Our son is in first grade this year. He's a smart little guy. He's so darn smart, that he will avoid extra work if it's not needed. He can't be bothered to show off, because he already know he's smart and fun and awesome.
He IS awesome! He is reading and writing at a level far beyond what my inner city kids were expected to achieve. His math understanding is phenomenal- negative numbers are par for the course with him, so place value, that's kid stuff!
That said, he spends so much time focusing on new stuff, that he does the bare minimum when it comes to school work. If you tell him you need AT LEAST 2 sentences, he writes- 2 sentences. If you say first graders should be able to read this book- that's the most difficult book he'll read. He'll rise to the challenge you issue... BUT only the challenge you issue.
I grew up competitive- I like to win. I found out recently that this is called optimism- Apparently, because I am sometimes overly confident in my abilities, living up to my own goals is difficult, but I work my butt off to meet my own goals. Our son though, he doesn't see the need to set his own goals yet, he's young. He'd rather attain whatever goals are placed in front of him, as long as they are reasonable!
We're gearing up for parent teacher conference. I never thought I would be this parent. I am a teacher by trade, my skills, my training- this is what I do! Here I sit, drawing nearer to December, wondering.... How do I express to the teacher all that we see? How do we show his real potential? How do we tell her that he is probably the smartest kid in her class? So smart that he can't be bothered with putting his work in writing?
I remember being where he was. This was the easy stuff... the kid stuff- basic (really basic) arithmetic, simple geometry (naming shapes). I remember knowing it so well that I didn't bother to put any effort in. I don't want to be THAT parent, but here I sit, knowing that the only way he will put his best foot forward is if I am obnoxious enough to make the teacher see, believe and understand that he will do whatever is asked of him!
When racing go karts, we can ask that he improve by one second at a time- just one second, but one second is a lot. One second is the difference between passing and being passed. One second is the difference between 3rd place and dead last. If we don't tell him he should try for third, he's happy with fourth. The first time he came in fourth, he was ecstatic! "I didn't realize there was a fourth place!" he said... "So we all can win!" What a revelation for him.. What a revelation for us! As his parents, that helped us to see, he is capable of whatever he sets his mind to. We also saw that he will only set his mind to meeting the expectations laid out in front of him.
We have 3 weeks. In 3 weeks, we need to be able to show his teacher that he needs to be in her most accomplished reading group. In 3 weeks, we'll have to explain how putting him in the math group he doesn't seem ready for, or how telling him to double his work output is not only reasonable, but imperative will benefit her.
When we found out he had a teacher that was, for all intents and purposes a first year teacher, we were optomistic. Now we need to be obnoxious instead. He needs this. It is our job as parents to ensure that he is pushed to do what he can, learn all he can, and see the joy in doing the best work he is capable of. I only hope that we, his parents, can rise to meet this challenge!
November 20, 2011
July 20, 2011
July 19, 2011
The Mostril Story
For end of the year teacher gifts, I turned the kids loose with sharpies on some white plastic flower pots. The hubby sprayed them with clear coat... They came out cute. It was father's day, and the kids wanted to make one for the hubby. Since this is a big secret surprise, spraying the clear coat on this one fell to me. The application of the clear coat went uneventfully. I left the Father's Day Flower pot in the driveway to cure. I capped the spray can an headed back to the garage, and then it all went south....
Once inside the garage, it made sense to leave the spray can with the other flower pots in case a second coat was deemed necessary. The other pots were set on a rubbermaid lid, balanced on a go kart stand (you can picture a saw horse with a little foam padding across the horizontal part). The riding lawnmower was parked between the garage door and the stand. The regular mower was angled in front of the stand. Beyond that were bikes and trikes and power wheels... you get the picture, its a real garage for a family with a mechanic, mom, and 2 kids...
I stepped over the pushmower to set the paint on the lid beside the pots. I picked up my back foot, promptly tangling it in the pull cord to start the push mower. I had one of those moments of panic where your life flashes in front of your eyes... I had too much momentum to stop, and besides, in that instant, I wasn't thinking "Hey, I'd have to squeeze the lawnmower handle to start it" but rather, if I pull this cord with my foot I'll start the mower and cut my leg off. I toss the spray can near it's intended location and put my hands out to break my fall. My left hand fails miserably at this task, missing all things I could possibly grab on the way down, so I focus in that instant in making contact with my right. Well I did... My right hand catches the very edge of the rubbermaid lid... Except we have to remember, this is balanced on the stand with nothing but light plastic pots holding it down. So the stand acts as a fulcrum, the lid as a see saw, and the pots, spray can, and lid are all catapulted into the air, flying across the garage and tumbling in various locations, and my hand once again is falling.
The stand is getting closer and closer to my face, so I turn my head, and catch myself with my nostril. Well, really the whole side of my face from my pointy teeth/lip area to my brow bone. Then everything stops... I wait for a second, get my bearings, stand up, check my foot (no longer tangled). Breath a few times, collect all the flower pots and things (this time MOVING the lawn mower to put them in their designated location.
For the most part, the story ends there. However, the next day, sitting all alone, I start having a little stinging burning sensation along side my nose... so I announce to the world "My mostril is hurting" and the world replies back with "" and the world responded: "I hate it when my mostrils bruise" and "yeah, bruised mostrils are the worst!"
This, of course, resulted in the need to explain the mostril story. Explaining the mostril story, when don't in person, is accompanied by pantomiming the events and reliving the momentary fear of death... and at least one coworker crying from laughing at me so hard. So, sorry if you need a tissue now... Next time, I'll try to get it on video!
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