My Child Did WHAT? (Updated with Video of Reward Dinner!)

I guess there are two ways to look at it. Overreaction, perhaps. Or, or the other hand, maybe it was just enough shock and awe to maximize the likelihood of a quick solution. One or the other.  Yeah, you’re right. It was overreaction.

As mentioned in the last post, Maria had been doing pretty well at school, so well that I had already blagged about it. (Ooh, I made a portmaneau.  That's French for frankenword (blog-bragging).  Here's another.) That was my first mistake, because it is a well-known cause-and-effect law of nature that once a general positive assessment about your child has been written into the ether, you have approximately 36 hours before the child will do something to call that assessment into question.

In our case, soon after writing the positive post, Maria and a friend stowed behind in the bathroom after all the other kids had moved on to computer resource* class. Once left alone, Maria went a little crazy.  I can practically read my daughter’s mind. “Wait, there are no grown ups around...And no one knows I am in here...Dude! This is AWESOME.” She and the other girl proceeded to play in, over, around, among, etc., the stalls, running and chasing each other, climbing on anything and everything in the bathroom, all the while giggling hysterically. And loudly. Loud enough that the lunch ladies soon investigated, and then taught my daughter what it means to be busted.  Her teacher was understandably disturbed at their behavior. She was also disturbed that when she tried to scold the girls, Maria just kept laughing. The teacher then made the predictable grown-up move, asking Maria why she was laughing and why she thought it was funny to be playing in the toilet. Maria was able to stifle her laugh, but not completely, as she kept smirking throughout the scolding.

*Resource classes. They are possibly the best aspect of the curriculum thus far. It’s without fail the first thing that Maria talks about when we ask her how her day was. At her school, the resource classes are a weekly rotation: Art, Music, Gym, Science, Computers. “Resource” class, however, has a totally different meaning where I grew up. That’s where they would put all the seriously messed up kids, the "BIC" kids, in Resource. I think BIC stands for Before Involuntary Commitment. Now, I know that my Step-Mother, an educational psychologist with the school district where I went to school, is getting upset reading this. She has an unshakable calling to help these truly disturbed kids. She has devoted her career and, at least recently, given the budget cuts to her department, nearly every waking hour, to helping these kids become happy, adjusted, productive members of society. That’s really great.  But my memory of these kids, is that they were the ones chasing you around the playground, with nothing but their underwear and shoes on, trying to vomit on you. I am not making that up. The kid could make himself vomit. Fortunately for me, doing so slowed him down just enough for me to stay out of range, running and zigging like a rabbit until the bell (finally) would ring.  I also remember one BIC kid telling my third grade teacher, “Shut-up, you Lard Ass” as he tried to light his desk on fire with a cigarette lighter. My third grade teacher wasn’t even fat, but I’d like to see YOU reason with that kid. So, no, not that kind of Resource Class.

As a result of The Incident, the teacher held Maria out of the remainder of the resource class and out of recess. This meant that Maria couldn't finish the project that she had started on her computer.*  It also meant that Maria had to sit on the bench outside and watch the rest of the class play. The teacher also called MT’s cell phone, and judging by the voice mail, was clearly disappointed that MT wasn’t available to jointly scold Maria. (Aha! Sexism lives–they always call the Mom first. I was available, but no call to my phone. I guess it takes a while to break the mom-first default.) After she got the message and called me to discuss, MT and I responded like we were in the War Room of the Pentagon. Threat assessment: Moderate, possibly severe. Cause: nothing new, poor impulse control, combined with high energy and slightly mischievous social awareness, factors that when left unsupervised may result in, well, shenanigans of all sorts, including this sort. Is there a solution? Short term, yes. Long-term, needs more deliberation and consultation with other intelligence agencies (i.e., friends, family, parents, Maria’s pre-school teachers, and day-care providers). Execution: I leave work extra early to talk to the teacher, pull Maria aside and express to her that what happened was a big deal, completely wrong, and enough to prompt a “Family Meeting” the next day, scheduled for when David was napping, and a parent-teacher-child conference for Monday.

*The computer room is stocked with Macs and the teacher had them take a picture of themselves using the camera in the Mac and then draw on it with some sort of Mac Paintbrush or some such software.  Like this one from earlier in the week:

The next day, the meeting went well. Maria was in a perfect reflective place, as opposed to the fragile, hungry, tired, and confused place she was on Friday night when I picked her up. We started by trying to present a united front with her teacher, explaining that everyone wants the best for her, both her parents and her teacher. Then we had Maria explain what was wrong about the bathroom incident, and she nailed this question: germs, privacy, safety/need to not get lost or left behind. Then we talked about impulse control, a concept that Maria already understands because I have talked about it with her on many an occasion, like when she recently put a rusty nail in her mouth or when she tries to climb the banisters at church.  I decided that maybe we should all do a practice impulse control exercise. So, I got three M&Ms for each of us, made us all look to the ceiling and balance them on our lips, without eating them or dropping them for 2 minutes. I have no idea if Maria got it, but she was happy to have M&Ms to eat and giggled.  MT and I closed the family meeting by doing an inception. Through well-crafted questions and subtle hints, we got Maria to come up with doing a sticker chart to help her behave better at school, creating good habits, not bad ones.  As for a long-term solution, we sent an email to friends and family soliciting input, and got interesting reactions and suggestions, detailed in this companion post.

I had asked the teacher to think about what to use for the sticker chart, so at the parent-teacher-student conference, Maria's teacher was prepared.  She had three concrete things for Maria to work on, under the larger headings of "self-control" and "being on time."  These were three areas or times of the day where I think the teacher was constantly harping on Maria or where the teacher noticed Maria starting to lose control.  Maria was going to work on: 1) being on time eating breakfast; 2) being on time in the bathroom; and 3) being on time transitioning from one thing to the next.  We talked about each, and Maria helped me make the chart.  She wrote in the days of the week and she drew icons to represent the three areas, a bowl of Kix (her favorite breakfast option at school), a toilet, and a grandfather clock, with the glass window for the pendulum, swung all the way to the right:

The teacher closed by telling Maria that this is not a punishment, but a way to remind Maria to focus on the task at hand so that she and the whole class can learn better.  She said "all of us here love you very much, your parents love you and I love you." 

We have now gone through two weeks of sticker charts.  She earned every possible sticker but the breakfast on on day 2, when we dropped her off so late that the other kids were already done eating and playing with puzzles at her table.  That one's at least in part on us.   Now, when I talk to the teacher about Maria, all I get is "she did great, today."  So, we are looking forward to a very grown-up reward for a girl who is learning to be more grown up.  (We asked Maria what reward she wanted for filling up two weeks of charts, expecing to hear about a toy, or a movie, or a princess outfit.  She asked for "the fanciest spaghetti."  We are planning to take her (without David, who will stay behind with Baba/Nana) to fancy spaghetti, but still tasty for a five-year-old, which is to say, spaghetti that is not mixed with lobster, or lamb meatballs, or something her taste buds won't grow into for years).

Seems like we averted the crisis, or any further crisis.  And hopefully, blag curse notwithstanding, our daughter is learning another useful lesson about how to act in school and in class.  (To neutralize the curse, I had to explicitly pay due respect to its power, obv.)

So, here's to a Spaghetti Sunday.  And to the occasional parental overreaction.