No, I’m not trying to annihilate a whole species. It’s Open House time. Parent/teacher confrontations as a mom brought me face to face with terror. I had a Back to School Night and Open House countdown going when my kids were school age. But for the grandkids, there’s a different kind of awe, not so much sheer panic (you know, whether your kid will promoteor be reading out of primers forever). The Worm, a kindergartener, had written a one sentence story about a caterpillar (professional courtesy, I guess.) “My caterpillar ate 100 pickles, 14 apples, and 1000 oranges.” That’s pretty close to the diet I was on last week.
A book of loose papers, joined by a cockeyed staple, each page consisting of an illustrated frame and a few lines for telling the story, showed her printing improvement over the months from September to present. I came across one story dated after last Thanksgiving. “Me and my family went to my grandma’s house,” the paper stated. As you can see, everyone had a smile on their chubby round faces, even though the turkey looked green.
We moved on to the Bug’s second grade classroom. The art projects and stories were more developed, though at this age, it appears girls take the prize for neatness. A photograph on the wall next to a script about the Wright Brothers identified the Bug’s history project.
On his desk, I found yet another stapled booklet of primary lined paper . On one assignment, the Bug wrote of his love of paleontology (obviously with a word like that he’s more advanced than his grandma would have been at this age; thank heavens for spell check) and a desire to dig for dinosaur bones. “Did I fail to mention that I love pickaxes?” the paper read. Funny, I did not know that.
School is different. A slideshow of snapshots taken during the year is projected on the wall. Many of the teachers don’t look much older than the students. Even the hopscotch court looks more modern. The Worm and I had just drawn one with chalk on the sidewalk and played the other day. (Funny, I don’t remember sweating as a young girl when I jumped and bent over playing the game.) But some things never change — bad art projects, bound for the shrine on the refrigerator door.
Postlogue: I got in my daughter’s car (remember the move? she had my larger car) and sitting next to me, I swear, looked like a box of dinosaur bones.
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You’re truly blessed to be able to go to school functions for the grandkids. So sweet. And, I’m sure, surreal on many levels. I love that your grandson loves pickaxes … in spite of that being such an odd thing for kids to love — or at least to profess to loving. Funny kids.
You really do have the cutest grandkids. I love the joy and pride you have for them.
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