Oh, Internets! I have another appointment with Satan the dentist. The endodontist really, as it’s a root canal. Good times! My mother always told me it was good to brush my teef. If only I’d listened. I kid. Seriously.

In other news, I have a meeting with Bugsy’s teacher. No, it’s not because he was misbehaving during Nap Time. Yet. I actually decided to ask for this little get together. Which is really what I’m calling “reaming your son’s teacher’s ass” this year. Again, I kid. So early in the year for these kinds of meetings. I know! Here’s the reason: Bugsy had a “bad day” last week. He was sent home with a note in his Take Home folder for me to sign. I did. However, there is also a sheet of paper in their Take Home folder which stays in there all week. It has their homework on it for each night and any other little notes for the week. Each day there is a sticker placed next to that day. I had assumed, I guess incorrectly, that these were stickers that had absolutely no meaning. No “undertones” whatsoever. I guess I was wrong. The day that Bugs was “not listening” a yellow, highlighted, frowny face was placed. I am now guessing that the stickers let parents know that their child was either behaving in a way that would make me smile, my chest swollen with pride or in a way that would make me cringe, point, and exclaim loudly, “Whose child is that?”

I understand my child is not, ahem, easy. He is not, however, a Holy Effing Terror. I also understand that on any given day he can act, well, rude for one. He frequently pretends he cannot hear and will miss the directions. He will often throw a tantrum for no visible reason. Perhaps he did not sleep well the night before. On the other hand, most of the time he is gentle and kind. He offers help to the one kid he sees that might need it. He asks the kid in the corner to join him in racing cars across the carpet. He will sit next to the girl that has everyone decided smells that day. However, he is five. He is in kindergarten. He is also human and therefore, entitled to a bad day. Frankly, because he is five, I am surprised he doesn’t have them more often than he does. Anyhow, all of that is besides the point. All of that was to say: He had a bad day. He’s five and I’m quite sure that whatever meltdown he had was not pretty nor fun in any way.

However. And there is always one of those, right? The teacher had sent home a note. Did she really need to decorate a seperate page, the page he will carry with him for the next week, with a bright yellow, frowny face? Last week I had the mother of all panic attacks during which I screamed at Magic Dad and said a whole slew of things I’m not exactly proud of. And guess what? I’d be pissed if I had to be reminded of it every day for the next week. Bugs spent the remainder of the week peeling the other stickers off, trying to cover up that ugly frowny face. He was sorry. Trust me, the kid was damn sorry once I took away Play Time and Lots of Cars. He honestly, truly felt badly about it. Well, as much as one can at five years old. He really wanted to do better the next day. He had taken the “Work” that he had done badly on when he “didn’t listen” and redid the damn thing once he got home. He turned the New and Improved sheet in because he wanted to show the teacher he cared about his “Work.” I really believe her “Behavior Modification System” sucks. Those are her words, not mine. I really think her damn frowny face sucks.

I’m hard on my kid. I have high expectations for him because I really believe, as all parents do I’m sure, that he is bright, generous, and extremely capable. I want for him to feel good about himself. I want for him to feel like he did his best work at the end of the day. And I know that going in there to tell her that her stupid frowny face sucks and that she needs to find a different “system” won’t really work, but I need to tell her that once is enough. She wrote a note. I didn’t need decorations.