It was with mixed emotions that I opened Emma's homework folder last week and found a paper in there marked with a letter grade. This was clearly something different from her usual homework which is usually graded with variations of smiley faces. Then I realized it was a spelling test. At first I was happy for her, as it was marked with an A and everything was correct. Then I thought: "Wait a minute. This is a test. What in the hell are they giving a test to kindergarteners for?" I asked her about it. Here's the exchange:

Me: (holding up the paper) What's this Emma?
Em: It's a spelling test.
Me: You did well--you got an A.
Em: Oh. What does that mean?
Me: It means you got them all right.
Em: Oh. I'll always get A's then.

There are so many telling things about this whole exchange. She is still naive enough to have no idea what a test is or any of the implications that come with them. She is self-confident enough and naive enough to think she will always get A's. Put the bigger picture is more disturbing. We are testing our kindergarteners. Five year old children, who will soon be tested more than any person should, are being tested so they will get used to the process and understand what it means when a teacher announces a "test". Already we are introducing this concept that will bring tremendous joy and pain and anxiety in the years to come. I was hoping that this would wait a while. I guess that is my naivete.

I could get on my soap box about too much testing in school and the bass-ackwards way we in America have of approaching education. But I will save that for a later post. Right now I am just going to try to find a happy medium between pride and anger--wherever that is.

What did you do last weekend?

This is what we did. . .

We made our inaugural visit to the emergency room on Saturday. After a difficult morning in which Esther had already fallen once and bruised her bottom, she raced across the living room, tripped on a stool, and dove head first into the tile in front of our fireplace. Even before we saw the blood, we knew it was bad. Then we saw the blood coming through Esther's fingers--head wounds bleed ALOT!

We packed Emma off to a neighbor's and headed to Piedmont Hospital--which I highly recommend for your average, non-life-threatening emergencies--for 3 hours of waiting, stitching, and signing of papers. Oh, and screaming. Already in a scary place, Esther had to be immobilized in a papoose-like contraption and her head stitched when it was not quite numb enough. But she was very brave and, by the time we got home, was fine and chasing the dog as usual. We even went to a kid's birthday party that evening.

And if you had any doubt that bad things happen in threes, on the way home from the party, we got rear ended. The car is fine but Shaun and I decided that we just needed to get home, put the kids to bed and proceed to drinking heavily.