Thursday, May 21, 2009

Bad Grades

When your child comes home with bad grades, you feel like you've failed as a parent too, so when we got an interim report that my older son was getting a D in math we hit the roof.

"You either don't understand it or you're not studying," I snapped. "Which is it?" "I am studying," he insisted. "Then you must not understand it." "I do understand it."

It turns out that he has failed a couple of quizzes and a big homework assignment. We told him he would have to take responsibility and ask what he could do to make up the grade. Turns out he can redo the homework assignment but not the quizzes.

I asked him to go check if he had a quiz this week and he came back and said he didn't. Then I checked a couple of days later and then it turns out he had a quiz THE NEXT DAY after our big talk.

We had to have a second talk about lying this time and this time I was mad. We had another serious look in which he admitted that he hadn't told us he had a quiz because it was the Pythagorean theory and it was "really long and boring." If he told me about it, I'd make him go over it again and again, he said. So we took away his computer and his Legos during the week. He's agreed to study more and study better and keep track of his quizzes and I told him he has to win back my trust.

The parenting experts say parents should help encourage children to build good study skills and that punishing them or yelling at them for bad grades doesn't work. Duh. But what does work? I obviously don't have the answers.

I'm hoping I can find out though because I'm hoping to bring that F up on my parenting report card. I'd like to feel that I'm at least getting a C.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

My Bad News Bears

I've been spending a lot of time watching sports and it's been exciting, heartbreaking, painful and exhilarating.

I'm talking of course about Little League baseball. My two sons are playing on the "sky blue team" with their dad coaching and it's been a great season despite the fact that they lose every game.

In the beginning, they would get a few hits and then several strikeouts. They'd have humorous moments in the field where kids would either stand with the ball wondering where to throw the darned thing or they'd throw it the wrong way. Kids were in tears. There were games that were called because the other team's score went too high.

As for me, I'm not the competitive type. I sit out there on my camp chair with the other moms and root them on. I'm not an athlete and I only recently learned how the game is played myself. I once stood at the plate (as an adult) and froze. I have the utmost sympathy for these boys.

Meanwhile, my husband was sweet and encouraging to the team. At home, he fretted about the losses but on the field, he pointed out the positives and gave a "game ball" to one kid at every game. "The kids take their cue from you," I told him. "If you're discouraged, they'll be discouraged. If you're having fun, they'll have fun."

They practiced batting. They practiced fielding. They got better and better but they still lost even when they outhit the other team.

Meanwhile, I was doing my own practicing. I practiced not looking anxious when my kids are up at bat. I practiced concentrating on the one great catch rather than the three strikeouts. I'm good at this because deep down inside I really don't care if they win or lose. After all, this is Little League not the majors and the whole idea is for them to have fun, right?

But it turns out that deep down inside, I do think that the winning thing matters just a little bit. For one thing, I hate to see the kids get discouraged. You can't separate the game from the competition because it's all about the competition.

So I was thrilled when they finally snapped to it last night and started whacking that ball out there. I sat on the edge of my seat along with a cheering section of moms on our camp chairs. We cheered when they caught it on the field. We cheered when the pitcher caught fire. And none of us even dared say the word "win" because we didn't want to jinx it.

When that game ended, we moms in the cheering section jumped up and down and hugged each other. The kids had wide grins and a look of sheer disbelief. It was better than the World Series.

I still think it's all about how you play the game. But maybe it does matter if you win or lose. Just a little bit.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Teenage attitude

I got to observe young teenagers at work today when I taught eighth grade science and now I'm scared. They are so full of hormones and attitude it is terrifying.

I know a lot of it is swagger. The boys swagger around the girls and act out, the girls giggle and whisper around the boys. It's kind of funny. If you turned off the soundtrack (and who wouldn't want to turn off the soundtrack?), it could almost be a show on the nature channel.

I made the mistake of letting the kids use Slinkys today and in one period, they managed to wreck, not one, not two, but three Slinkys. The kids just got to hyper. This is a testment to the aforementioned hormones and the fact that I am a brand new substitute teacher who is used to well-behaved, grade-grubbing college students.

I had several kids who were throwing things, talking loudly, laughing. I'm sure it's all just another day at the middle school but I had to keep it under control. So I went and sat next to the one kid who was really acting out. I also stood among the loud, giggling girls and asked them to stop. "We're not doing anyting. We're talking," one girl practically shreiked and she gave me the eye roll. "Attitude," I said with a smile. "I'm not giving you attitude," she said with a huge amount of attitude. "OK, if you say so," I said. "I call that attitude."

There were plenty more encounters during the day.The kid on the skateboard. The kid who went to put on goggles. The kid throwing pencils and writing on his friend's shirt. It's OK. They're testing me. Apparently, the job of the substitute is to put up with a bunch of craap to prove themselves and then go home. Fun, fun.

When I came home, I walked in on a conversation between my two boys and blurted out something that had nothing to do with what they were talking with. My youngest son, who mind you is only 10, shreiked out "We're talking about something totally different. You don't even know what we're talking with. That's very rude." Then he gave me the eye roll.

OMG! "Attitude," I said. "Don't roll your eyes at me. I wasn't interrupting. I was joining in and I don't like the attitude.

If W. is a teenager when he's just short of 10, what will he be like when he's 13 or 14 and he has all those hormones pushing him to show off in front of the girls and mouth off to the substitute teacher? I hope I don't have nightmares just thinking about it.