School self, home self

The at-school version of my kids is unknowable to me

Special thanks to Hayelin Choi for my new banner and icon.

Last week we had parent-teacher conferences and had the familiar experience of learning that our children behave very differently at school than they do at home. There are many theories and explanations about why this is—why some kids thrive at school and fall apart at home (and many experience after school restraint collapse.) Whether this is good or bad is up to debate, but there’s almost undoubtably more structure at school, clearer consequences and rules, and most kids develop an understanding of which behaviors are rewarded (self-control and people pleasing) and which are reprimanded by authority figures who are not their parents.

“Ada’s kind and bubbly personality makes her an enthusiastic learner,” her teachers wrote. “She shows up every morning extremely prepared and ready to learn.” 

I think about how this tracks with her general life enthusiasm, but that she also spends several mornings each week moaning about not wanting to go to school, saying she hates gym and finds school boring. 

“She loves to help clean up the classroom and sits with us at lunch offering to set up,” her teachers say. “She’s diligent and likes to show us a variety of math strategies.” I think about her constant messes and how she refuses to do a single page of the optional math homework they send home.

On the zoom call we check in and they show us a story she has written and then edited and re-written in neater handwriting about how to build a snowman. The second version is markedly improved and they talk about what a big deal this was for her—that she worked on it for days, and drew and re-drew the pictures, and focused on making the letters legible and the story flow smoothly. The teachers told her they were extremely proud of her and the whole class had cheered. I asked them how they got her to stick with it, knowing if I suggested she re-write or re-draw something she’d recoil with defensiveness from the perceived judgement. “She was so happy to do it!” they shared cheerfully, much to my disbelief.

I’m touched but also mystified that my children can spend 30 hours a week in a classroom with their teachers and classmates—and despite being talkative about every other aspect of their lives—literally reveal nothing about what they do between the hours of 8:30 a.m. and 2:45 p.m. No matter how much we prod (or for that matter, don’t prod) our kids only tell us the most nominal information.

“We did nothing. Just boring stuff,” is the full report from Ada as she asks for an after school snack.  

Julian is similarly a black box. He likes to talk about the preservative-laden uniformly beige pancakes and blueberry mini-waffles someone drops off for DOE-provided breakfast at his classroom every morning. On occasion he sings a song about counting to 100 with an ambiguously twang-y southern accent. He once brought home a caterpillar-like puppet and informed us he had puppetry class. This is all we’ve gotten in six months. 

His teacher reported during his parent-teacher conference that at school he talks non-stop. “He tells us everything. What he had for breakfast, what shows he’s watching, what books he’s reading, all about mushrooms, his sister, his grandparents, his babysitter.” I try to picture this uber-talkative child at school, who then comes home and has nothing to say about school. 

Last week he offered that at after school at the JCC they’d made hamantaschen on the occasion of Purim. He loves to bake so I asked him what ingredients they used. He looked at me and rolled his four-year-old eyes and told me they were made out of paper. I asked him what else he’d done after school as we walked home and he jumped over the cracks in the sidewalk.

“At JCC all we do is JCC stuff,” he said, then asked if we could have pizza for dinner. There was nothing more to say about that.

Recommendations:

• Art that feels good: by illustrator Audrey Helen Weber. Excited about grabbing a few original watercolors and prints to add to the kids’ collection.

• To Eat: The maple iced latte and the “mycelium” toast at Companion Cafe with their house-made hot sauce, the perfect plant-abundant tiny gem of a spot to sit alone with a book.

• Also to eat: The incredible shrimp dumplings at East Wind Snack Shop (2 locations — one in Park Slope and one in Windsor Terrace). They are also known for their pork dumplings but the shrimp ones win my heart.

• To listen: This helpful podcast episode breaking down on the two sides of the (inane) daylight saving debate. (My unsolicited POV is that if this is the only thing we can get bi-partisan support on it’s deeply sad and that Marco Rubio should spend his time and everyone’s money doing something actually useful).

• To binge: i’ve waxed and waned about Pamela Adlon’s show, Better Things, about mothering, identity, family, sisterhood, career, longing, and so much more, before. Season 5 is currently coming out on Hulu now and accompanying it is a for-fans Better Things podcast hosted by Adlon herself. If you like a nearly real-time analysis of what you’ve just watched, then this is for you. Emily Gould also wrote a great newsletter yesterday on the genius of this show.

• To read: Min Jin Lee’s powerful essay in the NYTimes about Asian Americans living with fear. Maggie Pouncey’s beautiful newsletter about letting ourselves cry and grieve. When are you really an adult? by Julie Beck in The Atlantic.

Looking for recommendations on other great TV series or movies to watch as I reconcile the inevitable end of Better Things. Let me know what you’re binging.