I Should Know Better

This morning was my day as the volunteer parent in Nathan's class. Last month I left Matthew with a babysitter. This month I thought I would take him with me and just see how things went. I have no idea what I was thinking. After all, this is the cookie thief we're talking about. Nevertheless, I took him with me. And the result was a morning chock full of mischief and chaos.

The morning started off just fine, seeing as Matthew was strapped into the stroller, but I knew from the get-go that I wouldn't be able to keep him in the stroller all morning. So when I was involved in a task that kept me sitting at the table, I released him and gave him a paper and a pencil. That kept him occupied for all of about 2.5 seconds, after which he made a beeline for the computers. Luckily for me, they were turned off so his tapping of buttons didn't cause any harm, that is until one of the keyboards mysteriously slid off the desk.

My next task was some one-on-one work with students in the hall. Matthew enjoyed the relative freedom of the hall and I enjoyed the relative lack of things for him to break. After a few minutes of mindless wandering, he discovered that he could push the garbage cans up and down the hall. About halfway through the ABC flashcards with student #3, he discovered that he could put his blankie in the garbage can and conveniently push both around the hall. I know. Gross. At least the only things in the can were one piece of paper and a couple dried up wads of gum. The blankie was quickly confiscated and hit the laundry as soon as we got home.

Nathan's teacher keeps a bottle of hand sanitizer next to the door of the classroom and has the kids trained to take a squirt when they arrive in the morning or come in from recess. Having observed the kids at this routine, Matthew quietly walked over during the next transition period and helped himself. I do believe that his hands were more sanitary this morning than they have been at any other point in his young life. After I moved the sanitizer out of his reach, he discovered the Sharpies, pens and the electric pencil sharpener. Taking him away from all those sources of entertainment was the cause of shrieking episode #1.

Recess duty was calm (as calm as recess duty with a playground of five and six year olds can be anyway) and Matthew enjoyed himself immensely. Going back inside inspired shrieking episode #2.

After recess I was off to the library to make copies of a workbook for the kids. Shrieking episode #3 began when I wouldn't let Matthew sit at the rug and fold his arms like the other kids. Once the shrieking stopped and I arrived at the library, I got the machine all set to copy, collate, and staple and pressed the button to get it started. Sometime around copy #11, the copy machine suddenly lost power. It appears that although the power switch was in no way conspicuous to me, it was exactly at eye level for Matthew. After turning it back on, I learned how to open every door and clear every possible mis-feed. During my learning process, Matthew managed to get up onto a chair and bring one of the library computers out of hibernation. Commence shrieking episode #4.

My favorite bit of mischief for the day occurred during the last portion of the morning. The children were each given a large outline of a heart. They were instructed to divide the heart into as many parts as they wanted and make a picture inside each section that would tell about something they loved. My task was to label each section because let's face it, some five-year-olds' renderings of their beloved Fido look suspiciously like the portrait of Grandpa. I labeled a few drawings, looking up just in time to see Matthew pulling cleaning supplies out from under the sink. I dashed over and put them away, then plopped Matthew down on a tiny chair at a tiny table hoping it would entertain him for a few minutes. Several moments later I glanced up and noticed that he was holding a glue stick from the basket that was, unfortunately, right by the tiny table. It was one of those big, fat ones, the ones that go on blue and dry clear. But I wasn't concerned because 1) glue sticks are nontoxic and 2) he can't get the lids off anyway. I know now that my thinking was flawed, but it seemed like good reasoning at the time. Anyway, I wrote butterflies and rainbows a few more times (it appears that five-year-old girls are extremely fond of such things) then glanced at Matthew again. My first thought was, "Oh, good. The lid is still on the glue stick." Then I looked up at his face and saw a big, blue circle on each cheek.

I'm very grateful that kindergarten is only two and a half hour long. And next month I will be getting a babysitter.