This is your final warning

Oy.

Labor Day has come and gone; time to assess how (and if) my daughter has adjusted during the first weeks of third grade. So far, she’s skipped out on homework several times, was taken to task because of excessive daydreaming, forgotten her lunch on at least three occasions, missed recess on average twice a week, but has not been sent to the office or fought with anybody. All in all, that’s pretty good. Our standards are very flexible; as long as her grades are solid, we can handle the rest. “It’s not the end of the world” is our family motto; you’d be surprised how many times we say it out loud, and how well it keeps panic at bay.

Then, out of the blue, I receive a note. It’s signed by the Principal, and it claims to be the ‘third warning’. What? Where were warnings number one and two? I know nothing about this, and so I ask Isabella for clarification. Isabella, unfortunately, is at a loss for words. She has absolutely no idea where this third note came from. Signed by the Principal? Office warning? This is news to her.

“You signed one note last week,” she finally tells me.
“I did, did you turn it in?”
“Ye-es.”
“But wait, that one said you were spacing off for fifteen minutes. This one says you didn’t do your homework. Explain that.”
“It’s the same note.”
“It is not the same note. Don’t tell me it’s the same note.”
“It is for the same thing.”
“No, it is not. Spacing off is not the same as not doing your homework. I thought you did all your homework this weekend?”
“I did. This is for last week.”

I find a second note in the bottom of her backpack. I also find some old homework, which hasn’t been completed. Tip of the iceberg, I’m thinking; why can’t things ever be simple? I’m going to have to do detective work; something I hate, and have no time for.

“Let’s just call your teacher,” I say, and grab my phone.
After a jumbled and confused conversation. I find out the following things.
1. She did not hand in any homework from this weekend
2. She didn’t actually do any homework this weekend (to my defense, I wasn’t with her this weekend, and I did tell my husband to double check, like, 4,000 times)
3. She doesn’t know how to do this homework. Really. It’s a mystery.
4. Only god himself knows where note number one is. No mortal will ever find out.

I put her on the phone with her teacher, who explains some important things about today’s lesson, which Isabella apparently missed. When she gets off the phone, she finishes all of it in under five minutes. I consider duct taping the notes to her abdomen, but decide that could be viewed as suspect, so I stick them in her homework folder. They’ll hopefully make it to school the next day. That is, if she doesn’t lose her folder, her backpack, or her head. And if she doesn’t forget. And if there’s no earthquake, forest fire, flood, or tornado. You get the point. The chances of those notes actually making it into the right hands are very, very small.

I have a feeling that she will not make it through the year without one of those dreaded office visits. I Hope the Principal is ready for her.