We speak a different language

For the most part, I have found the teachers that my children have been blessed with to be totally relatable.  That is changing a bit now for Allyson as she has multiple teachers who consume her day- but even still, they are people I feel I can talk openly with (for the most part- side eye to that rachety swim instructor. ahem.)

But Sam's sweet kindergarten teacher this year?  We don't relate.  I have a very dry sense of humor.  If you are here reading my blog, then you probably 'get' it, hence the reason you keep coming back to this boring little corner of the interwebs.  But I learned very early on with her that I needed to keep to the point.  No joking, no playing around, no sillyness.

If you haven't read yesterdays post about Sam's turkey costume, go do that real quick.  Cause this next part has to do with that.  No worries, I'll wait.

Alright, now we are ready.  I sent Sam's teacher an email and explained that we'd received the project and told her how very excited Sam was about it.  I also explained to her what his 'disguise' was for his turkey because I didn't want her to look at it and get angry with him assuming he just colored the page blue and didn't put an ounce of thought or energy into it.  I told her how excited he was to show me his handiwork and that he was CERTAIN not a single soul would know where his turkey was.

She responded to my email by letting me know that she understood and if I sent it back in with him, she would be happy to give him some blue construction paper to construct a real disguise for his bird. AND THEN she sent an email to the entire class explaining that if anyone was unable, either with time or resources, to do this project with their children that they could return it and she would help them.

And then I cried.  Shoulders heaving, crocodile tears streaming my cheeks, open mouth sobbing crying. I am by no means the mother of the year, nor have I ever felt my children received any kind of special gift when God asked them to come be my children.  For the most part, I see 1000 better mothers that they could have been given.  But I really am trying my darndest, and I love them with every ounce of my being.  And this woman, even though I explained the situation, assumes that Sam has no one at home willing to give him turkey disquise project creating time. 

After sobbing it out for a few, I sent her an email back and I told her that if she so much as touched that turkey I would break her fingers. she misunderstood and that Sam was VERY proud of his turkey and I would prefer she not suggest he create a proper costume for it, and that I just wanted her to know what it was supposed to be.  And then I wished her a good day.

And then I cried some more.  Because lately the world is squishing my heart in what feels like a hundred directions and I'm tired and worn out.  But the LAST thing I am is a disconnected non-turkey-disquising mother.

Better go get ready for my day- it gets to start at the dentist (yes- I broke another freakin tooth) (no- I don't chew on rocks).