There has been little about this experience that I have not been able to at least get a small snicker of enjoyment out of: the boy's consistent inability to hit "the target" in the bathroom, the selective deafness, the gnawed on go-gurts, (nope, I'm not over that yet). But this week I seem to have encountered a kindergarten "issue" that so aggravated me that I have spent a good portion of my sleeping hours pondering it. Mostly because I am hearing voices in my head. What are they saying, you ask? Good question, I shall tell you. Here is what the voices say.
"I'm telling!!"
You see, it appears that a six year-old can experience no greater joy than the assurance that he has spotted an injustice of monumental proportions that I, in my frustrating ineptitude, have failed to notice. A little person filled with the knowledge that he possesses a fat, juicy, drippingly scathing tid-bit of information is the happiest critter on the planet. It's euphoric. They come to you glowing.
The same child that can't stay focused through Good Night Moon is able to observe and recall with journalistic accuracy an incident that happened 45 feet away from him 30 minutes ago.
Amazing.
Obnoxious.
For eleven weeks I've attempted to turn a deaf ear to this superhuman like quality my children seem to have all been born with. But yesterday I think my left eyebrow started to twitch.
"Miss Martin Miss Martin Miss Martin!!!!!"
Surely the school is in the cross hairs of a nuclear bomb, I think. Child X must have a leg so broken that there are shards of bone scattered on the basketball courts. A soda machine has been installed in the lunchroom. The Principal has declared this No Math For the Rest of Your Life day. Something that I will need to call Geraldo Rivera, Barbara Walters, AND Diane Sawyer about. Tonight!
But no, it was none of those things. What was it then?
Stuff like this:
"Miss Martin!! Um, Kid Y, um, he threw away his graham crackers before he was finished with 'em!!"
"Miss Martin!! Kid M did this to me! *crosses his eyes* That's RUDE isn't it?!"
"Miss Marrrrtttiiiin!!!! Kid W put a pink lid on an orange marker! I saw it!!"
"Um, Miss Martin? Guess what?!? Kid Z didn't put the date on her paper!"
"Miss Martin!! She said my hair was sexy, and that's a bad word!!!"
I. Have had. Enough. Of this. Really.
This morning. 8:21 am. The students have exploded into the classroom. A multitude of sins have already been committed in the distance from the parking lot to the classroom door. Child C has a rap sheet forming to rival Linsay Lohan. Everyone is hot and bothered. The bell rang 26 seconds ago. This cannot be.
"All right everybody, sit down!" There seems to be something in my tone that instigates quicker sitting than usual. There isn't a face in the crowd that isn't scowling. One looks concerned. I imagine that the playground scene looked something like this:
That's fine. I have a speech prepared.
"You know what kids, I have to tell you something that I'm concerned about. I know you don't think teachers have Moms, but we do, and every night when I come home from school, my Mom says, "Miss Martin, how was kindergarten?" (Yes, my mother calls me Miss Martin, because though I may be able to convince them I am not the product of miraculous conception, I will never be able to convince them that I have a first name).
"And last night, my Mom said, 'How was kindergarten today?' and I said, "Oh Mom! They are the smartest and the best kindergarten class ever! They are working so hard, their handwriting is beautiful, we're working on addition to 10, it's great!"
The children turn to give each other approving looks. Oh yeah. That's right. We're awesome.
"But."
I'm 99% positive the barometric pressure in the room dropped.
"I said, 'Mom, they have a snitch problem. It's really really bad! They snitch on each other all day long! And I'm afraid that they tell me things about other kids just to try to get them in trouble, not because they really need a teacher's help! Can you believe that? MY class acting like that? And you know what I'm really worried about, Mom? There's only about 40 days left before they're going to be 1st graders, and I KNOW that the 1st grade teachers don't let snitchers into class!"
What followed was an intensely debated list of scenarios specifically outlining the difference between tattling and telling. Do not be concerned that I am raising up a generation of adults who will not bear witness to hit-and-run car accidents.
And so, ladies and gentleman, I give you the dawn of the Snitch Board. Five snitch points on the Snitch Board and we all stay in picking up microscopic scraps of paper off the floor, wiping tables, washing glue bottle lids, and recapping markers. It's a scene something like this video, minus the lashes:
Watching a kindergartner stifle a snitch is the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen. They look like they've just swallowed a cheese stick whole. They have nothing to talk about anymore. There's an eerie silence.
Love it! I can graduate a happy woman.
