Thursday, 22 August 2013

Judgement is in a shoe box full of crap.

So, Rory's been given this task to complete for his first day of school.

"As part of the settling in process for your child in September, it is always nice to have something special from home in school with them," says the letter from the Early Years Team.  "We would like to ask you to work with your child over the summer to create a 'My Special Things' box, which they can decorate to make here your child can pop little items that remind them of home, such as a family photograph, a little note of encouragement and a small toy."

Horseshit.  We all know that this is not so much to do with settling in as it is an exercise in judgement. Believe me, I used to be a Reception teacher; I know these things.

While it is undoubtedly nice for the children to have something with them to act as a prompt for conversations about home during their first week at school, what the staff really want to know is the following:

1. How slack is the child's parent.
2. How much does the parent do with the child at home?
3. What is their home life like?

Woe betide the parent who forgets to bring the shoe box to school on the first day.  You get an instant black mark in the slack book for that. (Usually, the forgetter of the shoe box would be me, but I only live a 2 minute walk from school, so when I inevitably forget it and see everyone else standing there smugly with theirs I can just double back and get it.  I've got this one covered).  And don't think they won't be able to tell who forgot about it until 10 minutes before bedtime the night before. They Will Know.  PVA glue still a bit tacky under the glitter?  Tut.  Disorganized.  Sad-head-shake in your direction, sir and madam.  They will also be able to tell if you've decorated it yourself because it will be too pristine.  Yours is the child with the perfect french plait and the handwriting that can only be achieved in a 4 year old via threats and bribery, yes?  Oh dear oh dear, Mrs Try-Hard; you're on the 'fussy parent' list and you're not coming off again until you send your child to school looking like a normal 4 year old (slightly grubby, a bit scruffy, sleep still in corners of eyes, scuffed shoes) instead of a show pony.  Don't produce a shoe box at all despite reminders 2 days in?  Well, you might as well commit school run suicide.

But even if you negotiate your way through the above obstacles, you're not out of the woods yet.  Oh no.  Because you could be like me and settle down in week 2 of the holidays to decorate the shoe box with your child, let them do it all themselves, not so much as twitch when it looks really crappy and have a strategy in place for not forgetting it on the first day.  But your child still gets to choose what to put in it.  And that's why I've fallen at the last hurdle.

Having been at home with Rory for the past 4 years, and having done an awful lot of stereotypical lovely, old fashioned stuff with him - crunchy autumn walks, baking, blackberry picking, crafts, painting, games, junk modelling, trips to the park, trips to the seaside, days at the farm and so on - I foolishly imagined that he might choose to fill his box with a charming family portrait - one in which we all look normal, (although to be fair, there are not many of those in existence), perhaps a special shell from a day at the beach, a Lego man from long days of playing Lego with Daddy, his favourite cheese scone recipe, the rusty key we found on an impromptu nature ramble and one of the little books that he can read on his own.

Instead, he has seen fit to sum up four years of my parenting by filling his shoe box with a half empty packet of crisps, a Disney Cars DVD, a piece of paper on which he has written 'wee and poo' all by himself (is it too much to hope that they may be impressed with his advanced phonetic knowledge here?),  a book of 1950s pin-up girls - some of whom have naked bosoms - that he found lurking at the back of the bookcase, and a large assortment of Happy Meal toys.  All topped off with a photo of us all covered in jam and cream after a food fight.

I am escaping the labels of slack parent, pushy mum, perfectionist and too-lazy-to-care scally, only to land firmly in 'unfit mother' territory.  Unless I can re-write history and tempt him to include one of those shells that I insisted on taking home from the beach the other day.  And sneak the Happy Meal stuff into the bin.  And...oh forget it.


  1. We have to do this too! I'm afraid that apart from letting my son help decorate it (which we've not actually done yet, time is running out!), it will be filled by myself with carefully chosen items, representing the crafts and days out that we do. While making sure that he is under the impression that he has chosen these items by himself.

  2. Mine has been given a pre-printed sheet of paper (whereabouts currently unknown) on which he has to draw a picture of himself and the things he likes. Don't know how advanced they expect him to be but anything other than a basic circular head with 2 stabs of the pen for eyes and 4 lines for legs and arms is beyond him. I was considering colour photocopying the piece of paper so he could have a few 'attempts' but clearly this presents it's own issues *pushy parent judgement * etc and so have decided not to. This is all assuming I can actually find said paper in first place, otherwise it'll be on some scrappy dog earred stuff from the kitchen - therefore resulting in a whole set of different judgements. Years of this? Can't wait.

  3. Eli can't even draw! A girl who says 'bless you' in German when you sneeze will produce a Jackson Pollock and tell you it's daddy's motorbike!

  4. We had to do a similar thing - but instead of a box it was a collage - so I got to choose the selection of photos printed out for her to choose from. A nice bit of vetting there.

  5. The pin up book!!!! hahahaha! That's brilliant!

  6. lol That was so funny to read, I'm so glad we don't have a box to make and fill in. I hate it when we get "parents homework".

  7. You wouldn't believe how many times I've forgotten to bring this 'project' stuff to my son's pre-school. I'm ashamed to confess that I never actually bothered to remember...

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