Smoothies and popcorn at Noon

December 19, 2008 at 5:39 pm 1 comment

Polly, Sergei and I just got home a half hour ago from the kids’ school.  Elaina and Zoya had their Winter Celebration Festival this morning on the third floor of their Chicago red brick school while Polly had her second to last evaluation for her transition to school in the basement of the same building.

Sergei and I split up.  He headed upstairs with  a herd of parents, cameras and camcorders in tow to sit through a two hour show about winter fun, Kwanzaa and peace on earth.  I appeased Polly for a half hour by walking the shinny school hallways as we waited for the occupational therapist to show.

Two-year-olds don’t wait well, in general.

She came, poor thing, a half hour late.  Chicago got the promised ice storm overnight and the occupational therapist had to travel across town in oodles of snow and ice.  A winter wonderland, yes.  But only if you don’t have anything to do today but stay in the house and sip hot cocoa.

By the time we met Ms. T, Polly was so past being at her sisters’ school and in no way excited about an evaluation. 

There’s something about evaluations for Polly.  It’s like a switch is hit and she turns into a whinny, snotty kid who yells “no” over and over and lays on the floor, banging her fists in frustration, unwilling to do things she’s done for almost a year.  And there I am, in my polite voice, sweat running down the insides of my arms, a tense smile plastered on my face.

“Now, Polly, get up off the floor.”

“Polly, we don’t hit Ms. T.  She’s a new friend, say you are sorry” I coo trying to hide my intense desire to put her in a time out for life.  I persist until a half hearted apology is produced.  I practically take her hand and sign it myself.  It’s totally an act, the follow through, I mean.  At home I would have given up a lot sooner.

I hate evaluations.  Well-meaning therpaists watch Polly’s fits and scribble down notes, once in a while giving her a nod and a half smile.

“Is she potty trained?  Can she use scissors?  Button buttons?”

Um, no.  She’s two years old.  My typically developing kids couldn’t do those things at two.

All the while Polly’s fit ensues.  This is so not my kid 90% of the time but how would they know that?

And so I breath deeply and endure the meeting that mirrors the other three meetings we’ve had.  I sit up straight and answer questions enthusiastically, still trying to get Polly to acknowledge the therapist.

“Polly, say hi,” I dote.

“Hi, Polly…say hi.”



Her nose runs and runs and her shirt is all wet, pieces of hair stuck to her face look almost like clay.

The evaluation over, we bundle up and sludge back home in the wet snow.  Sergei and I have words.  Bad moods all around.

There’s nothing else to do now but let it go.

And make smoothies and popcorn at Noon for lunch.


Entry filed under: Uncategorized.

Potluck redemption Merry Christmas

1 Comment Add your own

  • 1. joannmski  |  December 19, 2008 at 10:42 pm

    You have described this so well!


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