Parenting Without A License

I’m Too Angry To Come Up With A Snappy Title Right Now

Posted by Kimberly on October 30th, 2007 — Posted in Diva Girl, No Pudding Until You Finish Your Meat

There are few things that will make a mother’s heart start pounding as quickly as the realization that her child is not where she is supposed to be. Especially when where that child is supposed to be is in an environment where there should be no room for doubt, like oh, say, a school bus. Add to that scenario the fact that said child is currently the centre of some rather delicate court proceedings, and her mother only has de facto custody, and you’re taking the terror alert level up to puce.

As a compromise between Diva Girl’s desire to walk home on her own and my lack of comfort with that scenario, I’ve been holding off on meeting her bus lately. I still go to pick her up from her stop but I time it so that rather than standing there waiting for her when the bus pulls up, I run into her on the path. It gives her a greater sense of independence and I don’t have to wonder if she crossed the parking lot safely. It’s win-win, really.

Except that today, I didn’t run into her along the path. And she wasn’t taking advantage of the beautiful Fall weather, dwadling along or playing tag with her friends. She quite simply wasn’t there. The other kids were there, slowly trickling home, just not my daughter.

Standing there, straining to see her, hoping that she was playing a prank, hiding behind a fence the better to pop out and scare me, my heart started pounding and my palms started sweating. I knew, you see, that she wasn’t playing hide and seek, that she wasn’t there. Which begged the unthinkable question: Where. Was. My. Baby? One of her bus friends must have seen the look of panic and despair on my face because she came over and told me that Sabrina hadn’t been on the bus at all.

With that information my personal terror alert level was downgraded from rising hysteria to mild annoyance. It was certainly irritating that Sabrina had missed the bus, leaving me to scramble to make alternative arrangements for her, but it wasn’t a terrifying situation by any stretch of the imagination. I headed home, fully expecting to find a message on the machine detailing the comedy of errors that lead to this situation and already planning to call in the cavalry (my dad) to help fix it.

There was no message. Nor was there a missed call on my cell phone. Twenty minutes after dismissal, at least fifteen since someone should have realized that my daughter was not where she was supposed to be, and no one had called to tell me where she actually was. The easy confidence I’d felt walking home from the bus stop was rapidly being replaced by icy terror as I frantically began trying to contact the school.

It’s hard to dial in a blind panic, particularly when you are dialing an unfamiliar number you’ve thankfully never had occasion to use before. Finally, after five long minutes that included being hung up on by the information operator unable to find the number and a quick tour through the board website, I reached the school and, in what I felt was an admirably calm voice, inquired as to the whereabouts of my daughter.

They put me on hold.

Let me repeat that: Instead of immediately telling me where my child was and what had happened to cause her not to be where she was supposed to be, they put me on hold. To give themselves time to find out. Indicating that they didn’t know what had happened or where she was, either. Then, after two minutes that felt a lot closer to eternity, they came back on the line with a cheery, “Oh, she missed the bus. Can you come get her?”

Every parent knows that there is a thin line between fear and fury and that once the crisis has passed all that adrenaline pumping through the system has to be channeled somewhere. Mine latched on to the fact that for the past twenty minutes or so my child had, for all intents and purposes, been missing and the adults who should have informed me otherwise didn’t bother to do so. I wanted to know why. (And frankly, I wanted an apology).

“Sabrina doesn’t know her phone number.” Her classroom teacher informed me when she finally came to the phone.

blink. blink blink.

I didn’t even bother pointing out that multiple contacts for Diva Girl should be available with only a couple of clicks of the mouse. We’re new to the school and sometimes things happen with computers and information doesn’t show up where it’s supposed to. In fact, that very situation occurred at our old school back when she was in Kindergarten, resulting in her cooling her heels (or, you know, sobbing hysterically) in the office for half an hour one day because no one bothered to ask her if she knew her phone number. Which she did. And does.

“Did you ask her?” Clearly, they couldn’t have. I couldn’t think of any other way that they’d be under the impression that she didn’t. My tone must have indicated my gobsmacked disbelief because the teacher got a bit huffy at this point, informing me that of course she had asked her, but Diva Girl had just spouted off a random list of numbers that didn’t even start with a proper area code. In a tone that implied that Sabrina must not be nearly as bright as they’d thought and that I must clearly be a defective parent for not ensuring my 8 year old had her phone number memorized.

Now, this is where you need to know that a year ago (!) our city got a second area code–there was a whole ad campaign and everything about it at the time–and that my cell phone number, which Sabrina can rattle off from memory, is one of the ones assigned the new code. Based on what the teacher was telling me, it was clear that Diva Girl, assuming I’d be at the bus stop and not at home, had tried to reach me on my cell and had been prevented from doing so by the teacher.

To confirm my suspicions I rattled off the number, asking if this was the number Sabrina had provided. The teacher then made a vindicated sound and reiterated, “When I saw that she wasn’t even dialing a real number I told her to hang up and that she’d have to wait to phone home until I had the time to look up her number.”

I’m actually not sure which part of that pisses me off more, that the teacher arbitrarily (and incorrectly) decided that she knew everything and dismissed Sabrina’s knowledge out of hand, or that she apparently decided to punish her by not bothering to inform me of my child’s safety and whereabouts in a timely manner. I just know that I’m livid about the whole thing. And the fact that she didn’t offer up so much as an apology when informed that Sabrina had had the right of it all along, instead choosing to defend her actions based on her ignorance of the area code change and her belief that the child could not possibly have been correct isn’t really helping me to get over it.

Neither is the reason why Diva Girl missed the bus in the first place. Or should I say, reasons.

You see, in talking with the teacher, I was informed that a drama over a lost webkinz caused Diva Girl and four other little girls to miss their bus. Based on this description of events I was left with the distinct impression that the entire incident was all Sabrina’s fault. Needless to say, I was deeply embarrassed and apologetic that my daughter had been the cause of such a massive inconvenience and was even starting to wonder if perhaps I was being unreasonable about the delayed notification. But then Sabrina came home with a tale that varied from her teacher’s in some key information. Like the fact that the entire class had been “contained” after dismissal because the boys were swordfighting when they were supposed to be getting ready to go. And when they finally were allowed to leave, they were dismissed one by one with no consideration as to who was a bus person and who was a walker.

So, I suspect the truth of the matter lies somewhere between the two stories: That the misplaced webkinz did indeed cause Sabrina to miss the bus, but that it wouldn’t have been an issue if not for the fact that she hadn’t actually been dismissed on time. And you know what? Stuff happens. That’s not what I have a problem with here. What I have a problem with is that while my 8 year old daughter has acknowledged her responsibility in this fiasco (and agrees that webkinz are best left at home form now on), the teacher has, through a sin of omission, completely avoided hers.

In all honestly, as frustrated and angry as I am, I’m not quite sure what to do in this situation. My initial reaction is to write a note to the teacher indicating I feel we need to discuss the situation further, and possibly even involve the principal. If she were still at her old school, that is exactly what I would do. But she’s in my school board now, and that adds another level of complication to the dynamics.

Not only do I have to worry about Diva Girl being singled out if I get on the wrong side of her teacher, as a supply teacher I’m trapped between the conflicting roles of mother and colleague. My desire to advocate for my daughter at odds with my need to pay the rent and I have to weigh the possible ramifications to my job prospects if I choose to make waves over this. This is why she was in the other school board to begin with, and while I don’t miss the Heathers or the crazy babysitters chasing me through the playground or any number of other things, I do miss feeling that I have the freedom to be Sabrina’s mother in every situation.