Never Underestimate Ceilidh

At the beginning of the school year, Ceilidh was excited to have a certain teacher. It seemed, in a few short days, the two of them had bonded over their mutual love of reading. Fast forward a few weeks, and Ceilidh came home, glum and upset over the news she was being moved to another class over re-organization of the classes. While she was heartened by the fact she would remain with two of her best buds, the new teacher was an unknown and she wasn't sure what to expect.
As a parent, I gave her the talk about doing the best in whatever situation we find ourselves in, and that life isn't always easy. The old, make lemonade when you're handed lemons lecture.
The first day with the new teacher didn't go well. Ceilidh mentioned being reprimanded over how she handled a task. Having listened to Ceilidh's recitation of the facts, I felt maybe the teacher had overreacted but suggested to Ceilidh that she should have apologized. Over the next few days, I noticed Ceilidh's  school agenda remained blank, and her details about the day's events were slim. Her enthusiasm for class began to wane. The only time she showed any interest was when the decision was announced to establish a student council. With a bit of urging and encouragement, Ceilidh decided to throw her hat into the race for the student council prime minister.
Even though she was running against one of her best friends, she showed no animosity. In fact, she and her opponent got together one afternoon to brainstorm ideas for campaign posters. They vowed to remain BFFs no matter what. Ultimately, Ceilidh was unsuccessful in her run as prime minister and was chosen as a call rep instead. Her best friend was elected as prime minister and the honest heartfelt excitement Ceilidh displayed for her best bud was humbling to me as a parent. World leaders could learn a thing or two from the maturity my 11 year old daughter!
Once the excitement of the elections wore off, Ceilidh returned to her ho-hum attitude about school. This was most unusual from my model student child. We soon learned the why.
Last week, a most distressing message was left on our voice mail. Her teacher insisted on an urgent meeting to discuss Ceilidh. That was all. No further details. Upon being questioned after school, Ceilidh relayed a tale where she was singled out and yelled at by the teacher for not completing a voluntary assignment, and for berated for making up an excuse about not being able to retrieve the document from cyberspace. Furthermore, she was told there was a "reason" for Ceilidh's transfer into this teacher's class and it was now clear as to what that was. However, she didn't enlighten Ceilidh on that reason, but announced to the entire class that she had called Ceilidh's parents and was expecting a phone call in return. And, she also sent a message to Ceilidh at recess through her little sister Aisling. The message being "Your teacher is unhappy with you."
Now, I'm not the parent to simply believe every word my child states. Frankly speaking, I know children exaggerate and my kids are especially good at overstating a situation. However, I received a call from another parent that evening, repeating what Ceilidh had earlier stated. This parent further advised me this berating of students was not an unusual occurrence, and the fact that Ceilidh, a model student, was now being targeted, was concerning.
Armed with that tidbit, I didn't hesitate in calling the principal the next day. Whatever this teacher had advised the principal, I pointed out Ceilidh's mature reaction to the student council election results to refute the incorrect assumptions this teacher had made. Given the conflicting stories, it was decided a meeting with all the parties needed to be held. I insisted on a meeting in short order given Ceilidh's reluctance to now attend school and the tears that ensued in the mornings.
Ceilidh was upset to learn she was to be included in this meeting. Given her reaction, I was suspicious that perhaps Ceilidh hadn't been quite truthful with us, and maybe this teacher was in the right. Nonetheless, I instructed Ceilidh to write down what she wanted to say to her teacher, including her list of complaints and how being the subject of the teacher's wrath made her feel.
I'm sure this teacher felt this meeting was going to be her opportunity to showcase all of Ceilidh's faults, and to extol the advantages of her teaching methods. This teacher's platform was critical thinking, and apparently, her method was forced group work in order for all the minds to expand. But without saying so, it was also clear she marked each student on a floating scale. Without a standard for which all students were held to, each student had their own "gold standard" they were to achieve. That standard depended on each student's particular abilities. So while Ceilidh would put in the same amount of work as another, she would receive a lower mark because she was capable of more in this teacher's eyes. While the desire to do better for the mere satisfaction of challenging oneself is great, it's a bit much to expect 11 year olds to attain this lofty goal.
After listening to this teacher critique Ceilidh, we deftly turned the floor over to Ceilidh. She was clearly nervous. But she held her own. First, she asked if she could respond to the teacher's accusations of 5 incidents of "misbehaviour". Ceilidh then provided her own recounting of the events with much greater detail and clarity, which prompted this teacher to interject with an explanation or excuse. She didn't have much to say when she was corrected on the names of those involved. Ceilidh continued on. She listed the teacher's shortcomings, including not listening to the students and not allowing them to explain without being cut off. She described how scared she felt when she was yelled at in front of the entire class. And when this teacher had the audacity to suggest Ceilidh was misinterpreting certain comments, Ceilidh challenged her and asked her point blank, "Do you think I'm lying?"
Ceilidh asked her what was the reason for being placed in her class? Watching this teacher struggle to answer was something I wish I could recorded. It was clear that comment was made without thinking, for she had nothing.
Bravo Ceilidh!
The teacher sputtered and deflected, denied and made all sorts of excuses. Her inability to have an insight into her own behaviours displayed her gross lack of maturity - both as an educator and as an adult. Her inability to be flexible in her teaching methods and being unprepared for a meeting with the parents also showed her own high opinion of herself. She addressed me incorrectly, and when I pointed out my name was clearly stated on the student records, she was silenced, momentarily. If this teacher had taken the time to review Ceilidh's school records and past report cards, it would have been clear that Ceilidh's strengths were leadership and independence, not forced collaboration.
Ultimately, we were successful in having Ceilidh moved to another teacher. After all, our goal was to ensure our child had a supportive environment in which to learn. To restore her enthusiasm for education and going to school. While all the right things were stated about the importance of trust and respect between a teacher and a student in moving Ceilidh I hope it was made clear to this principal that this staff member is not cut out to educate young impressionable beings.
Mostly, I am proud to have a daughter who was not afraid to speak up for her classmates who are also berated by this "role model". A child who looked her teacher in the eye and stated the incident where she was singled out was the last straw. She didn't back down when the teacher accused Ceilidh of lying, but instead calmly explained her side of the story in a composed manner.
Bravo Ceilidh!
P.S. Apparently, this teacher spent the rest of the day glaring at Ceilidh. Doesn't that speak volumes?

Minding our Manners

Trick or treating this year with Quinn, I felt like I was constantly reminding him to say "Thank you" after the brightly wrapped candy bar was dropped into his loot bag. I get it - it's exciting, and he's more interested in the treats than being polite.
It's always shocking to me and Daddy when the teachers are describing our progeny as polite, well behaved, cooperative and helpful in the classroom. I often wonder if they've mixed up our kids with someone else's. Their aunt and uncle who regularly host them for sleep overs also report nothing but the best behaviours from them. Which again, I find shocking because there isn't a single night without an issue at bedtime.
One afternoon, I dropped off Aisling for her first sleep-over party. As she was taking her jacket off, I issued a litany of reminders and ended with "Mind your manners! Please and thank yous!"
She  responded with, "We're always polite at other people's homes. It's just at home, we're not."
All the parenting books I've read suggest that we must be doing an okay job in raising our kids if they are well behaved in public and for others. The children know what is expected of them, but at home, they feel comfortable in the unconditional love of their parents, so they feel "safe" in acting out, and testing the limits of bad behaviour. Or testing the limits of their parents' patience with their shenanigans.
And yet, sometimes they do remember to use their manners.
The other night, Daddy went to give Quinn his usual good night kiss - a slobbery "doggie" kiss.
Quinn buried his head under the pillows and said "No thank you Daddy. I don't want a kiss!"

Young Love - So Short Lived...

It snowed for the first time a few nights ago. The snow didn't last for more than a few hours, but it was enough to get all the kids excited about the upcoming winter season. Plans for skiing and sledding flew around, and there was a panicked search for matching mitts and hats.
Quinn, seeing the falling flakes was full of instructions for me.
"Mommy, look! Snow! It's time to get ready for Christmas!" he announced, though it sounded like "Kissmuss twee" coming from him.
"Yes, it's snowing...what do we need to do?" I asked.
"You have to put up the Christmas tree, and put on ornaments, and lights, and go shopping, and make cookies," he directed.
"And after Christmas, do you know what comes next?" I asked in a whisper.
"What???"
"It's Quinn's birthday!" I announced to my New Year's Eve baby.
"Yay! I'm going to have a party! I'm going to invite all my friends - Tristan, Max, Tristan's brother, Dylan, Lia, and my girlfriend," he said excitedly.
I did a double take.
"Um, pardon me? Your girlfriend?"
Very matter of factly, he stated, "Yeah, my girlfriend, Elissa."

The next day, wanting to know if there was a difference between his friendship with Lia and his relationship with Elissa, I asked him about his "girlfriend".
"Quinn, how come Lia is just a friend and Elissa is a girlfriend?"
"She's not my girlfriend!" he said forcefully.
"But yesterday, you said Elissa was your girlfriend," I reminded.
"She told me to shut up today. So she's not my girlfriend anymore."

Pre-tween Ceilidh

It seems like only yesterday that I had a little girl with unruly hair, chubby cheeks and twinkling eyes who would dance for a potato chip. Now, I've got a pre-tween daughter who is almost as tall as me, who is spending hours curling her hair and putting together outfits, and constantly on You Tube. Her friends are calling on the phone, and she's asking me to buy her shoes with heels! A cookie or juice from Starbucks is no good enough. Now, she's ordering a cotton candy frappuccino with whipped cream. It's not even on the menu board."It's on the secret menu, Mom. Everyone knows that!" she states while rolling her eyes. Clearly, I am not cool enough to know that.
I am not ready to be a mother to a teenager. My oldest child who is only a year from that has not given me any cause for concern, yet.
But all of a sudden, I find myself shopping for training bras, at the request of pre-tween, and I am in shock. What happened to my little girl who liked frilly dresses and Barbie dolls? Where is the toddler who would dance, in a diaper, to ACDC's You Shook Me All Night Long with the innocence that only a child can? Who took away the child whose eyes grew to the size of saucers when a tub of Cool Whip and a spoon were placed in front of her? (It was easier than constantly scooping a dollop, that kept disappearing, onto her tiny slice of pie.)
Ceilidh was my easy child. The one who actually slept 6 hours a night when she was 8 weeks old. She was difficult to potty train but night time training was not an issue. She did not want to poop in the toilet, and I remember watching her like a hawk all day. Of course, the minute my attention was diverted by a wailing infant or I had to answer the phone, she'd scurry to a corner and poop in her pull-up. When she was tired, she'd crawl up the stairs to bed or curl up on the couch and simply fall asleep. There were no big productions of fighting bed time.
Unlike Devlin, I rarely had to cajole her to practise the piano. She doesn't need much prompting to do her homework, and she devours books at such a rate that I am Amazon's most loyal customer. Where she gained the flair for creativity, I don't quite know. Ceilidh can spend hours patiently and meticulously creating a school project.
She's the more mature child, and generally speaking, the more responsible one. If I have to leave the house for short period of time, I ask her, not her older brother, to keep an eye on Quinn. She's still the tallest too.
She dislikes competitive sports and anything that seems to require physical exertion, other than dance. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Ceilidh was the always the lazy one, who figured out a unqiue method of motoring about that was a semi crawl, semi scooch around on her bum. We called it the crab crawl. She disliked mini golf because it made her sweaty. Soccer games were about picking flowers and twirling around the goal post. There wasn't much interest in chasing after the ball, which frustrated her daddy to no end. Especially given her long legs and the ability to run fast, if she truly tried. While the other three play hockey, Ceilidh is not interested. It's boring. And cold. Her progress in Tae Kwon Do has come to a halt because she refuses to spar.
I've enrolled her in Korean language lessons as she's got an aptitude for learning. It's also part of her cultural heritage. I'm hoping her initial frustrations at not understanding the teacher will ease and she'll learn to ignore the annoying boys in her class.
Over the past year, we've noticed some changes in her attitude that we haven't liked. Sometimes we wonder if it's the influence of her friends. Her dismissive and impatient attitude with her younger sister irks me.  As an oldest sibling, I so understand that younger sisters can be annoying. But Aisling idolizes her older sister and brother. She wants to be a great skater like Devlin on the ice and she wants to dance like Ceilidh. Now she wants to take singing lessons too, just like her older sister.
Sometimes I wonder if because she was the easy child, and didn't need as much discipline, that Ceilidh thinks she can get away with pretty much anything. I can tell you that is certainly not the case.
A few weeks ago, Devlin was too ill for school. Ceilidh decided that she wasn't going to school either. Not because she had nothing to wear. Not because she was ill. Not because she wasn't getting along with her BFF. Ceilidh was refusing to get dressed for school because she didn't like the snack Daddy put in her lunch! To top it all off, Quinn decided he wasn't going to school either, if his big sister wasn't going. Of course, she went to school, but her stunt caused her to be late, and she lost her allowance.
If her silent glares, stomping feet and slumped shoulders are a sign of the times to come, then I've decided that I am moving out. She's only 10 now, but I've heard this is nothing compared to the true hormonal rages that are soon to occur.
I still see my little baby girl every once in a while. Ceilidh is the one child child who craves bear hugs and needs to be cuddled. Her eyes still light up when a bag of chips is opened. She still bites her nails. When she's feeling ill, she sobs. And when she's happy and excited, she still hops around while clapping her hands.
I'm not prepared for teenaged angst. But I suspect my little baby girl is more than ready to embrace it.

Middle school child

As I walked away from a crying Quinn this morning at school, I reflected on the quite opposite reaction I received from my first born an hour earlier. 

Devlin is now in middle school (when and how did that happen? Wasn't it just yesterday that he was learning to ride a bike and crying his heart out at the kindergarten gate??). Middle school which means new teachers, new classmates and a new school much further away. All week, he's woken up at 6:30 and hit the showers. He's left the house before 7:25am to walk to school. I've been impressed. Today, on my last day of vacation, I offered to walk with him halfway before finishing my morning jog. Even before we were halfway, my firstborn told me he was fine, and I could run home. I offered to walk a bit further. He declined. I insisted on going another block, only so that I could catch the trail home. He reluctantly agreed. I swear he slouched a bit more and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

The sidewalks were deserted.

"What's wrong? Are you ashamed of me? Do I embarrass you? Am I cramping your style? I mercilessly queried.

"Stop mom...it's just that, you're a small person, and it looks like I'm walking with a girl..." came the muttered reply.

This, from my first born who is still smaller in stature to his younger sister.

And no, there were no fond hugs and kisses for his mom when we finally parted ways. I think I laughed the entire way home.

At least my daughters are still happy to be seen with me in public.

Another school year begins...

Yesterday I felt a lump in my throat and tears gathering as I walked away from dropping off Quinn at the kindergarten gate. Was it only a year ago that I had to peel his arms off my legs and hand over the sobbing tot to the kindergarten teachers? Was it only a year ago that I had to walk away from his heart wrenching pleas to not leave him behind?
Now, he was walking confidently to his spot in line and waving me a cheery good bye.
Another milestone reached. Over the summer, he's learned to swim a little, managed to start wiping his own bum after being bribed with a new lego set, and no longer wets the bed at night.
He's been looking forward to hockey season all summer. Soccer, we learned from many tortourous sessions, is NOT his thing.
He carries around a notebook and laboriously prints his name whenever he can, and his drawings of his family are beginning to look more like people, and less like alien stick creatures.
And so, I felt a tad emotional realizing that my baby was growing up. I saw other families with new additions in strollers and felt the tiniest bit sad, knowing that part of my life has truly ended.

And then, this morning, I felt exasperated as I walked Quinn to school. He clung to my leg, crying about his legs being tired and begging to be carried. Then he switched to wanting to stay at home.
At the kindergarten gate, much to the amusement of the other parents, I dragged a sobbing tot to the line. And peeled his arms off of me, several times as he buried his face against my back. As he cried,  I handed him off unceremoniously to his teachers and walked away, my heartbreaking a little.

And so, it goes...

The Red Square

When Quinn started junior kindergarten this past September at the tender age of 3 and half years, I admit I was nervous. I was worried that the day would be too long, his classmates and teachers wouldn't understand (his missing front teeth and all), he wouldn't understand the concepts being taught, and out of frustration, he would act out, hit, scream and behave badly.
When the first week, and then the first month went by without a call from the teachers, we breathed a small sigh of relief. The teachers seemed to understand he was very very young, and whenever his kindergarten teacher saw me, she had nothing negative to report. Still, I wondered about his behaviour in the classroom, because, well, because I know my kid.
Academically, Quinn seems to be growing in leaps and bounds. He can write his own name, and is starting to figure out slowly which letters make what sound. He counts well, especially if he's expecting a certain number of treats. He knows his left and right much better than his older siblings. He's always excited to read books and will have memorized the story within a short period of time.
Still, we wondered about his behaviour because he can be an absolute brat at home, and will hit or kick or scream when he doesn't get his way.
But the report cards made no mention of any unacceptable behaviour in the classroom.
On the weekend, Quinn was acting out. He received a number of warnings, and was about to placed on the time out stool.
Daddy asked, "Do you do this at school? How many times do you get send to the time out corner?"
Quinn replied, "We don't have a time out. We have to sit on the red square!"
Daddy and I looked at each other. Red Square? This was the first time we had ever heard of this!
"Really? Red square? How many times do you have sit on that?" we asked.
"A lot!" he answered unabashedly.
"What?! Who else sits on the red square?"
He named off almost of his friends.
We were aghast! Here we were thinking our youngest was an angel in class! Well, no, not really. We had acknowledged to ourselves he was probably a sh-- in class, but the teachers were handling it and we hadn't received any calls at home, yet. Unlike Devlin, whom we received calls from the vice principal during his first week of junior kindergarten, and didn't find out until recently that he had thrown his shoe at the teacher! But, we hadn't asked Quinn's teachers, because, why rock the boat? No news is good news, right?
Daddy went to the school today and inquired about Quinn and the red square.Turns out, he hardly ever earns a turn on the red square. His cronies, however, are regulars.