12/8/2017

Monthly Miles Memo #119

Filed under: — Aprille @ 9:39 am

Dear Miles,

The busy time of year is upon us (though it seems like it’s always a busy time of year).  It’s the time when I have to think of Christmas and birthday presents for a kid who only wants to play Minecraft and doesn’t have a lot of interest in merchandise.  I’ve been trying to get you experience-based gifts—theater tickets, coupons for Mom/Miles dates to the Java House for hot chocolate and board games, movie passes.  Your dad and I have some good ideas cooked up for your birthday, but we’ll talk about that more next month.

You’ve finally boarded the slime train, so that’s…sciencey, I guess.  I’ve known about the fad for some time, but you only recently got interested in it.  You made a batch of slime last weekend, and you were excited to take it to school.  You have sworn to me that your teacher is totally okay with it.  I’m skeptical, but she also lets her lizard Francisco roam around the classroom, so I guess she’s pretty relaxed.

I was at school doing some volunteer work the other day, and I talked to you third-grade teacher, Miss Lampe.  She relayed to me that you told your current teacher that Miss Lampe was your favorite teacher ever, and your current teacher is in third place.  Miss Lampe assured me that your current teacher was laughing as she told it, but I hope you weren’t too rude.  You’re going to need to brush up on your tact if you want to rise above the level of third-favorite student.

School seems to be going pretty well overall.  One thing that is slightly concerning to your dad and me is that you have decided you’re bad at math.  The thing is, you’re definitely not bad at math.  The only reason you don’t get perfect scores on your homework and tests is carelessness or incompleteness.  You understand all the concepts, but when an answer asks you to explain your reasoning, you write “I tried.”  I realize it’s hard to verbalize how one comes to a mathematical conclusion, but being able to explain things is a skill that goes beyond math, and I want you to exercise it.  You also seem perfectly satisfied with getting scores in the 80% range when you understand 100% of the content.  This is a tricky matter.  I don’t want you to put so much pressure on yourself for perfection that your happiness seriously suffers, but a little more internal motivation might be a good thing.

You’re in a stage where you’re developing an identity.  You tell us that you’re the class goofball (your teacher confirms this), which is a little surprising considering you’ve always been a fairly serious kid.  I’m glad you’re cultivating humor, but much like your insensitive teacher ranking, you need to work on time-and-place appropriateness.  A kid with a dry wit is a lot more pleasant to have in the classroom than a kid who yells “chicken nuggets” instead of a correct answer.

That reminds me, we need to get your teacher a generous gift card.  Teachers work hard.

We had our Family Folk Machine fall concert, and as usual, you nailed it.  One thing that made me particularly proud:  our friend Lynn organized the group gift to our director, and she didn’t want to be the one to present it.  She suggested that you do it, and you were fine with the idea.  I gave you a few ideas about what you might say but didn’t dictate anything specific.  You did a lovely job with your impromptu speech, thanking Jean and her assistant director kindly and clearly.  Side note:  isn’t it funny how different life experiences are challenging to different people?  Lynn sings beautiful solos in the choir, but saying a few words about our director is tricky for her.  You did wonderfully with the public speaking (and singing solos), but the idea of joining a group of kids on the playground can paralyze you.  I’m not criticizing—I have my own hangups that are a lot like yours.  Our brains are strange organs.

Your current favorites:  linguine with homemade tomato sauce, Minecraft, haircut evasion, sleeping in, writing and drawing comics and stories, and hanging out with your friend Jacob.

You’re a wonderfully weird little guy, Miles.  This might be the last month I can reasonably call you “little,” since it’s your last month before you enter the double digits.  I can hardly believe that I’ve been looking into your big blue eyes for almost a decade now, but I’ll comment on that more next month on your big 1-0.

I’m going to hug you with all my might while you’re still my little boy.  I’m not saying I’m going to stop once you’re ten, but it’s a good excuse for the time being.

Love,

Mom

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