Where the inside of my mind leaks onto the screen.

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Dear Children

Dear Children of Mine,

Just because I teach at your school doesn't mean I know things.  Well, I mean, I know some things.  Like when your next music performanc is... because I am your music teacher.  I also know what homework several 5th graders are missing and what lesson I am teaching to my Intermediate Course 2 math students next Tuesday.  But - unless you tell me - I don't know your things. 

For the record, your teachers do not walk down the hall to give me a progress report every day.  And when I do see them in the lunchroom, we actually try really hard to talk about anything but you. 

Sure, I am supposed to know things.  All moms are supposed to know things.  That's why your teachers send home notes.  And they are important.  Because if you don't give them to me, I have no idea that you have a performance tomorrow and that you were supposed to have brought a toga.  By last Friday.  Ya know... hypothetically speaking.

Also, it really isn't easier for me to keep things straight because I work here.  Actually, it is harder!  Should I have known after school art was done last week?  Yes, I should have.  But I totally forgot since my after school theater and show choir classes continue into December.  So maybe a simple, "Hey, mom..." might be nice here and there.

Oh, and when I forget something, which I clearly will, that is the time when you should be able to benefit from having a mom just down the hall.  Come talk to me before arranging your own ride home from school (since you didn't need to stay for art...).  Or at least leave a note.  "Hey, mom.  I don't have art today.  I rode home with Aunt Michelle." 

Really, in general, just remember: I don't know things.  Not unless you tell me.  Sometimes not unless you remind me.  I want to help you with your toga.  Dad wants to be able to arrange his work day to make it to your performance.  And I would like to know where you are.  Always.

Please tell me things.