The Ongoing Dilemma...

I have been a little disheartened this week.

A boy at school was mean to N. Not for the first time.  N is fine--in fact, she really wasn't that bothered by the incident that occurred, as she is quite used to this particular child's problematic behavior.  I, on the other hand, kind of went ape sh--um, a little nuts. In the end, the school addressed it, the boy apologized (and is being watched more closely, and is not sitting near my daughter, or working with her in groups, and hopefully not speaking to or looking in her general direction ever again), and we're moving on.

And yet, it makes me mad that it happened, and that I had to spend several hours talking to my daughter, and to her teacher, and to her guidance counselor, and to her principal, about stuff that didn't need to happen. And it makes me madder that this boy has not been taught--by nine years old--which behaviors are just not okay. And, call me cynical, but it makes me sad for him that he is already heading down a road that likely does not have a very happy ending.

To add to that, this has brought up my recurring struggle of how much we should teach our kids to be kind--knowing that kids like N's tormentor probably need that more than anything--versus how much we should tell our kids to just stay away from the mean kids, or the difficult kids, or the bratty kids--knowing that none of us need to go looking to have our feelings hurt by choosing to be around people who don't value or respect us (I thought that sounded better than referring to nine year olds as jerks. Nice of me, right?)

But this morning, I tried to put that behind me and focus on the fact that I got to volunteer in B's classroom today. I did this when N was in kindergarten, and I was excited to once again spend the morning helping my child and their kindergarten classmates write their letters, and their names, and seeing the adorable pictures they draw to accompany their adorable sentences that come so incredibly close to almost making some kind of sense that I can hardly stand it.

As it happened, I walked in and one of B's teachers said "Hi! Do you know how to use the laminator?"

At that moment, the thoughts in my head went something like this:

No! No! No! Please...No! Didn't they tell you? I don't do technology or gadgety thingies. I mean, I would do them, but they don't do me. Or we don't do each other. At least not well. Last year, I spent many, many Friday mornings--at least 6 Fridays mornings each month--in the copier room. With a copier. That's large. And fancy. And very, very confusing. It didn't go well. In fact, you probably heard me crying. So...laminator? Uh, No. I most definitely do NOT know how to use the laminator. Nor do I want to. Show me where the crayons are, please.

But what came out of my mouth was actually this:

"I don't, but I'm sure I can figure it out!"

I even smiled when I said it.

I am such a liar.

This was, as it turns out, a ridiculously ridiculous thing for me to say, since I do not, when it comes to technology or gadgety thingies "figure it out". Ever.

B's nice teacher showed me how it worked, though she rudely made some assumptions about me in the process. Mainly, that I had half a clue. And then, she left me all alone. With the laminator.

Me and the laminator. In a closet. That I soon found out was very, very warm. I took my coat off as I eyed the laminator.

You don't scare me. Just because you're big, and noisy, and you have those....those....buttons.

I did what the teacher had told me. I pushed papers through. I pushed those buttons. It was actually working. I wasn't just laminating. I was a laminating queen.

I was so good at laminating, that I even laminated things together that weren't supposed to be laminated together.

So then I had to unlaminate them, because it turns out that Emily's parents probably don't want Emily's turkey place mat and Sarah's turkey place mat. So yeah, there was that.

There was also the fact that it was getting very, very hot in that closet. So I wasn't just laminating. I was laminating and sweating my ass off. I briefly wondered if there was a lock on the door, in case I needed to strip down to my underwear while laminating, but decided that probably wasn't a good idea anyway and resigned myself to sweating profusely.

Once I had laminated and unlaminated, as necessary, there was the fact that twenty five laminated turkey place mats needed somewhere to go. And when they're all still connected as you try to remove them from the machine in a very small closet, it can get a little....messy. I'm not sure how to describe this, so you should probably just picture Lucy and Ethel in the candy factory. Except it was me, and twenty five laminated turkey place mats.

Yeah.

The good news is, I eventually got to go into the classroom, and help B and the boys at his table with their writing. I love kindergartners. They are so good. At telling you everything you're doing wrong. "You need to do that with a pen, not a pencil." "That's not the way she corrects our work". "You spelled temper wrong". Whatever, kid. Some day you, too, will have spellcheck and not know how to spell anything for yourself. But I was still incredibly happy to be there, and even happier that they didn't witness me in the closet with the turkey place mats.

I went to lunch with B and his class after that, and was a little concerned to notice that all three boys that had been at B's table in the classroom had gone to sit with one of the boys and his mom at a separate table. B was happy sitting at a table with me and most of the rest of his class--mostly girls--but I couldn't help but wonder if this happened on a regular basis. Was he being excluded?

As I obsessed over my five-year-olds social status, B leaned over and whispered to me about M, who was sitting across from us and who was the only other boy at our table. B had described M as "mean" earlier in the year, but after visiting B at school, it was obvious to me that M likely had some developmental issues impacting his behavior. "Mom, he's having a really great day. He hasn't been getting in trouble at all today". I told him not to whisper, at which point he said to the the boy "I'm glad you don't get in trouble anymore".

"Is that your class too?" asked, realizing that a few girls and one boy were sitting at an adjacent table.

"Yeah", B nodded, and then looked at them for a minute before adding, "Mom, we need to move seats. G is sitting all by himself over there."

I told him that if we moved, then M would be sitting all by himself, since there was no one else sitting near him, and that maybe we could ask G to come sit with us.

And so we did.

And he did.

And as the four of us sat there, I realized that I wasn't worried about my kindergartner's social status anymore.

He knew exactly where he belonged.