Kaitlyn’s teacher is out… recovering from appendicitis. This is the second week she’s been gone. Last week, the substitute seemed ok. This week, I swear she has it in for Kaitlyn.
Monday when I picked Kaitlyn up from school, the teacher told me not to let Kaitlyn wear bracelets to school anymore because she loses them and disrupts the whole class to find them.
Tuesday she stopped me outside the door in the morning wagging her finger at us saying the stuffed monkey Kaitlyn had brought with her was too big and had to go. Kaitlyn was in tears about it; the only way I had even gotten her out of bed that morning was with the promise that the monkey could go to school with her. Stuffed animals have always been ok.
Yesterday when I picked Kaitlyn up for lunch, the teacher informed me in a rather scolding tone that Kaitlyn had tossed her very small plastic pony up onto an awning where it remained stuck. (I asked a tall dad who was there to get it down. He did, no problem.)
Then this afternoon when I went to get Kaitlyn, the teacher rushed to tell me that Kaitlyn had not obeyed boucoup today. She tells me this while Kaitlyn is sitting there crying. She offers no explanation for my crying child, other than a French shoulder shrug and some mumbled comment about her fussing with her little friend. Then Kaitlyn tells me she is crying because she got whacked in the face by some little French boy.
Each of these things alone would not cause a second thought. But together… I think they tell a different story. And I think that story is that the teacher has it out for Kaitlyn. Maybe because she and I don’t speak French very well. I don’t know. Kaitlyn says all they do now in class is color and play. She used to practice writing letters and numbers. Yesterday her regular teacher stopped by on her way to a meeting with the headmistress (apparently to tell her she needs a third week to recover) and every kid in that classroom flocked to greet her with a huge smile on his or her face. I get the feeling no one smiles when the substitute enters the room. I know that between now and Tuesday (there’s no school Monday) I won’t be able to bolster my French skills enough to ask this woman what the f*%(_#$ her problem is. Then again… maybe I can.