(My son’s name here on out on this blog will be “Doodicus”, the second half of his nickname at home of which the first half is Maximus (actually, it should be Dudicus, but that looks like Dud- instead of Dude-.))
After last year’s encounters with Doodicus’s 1st grade teacher, we have become pretty gun-shy. “What were we going to find out THIS time…?” we would ask ourselves before the appointed time of the witch hunt. Especially fun when we hear how he shanked a girl in his class with a safety pin. Ah, the memories.
We had our first PTC this week with his 2nd grade teacher, Mrs. Pied Piper. I sat down on the tiny chair at the tiny desk , my knees snuggled into my boobs, and watched as she brought up Doodicus’s marks on her tiny laptop, and waited.
“He has shown tremendous interest in the Butterfly Project.”
“We have a veteran come in and read to the class, and Doodicus always has the best questions to ask him. You know that when the veteran goes back to the Veteran’s Home and talks about Doodicus, he’s made quite a positive impression.”
“He shares songs that he makes up on the piano with the music class.”
“He’s a wonderful singer, did you know?”
“Of all my boys, he easily has the neatest handwriting.”
She continues on, but I’m looking at the screen of the laptop. Yep, it says Doodicus right there and there’s only one Doodicus in 2nd grade. Maybe her notes got mixed up with the kid scheduled before us? Or after us? I peek at her notes: “Doodicus.”
Just then Doodicus comes in the room after playing with a couple of classmates in the commons area.
“We were just talking about you!” his teacher exclaims excitedly, “…and what a good job you are doing in participation in the class. However,…”
Oh. Heeere we go.
“…when he doesn’t like the hot lunch, he won’t eat since he doesn’t like the PB&Js we offer as an option. He once indicated he brought his own lunch when they were serving something he didn’t like, but I changed it back to a hot lunch. I’ve told him that there has to be something on the tray that he’ll eat.”
There it was. THE Bomb. My son is a picky eater.
Considering that last year we were talking expulsion, this is a bit of an improvement, wouldn’t you say?