Bridges, Updating Thereof

He isn't serving detention

I'd emailed the principal before 6 that night, and heard nothing back all the next day until my son came home from school and told me he'd been pulled into an office where they asked for a letter from me, and when he didn't produce one, they told him that he'd be in detention on Thursday. 

So. They're talking to me through my kid. So.

At that point, I broke down and called the principal, who was in a meeting, as was every single 6th grade authority figure...but gosh, they'd be happy to leave a note that I called

The next day, I sent them the letter they'd asked my son for, oh yes I did. (I may have gone a little overboard with it.) (Bygones.) (It's after the jump.) Four hours into the school day, my phone rang. It was the principal, who cleared up a few things for me, most importantly that if he really had been legitimately late, he wouldn't have to serve detention. And he was legitimately late, so he doesn't have to serve it. 

And now I need a nap. 



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Bridges, Burning Thereof

My son came home yesterday with a detention slip (D-Hall, they call it). He's served detention once before, for being late to class because mom, the PE teacher locked us out of the gym after lap time and didn't let us in until after the bell rang! which I used my Little Orphan Annie ring to decode into my friends and I walk the last lap of our mile run because we have to talk about girls and MW3 sometimes, jeez, and because we do this we didn't even get to the doors of the gym until after the bell rang and that jerk of a teacher had the gall to punish us for it

I made him serve that D-Hall, oh yes I did, and apologize to the PE teacher for disrespecting his class. 

I mention this only to establish that I don't have problems with authority figures, nor do I take any issue with a Jr High teacher doing whatever the hell it takes to maintain a semblance of order. You give those kids an inch and they will eat you alive. I get that. 

So my son shows me his D-Hall slip and tells me it's for another tardy to class, and I am like OH MY GOD WHY AGAIN? and he explains to me that yesterday was the day he was testing up in orchestra (harder music, better chairs, etc) and so after 2nd period he *ran* his little butt all the way to orchestra because oh em gee mom, I was soooo excited! 

You know when you're driving home from work and you get distracted in your head, and then you realize you missed your exit? Yeah, my son has orchestra 4th period, not 3rd. 

So he hauled his little butt all the way from downstairs where orchestra is to upstairs where science is and kept getting stopped by hall monitors asking why he was running, so he made it to class two minutes after the bell rang. Because, you know, he was so excited TO TAKE A TEST.

And for that, he got one hour and 50 minutes of detention. 

Now, I get it that the school has a tardy=detention policy, which, for the record, is absolutely ridiculous and total overkill and lazy educating, if you ask me. However, my concern with it is more that it is a no-exception rule. EVERY class tardy results in D-Hall, no matter why, no exceptions. Or so I was told by the jerk I had to talk to about this yesterday.

After I went into the school, asked to talk to someone, waited for 20 minutes, got told no one could talk to me, got blank-stared at until they realized I wasn't budging, was offered a phone call in an hour, went home, waited four hours for that phone call, was told that they didn't have time to talk about it but would send my son home and call me later, then called me after dinner, some man I've never met told me that I couldn't do anything about how *he* chose to discipline *my* son. 

He was all, "Look, Mr Lady, I get your point that it was an honest mistake, but his actions have consequences and he has to accept them" and I was like, "So you think it's fine to punish him for wanting to take a test?" and he was like, "Yes" and I was like "And you think a two hour detention for a two minute tardy isn't over the top?" and he was all "It doesn't matter if they're five seconds late or five minutes late; a tardy is a tardy and gets DHall" and I said, "So what do we do when I refuse to make him serve this?" and he said, "Um...You can't."

So I said I would think about it and send a note in tomorrow. 

But then I thought about it and decided that if I'm going to talk to someone about this, it isn't going to be Captain Brick Wall who forgets that *I* am the child's mother, and once that school bell rings, he has no legal authority over my kid. So I busted out the code of conduct, to find out the appeals process for disciplinary action. And guess what? THERE ISN'T ONE.

You can appeal your death row conviction in Texas, but you can't appeal D-Hall. 

But I'm going to anyway. Part of me feels ridiculous, like I should just let him serve the detention and get it over with. All he'll do is sit there for two hours doing homework, and I'll be slightly inconvenienced by needing to go pick him up in rush hour traffic, but this could all be done with today. And if they guy I'd talked to had shown once ounce of willingness to listen to what I was saying, I probably would have gone that route. But if this guy is willing to talk to a parent the way he talked to me, I can't even imagine how he talks to 11 year old children. 

So I went over his head.

I emailed the principal last night. The email is cut and pasted after the jump, in case you want to mock my skillz of a tiger mom. 

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Would you be mine, could you be mine, won't you be my village?

::ties shoelaces::

Dear Internet, 

Meet 2of3. 2of3 is, by every definition of the word, my middle child. He is silly and outlandish and hysterical and he feels *everything* and he needs validation on a constant basis and absolutely must be accepted into social circles and is in no way, shape of form afraid of color.

While every other jr high school boy is wearing enough black that they, themselves, become matter-sucking holes in the universe, with emovers, my 2of3 is wearing purple t-shirts or pink polos with these.

He is the kind of person who isn't able to bring himself to actually *do* silly things, but he sure as shit will wear them. I have no idea where he gets this from, but I love it about him. In a world of carbon-copied mediocrity, my son has a style that is all his own, and he rocks the shit out of it. 


Jr High School has done what Jr High School does to all of us eventually. My son spent the better part of the day listening to people point and laugh at his *girl* shoes. GIRL SHOES, INTERNETS. 

And just like that, he doesn't want to wear his shoes to school anymore. Just like that, his power animal inhaled a Marlboro red and was all, "Slide, bitch." 

If Jr High School sucks the originality out of the one child in this school zone who has any, I just won't be able to go on. I need him to be able to confidently walk into school tomorrow being the person he is, the Greyscaled Axe mafia be damned. 

Of course, I just want to go punch them all in their throats, so I need you, internet, to help me fight pre-pubescence with fire. He needs a comeback line, one great line to say that will give him his mojo back. Preferably one that won't also get him suspended. 

::buttons up cardigan::

I Can See Where Helmets and Kneepads Might Come In Handy

Every night over dinner, we all take turns saying what the favorite parts of our day were, telling about something we learned, and reading our Chinese fortunes. On the nights when baby daddy is home for dinner, we end up going off on all these tangents about the stuff they're learning because their father is a walking encyclopedia. Can't fix a garbage disposal to save his butt, but can give you a blow-by-blow recap of the war. All of the war

So we're at dinner tonight and we're talking about Shay's Rebellion which, of course, led to the creation of the Constitution which everyone knows led to the branches of government which naturally leads us to my dinner table.

My husband asks the kids, "So, who knows the name of the highest court in America?"

My 13 year old answered with no hesitation at all, "The Extreme Court."


"A, E, I, O, U and sometimes Y!" she sang to me, pointing to the little sticky foam letters which will peel most, if not all, of the stain off the table when we finally get around to removing them. "Did you know Y can be a bowel, mom?"

Um, yes I do, actually?

"Oh, I mean vvvvvowel. It starts withhh a VEEE. Vowel."

Oh just knock it off with the growing, kid. 

One day they realize that if you're happy, and you know it, you aren't actually supposed to clap your feet, or that it isn't Chris-chris time, and the next day they're at school getting girlfriends or worrying that their period is going to start soon and you just sit there looking at them like, "How is it possible that you are able to eat food on your own again?" 

And then you take your daughter out to play after she's given you a grammar lesson and you both see it at the same time. A monarch fluflubee, flying just above and in front of her, and you stop to watch because there will never be anything more fantastic than a fluflubee. At that moment the wind picks up and the fluflubee is tossed around through the air, hurdled to earth and broken against the black concrete. 

Your daughter runs over, bends down, and picks up the creature. She's afraid at first, and so is it, but she is gentle and it is in need and you don't even notice when she she perfectly enunciates the desperation behind momma, the butterfly's wing is broken and the prayer inside of can we fix it, momma? because no matter what she says or how she says it, she is always going to be your baby and you are always going to be spellbound by her wide eyes and huge heart.