tree. Thank you. And thank YOU, Amanda, for helping me out while I visit Alcatraz.

Not long ago, I wrote a post about grad school and found out Stephanie was also a communication studies graduate, which is akin to getting a degree in making stuff up. Sure, I learned stuff, but what other major allows you to take classes about things like non-verbal communication?

One of the more ridiculous classes I took in graduate school was conflict communications. That’s right, folks, a class about how to fight with your significant other, friends and family in an effective way. The professor was the least qualified person to teach a conflict communications class, as he had recently been involved in a scandal in which his wife was cheating on him and instead of communicating with her about it, he took out all his pain on his female students.

The class met on Wednesdays from 6:30 to 9 in a small auditorium in a building on campus. No one could understand why we met in this particular place the first day of class, but as we gathered it became clear that we’d be participating in some role playing. Listen, people, I’m more of a backstage, behind the scenes, standing-up-in-front-of-people-gives-me-anxiety kind of girl, so role playing in a class of 35 people wasn’t what I signed up to do. But knowing that I was already starting out with a less than stellar grade from Professor Misogynist, I took my chances.

The first day of class, each person wrote on note cards about three different arguments they’d had in the past. The notes were thrown into a hat and each meeting, students volunteered to “act out” the scenarios the way they were written, and then act them out again the way we should act them out if we weren’t all hot headed college students. Most of them were the typical boyfriend/girlfriend arguments. I'm pretty sure none of us actually succeeded in this little educational experiment.

In addition to the role playing, there were lectures and a textbook. I am a note taker, so I wrote down every word, I highlighted, I circled words and bookmarked. I was determined to learn how to be a better person, to learn how to argue in an educated way. I thought I'd wow friends and future boyfriends with my intelligence and honesty. I thought this class would do it for me.

Until the last class of the semester.

That night we learned that forgiveness, she is a tree. The trunk is the transgression or conflict, and one branch leads to forgiveness through "internal processing", while the other branch leads to forgiveness through dialogue. And these two branches can connect to form a reconciled relationship.

And if I may say so, THAT WAS THE BIGGEST BUNCH OF BULL SHIT I HAD HEARD IN A LONG WHILE.

The class was also a split level, so we had graduate and undergraduates in the same place. My professor had to lecture the class, which is comprised of undergrads and graduate students, how to properly cite articles in APA format (even though there is site on the MU Library site that DOES IT FOR YOU). He needed to mention that it is not acceptable to write a sentence beginning with "Our text says..." BECAUSE TEXTS ARE INANIMATE OBJECTS THAT CANNOT SPEAK.

Ahh...the joys and sorrows of communications classes.