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ninanevermore.
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I ran into my 4 year old son's would-be fiancée in the grocery store on Sunday evening. Admittedly, the courtship only lasted for the 2 days she was his nursery school teacher. And sure, she turned him down flat when he proposed marriage to her on that first day on the playground. But even the most fleeting of romances leave a lasting impression. For the most part my son has moved on and is now actively seeking a little girl his own age who will let him kiss her (without luck, I might add). Ironically, it was Miss Makinzie who seemed to be smitten with Sweet Pea after all this time.
My son had spent the day with his grandfather and I had stopped off at the grocery store to grab a few thing we were out of at the house before we headed home. One of the things my husband had been fretting about (as in please, please, please if you can pick some up or I will die and you will be widow stuck rearing a child on your own with no helpmate and won't you be sorry if that happens?) was Coca Cola. I am married to a Coke addict: not the drug from Columbia, but the high-fructose corn syrup infused stuff in the red cans. I didn't want to go to the store, but I didn't want Jeff to go into withdrawal and wind up in the hospital, either.
I dodged a young couple as I turned onto the soda isle, trying to maneuver the awkward grocery cart with a tyke-sized truck cab on the front that Sweet Pea insists we use, around them without running anyone over or knocking down any displays. The cart is 50% longer than a regular shopping cart, so this takes some skill since I am 10% shorter than an average woman and can't always see what's at the front on the plastic truck cab. I don't like to talk about it, but sometimes there is collateral damage.
The young woman turned and looked at me, then approached me kind of hesitantly. "I don't know if you remember me," she began, "But I worked at the daycare at the Baptist church for a little while in [Sweet Pea's] classroom. I'm Makinzie."
I felt my face light up, even though Makinzie had broken both Sweet Pea's and my own hearts. She broke his when she turned down his proposal, on the grounds that she was 20 and he was 4, and that she was already married to someone else. She broke my heart after quitting the job within 48 hours of starting it.
"I remember you," I said, "but you weren't there long, were you?"
She shook her heard. "I quit after the second day. That's all I could take of that place. The kids in that classroom were so out of control. But I remembered him, and I've been wondering how he was and worrying about him ever since."
The one time I'd met her before had been at the end of her fist day, when she'd shut the door and told me that my Sweet Pea was a good boy and a wonderful kid, and not to listen to what anyone else told me about him. This was as his acting out was starting to peak and I was beginning to believe there was something seriously wrong with him in a developmental way. She'd almost made me cry that day, because it was the first time I could remember in a long time anyone telling me something good about my child.
"The teachers were so down on him, and I couldn't understand why because he was so sweet. And the other kids were so mean to him, too. It was horrible," she told me.
I told her about how they'd thrown him out, and her mouth dropped open. I shook my head and smiled.
"At first, I thought it was the worst thing that could have happened, but I was wrong. It was the biggest favor they could have done us. Because you know what? He quit biting kids the day he left that place. He's a different little boy now; he's himself again." I went on to tell her about how the tantrums, the defiance, and all the negative behaviors that had been plaguing evaporated like a puddle in the hot sun as soon as we took him out of that rainy environment. I also told her about the other 2 ex-employees who had told me that his teacher, Selma, was likely the problem.
Makinzie agreed that she was, too. "All the kids in that room acted out because of the way she treated them. They hit, they called names, they spit, they did all kinds of things." My son – the smallest, thinnest of the little boys in Selma's care – became the one the other little boys took out their frustrations on, according to Makinzie. When he was called a name or hit, some of the teachers turned a blind eye. When he hit someone or, worse, bit them, I had to sign an incident report.
Makinzie introduced me to the man she spurned my Sweet Pea for, husband and the father of her baby. He's a good looking guy and very nice: poor Sweet Pea never had a chance for stealing her away. Fortunately, her husband is a very good natured guy and he showed very good humor toward the man who tried to break up his marriage.
"I haven't stopped thinking about him. I was so, so worried about him. If you ever need someone to watch him for you, I'm totally available. I really adore him." I took her phone number.
I walked out thinking about miracle turnarounds the significance of the number 3. When one person told me that Selma could well be the source of my son's problems, I was hopeful, but worried I might be looking for someone else to blame instead of admit that there was something wrong with my little boy. When the second person (who quit the same job that Makinzie did, as the person who took over the afternoon shift of working in Selma's classroom) told me the same thing, I felt kind of validated, since Sweet Pea's problems were already reversing themselves by that point. Hearing it from a 3rd person makes me think that I need to talk to Selma's boss and express my concerns. I'll be the first to admit that I'd like her head on a platter by this point, but I would settle for her bosses admitting that she has no business being around children.
Selma has worked at that daycare for more than 20 years. Even the director seems intimidated by her. At the very least, I want to suggest that they start conducting exit interviews from the women who stop working in that room after a few weeks or a few days, because I think it will be eye opening. As for all of Selma's experience, all it goes to show is that just because someone has worked at a job for a long time doesn't mean that she is any good at what she does.
Not only is she no good at her job, I'd say she's downright evil at it.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
I ran into my 4 year old son's would-be fiancée in the grocery store on Sunday evening. Admittedly, the courtship only lasted for the 2 days she was his nursery school teacher. And sure, she turned him down flat when he proposed marriage to her on that first day on the playground. But even the most fleeting of romances leave a lasting impression. For the most part my son has moved on and is now actively seeking a little girl his own age who will let him kiss her (without luck, I might add). Ironically, it was Miss Makinzie who seemed to be smitten with Sweet Pea after all this time.
My son had spent the day with his grandfather and I had stopped off at the grocery store to grab a few thing we were out of at the house before we headed home. One of the things my husband had been fretting about (as in please, please, please if you can pick some up or I will die and you will be widow stuck rearing a child on your own with no helpmate and won't you be sorry if that happens?) was Coca Cola. I am married to a Coke addict: not the drug from Columbia, but the high-fructose corn syrup infused stuff in the red cans. I didn't want to go to the store, but I didn't want Jeff to go into withdrawal and wind up in the hospital, either.
I dodged a young couple as I turned onto the soda isle, trying to maneuver the awkward grocery cart with a tyke-sized truck cab on the front that Sweet Pea insists we use, around them without running anyone over or knocking down any displays. The cart is 50% longer than a regular shopping cart, so this takes some skill since I am 10% shorter than an average woman and can't always see what's at the front on the plastic truck cab. I don't like to talk about it, but sometimes there is collateral damage.
The young woman turned and looked at me, then approached me kind of hesitantly. "I don't know if you remember me," she began, "But I worked at the daycare at the Baptist church for a little while in [Sweet Pea's] classroom. I'm Makinzie."
I felt my face light up, even though Makinzie had broken both Sweet Pea's and my own hearts. She broke his when she turned down his proposal, on the grounds that she was 20 and he was 4, and that she was already married to someone else. She broke my heart after quitting the job within 48 hours of starting it.
"I remember you," I said, "but you weren't there long, were you?"
She shook her heard. "I quit after the second day. That's all I could take of that place. The kids in that classroom were so out of control. But I remembered him, and I've been wondering how he was and worrying about him ever since."
The one time I'd met her before had been at the end of her fist day, when she'd shut the door and told me that my Sweet Pea was a good boy and a wonderful kid, and not to listen to what anyone else told me about him. This was as his acting out was starting to peak and I was beginning to believe there was something seriously wrong with him in a developmental way. She'd almost made me cry that day, because it was the first time I could remember in a long time anyone telling me something good about my child.
"The teachers were so down on him, and I couldn't understand why because he was so sweet. And the other kids were so mean to him, too. It was horrible," she told me.
I told her about how they'd thrown him out, and her mouth dropped open. I shook my head and smiled.
"At first, I thought it was the worst thing that could have happened, but I was wrong. It was the biggest favor they could have done us. Because you know what? He quit biting kids the day he left that place. He's a different little boy now; he's himself again." I went on to tell her about how the tantrums, the defiance, and all the negative behaviors that had been plaguing evaporated like a puddle in the hot sun as soon as we took him out of that rainy environment. I also told her about the other 2 ex-employees who had told me that his teacher, Selma, was likely the problem.
Makinzie agreed that she was, too. "All the kids in that room acted out because of the way she treated them. They hit, they called names, they spit, they did all kinds of things." My son – the smallest, thinnest of the little boys in Selma's care – became the one the other little boys took out their frustrations on, according to Makinzie. When he was called a name or hit, some of the teachers turned a blind eye. When he hit someone or, worse, bit them, I had to sign an incident report.
Makinzie introduced me to the man she spurned my Sweet Pea for, husband and the father of her baby. He's a good looking guy and very nice: poor Sweet Pea never had a chance for stealing her away. Fortunately, her husband is a very good natured guy and he showed very good humor toward the man who tried to break up his marriage.
"I haven't stopped thinking about him. I was so, so worried about him. If you ever need someone to watch him for you, I'm totally available. I really adore him." I took her phone number.
I walked out thinking about miracle turnarounds the significance of the number 3. When one person told me that Selma could well be the source of my son's problems, I was hopeful, but worried I might be looking for someone else to blame instead of admit that there was something wrong with my little boy. When the second person (who quit the same job that Makinzie did, as the person who took over the afternoon shift of working in Selma's classroom) told me the same thing, I felt kind of validated, since Sweet Pea's problems were already reversing themselves by that point. Hearing it from a 3rd person makes me think that I need to talk to Selma's boss and express my concerns. I'll be the first to admit that I'd like her head on a platter by this point, but I would settle for her bosses admitting that she has no business being around children.
Selma has worked at that daycare for more than 20 years. Even the director seems intimidated by her. At the very least, I want to suggest that they start conducting exit interviews from the women who stop working in that room after a few weeks or a few days, because I think it will be eye opening. As for all of Selma's experience, all it goes to show is that just because someone has worked at a job for a long time doesn't mean that she is any good at what she does.
Not only is she no good at her job, I'd say she's downright evil at it.
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no subject
Date: 2009-08-18 09:46 pm (UTC)I think she was my 2nd grade teacher.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 06:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 12:38 pm (UTC)I actually remember you blogging about Miss Makinzie....
*HUGS*
no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 06:36 pm (UTC)