parents

March 17, 2008

Dear Parent,

 Seriously? You don’t have fifteen minutes free in your schedule to attend a conference about your child?  When I sent the paper home with your appointment on it & you didn’t confirm, I figured you’d forgotten or were lazy. Whatever the case, I was cool with it. I still held the appointment for you.

 Yet I am now sitting here waiting for you (along with several other parents, actually) to show up to your child’s second trimester report card conference and you are too busy to come.

 I’m curious. What exactly is more important than your child today? Are you not concerned at how far he is falling behind or how, whenever she gets upset, she punches someone? This is not something that should bother you?

I did not ask you here to accuse or berate you. I asked you here so that we could discuss how best to ensure that your child is successful. In Kindergarten. In school. In life.

 I’m terribly sorry that you couldn’t be troubled to be here today. I hope everything works out for your kid.

 I just don’t understand,

Miss Pants

Advertisements

you’re killing me

December 6, 2007

Children,

 Listen up, cuties. Maybe this is my fault. I haven’t been clear enough? You aren’t sure what my expectations are?

 Here is a list of things that you may not, for any reason, do:

eat your shirt

eat the trophy

smack someone’s forehead

glue the scissors

swordfight with pencils

tap me on the shoulder ten billion times while I ignore you

scream, “Teacher!!!!!” when I have just reminded you to raise your hand silently

climb up the slide

hide in the corner all day and then ask to be my helper (what are you going to help me do? learn how to be an expert corner-hider?)

put your hands in someone else’s lap

follow me around

sit under the table when you’re mad at me

 say, “Oh, no you di’n’t!” You’re five!!

call someone a hoochie

laugh maniacally while I’m talking.

Here are the things that I insist you keep doing:

bring me presents (what’s better than tangerines and candy canes? um…nothing!)

tell me how pretty I am

tell me funny, secret stories about your family

make up outrageous things that will never happen (in a week, you’re going to have 16 sisters and 20 brothers? seriously?)

give me hugs for no good reason.

Are we clear? I pretty much adore every last one of you. I know that each of you is capable of learning (and acting human) and it’s upsetting to not see you trying to do either. If you don’t let me help you now, your life will be so tough.

 No one wants to see a 30 year old man eating his clothes.

Love,

Miss Pants