Mom Has Spies Everywhere

At 1:15 yesterday, my six year old performed as Tigger in Winnie the Pooh. He did a great job. Said his lines clearly and with a smile. Looked at the audience with confidence. Knew all the words to the songs. He only beat his twin Tigger with his tail in-between songs.

I left after big cheers and hugs and photos at 2:00, but he apparently had a hard time releasing his Tigger-self.

By 3:00, word had made it through the fourth and fifth grades to his two brothers – Tigger had detention.

That’s one of the many things I like about a small school. One misstep and mom hears about it before carpool.

“So and so in the other class saw the principal talking to…” announced the fourth grader with a grin.

Then, “guess what so and so said happened today in kindergarten…” said the fifth grader, also quite gleeful.

In one hour, kids across three grades of the Lower School had heard. And by the time the errant kindergartner showed up, I was ready. His eyes grew to twice their normal size. “How does mom know everything?!”

“What in the world did you do that the art teacher had to call the principal?”

“I was silly.”

Unusually silly.”

“Yep.” Poor Tigger.

“And what did you do when the principal came?”

“I was really, really polite.”

“ …which you should be all the time.”

“Ok,” he sighed, snagged by mom’s spies once again.

The Kindergarten Principal

My five year old had a temper tantrum this weekend during which he started throwing toys at his brothers until both were screaming and clutching injured hands, heads, whatever the toy hit.

These tantrums are rare, but when they happen, beware the wrath of the little man. I have already warned the kindergarten teacher to watch out for a flying lunchbox at some point during the year. She thinks I am crazy.

So this weekend, I charged into the playroom, picked him up and carried him up two flights of stairs (no easy task), then dropped him into his bed.

“You are in time out.”

Tears streaming down his cheeks, he grabbed a teddy bear as if to throw it, then registered my face. He switched course. Tears came and the inevitable youngest child rant, “Nobody ever wants to play with me!”

I left the room.

When all finally fell silent, I waited another ten minutes before returning.

“Honey, you cannot hit people. You cannot throw things at people,” I instructed. “You will get in trouble every time.”

Sniffle. Sniffle. Cross arms. Mad face.

“And you will certainly get in trouble if you do it in kindergarten,” I added. “Your teacher will be mad at you. The kids will be afraid of you. You will have to go to the Principal’s office, and she’ll be mad at you too.”

He straightened up as if suddenly relieved. “Kindergarten doesn’t have a Principal.”

“Yes, you do.”


“Honey, you know the office outside the music room?”

He looked at me suspiciously.

“That’s the Principal’s office. She’s the kindergarten principal too. I do not want to hear that you had to go there. Got it?”

“Ok,” he said seriously before once again switching gears on me. “Do you know what’s so funny?”

And that’s how almost every one of his time outs end.

“Do you know what’s so funny?” with a big grin.