Why does it have to be so hard??

Written to the principal of Marissa's new school, after an incident between Bryan and said principal just this morning:

Mr. ****:

This morning my husband attempted to walk our daughter to her classroom, and was told he could not do so.  I have read and re-read the District's policy, as well as the paperwork sent home by [the school], and I must say that I can find no evidence anywhere that parents aren't allowed on campus to walk their children to the classroom doors.  I do see a note here where students not eating breakfast may not arrive any earlier than 8:10am, and that is the extent of it.

Thus far I have been heartily unimpressed with the way the school has been run.  To put it mildly, it has been a zoo.  On the first day of school we approached two different staff members to locate our daughter's classroom, and both of them pointed in a general area and said, "It's somewhere over there."  In both cases, they were wrong.

The school is still under construction, the students haven't been going to this school for a full week, things are disorganized and haphazard, and now all of a sudden parents aren't allowed to walk their children to the classroom doors?  Is this a prison, or a school?  Not to mention that if staff members are unfamiliar with classroom locations, don't you think the students are, as well?

My husband told you that, by law, you could not keep him off campus.  You told him, by law, that yes you could.  Is this really an attitude and tone you feel necessary to adopt when dealing with a concerned parent?  Furthermore, I would be INCREDIBLY interested if you could cite the law (and by law I don't mean Board/District policy) that would prohibit a parent from walking his child to their classroom.  If such a law exists, as you say, then I would certainly like to bring it to the attention of other local parents, as well as the state legislature.

Furthermore, you informed my husband that you would walk our daughter to her classroom on his behalf.  You did not do so.  You stood there arguing with him, instead.  I'm not impressed by your behavior, by the behavior of your staff, and I do not feel that you have our daughter's best interests, or the best interests of the students at [the school] at heart.

We will be contacting the school district and filing a complaint against the school.  We are contemplating pulling our daughter from your disorganized school, or pulling her out of the district altogether.  We had a perfectly fine experience at my daughter's school last year.  Although the school was overcrowded we were still able to walk her safely to her classroom doors, pick her up in an organized fashion, and we were treated with respect.

 

Feel free to respond to this e-mail, however, please be aware that I do not respond well to combative attitudes, and that this is my child we are talking about.  Regardless of whether or not she is at your school between the hours of 8:30am-2:40pm, she is our daughter 100% of the time, and her safety and well-being, as well as her education, are our utmost priorities.

Sincerely,

blah blah blah

I am so tired of dealing with ignorant, unimformed, hypocritical and rude staff and District workers.  I'm so tired of these schools in general.  I was hopeful that this would be a better school, and a better school year, and it's just gotten off to a rotten start.  I'm currently exploring the possibility of putting Marissa in a charter school.

After I mailed that message to Mr. Pissy Principal pants he called and apologized to Bryan.  We have a meeting scheduled with him for tomorrow, but I'm tired of the meetings, I'm tired of the fighting, and I'm really tired of having to be that bitchy parent because the school is run by clowns.

I was going to write a post about the special fun thing Bryan and I did for Marissa yesterday, but I suppose it can just be incorporated into this one.  Marissa doesn't really ask for much, but recently she asked if we could color her hair.  After much careful consideration, and reading of the school district's dress code, and thinking about the crap she had to deal with up north, Bryan and I decided it would be okay to do a streak of semi-permanent hair color in her hair.  The catch?  She got to pick the color.

We love it, and she was super excited about it.  Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Principal.

oh HELLNOYOUDI'INT!

Kay, here's a really simple rule:  don't invade my personal space.  Just don't freakin' do it.  Because no matter how pregnant I am I will still THROW DOWN and beat your ASS if you elbow me or grab my arm and pull me out of your way.  I mean, I TOTALLY understand that you're picking your kid up from school and you want your kid rightthisveryminute, but seriously.  What good are you gonna do that kid lying in a hospital bed because I beat your ass?  Think about that.

And, while you're at it, think about the fact that I'm 5'8", you're maybe 5'3", and when I elbowed you back, I didn't smile and say, "Sorry".  I snarled, pointed to my superhero cape, and said, "STEP OFF, SHORTY."

I'm gonna be reaaaaaal popular at that school this year.  I can FEEL IT.

If I didn't love her I'd kill her.

Phoebe (aka Demon Spawn) hasn't been sleeping well during the night.  She intermittently screams her head off, as in:

We'll stand at the door, listening, to see if she's crying.  She's quiet.  We walk away, and sit down, and otherwise engage ourselves in other pursuits that DO NOT involve standing at the door listening for her every noise.  Then.  She screams and hollers and wails and cries.

So, we jump up and run to the door, but she's silent again. 

If we dare to get her out of bed.... well, that's it.  It's OVER.  She's up and running around, and playing, and asking for juice, and asking for graham crackers, and getting crumbs all over the living room floor, and before we know it it's 1am and Bryan and I are pooped, but Phoebe's still going strong.

My sleep schedule is completely jacked, and it's making me very VERY GRUMPY.

Ma'am?

I just got back from taking the kids to Baskin Robbins.

Two young (like, 16 yo) boys were behind the counter.  They both called me ma'am, like, a billion times.

Why ma'am??  Maybe it's my gaggle of kids.  Or, it could be my fat ankles.  Still, it made me want to beat them up behind the bleachers after band practice.

Sssshhh.

Pheebs woke up this morning, needing to be changed (Bryan’s job).  He got her butt all cleaned up, and then brought her back to bed with us.  She laid there, with her eyes wiiiiiiiide open, and put her face in my face, and made little noises, as if to say, “If you think I’m going back to sleep, you’re delusional, momma.  Let’s play, mmmkay?”

So I got up, and brought her out to the kitchen to get us each something to drink and get her a little snack.  It’s been “Please, up!”, or “please, that!”, or “please, down”, or just “please, please, please!” furiously until I figure out what she wants.  She’s crazy.

So I’m sitting here at the computer, and I can hear what either seems to be a) a pep rally going on or b) a fight between a woman and a dog or c) a fight between a shrill beast and something else.

It’s loud, and noisy, and I *think* there might be pom-poms involved.  Why can’t people have pep rallies and fights at normal hours?  Like midnight, or 1am?  Because then I’m dead asleep and I can’t hear you, and it’s all good, and I won’t be forced to figure out which house is yours and key your car and throw eggs at your windows in passive-aggressive protest.  Do you KNOW how HARD you’re making this on ME??