Conference Time

Yesterday Emma came home from school and reminded me that today we are having our "Student Lead Conferences." Huh? When I was in school they were called Parent-Teacher Conferences. You know, your parents would meet with your teachers and complain about what you were or weren't learning and your teachers would come right back at them complaining about all of the shenanigans that you tried to pull during their class time. (My favorite was when I put little dollops of Elmer's glue along the inside of my desk to dry...then I'd make my own Lee Press-On Nails. hehehe) So now they're called Student-Lead Conferences? What does that mean? I think it' a little backwards, don't you? Clearly Emma isn't going to tell me about all of the crap she tries to pull, like listening to her MP3 player during class time or painting her fingernails while the teacher is trying to explain the multiplication tables. Oh no. I had to learn about those when the teacher felt it necessary to pull me aside at an awards assembly. "Um, excuse me Mrs. Wixom. While I know that your daughter is about to get an award for her excellent ability to write stories and her perfect attendance over the last several months, but could you please remind her that she CAN'T paint her finger nails while listening to "Walk Like An Egyptian" during class time." *sigh*
Anyway, Emma comes home yesterday and advises me that her teacher sent the kids home with a warning. Either make sure your parents come to conference or she will come to OUR house with the principal!!! Hmmm...does that mean that I can sleep in and answer the door in my fuzzy slippers and blue moo-moo? I'd actually really like that, I think.
Ian is a little worried about what will be said at conferences too. Last night he was kneeling at his bedside saying his prayers and he asked Heavenly Father to make sure that his teacher doesn't talk to mommy about the naughty stuff he does at school. Oh really? I explained that it would be better coming from him then from his teacher and he'd better tell me NOW. His chin started to quiver. His eyes welled up with tears. And then he explained that he doesn't always use his time wisely or pay attention like he should, but that he was GOING TO DO BETTER! Whew. At least he wasn't trying to glue the inside of his desk...