Let the Crazy Start

I saw my baby off to school this morning for the last day of the academic year. He was a flurry of Christmas cards and candy canes with an arm load of party food and a present for his long suffering teacher.

Mrs X and I smiled at each other as we passed in the door way.

"You made it."

She laughed. We both made it really.

My son is one of those children. I will admit. He is the spunk at the back of the room who should be paying attention, but is instead taking every one's pencils for a 'Pencil Sale.'

I kid you not.

He tried to resell the class their pencils... more than once.

Other things that didn't work so well for him this year included practising his front flips in the library and the mid-day classroom walk out in protest over a matter he felt was being poorly handled by Mrs X.

If he wasn't my child I might find some of what he gets up to humorous. After all, who doesn't know the pleasure of taking off their shoes so they can sock slide into the wall? I just wish he didn't chose to pull that stunt in Math class. I also wish he'd restrained from spinning on the teacher's swivel chair and pinning the tail on pictures of his class mates on the notice board. He also took a real liking to rearranging the trinkets on Mrs. X's desk. More than once he produced a pencil, thumb tack, paper and sticky tape art piece for her viewing pleasure.

Can I take a moment to defend my off spring? A little, tiny brag even? Pleeeeease? It has been a long year...

He started Year One (First Grade if you live in the US) asking his father and I when he was going to get a chapter book to read and then proving his boredom by using reading group sessions as the optimal time to practice sculpture. An eraser and a pair of scissors were his medium of choice. Mrs. X and I finally found chapter books that kept him on task... mostly.

He refused to bring his spelling book home to me because, in his words, "What's the point Mum? I know how to spell."

We agreed that he would show me the spelling test results and, as long as his marks proved he was right, he didn't have to bring the book home. I never saw that spelling book.

Maturity wise he is every bit Year One. But that little brain is ticking away with a set of much older thoughts.

Mrs. X has the patience of... I don't know...someone more patient than me. Together we worked to support the academic growth BUT curb the sock sliding. Mostly we were successful.

(Okay, little brag over. Thanks for indulging me.)Year Two here we come.

What we have not figured out is where the two school hats, three pairs of socks, one pair of swimming goggles, a swimming towel, and one very new pair of leather school shoes managed to disappear to...

Oh well, there is always next year.

I love that kid, sock sliding and all. But for seven wonderful weeks it is Summer School Holidays. I can't wait. Let the crazy start!

PS- He gets the sock sliding from his father :)