Since Steve had plans to attend a going away party for a co-worker this afternoon, Sara and I had the day to ourselves. It turned out to be the perfect opportunity for us to go see "Beauty and the Beast" on the big screen. I had mentioned it to Sara earlier in the week, and she sure wasn't going to let me forget that I had promised her a trip to the movie theatre. We splurged on popcorn, Starbursts, and Icees, and settled into the big, cozy seats in a theatre full of moms and daughters. Sara had such a good time, and it was fun for me to watch her little eyes light up at the chance to watch one of her favorite movies in a new and exciting setting. She was on the edge of her seat and was glued to the screen the entire time. During the scene where Belle first emerges in her yellow dress, Sara said to me, "Look, Belle turned into a princess." As we were leaving the theatre, I told Sara I was really proud of her for being such a good girl during the movie. She said, "I'm proud of you, too, Mom."
I read an article recently in an education publication about a beloved principal who decided to leave her career because she was simply so tired of dealing with parents who felt their kids could do no wrong and the school could do no right. She cared about each student, was a strong teacher advocate, and believed in the power of public education. Unfortunately, her days became so bogged down with ridiculous and monotonous parent "concerns" that she finally decided to hand in her keys. What a sad story. And I put the word concerns in quotes because I understand that parents can hover so much that they become a hindrance to the jobs teachers try to do each day. This isn't to say that some parents don't call or come in with valid concerns ... many of them do. But the small group of parents who consistently want to be a crutch for their children, who refuse to hold their children accountable for anything at all, whose demands push you into such a corner that you're bound to fail regardless of your efforts, are enough sometimes to make most of us want to throw in the towel.
Last weekend in the Dallas Morning News, there was a tongue-in-cheek commentary by Janet Gribnitz about why most coaches would prefer to coach orphans. The author sarcastically says to the parents who tend make a coach's life close to miserable (you've seen them in movies, and probably in real life), "... you are inching closer to the well-known fact that most coaches choose this profession for the unbeatable salary and benefits, despite the fact that we all hate kids." She goes on to suggest, "Always believe the 12-year-old ... blindly believe her without stopping to think if it even makes sense ... your kid would never in a million years get something wrong, exaggerate, or lie." For as many times as I laughed while reading, I also shook my head in recognition of the truth amid the author's humor.
You'll all appreciate this point the author makes (sarcastically, of course): "Profanity always helps. And for emails, be sure to use a larger font and/or all caps to help us see your point." I LOVE IT when a parent e-mails me and puts selected words or phrases in ALL CAPS. Yep, your purpose for this email, as well as your ahem ... class, are increasingly clear with every word you YELL in CAPITAL LETTERS.
Like with most things in life, the vocal minority can be loud enough to drown out the positive, yet often quiet, majority. It is sad to me that a few (typically unreasonable) parents can literally drive teachers out of the careers they love because instead of pointing the finger at their own child who is failing or misbehaving, they point it at the teacher. And they are relentless until the teacher is up against a wall, and until their kid knows to "just tell mom and dad" if there are any problems ... until even the kid has the upper hand. I often want to ask these parents if they plan to one day have jobs for their kids, too.
Don't get me wrong: parents must advocate for their children. There are times when it's appropriate - and even necessary - to ask questions or be critical. But it's so important to teach your children good character and responsibility. Be a parent who gives your kids roots and wings; let them fail and help them learn from mistakes (which means you must first let them make mistakes). Don't assume that the qualified, usually highly-degreed professionals with whom they spend their schools days are picking on them, out to get them, or just plain dumb. Teachers today are working harder than ever, and they are stretched so thin. "Thank you" goes a long way with a teacher. Starbucks cards are good, too. Seriously, though, be a parent who says thanks. Your kid's teachers will appreciate it ... and your kid will be better for it.
I'm not sure who coined that phrase, but I'm convinced that the person who did had a three-year old daughter. Sara is as spicy as she is sugary these days. And sometimes the spice is a bit too ... um, flavorful ... for my taste, if you must know the truth. But the sugar is pure and delightful.
Sara has jumped whole-heartedly into being a three-year-old, and she's about as strong-willed as they come. I feel like some days we do nothing but discipline and ask her to think about whether she's being kind and/or patient. She's not having out of control tantrums or anything like that; it's just that when she knows what she wants, she generally refuses to budge ... and therein lies the conflict. I'm thankful that Sara is good about communicating with words what she wants or doesn't want, but she doesn't understand that just because she can articulate a feeling doesn't make it justified. And she rarely cares for our reasons for telling her no to something or another. Sara has become a master bargainer, which is completely our fault because she wouldn't bargain if we didn't entertain it with our own bargaining. But sometimes a bargain is just easiest. She constantly vacillates between, "Mommy, DO NOT help me!" and "Mommy, help me NOW!"
One of the phrases she has started using more and more lately is, "Ughhh ... you just don't understand me." When she whips that one out, we get little glimpses of our life in ten to twelve years. Or at this rate, maybe it's a glimpse of our life for the next ten to twelve (or more?) years.
I don't know if it is something she has picked up at school or if it's just her (my gut tells me it's the latter), but Sara has a serious bossy streak. I don't know why, because nobody in our family is like that. Seriously, though, if you're not in your place in line, you'd better get in it before she has to tell you to do so. At this point, Sara appears to be a true rule-follower. As long as she agrees with the rule, of course.
So, yeah, she's spicy.
But for every struggle we have, Sara has a million moments of pure sweetness. She still loves to give hugs, cuddle, and get cozy with us. A lot of times when I ask her to help me with something, she'll say, "Sure, Mommy. I can help!" Occasionally, in response to one of my suggestions, she'll even say, "Great idea, Mommy!" I savor these phrases because I'm pretty sure she won't always use them with enthusiasm. Sara has gotten good at always using please, thank you, and no, thank you, typically without prompting. Although she is quick to say that she's a big girl, she giggles like crazy when we hold her like a baby.
Sara loves to jump on the trampoline and ride her bike. She's so proud when she masters a new skill, and likes to tell us about all the things she learns each day (right now she's working on identifying things that are pretend, like the items she cooks in her kitchen). Her little imagination is running wild, and it's so fun to watch her play when she thinks nobody is paying attention. She is so innocent and vulnerable in these moments, and I can't stand the image of her ever being anything but my baby.
We moved her little easel into the office, and she likes to sit in there and "learn" while Steve works. She has gotten really good at drawing straight lines and grass, two of her favorites. She specializes in doing each in an array of colors. Sara responds to praise, and definitely seeks to please. She loves it when we tell her we're proud of her, which we do for both big and little feats.
The princess obsession is still going strong. I practically need another closet for her dress-up clothes. Sara sleeps under princess sheets, with a princess curtain hanging over the window, to the glow of a princess lamp. She wears princess socks almost daily, princess jammies nightly, and loves her princess movies. Yet she's quick to tell me that she's "just a pretend princess." I happen to know two parents who would beg to differ.
So, yeah, she's pretty sweet, too. And no matter how many spicy episodes we encounter in a given day, just a little bit of sweet will always override.
