“I had one of the challenging conversations of my life speaking with your father today,” Savannah’s English teacher whispered in her ear. Mr. Marris had met Jose, Savannah’s dad, at a meeting earlier that day, and upon seeing her in class, couldn’t resist venting.
Having my own painful encounters with Jose, I felt his pain. Still, I thought his remark crossed a line and wondered if Savannah had been dubbed “the kid with the father who _____.”
After a decade of baby daddy drama, I no longer whitewash the truth when dealing with therapists, school personnel, and doctors. I’m blunt and to the point.
“Hate to make your job more difficult, but you’ll need to schedule two meetings,” I told the school principal. “The father won’t attend if he knows I’ll be there.”
Posted in Mommyhood, single mom
Tagged ADD, ADHD, children, co-parenting, kids, middle school, New York City, parenting, School, Single mom, single parents, special needs
I sit quietly for 40 minutes as the two young teachers ramble on about chapter books and the importance of breaking out numbers when you do three-digit addition before combusting and interrupting the conversation.
“Spelling tests,” I finally say, locking eyes with the bubbly 30-something steering the conversation and whose blue eyes remind me of the actress Courteney Cox. “You don’t believe in giving spelling tests?”
She lights up. “You’re not the first parent to ask that question,” she says.
I would hope not.
Those dreaded back-to-school shopping lists.
To avoid lines, I try to do all my back-to-school shopping online, which is why I love places like Walmart. The megastore makes back-to-school shopping a breeze by offering incredible savings for customers however they like to shop – in stores, online and through their mobile devices.
Only a 7-year-old would consider the highlight of her school day who vomited in class, and then rush to tell her mom.
In a replay of my Catholic boarding school days, I was pulled into the principal’s office at Savannah’s school on Friday. Not mincing words, the principal dead-eyed me and said, “Quite frankly, given your daughter’s medical condition, I’m shocked you’re not more on top of it.”
Pepto-Bismo pink strawberry smoothie was gushing from the plastic pitcher I had just drop like oil from the Exxon Valdez. In a nanosecond I was catapulted from an ordinary mom doing a good deed to a female version of Captain Hazelwood. Not prone to drink before 3:00, how did I create this mess?
A month previously I allowed my daughter Savannah to strong-arm me into doing a cooking demonstration for her kindergarten class. It was cockiness on my part to agree, considering I rarely cook and had to provide all the ingredients – right down to every sliver of ice and measuring cup — and I’m not great with kids.
My strategy come demo day was to go with an idiot proof smoothie recipe: Plunk in some strawberries. Toss in a few cubes of ice. Throw in a little yogurt. Hit blend.
Plunk, toss, throw, blend…. Plunk, toss, throw, blend…Plunk, toss, throw, blend…
It worked. The kids, when not popping strawberries in their mouths, were to able stay with the rhythm and I was able to complete the demonstration in the 45 minutes allotted.
Feeling confident I was strutting back to Room 122 with two gallons of fresh smoothie when I suddenly lost my grip and a tidal wave of pink liquid went crashing onto floor. It was the exact moment a group of rowdy 4th graders were heading into the cafeteria, prompting a bevy of janitors, aids and teachers to rush to the scene with cleaning products.
Any bad feelings I had for creating this the Board of Education version of an environmental disaster was reinforced by the image of a pink Timberland boot footprints leading down the hall.