Why I Fail Kindergarten

The Anarchist's Reading Log, which
I have to remember to sign, comment on,
and return regularly.  I feel like it's a test of my
parenting aptitude.  And I fail.

I always did pretty well in school.  I followed the rules to the letter, was studious and curious, had a good memory, and caught on quickly.  The only real problem I ever had (besides the social issues that come with being a giant nerd) was my inability to remember to return permission slips, hand in field trip money, turn my assignments in by the stated due date, etc.  Having done equally well in college (there were less forms to turn in, thank goodness), I was feeling pretty good about myself.  Compared to discussing the complex and ultimately disjointed relationship between signifieds/signifiers, performing post-colonial analyses of various works of literature and wading slowly through Foucault, how hard could parenting a small child be?  Ah, the naivete of a young and childless 20-something!

Okay, so I was bad at the whole “baby” thing.  They don’t communicate with words, it turns out.  But I was excited for the school years.  After all, I do “school” well, right?  

This one is a long-term project that came home a month before it's even supposed to start.
I almost failed 6th Grade Social Studies--not because I couldn't remember the chief
exports of Brazil, but because I barely managed to turn in a single assignment on
time--and I'm supposed to remember to do this?!  I am in so  much trouble!

One of three or four reminder lists that came
home with the Dictator this month.  And I'm
still supposed to find time to feed and bathe her.

Only problem…being a parent is worlds different than being a student.  There are multiple, overlapping fundraisers in which to (not) participate, several homework assignments (both long-term and short-term), dress up days, days to bring gym shoes, days to remember snow pants, days to bring one-hundred tiny objects in a giant ziplock bag, days to bring in $2 for in-school field trips, days to bring $1 for two bags of popcorn (variant of the usual fundraisers), days to pack a stuffed animal for the “veterinary clinic,” days to return library books in the designated library-returning-to-school-bag, days to bring in something starting with the letter “S,” daily snacks, “wear pink” day (preschool), Valentine’s Day (with handmade cards, themed outfits and the whole nine yards), and days when we actually have to remember to cram in a bath because the  five-year-old has dreadlocks and the three year old is walking around in the midst of a visible cloud of dust and grime.  

 And of course, these are just tots.  I can’t hold them responsible for their own school projects/fundraising projects/homework/permission slips.  And they are devastated if I forget, which I invariably do.  I feel terrible.  I am certainly not cut out for this job.  I’m sure my children’s hyper-organized teachers are judging me severely for my lack of parenting prowess.  I’m sure that the Dictator will be scarred for life by that one time I forgot to put the handwriting packet into the folder and she was denied a celebratory lollipop (I haven’t forgotten yet, but I anticipate it as likely).  I have no doubt that the Anarchist will fail in life (or at least, lose a finger to frostbite) as a result of my inability to properly label her winter garments with her full name.  

My only solace is in the fact that I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m not the only parent suffering from this character flaw.  After all, those “reminder” letters politely reiterating the importance of turning in homework projects that are already a week-past-due, can’t all be directed exclusively at the Morton family?  Right?

The soon-to-be Toy Story 3-themed preschool Valentines...that
I should be working on right now, instead of ranting.  I'll get
right on that...but then I think I deserve a celebratory lollipop.