It was the second phone call in a week from Miss F's teacher to discuss her defiant behavior.  Miss F was born defiant, I want to explain.  She could not be sleep trained. She would not allow me to put her down, ever, in a bouncy chair, Exercauser, or swing.  I learned to perform all household and personal tasks, from checking email to stir frying tofu,  with Miss F nestled in a sling against my chest. 

She "ran away" for the first time, at the age of four, leaving me in the complicated position of having to leave a two-year old and newborn behind in my house alone, so that I could run, unencumbered down the street to grab her.  The same year, she requests that I not go on the pre-school class trip with her, and if I did, I would have to sit in the back of the bus, away from her and her friends. 

The teacher sounds apologetic.  She loves Miss F.   She views her as spirited.  I'm the one taking the news hard.  It's one thing for Miss F to "let it out" within the privacy of our own home, but she should know better than to act this way at school.

Have I not taught her properly?  

When Miss F gets off the bus that day, my first impulse is to scream,  "Did I raise you to behave this way?  What were you thinking?" 

Yet, I realize that I am taking Miss F's behavior personally, and I am reacting out of fear.  I'm being self conscious, and thinking of the kids who are going home to tell their mothers that Miss F had a giant temper tantrum in school.  I'm thinking about the helicopter moms, who may suggest to their little Johnny or Jane, "Maybe you shouldn't play with Miss F anymore if she acts like that."  She's had a rough year socially.  I'm afraid this might impact her even more. 

I'm also feeling insecure about what these parents will think of me.  "What kind of mother is she?  Doesn't she teach her children manners? Discipline?  Self control?  What goes on in that house?"  We've all heard that kind of idle chatter among mothers.   I am allowing myself to buy into the belief that what others think of me matters…and even worse, that what others think of me is actually true.

Instead of screaming when Miss F gets off the bus, I take a deep breath, and say, "I got a  phone call from your teacher.  What happened today?"

At first she does not want to talk, which makes me want to scream again.  But I take another deep breath, and say, "Please just tell me and be honest.  I won't get mad at you."  Because inside, I understand that above all things, Miss F fears my disappointment. 

She gives me the details in her own words, how she refused to put her Harry Potter book away at the end of recess and participate in the lesson.  She talked back to the teacher.  When the teacher threatened to call me, she pushed her chair over and stomped out of class.  She also told me about the entire class heckling her when the teacher threatened to make the phone call, how some of the girls delighted in the thought of Miss F getting into trouble.  That made my heart sink.    

I take a step back.  I remind myself that what Miss F needs more than anything is love, especially after the last few months of dealing with girl politics at school.  She knows the right way to behave.  What she  needs to know right now, more than ever before, is that she can count on me to support her, through the good days and the bad.   

I begin writing her notes and sticking them in her lunch box.  They look like this:

Miss F starts to write me notes back that look like this:

I don't expect a particular outcome from these notes.

I write them so that Miss F knows that I'm always in her corner.

I write them to remind myself of the kind of mother I want to be.    

Namaste, Divas!

Thank you "Things I Can't Say" for the link up! 

©2012 Ilene Evans  

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