Call Me Clifford

The other day in the car, out of the blue, Hannah told me that she'd told her babysitter I call her Clifford.

"I call you Clifford?" I asked, slightly confused.

"Yes," she said, with an air of impatience. "You always tell me I'm Clifford."

I had to think. I had to translate something that sounded like Clifford into something I might actually have said. And then I had it. "Ohhh, like when I say you're smart and I call you clever?"

"Yes! See? You do call me Clifford."

Here I thought I was complimenting her by telling her how intelligent she is. I thought I was building her self-esteem. And she thought I was calling her a big red dog.

Delinquent Parent

I am a teacher. I understand the importance of sharing what is happening at school with parents. I agree with homework or extending learning at home. I know library books need to be returned. I think it is annoying when parents don't send their kids to school with the things they need.

I am a mom. I see the value in knowing what is happening with my child while she's at school. I like that she brings "home fun" home to practise what she's learning. I know her library books need to be returned. I know it is annoying when parents don't send their kids to school with the things they need.

And yet... with Hannah being in school for only a month, I have committed so many parental faux pas that I can barely keep track. Among the most recent:

1. Realizing in the morning, as I leafed through her "home fun" book, that we hadn't actually done any of it.
2. Mixing up her library days and then sending her to school without her book so that when her class went to the library she had to sit against the wall.
3. Reading that her class was going to be sorting apples and everyone needed to bring an apple. Promptly forgetting to send one with her on the apple sorting day. (She assured me later that her teacher "didn't mind".)
4. Having her walk to her babysitter's after school in the rain without a rain coat or an umbrella.

Oh, yes. I am that mom. And it's not good for my ego. Because I have these visions of being a completely different kind of mom. You know, the kind that bakes homemade cookies after school (a la Martha); the kind that sends a well-dressed, organized child to school with everything she needs neatly tucked into her backpack. The kind that doesn't have to write excuses and apologies in her daughter's communication book.

You know... perfect.

I Thought Today Was Today

A conversation Hannah had with Scott:

"Dad, when is tomorrow?"

"After you wake up."

"And what day is it?"

"Wednesday."

"You said I had school tomorrow!"

"You do."

"Then what is it today?"

"Tuesday."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"I thought today was today. But you said Tuesday."

"It's today and also Tuesday."

"Are you really, really, really sure? Because I thought today was today was today. I can't stop saying today!"