I hate it when I have to discipline one of my younger kids in front of other people. Especially when the other people happen to be one of my children's teachers.
Having an audience forces me to use my fake mother voice. Which only confuses my kids, of course. They don't really know the mom who says things like, "But Sweetie, we must hurry up so we can get on with the rest of our lovely day!"
I picked my son up from kindergarten last week after he had spent a wonderful morning playing with oversized blocks, board games, and some puppets that include a puppet theatre for him to crouch behind. As I watched him dilly dallying, wishing he'd hurry up and finish helping pack up all the board games, it occurred to me. I could never be a teacher.
For one thing, I simply couldn't work full-time with young kids unless I was allowed to have at least two good shrieks a day.
With a bull horn.
Otherwise, I swear the top of my head would blow off. For instance, while one of Sam's classmates looked aimlessly around the room, looking for his pair of indoor shoes that seemed to have wandered off, Sam stood on one foot, asking me if I knew he could, well, you know, stand on one foot.
I was reduced to saying things like, "Hurry up, buddy. Get changed. Find your things. Let's go."
Of course, had we been at home, and lacking any witnesses, I could have gone for the much more efficient: "IF YOU DON'T GET READY RIGHT NOW I SWEAR I'M GONNA THROW ALL YOUR TOYS IN THE GARBAGE! YOU HAVE ONE MORE SECOND TO MOVE IT! MOVE IT! MOVE IT!"
One time I was in the school's library while the kindergarten class was in there and I don't know how the librarian does it. Trying to shush that many little kids all at the same time seems pretty impossible to me. Sort of like trying to contain a dozen puppies all in the same basket. Impossible.
Yet the librarian was cheerful and even friendly as she gently reminded the kids to, "Please quiet down, boys and girls." I was tempted to volunteer on the spot. You know, to shriek: EVERYBODY NEEDS TO SHUT UP AND SIT DOWN! RIGHT NOW!
I always feel sorry for a teacher when I hear him or her saying things like, "We must use our indoor voices, children!" It's just the kind of thing people who are paid and professionally trained to be patient with kids, no matter how badly the kid is acting, are forced to say.
Instead of a new coffee mug, box of chocolates, or some nice smelling candles, maybe this year my Christmas gift to my kids' teachers should be something really unique. Something they can actually use.
A special certificate.
One which gives the teacher the right to give two shrieks a day. No questions asked.
