Autumn
This week is exam week at the high school. Today, Friday, the high school is dismissed early but the middle school still attends all day. Transportation is not provided for the high school students.
Frankly, I am not thrilled with this. I was even less thrilled when the oldest was in eighth grade, and I worked on the day the school dismissed early. It meant that my child was left to wander around town unless I went to extremes to get her home. I always did because my oldest child as a freshman was She-Who-Could-Not-Be-Trusted. OK, I may be overstating that a little bit, but I was not going to allow her to wander around town. It is somehow because of trimesters.
The oldest is now a junior, and I am still not enthralled with this whole half day for high schoolers idea. I now have three children in the high school, and one in the middle school. I cannot understand how the school can dismiss three of them and not provide them with a ride home and require them to leave the school building. It boggles the mind.
But what has changed is that the oldest has a driver’s license, so she can bring home the wayward children when the school dismisses them. Except, she didn’t want to go to school today because she only had one test, which she felt she would have done in less than an hour.
That’s where the “parental permission” comes in. She arranged a scheme that would let her sleep in today, and she hounded me and the teacher involved until we caved. She still has to pick up her siblings though.
All it required for me, other than my permission, was a note saying she had my permission. And so yesterday, I wrote the note. My daughter couldn’t read it. My writing, she said, was sloppy. It wasn’t sloppy; it was written in cursive, which is apparently a foreign language that children can no longer read.
The parental permission note is apparently something that is disappearing from our culture — at least the handwritten kind. My parental notes mirror the notes that my mom wrote when I was a child. I have always used my mom’s notes as the pattern for my own, so they tend to start out like this: My daughter insert name has my permission…. Or, Please excuse my daughter (insert name) for her absence….” Those sentences are exactly like the sentences my mom used to write on my own permission slips.
But yesterday, when I sat down to write the note that my daughter had been badgering me about, I decided to go off script a bit. The teacher involved is the one who when I talked to him at parent teacher conferences told me that my daughter was a high maintenance drama queen. I wasn’t offended since 1) he was accurate and 2) he and I are friends, and he really didn’t have any concerns about my daughter. He knew her long before she was his student, and his assessment made me and my daughter break out in laughter, and I tell you, the ability to have a good laugh at a parent teacher conference is priceless. Even if the news isn’t bad, the entire process is soul sucking..
And so, I penned this note:
My high-maintenance pain-in-the-a daughter, Autumn Sherwood, has badgered me into writing this note, and I have caved in the face of her unending requests. Thus, I give my consent to her scheme to allow her to take her exam early although I fail to see how I benefit from her presence in my home Friday morning. Thank you, Linda Sherwood 231-555-1212
And then my daughter attempted to read my cursive writing and couldn’t. She claimed my writing was bad, so I broke down and utilized 21st Century Communication Skills (aka a Facebook message) and sent the following message to the teacher in question:
My high maintenance pain-in-the-a daughter, Autumn Sherwood, has badgered me into writing this note, and I have caved in the face of her unending requests. Thus, I give my consent to her scheme to allow her to take her exam early although I fail to see how I benefit from her presence in my home Friday morning.because she is such a joy in the morning (not!). Of course, after I talk to my husband, I’m sure I can find ways for her presence to benefit me in the form of creative punishment, I mean, chores.
Sincerely,
The Mother.
To which, well before 8 a.m., I received this response:
This has been a most interesting note from a parent. I will accommodate her request with the the pre-condition that I mentioned to her earlier, if I get time to finish the exam in time.
That’s right. Not only did she want special accommodations, she was making the teacher create the test before he really needed to make the test, which is just wrong (says the teacher me).
As a highly-skilled procrastinator and a former journalist, I respect deadlines. I require deadlines. It is how things get done, but I hate deadlines (or due dates) that end up being pushed earlier than they need to be. It’s just not right.
I am assuming that the teacher finished the test and my daughter took it early because she is currently sleeping. I have plans for her to practice her dish-washing skills later, plus I am still planning to put her chauffeuring skills into use as she will be required to ferry not only children but children’s items required for sleepovers.
(Not about anything — I am shocked to realize that this is the first post I have ever tagged with the word “procrastination.” I must have procrastinated about that….)
