First impressions

The reason I haven't been blogging at all is that I am now a Kindergarten teacher. I'll come back to that in a later post, but for now just realize that my days are VERY tightly scheduled, and Friday was certainly no exception.

Gavin is starting Kindergarten and the way it happens here is that for two or three days, the Kindergarten teachers have one-on-one 15 minute meetings with each child and their parents. I didn't want to miss out on Gavin's meeting, but I also had to be in my own class' meeting at the exact same time. So I had asked Gavin's teacher to reschedule. She said sure and pencilled me in for Friday at  12:00. Well, I teach just out of town and my Kindergarten class doesn't dismiss until 11:45, so it was very tight for me to make it, but I would make it work.

So Friday, I get to have half of my Kindergarten kids for the morning. It was a great morning, but busy, busy, busy. Let me just stress that Kindergarten. is. busy. I don't get a recess or a break and so I don't have time to look at my phone or even pee. (Seriously, when do K teachers get to pee? I haven't figured that out yet.)

Anyways, back to the story. I race over to my kids' school and am greeted at the door by my husband and our two boys. Now, we aren't really supposed to bring siblings to this meeting, but it is what it is. As soon as he sees me, Chris says, "Did the school get ahold of you?"

"Nope. Haven't checked my phone. What's up?"

"Oh. They called saying Chelsea's been crying because her wrist is sore."

I literally roll my eyes and say, "I'll check on her later." and walk into Gavin's interview. Well, Chris hands me Eli and says, "I have a meeting. I gotta go. Here's Eli."

Uhhh... ok. Within 1.4 seconds, Eli is now destroying, I mean, exploring in the K classroom and I'm walking around with Gavin, trying to pay attention, all while trying to control Eli and limit the damage that is happening. It's pretty stressful. I was also getting annoyed because Gavin wasn't speaking - at all. This child, who NEVER stops talking, wouldn't utter a word. So here's me, trying to tell his teacher that he is really advanced in some ways like reading and that he's pretty obsessed with numbers and there he is, not even answering a simple question like, "Gavin, what's your favourite colour?" Yup. Advanced, I promise. Oh and Eli? By now he's been playing in the kitchen, removed the faucet from the fake sink, and has managed to find the one bin in the classroom that has playdough and has opened that, and opened a can of playdough. Gee. I wonder why they stress to leave siblings at home. Gavin's poor teacher was flustered, I was more than frazzled, Eli was like ping pong ball bouncing all over the classroom, and Gavin was silently taking it all in.

SIGH. Still with me? This is about to get good.

The teacher was trying her best to stay focussed amid the chaos, and eventually, after an eternity of me trying to keep an eye on Eli and pay attention to the teacher, the meeting ended. I herded up the boys and this caused Eli to start crying and screaming because we were leaving the room with all the toys. I take two steps out of the room and there is Chelsea's teacher, introducing herself and telling me about Chelsea and how she was having "a bit of a rough morning." (Aren't we all, honey? Aren't. we. all?) I start following her down the hall and at one point I set Eli down so he can walk even though he's screaming so perhaps I can speak to the teacher. Instead he turns and runs and pushes Gavin who falls down on his bum and then bonks his head. Oh good. Now BOTH boys are crying, and we are still attempting to walk down the hall. At this point, I'm wearing a skylanders backpack, carrying a screaming toddler, and dragging a crying Kindergartener. Brilliant.

Above the noise, I'm trying to explain to Chelsea's teacher that a few days ago, Chelsea had complained once or twice about her arm hurting, but really hadn't been consistently complaining, was able to move it, and it didn't look swollen. We'd put ice on it a few times, but I really didn't think it was anything major. The teacher then mentioned that a girl in Chelsea's class had shown up that morning with a cast on her wrist and so she was wondering also if Chelsea was perhaps just.. what's a politer way of saying lying? "caught up in the excitement of a cast?" Sure, let's go with that.

Well, after what seems like walking forever, we find Chelsea sitting outside by the play structure just crying. (Count with me now - Eli, Gavin, and Chelsea - ALL CRYING). At this point, I am beyond done and overwhelmed and realize that I look totally out of control and possibly, slightly crazy. I am holding Eli who is screaming bloody murder because now we are within 10 feet of a play structure covered with 75 kids and I won't let him play. I bend down and talk to Chelsea for a few seconds and say, "Listen, if your wrist is so painful that you are crying like this, we have to take you to the hospital now, so please think about whether your wrist really hurts" which causes her crying to turn into a hysterical sobbing as she does not want to leave school.

I drag all three kids back into the classroom and gather up yet another back pack and Chelsea's belongings and meanwhile Eli, who is not crying at the moment, is running wild in this room (at one point, had both hands on the side of the fishbowl and water was splashing!). Oh and my advanced child Gavin has decided that now he needs to read every word that he can possibly see! (Where was this display of intellect 15 minutes ago, Buddy?!?!) and Chelsea, of course, is still whimpering about who knows what at this point - wrist, hospital, missing school, needles, lint balls...

I turn to the teacher and I just pause to think about how this is her first impression of me. Sigh again. I try to defend myself and say something like, "I really am a professional. I'm a good teacher. And I was a rockstar mom when I had two kids. I swear. A rockstar. It isn't always like this. The third one has just thrown me off my game. I'm a good mom! I'm a good teacher." Seriously - know when to fold 'em and walk away, Hildebrand. Let it go and just walk out of there, but no. I keep talking. Every single time this woman sees me from now until the end of time, she is going to remember me in this moment. I know I will.

We manage to leave the school - me, wearing two back packs and Eli screaming in my arms (who is doing that whole, toddler trying to escape your grasp by bucking over backwards thing), Gavin wandering off the hallways the wrong way, reading every word in sight, and Chelsea sniffling and telling me she doesn't want to go.

Yup. Super mom, right here, right now.

Oh, and Chelsea's wrist? Yup. Sure was broken.

(And yes, she did wear that outfit to school.)