Kallan is working on her homework last night and yells out, “Mom? Is there gross food in Canada?”
“I am sure there is gross food in Canada, but I don’t think they are known for their gross food. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
She holds out her Passport Book for me to sign. She is supposed to be keeping track of how many minutes she is reading every night. At the end of each month, there is a “Passport Party,” and the class celebrates with snacks from a different country. This month they are “visiting” Canada.
Last month they visited The Philippines, and Kallan was less than impressed with the party food. Lumpia, according to Kallan, are “nasty little rolls of disgusting.”
Hence the worry about possible Canadian culinary grossness.
I sign Kallan’s reading passport. Kallan and I have a small running battle over this passport, because I refuse to take it seriously. I am of the strong opinion that keeping track of minutes read and rewarding children who log the most reading minutes is stupid and counterproductive.
As far as I am concerned? The reward for reading? Is the fucking reading.
The end.
Over the years, I have opted the girls out of every “Reading Contest” that has come along.
Maj has always agreed with me on this point. She is a reading fiend, by the way.
Kallan, however, is still annoyed that I refused to take her to Pizza Hut to get the multiple personal-pan pizzas she won for reading books back in 1st Grade. To which I say? Handing out small greasy pizzas as a reward for reading is so stupid I do not even know where to start.
Anyway. Kallan is supposed to log reading minutes. I am not doing this, but the form needs to be filled out somehow. So we have come to an agreement . . . I will give her credit for 60 minutes of reading per day whether she reads or not. Some days she reads much much more, some days not at all. I do not care.
So I sign her passport. Hand it back to her.
She sighs all heavily, “This is all a lie, you know. I don’t read 60 minutes every night. Some days I read a lot more.”
“And some days you read less. I don’t care.”
“Other people’s parents keep track of every minute.”
“Other people’s parents have not given this issue enough thought, then.”
“Other people’s moms just follow directions.”
“That explains it, then. I am the questioning sort.”
“My teacher would like it better if you just did what she said.”
“You think? I already spoke to your teacher about my feelings on logging reading minutes. You were there. You want me to call your teacher and explain it all again? I would be happy to do that.”
“No,” Kallan says as she hurriedly sweeps the passport into her backpack, “No need for that.”
She pulls out a book-report form for me to check. She has drawn a lovely picture of her favorite scene in the book, discussed why she would recommend the book to others, provided information about the author, the title, the setting, the characters. Written a short summary of the book.
Uh oh.
I lay the paper on the table in front of me. Look at my younger daughter, who is trying not to make eye contact, “Ummmmm . . . Kallan?”
She is stuffing her things in her backpack, eager to be done with homework for the evening, “Yeah?”
“The book you read for this report . . . could you get it for me?”
She is instantly suspicious and alert, “Why?”
“I want to look at the inside jacket.”
She puts her hands on her hips, “Why?”
“Because I am thinking that when I look at the inside jacket book summary, I will see the exact words that are written here on your paper.”
Kallan is all crabby and stomps her foot, “Augh. Why do you have to be all noticey? The teacher doesn’t care. I promise you. She doesn’t care.”
“Alrighty, then. I won’t care either,” and I hand the form back to Kallan, “Clearly this is an issue I should be taking up with your teacher. You are just the poor innocent plagiarizing bystander.”
Kallan is yelling now, all angry, “Fine! I copied out of the book. And fine! I am not supposed to do that. And Mother? Other people’s mothers are not as difficult as you are!”
“Other people’s mothers are not trying hard enough, then.”
She looks at her paper sadly, “But I did a lot of work on the rest of the book-report form. I don’t want to re-do the entire thing.”
“Then you are going to need a really big eraser.”
“But if I erase that whole section, I will lose points for being messy.”
“So then you have a choice. You can redo the entire report or you can erase and take the hit for being messy.”
“Can’t we just let it go this one time and see if the teacher notices? I do not think she will notice.”
“Nope. And if you do this again? And I notice? You are getting an F.”
“You are not in charge of my grades,” Kallan announces as she stares at me in challenge.
I bring my face down to her level, “Imagine me. At your school. In the hallways. In your classroom. Announcing in a loud crazy voice that you are a cheater and demanding that you get an F.”
She stares at me, eyes flashing, “Everyone would think you were insane.”
I stare back at her, “And guess what else? Everyone would know that you are a big fat lying cheater.”
I stand up, “Your call, babe.”
She sighs, “Where is the eraser?”
Her paper? Looks like shit. A huge erasure mess beneath her new angrily scrawled summary of the book. But the words?
Are hers.
I’m guessing C+.
I will keep you posted.
You are a freaking awesome mom. I’m in awe.
I am way happy to have awe in the blogging world!
Thank you!
Because here at home? There is little awe. All kinds of pissed off, but little awe.
I remember Book-It, the little star stickers I’d earn for turning in shitastic book reports quoting the absolute shortest books I could get my tiny hands on followed by the trips to Pizza Hut with the sole purpose of gorging on my very own personal pan.
Thinking back on it now, its pretty dang funny that my mom didn’t give a crap that I was directly abusing the system at 9 years of age… thanks for the lesson mom. lol.
Those programs piss me off. Pizzas? Are you fucking kidding me?
And the kids? Just as you describe your 9 year old self . . . quickly learn to do the absolute minimal possible work. They choose the lowest reading-level book they can get away with submitting, write “shit-tastic” reports, and then hurry up to the teacher to trade their “work” for a coupon.
A coupon for pizza.
That is seriously fucked up.
Well played. I fear that some day she will call your bluff. In that case, you may just have to carry out that very threat of humiliation- hers and your own.
The girls are getting their bottom braces put in this morning. Fun. They’re not going to school since it was a half day anyway.
Tonight is their school open house. I can’t wait to see what grade I got on their indian village scenes. The writing was all theirs, but I so ass on the stick/twig/clay/paint part of it. I’m of the firm belief that the first school project is always a test of the parent’s craft skills. The key is to make it good, but not THAT good as to make it’s origin questionable. Like the inside of a book’s dustcover. Do they still make Cliff’s Notes booklets? Remember those? I sure do.
Kallan and I have played many dramatic scenes in the public eye. She knows better than to call my bluff.
Because, seriously? I am not bluffing.
Wish the girls well . . . they must love that you scheduled their braces on a half day!
If I were your parent, Axel? I would fail your overachieving ass for those daddy-crafted indian village dioramas. Just saying.
I still remember struggling to hold my own in a college Shakespeare class as my classmates were spouting genius everywhere. I couldn’t believe it! My classmates were idiots! Where were they getting all of these wise and pithy insights?
And then I found out about Cliff’s Notes.
Sigh.
Ummm… it should read “I so KICKED ass”, otherwise I’m more of an ass than I usually let on. Ugh. Where’s the edit button?! I need a “take back” on the internet!
Forgot to mention I was working out last night and Barb called the instructor (a good friend) during my class. He wanted to get back to driving us into the ground so he told Barb.. “Did I mention my good friend, Tone?” I couldn’t hear what Barb said, but then he hung up on her and said “His first name is “Dial”…” Get it? Dial tone? He hung up on her and he was laughing so hard and he kept laughing “she’s so going to kill me”…
That instructor? Is playing fast and loose with his continued existence on this planet.
I knew you meant that you KICKED ass, but as I am giving you a failing grade for your efforts?
I chose not to fix your typo.
Hee hee!
I am right there with you. Rewards for reading are just like rewards for brushing your teeth. Shit like that is driving my hubby crazy right now (hes an art (ART I SAY!) professor at a local community college). His students truly believe that they deserve an A for showing up. To an art class. ART PEOPLE!!!! You DRAW!!! WTF? He actually failed almost half the class last semester because they weren’t DRAWING…in ART! One chick demanded an A because she felt her drawing were A worthy material….hubby btw did not give her an A. She got to keep her super awesome D worthy drawings.
END
There seems to be a sense today that good grades do not need to be earned, and it drives me insane.
The girls are both good students, excellent students, but I am never happier than when one of their teachers calls them on shoddy work and gives them a poor grade. That’s a teacher’s job! To notice and call the students out on their lazy-ass work.
I do not care if my daughters get a bad grade as long as they own it.
I say that all the time, “You made choices that led to this result. Own those choices. And own this result.”
“And if you do not like this result? Next time? Different choices.”
I am apparently one of the more difficult moms.
Your kids will be of the few successful ones out there. No one these days can seem to own up to anything. Its a very rare quality.
I totally own my stupid ass mistakes/laziness/etc….had to. This stupid ass world keeps calling me out. Now I just need to figure out how in hell to make that other choice. You’d think in the past 30+ years I could of figured this out by now. Stupid world….
My girls? Will turn out to be whatever they are supposed to be.
But whatever that is? I want them to arrive knowing that they are responsible for having made the choices that brought them to this place.
Teacher? Astronaut? Waitress? Librarian? Dog walker?
Don’t fucking care. But own it.
I remember my college ancient philosophy class- no homework, all lecture, 3 term papers and we were given a week to complete each paper with all sources cited. I ended up spending hours and hours in the library doing actual research. Had there only been an “internet” back then… How times have changed.
Last year? I tried to teach the girls about the Library’s card catalog and Guide to Periodicals Index, and they were all . . .what the fuck?
Look, Mom! We don’t need to know that! Tappity tappity tap and it’s all on Google. What you’re talking about is how they looked things up back in the olden days.
Sigh.
Honest to god, Kris, it’s refreshing to hear someone calling out the current establishment on this whole “our children are delicate flowers whose egos need to be massaged until said children are old enough to fuck up at which point we will cluck and sigh and blame it all on them because we had nothing to do with it and shouldn’t the school be raising them anyway?” parenting style I’ve been witnessing.
::shuffles the soapbox back under the bed::
Pizzas for reading?
The reward for reading IS fucking reading. Amen, sister!
You’re not being difficult. You’re being a parent.
Which rocks.
If you have been reading my blog (and I know that you have), you know that my daughters are not delicate flowers. I love them more than anything in the world, and I love them enough to point out when they are fucking up.
If there is pizza? It will be because that is what we have decided is for dinner.
Nobody here is reading for food. So fucking stupid.
The “delicate flower” parenting style is rampant around here, and on the rare occasions I’ve voiced an opinion against it, people look at me like they should be calling DSS. I don’t think you should be rewarded just for showing up. I don’t think half-assing should be the benchmark. I want my son to want to do well, but barring that I want him to know that if he isn’t willing to make an effort, he isn’t going to be rewarded. I’d like to think this will help him grow up to be a grown up.
And your clear voiced common sense is why I do keep coming back and reading your blog. That, and I’ve been known to snort while laughing at your antics, occasionally while wanting to weep. Not easily done.
I love you, rantsy-pants one!
Oh god, counting reading minutes or pages, blech. I used to be a children’s librarian and every year the Summer Reading Program would skeeve me out because there was always one kid who was just in it for the prize and would turn in page after page of the counting sheets to get these cheap ass things and it would just annoy me.
Don’t get me started on the AR program. Some of the reason I quit don’t children’s work was the looks on the kids faces when they would pick out an awesome book and have their parents tell them, ‘No that’s not high enough on the AR scale. Take this one.’, handing over the book that then killed the kid’s desire to read for life. Good one AR program. Good one.
Oh my god! How much do I hate that at the girls’ school, they are directed to sections of the library from which they may choose a book based on their assigned reading level?
I remember that from my own childhood, and it was as stupid then as it is now.
Read what you want to read. At any level. I read children’s books all the time to keep up with what my daughters are enjoying. And I allow my daughters to read anything they are willing to have me read first.
And that one kid in it for the prizes? That kids freaks me out as well.
And the thought of either of my daughters being that kid? Makes me very sad.
Just read.
You are absolutely right…the reward for reading is the fucking reading!!
You are an awesome mom – I wanna be just like you when the damn kids start trying to pull crap like that.
And they will try to pull crap like that . . . it is their job to see where the limits are and who is paying attention.
And Mom’s job? To pay attention.
And to be difficult.
Want to know my punishment for being bad when I was young? I got my books taken away from me and I could only watch TV. No joke. I still think my parents are retarded for denying me READING no matter how much I liked it. But that’s how they were. I stopped telling them about anything I enjoyed or anything good happening in school because it was used as a threat to me. Needless to say they didn’t know I was in choir until I told them one night we were having a solo concert (where each individual person sang) and that it was THAT NIGHT. You go for fighting the greasy rewards!
Your parents perhaps did not think that punishment all the way through.
Do you still sing?
Not well, but Jensen loves it lol! I have the kind of voice where I need to be in choir, with an instructor, singing every day, and then it’s good. I do not have easy natural talent. I wish though!
Woops, I did not hit enter that many times, my internet fudged up!
I deleted your extras, funny woman.
Yes. I definitely want them to have some sort of incentive to read more, but pizza? Fuckin A! No wonder there is such an issue with obesity in children. I was under the impression that there was a whole movement to improve the quality of food in schools. So they have well balanced meals at the school, but if you read a bunch of books? You get some greasy nasty pizza! YAY! Not.
Fuck them and their pizza vouchers!
Good mom-ing by the way. Heaven forbid a parent should call their child out on their bullshit. I aspire to be as “noticey” as you one of these days when my kids start b.s.ing. OH WAIT! they already do, they’re just not in school yet.
I am thinking of having a pin made announcing that I am a “Noticey Mom.”
Give people some warning that they need to straighten their shit up.
LOVE this! Right on! And thank you Sadie for voicing exactly what is wrong with the AR program. We didn’t have that when I was in school. We had Silent Reading time every day. No rewards. No pizza coupons. No shitty toys. Just read because you should. They should bring THAT back.
Amen.
They so should.
I loved this. Schools will resort to ANYTHING to get kids to read. But you know what? No matter what they promised my brother, he never, ever read what they assigned him. Because they had turned it into a chore and we all know NO ONE LIKES CHORES.
Me on the other hand? I did everything perfectly. I’m just good like that.
You did everything perfectly because you are just good like that????
I love you!
You win today’s award for best words strung together in a comment!
Love that.
How is it possible that I love you even more! HOW?!?
I have never allowed my kids to participate in that ridiculous reading thing. “But Mo-om! Everybody else will get pizza and I want to get pizza too! Pleeease?” And when I point out that we have pizza for dinner every. fucking. Friday? “But Mo-om! Everybody else gets their OWN pizza!” Such a boring argument, especially since it always ends the same: Mom wins (or did; the three eldest are out of elementary school now, and they don’t have read-it at Carter’s school).
Also? No school fundraisers unless it’s for an elective activity because my children are not a free labor source for their schools. We use the time we would have spent on fundraising activities to write letters to the people in charge of the school budgets, telling them why those budgets are inadequate. This is a fabulous lesson in civic responsibility and representative democracy. To their teachers, I’m an annoying mom who won’t get with the program, and to my kids, I’m an infuriating mom who a) doesn’t want them to win prizes and b) is trying to make them the weird kids. Whatever. I’m right and they’re wrong and I have all the power so every one of them can suck it.
I told my kids from a very early age that if they ever cheated or bullied, I would attend school with them until the issue was resolved, and I would do this wearing a giant purple clown wig. Thank GOD they didn’t test me on that one because can you imagine how fucking uncomfortable it would be to wear a clown wig all day long? If I had it to do over again, I would maybe leave that part out.
Happy sighs.
Seriously, we are like sisters.
Because fund-raising for activities and programs that do not directly benefit and involve my children? FUCK THAT SHIT. Endless arguments with my two children about how they are not going to be door-to-door salesmen for their stupid school. “We won’t get prizes! We won’t be part of the assembly! Our names will not have stars!”
Could not care less. I tell them it builds character to be right, and then to persist in your rightness in the face of stupidity.
Also annoying to my children? I won’t buy fundraiser crap from anyone else’s kids either.
Honestly? I have not met too many moms who agree with me on this.
High fives!
And happy sighs.
And so far? We have not had cheating or bullying issues. I try to encourage the girls to work that shit out on their own. But if they couldn’t?
I would so wear a purple wig.
“The reward for reading? Is the fucking reading.”
This was like reading something my own mother would write about me if she ever finally starts the blog she’s been talking about starting for the past eighty million years.
Kallan sounds eerily familiar…
Your mother is a wise and wonderful woman. If she starts that blog? I will so visit and comment supportively.
First time visitor. I KNOW! The eff? I’ve been, you know, busy reading less fantastic blogs. That ends now. Well, not really, but I’m glad I found this. Not that you need me over here or anything. But I believe you are my kind of mom. This post was clearly a tutorial. So I will be back for more Words of Wisdom.
There are a lot of good blogs out there. But if it was me, and I had limited time?
I would read only Pretty All True.
Because the woman who writes it? Is insane.
And it is always fun to watch a car wreck . . . as it unfolds before you but does not actually involve you.
Also? I am not so much about the tutorial. Mostly, I fuck things up a lot.
Just so you know.