It’s report card day.
It’s good that I didn’t know or I would have spent the day obsessing. As it turned out, the girls were in the house 20 minutes before they casually mentioned that they had received their report cards. Apparently a “Hannah Montana” rerun that they had viewed at least six times took precedence.
Immediately upon reviewing their report cards and talking with the girls about them, I picked up the phone and called my parents. Yes, I am 39 years old but my instant reaction on report card day is to call my parents and dissect the grades and comments line by line.
Later, I realized somewhat to my dismay that I am one of THOSE moms. No, not the make your kids pee in a bottle or wear Depends in the line at Disney World (though I did jokingly suggest one year that we “go astronaut” to avoid all of the potty time). No, I am, sad to say, one of those moms who measures my success as a parent based in no small part on how my children do in school.
I acknowledge that their grades are the result of their efforts. I do not do their work for them. If they forget to do an assignment, I tell them to go in and take their lumps. I try to not put an undue amount of pressure on their first and third grade shoulders.
But I realized, after talking with my parents, that I do view their grades as a measure of our success as parents. When their grades our good, I feel we are providing an appropriately nurturing and encouraging environment. It is also validation that the hours of flash cards, educational games, listening to them read aloud and other activities we engage in weekly are not in vain. As a family, we invest a lot of time and energy in supporting their educational endeavors and the report cards show that we are reaping the dividends. When one of the girls struggles with something in school, my immediate reaction is to wonder how we have failed them and what more we can do. Last year I cried, more than once, when Cat struggled with second grade math. Yes, you read that right, not college, or high school, second grade math. I had the decency to do it in private, except when I called my parents sobbing that I was failing the children as a mother because Cat did not like, or excel in, subtraction.
Frequent readers (i.e. my parents and Jill’s) know that I, like my fellow Diners Sans Crayons, tend toward the obsessive, especially when it comes to my family. From this obsessive desire to make their lives as good as I possibly can has sprung laminated spreadsheets for vacations, color-coded family photos, staying up until 1 a.m. to paint class book bags, and sunsets painted on toast using milk and food coloring. I mean well but I bring the enthusiasm of a Labrador puppy and the drive of an Olympic sprinter when it comes to ensuring the girls are happy, healthy and successful.
My family tolerates and occasionally appreciates my mania. They also wait until I eventually fall over from exhaustion in a heap and then step over me to resume normalcy. I am the Boo Radley of our home, a colorful eccentric with an air of mystery but not one to be taken too seriously.
But unlike Boo Radley, I have a gold star addiction, and since no one at my company hands out stars or smiley faced stickers, I revel in those that the girls earn. Which brings us back to report card day. We, I mean they, I really mean they, honest I do, did really well in our, uh their first quarter. But I fear that Cat, age 8, has inherited my obsessive gene.
“Cat, what a great report card. I am so proud. You worked so hard honey and it paid off,” I said.
“No, it stinks,” she said.
“What? What do you mean? That is a GREAT report card. You got all As and one B.”
“That’s right,” she said sadly. “I got a B – in math. A B!!!” She said B as if she were saying “criminal record” or “herpes” or “dress without sparkles.” She ignored my statements that she comes from a long line of people who excel in liberal arts but are less talented when it comes to math. She also disregarded the fact that this was a vast improvement over last year. She looked positively disgusted when I told her that this is a great baseline and that with continued hard work, she could do even better.
Apparently in addition to learning the lessons at school, Cat and Tate have learned a few from mom. And apparently I need to be a better teacher when it comes to striving for excellence but not obsessing about perfection. I guess I better hit the books.
