I have decided that Flea’s teacher is a ninja of passive aggression. Her weapon of choice isn’t the Chinese throwing star or a semi-automatic. It’s this:
I cannot fully express how much I hate the Reading Record. For the uninitiated, this little book is intended to be a daily record of what your child reads at school.
What it actually is, though, is a way for your child’s teacher to send you a daily reminder of your parental shortcomings.
Flea’s been in her new class for a little over a month and so far comments in the Reading Record have included:
“F requires plain white socks in her gym bag, please!”
“New gym socks need to be labelled, please!”
“Please sign the Reading Record EVERY day, please!”
“Maths workbook not in bag – could you please ensure F brings it in tomorrow?”
“Have checked – workbook is NOT in classroom. Could you check again at home, please?”
“I apologise. Maths workbook was tucked inside the reading folder. Please ensure maths workbook is placed inside maths folder!”
Somehow, Flea has got the idea that her Reading Record is actually called ‘that stupid wretched book’. Can’t imagine where she got that sort of language from. *cough*
Anyway, I had a plan. A plan so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a fox.
On Friday Flea came home and there was a Post-It note on her homework folder:
"F didn't have a record book today," apparently.
Tragically, it seems Flea's reading record has gone missing.
I’m working on my very best innocent face for tomorrow morning.