Teacher, teach thyself!

walks into classroom, nodding to child’s teacher, heading for the computer where child is engrossed.

WOW! WHAT A FANTASTIC PICTURE!!!!

wiggles finger in ear, trying to regain some of the hearing that was just blasted out by the jet-engine decibel shrieking of child’s teacher.

I’m a teacher, so naturally, I’m a bit fussy about who is teaching my daughter. Since I am a teacher who is married to the World’s Cheapest Man, I had to return to work when my Peanut was 5 months old. She’s been in daycare for most of her young life.

I took great care in choosing her first daycare. I researched, went on site visits, asked well-informed and pertinent questions. I questioned the teacher/student ratios, the solution used to sterilize toys, and the overall teaching philosophy of the organization, all when I was 5 months pregnant. It took 10 more months until there was an opening at this institution, so I felt confident that it was a quality place.

I loved Miss Peanut’s infant teachers. They were warm, caring, and cuddly. They followed a developmentally appropriate syllabus, had brain-stimulating toys, and were prepared for separation anxiety. Mine, not hers. I was so comfortable leaving my Peanut with these women. I’ll call them Mrs. Snuggle and Mrs. Nurture.

When Peanut transitioned to the Toddler room, I was a bit apprehensive. After all, she had just learned to walk a week before and was still prone to flopping down on her butt and tripping over her own feet. How would she cope in a room full of big 2-year-olds? She coped beautifully, with the help of two brilliant teachers – Mrs. Happy and Miss Cheerful. Peanut loved going to “school” as we called it, because it was so much fun. There was no television, but lots of developmental, hands-on learning and exploration.

Preschool, though, is where it all fell apart. Initially, Peanut’s two teachers were fine. One was very knowledgeable, if a bit condescending, and the other was an aloof ice-princess. My educational experience had been good here to this point, so I really didn’t worry. I thought I was overreacting. Miss Condescension left to pursue other opportunities, and in her place, they hired Mrs. Trailer Trash.

Mrs Trash came with her own brood of snot-nosed Trashettes, who infected my baby’s class with smacking and taunting. The Trashettes were moved out of their mother’s classroom, but still, the coarseness remained. Mrs Trash spoke to her charges the same way she spoke to her own spawn – barking commands, issuing proclamations, and laying down the law at top volume. This was because you could usually find her parked on her tush while the kids ran wild all over the classroom. Where she and I really conflicted, though, was when she started physically moving my daughter around in my presence.

I’ve always felt that once I was in the classroom and had taken charge of my child, readying her for the trip home, etc., that the teacher should ease off. Mrs Trash, though, felt that it was fine for her to pick my child up bodily and haul her around the classroom, and not in a “I’m going to cuddle you for a bit because you’re just so darn cute” kind of way. Bear in mind, that my baby was 3.5 years old, and didn’t need hauling anywhere. On a couple of occasions, because Miss Peanut doesn’t particularly like being brutishly manhandled, she dodged the grasping paw that was coming for her arm and wound up falling on her bottom. I witnessed one of these occasions and objected. Loudly. Turns out, I was neither the first nor the last parent to complain about this woman.

So, I uprooted the Peanut and moved her to another school. I figured she only had one more year until Kindergarten, so it wasn’t really a big deal for her to move. Plus, one of her best friends was going to the new school, too. I loved that the teacher was enthusiastic and energetic, and that they followed a real curriculum which would teach the kiddies to read and do some basic math. I knew going in that Miss Peanut’s teacher was, er, well-endowed decibel-wise. The volume didn’t really bug me at first.

Now, I’m deafened every time I enter the room. I wince when I hear her voice. She’s still enthusiastic, and Peanut really loves her. So, until Miss Peanut leaves for Kindergarten, I suppose Mrs. Screech Owl and I will just have to get along.