On Friday afternoons I volunteer Emily's school library.
This isn't new, by any means. I have been working with the librarian during this shift since Emily started at the school in 2006.
What was new, however, was the greeting given to my by one of Emily's teachers last Friday afternoon.
As the librarian read in French, this teacher came over to the desk and leaned over.
"Are you Emily's Mom? I mean, You are Emily's Mom right?". she whispered.
"Yeah. Hi.", I whispered back.
"I just wanted you to know that I saw the letter you wrote, I mean, Mrs XXX showed it to me - and I have no problem with kids having water bottles in my class."
Now. As of this writing, I have not been addressed by Emily's teacher in any way shape or form. No note. No call. No smoke signals or Semaphore. Not even an Aldis Lamp.
At the moment that the French teacher leans over to whisper these words to me, I know there is blood in the water. My mother shark instinct kicks in and my vision narrows.
"Oh." I whisper back. "I've not heard anything from Mrs XXX regarding that note as of yet..."
The teacher is young. I am guessing that she did not agree with the little facist policy makeover intiated by the senior teacher and decided to address me. What I further believe is that she did not know the teacher had decided to ignore me. Most of all, I don't think she has realized that I am a teacher and education professional ...and that I now also know that Mrs XXX has decided to complain about Emily's Crazy Mom to the other teachers - AND has shown them my letter.
Parent Teacher Conferences are this week.
Shall I sell tickets?