It’s June. If you’re a junior high teacher in Canada, this means you’re running both a marathon and a sprint, desperate to make it to the finish line before you collapse.
Factor in six-year-old twins in your “off” hours and, well, it ain’t pretty.
Looking back at the past week, I can see a number of reasons why I haven’t been nominated for Parent-of-the-Year.
Reason One: My Son Feels Unloved
Here’s a conversation my son and I had recently.
William: “I don’t love you when you’re mad at me.”
Me: “Oh well. That’ll pass.”
Of course, it’s great he can express his feelings, but so much for my Oedipus theory. At least I’m getting prepared for adolescent angst. Only seven more years till I get the real thing.
Reason Two: Accusing My Daughter of Faking an Injury
We were at soccer, my daughter’s favourite sport. Vivan took her turn as goalie, challenging whatever team’s players were racing toward her net. In one scrum, she grabbed the ball at the same time as a Lilliputian cleat stepped on her outstretched index finger.
Photo courtesy of Faramarz Hashemi (cc) Flickr
With her finger smushed under the shoe, Vivian wailed. She wailed so much the coaches called an early end to the game, signaled by announcing “snack time.” Vivian kept crying, climbed on my lap, and wiped snot on my jacket. I could see the cleat mark on her finger and thought, “Don’t be such a suck.” I am pretty certain I didn’t say it aloud, but sometimes what I think in my head comes out my mouth anyway.
One day later, we realized she hyper-extended her finger. Three days later, it still resembles a sausage.
What kind of a mom doesn’t believe her crying child?
Umm, me.
Reason Three: My Kids Don’t Believe Me When I Compliment Them
I’m seated at the table, enjoying a morning cup of tea. A pajama-clad Vivian is perched on a chair at the head of the table doing Craft #542. William sidles up and stands beside her. Not only is he dressed, but his clothes are coordinated and appropriate for the weather. I hadn’t even asked him to change out of pjs.
I look at him, grin, and say, “Hi, handsome.”
Without a beat, both he and Vivian pivot inwards, looking behind them at the person I complimented. They look back me in a synchronized motion, and one of them says, “Who are you talking to?”
Maybe in July I’ll do a better job parenting.
Then again, maybe not.
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Happy Ides-of-June.
Feel free to share any tales of disaster parenting…
How about not believing your kid when they say they’re sick? Until you go to fuss at them for not being asleep yet, and find them puking off the top bunk.
My brother is a junior high teacher in Canada. I think you’re all insane. (And EXTREMELY awesome. You get extra mom points for teaching other people’s kids during the day.)
(If I was a JH teacher, I would just look at my kids with squinty eyes while twitching uncontrollably and trying not to drool.)
I haven’t done that yet with my son, but I’ve done it to my husband. I categorically do not believe that any one in my family could possibly be reaaaaallllly sick or injured.
I think up extreme manipulations in my head. I am convinced that my son is plotting to ruin my day sometimes, even though he is only 8 months old. I dont know what I can accuse him of once he’s able to talk, walk, etc.
well, i’ve done all three of these so i’m in the back row of the theater as well. I also am the worst mom ever because I make my 11 year old shower every night (because he smells and we can all smell him, but he can’t smell him so of course, he doesn’t smell!). And, horror of horrors, i expect my 16 year old to actually pur forth some effort in school instead of making YouTube the massive internet pacifier that it continues to be.
I doubt I’m even in the running for “runner-up”.
I never believe anyone when they are sick either. Right now I’m worst parent because my daughter is almost 17 and I still haven’t finished teaching her how to drive…because I don’t feel like it.
The injury thing is tricky. I tend not to believe my kids either because they’re such drama queens. I figure it’s really their fault I don’t believe and not a statement of my parenting skills.
Oh, oh, I can top that — I’m a worse mother! I didn’t believe my son was really hurt and his femur was broken! And I’m not even a teacher. And yeah, teachers rule — I hate all kids except my own. Usually I don’t hate my own.
At least you’re funny! That’s got to count for something … ;-j
Hi Ironic Mom: I’ve nominated/tagged you for a blog award/giant game of cyber tag. Check out my blog post: Onion Ring distribution system and sweaters covered in cat hair: 7 great things about being a writer! ;-j
http;//janmarkley.blogspot.com
It being a singular award (Parent, not Parents, of the Year), only one person gets it. The odds are kind of low, so why try? I’m shooting for mediocrity which for me means keeping my kid alive until I’m not legally responsible for him anymore!
Only three reasons? I think you’re doing a pretty good job. My kids would LOVE the opportunity to make a list for me…