Molly*

Poor Molly.

She came into program this afternoon all red in the face, tears everywhere. The world had obviously come to an end.

Go ahead. Guess.
That's right. She was not first in line. Again.

It is such a big deal to her.The idea of not being first in line is just... epic.

It's not unimportant to me that her feelings are hurt, but if I make a scene, (Aww, honey, are you okay? What's wrong?) the histrionics will come out and knock us all over. She loves a good audience. So I cheerfully say hello to her, the same way I greet the other kids. And I ignore her tears.

It doesn't take long before she's distracted by the toys, her little friends and the general busy-ness of a typical afternoon. The huge importance of being first in line (or not) fades.

She likes being there. Most of the kids do, I think. Yes, it's after school care (although it's billed as an educational enrichment program in the marketing parlance) and some of the kids don't have a choice about being there, but I try to make it a good place to be.

About that educational enrichment. It is educational. We learn about all kinds of things. Animals and habitats and word puzzles and trivia and crafts and stink bugs and microscopic views and the importance of washing at least some of the bacteria off your hands before you eat.

I don't have a goal of teaching the kids something every day, but they learn anyway because I've provided an environment that interests them. So we are doing what we're supposed to do, but the kids don't care about that. All they care about is not being stuck somewhere they hate being. Coincidentally, that's important to me, too. Win/win.

So close to the end of the evening, Molly and a few cohorts decided they were going to play with the dolls, necklaces, purses, plates and cups and dishes and trays and all kinds of food from the dramatic play cart.

At 20 minutes before closing, I announced to them that it was time to clean up.

Molly turned to me with a raised eyebrow. Looked at the back door (where there was no one) and said, "I don't see my mother here." in a snotty little voice.

"Nope. She isn't here yet. But she will be soon, and it's time for you to clean up."

She gave an exasperated sigh, put away one item, and went back to playing. The other kids followed her example... except they didn't put anything away, they just kept playing.

So I told them again.

"Why do we have to clean up? It's not time to leave yet."

"When your parents get here, I want you to be ready to leave so I can go home, too. I have things to clean, too. Let's all get busy."

An even bigger sigh. Arms folded. Dirty look. And she turned back around and started playing with the computer keyboard again.

So I explained in the usual mild tone that if they weren't able to clean things up in a timely manner, they wouldn't be allowed to play in that area the next time.

She walked over to the cart, sort of tossed a few items at it, ignored the things that landed on the floor and said, "There. Is that good enough for you?"

The other kids waited for my reaction.

"No. It isn't good enough. You didn't find the cart in that condition. Clean it up." I nonchalantly sat down at my table to finish the paper I'd been working on. Then turned to glare at look at her. "Oh. And Molly? Lose the attitude. Now."

My mean mom face and tone helped her decide that she wasn't going to win this one and she and her little minions finished cleaning up.

Within about 30 seconds a herd of parents arrived, one right after the other, Molly's mom among them.

Molly decided to have an attitude with Mom, too, saying imperiously, "You get my backpack and my coat, I am done here."

Mom looked surprised. "Excuse me? You get your own stuff young lady, and do it now!"

I said, "Molly seems to have a bit of attitude today."

Mom said, "Has she been giving YOU attitude??!"

I said, "Just once. We fixed it."

She said, "Oh I don't want her giving you attitude!"

"Just kid stuff," I assured her. "I don't take it personally."

"Well I always tell her caregivers that they can tell her that they're going to report to me if she's not being good!"

"Oh. Well, I don't ordinarily do that. First, if there is an ongoing issue, I've already communicated that to the parent. This isn't a big deal, and I'm not concerned about it. It isn't her 'not being good', it's her, acting like a six year old. Also, if I tell Molly that I'm going to tell her mother, I've just handed my authority off to someone who isn't even here. And I'll never have the same credibility with a child again if I do that."

She looked surprised. Then I saw comprehension in her face.
"I never thought about that," she said. "Wow. You're right."

I used to have a coworker who routinely threatened children with their parents for every little minor thing. EVERY little thing.

Then she complained that she felt powerless. That she didn't think her kids were listening to her very well. She was utterly mystified as to why.

With someone like that particular coworker, who is no longer working with kids, an explanation would have been pointless.

But watching someone like that is quite instructive if one is willing to learn. Educational enrichment indeed. :)