Classrooms

This morning we had "home reader orientation" at school. Today is the first day the girl brings home a home reader, the parents needed to be educated as to what to do with them. Don't we just help the kid read them?? Apparently this idea is old fashioned and potentially dangerous in terms of the childs development. Well, pardon me.
So we arrived at 8:30am, after scraping the first frost of the season off the car window (goodby vegie patch), and sat in the tiny little chairs that had been arranged into a semi-circle for us. We were handed a sheet of text that was coded, and a pencil. I didn't get a pencil and I was reminded of the torture of my school days when I was inevitably overlooked. We were asked to try to decode the text. Yeah, ok I get it: to a child learning to read all text is code that they are trying to decipher. Point taken. But no, we actually had to attempt to decode it. I sat there, head throbbing, coughing and feeling generally shite from the illness that currently afflicts me, and refused to participate (another flashback). One of the girly-swat fathers worked it out and proudly announced to the "class" what it was. I was on the verge of telling them all to stick their patronising bullshit up their arse but I didn't want to have to do detention after school so I kept quiet. We were subjected to 45 minutes of this type of condescending crap before they got to the bit about how we deal with the readers, how we fill in the comments box each night and what is expected of the child. The informative bit took about 10 minutes, we were then given a handout that said all the same things. Could they have just sent the damned note home with the reader and let us work it out? It made most of the parents in attendance late for work, it kept me out of bed and was basically a big waste of time. Yes I know that how my child is treated and responds while she is initially learning to read will set up a pattern for the rest of her life and could mean the difference between her being somebody who reads for pleasure instead of just because she has to, but give me a fucken break! I resent being treated like an idiot, I resent being treated like a 5 year old and even more I resent the arrogance of the teachers who impose this crap on us.
I came home and slept for four hours, I feel a bit better now, I think I am through the worst of it. The husband has been utterly gorgeous: fussing over me, taking over all the domestic stuff when he gets home from work, insisting that I rest. That's what marriage is all about - to have somebody there to look after you when you need it. He is a good husband. He is, as I type this, on his way home from work and will stop to do the shopping and get chicken and chips for dinner. What bliss.