Confessions of a Teacher Mama

Since Owen has started in his preschool class this fall, there have been many milestones, some of which have been more celebrated than others. (His Happy Poop Day Party, for example, when we brought in a dozen Dunkin Donuts, Pin-the-Tail-on-the Donkey, party horns and Play Doh to immediately reinforce how very happy we were with his progress in that department.) And now that that is behind us, we can appreciate the finer things in life, like the fact that Owen is starting to write letters. This is beyond cool in my world. But I can't really save every traced sheet that comes home. Instead, I've promised to take lots of pictures of the crafts. Pictures are easier to store, after all!

Yesterday, after Jason and I had given the boys their dinner, we sat down to ours, and as we were finishing up, Owen ran to the kitchen door with Nicholas' magna-doodle in hand, yelling, "Look, Mommy, I made a H!" It was facing him at the time, so I figured when he turned it around, I'd see the usual scrawlings and scratches. Much to my surprise, I found that Owen had, indeed, made an actual, legible H.

I suppose I've been teaching long enough to know that for the most part, progress with children doesn't come at a steady and predictable incline. In fact, it comes in spurts, or "clicks." Something with Owen clicked recently. His auditory recall is something else. Last week, I checked out Stuart Little from the library, and the boys watched it during our daily travels, only for a week. Nonetheless, Owen is quoting Stuart Little all the time, and apparently for his own pleasure. Out of nowhere, he'll come out with "Snowbell! You spit him out right this instant!" or "Hey, that's cheating, you can't do that!" Last weekend, he watched a special Thomas movie on demand with Jason. We only had it for 24 hours, but he managed to watch the 45 minute feature 4 times. The quote of the week is now "Hurry up, slow poke!"

Today, Owen had his soccer class, and when I arrived to pick him up, his pants, socks and shoes had been changed. I immediately thought he had had an accident in his pants, but no. It turned out that Owen wanted to go jump in a mud puddle right in the middle of soccer class. His pants, were caked with mud, and his socks and shoes were as well. I was really upset about this until I arrived home and heard Owen tell Jason, "Daddy, I splashed in a BIG mud puddle, and I didn't listen." "Oh yeah?" Jason said, "Was it fun?" "YEAH!" Owen replied. Here I was thinking that I was going to deliver a lecture to my three year-old on the importance of using his listening ears. Jason, however, did bring up a valid point. He's three. He's a little boy. There was a big mud puddle, and it looked really cool. Soccer class was okay, but the mud puddle was clearly the better option. I could see his point, but of course, I spend my work day keeping other people's kids in line, so I think mine must always be perfectly behaved. Not very fair to my kids, and not very fair to their mom. I'll have to work on that...for the next few decades.