Just when we thought that Mrs. Faraway had given up, I find myself the recipient of one of her emails this morning.
Not only are her emails ripe with typographical errors (we particularly enjoy her use of "studing" for "studying") but she types in ALL FREAKING CAPS LIKE SHE'S YELLING. Having tried to walk this woman through our school website over the telephone I'm fairly certain she isn't yelling, but happens to be completely clueless about her breach of email etiquette.
Anyhow, I'm giving a benchmark test today, which is boring beyond belief, and I see her email pop up. She wants to know when I'm handing back the study guides for our next unit test because she needs to work with her daughter on memorizing them word for word so she can parrot the answers back and not have a clue what any of it is about. She claims that her daughter turned it in on Friday.
Well, that's pretty interesting because I didn't collect the study guides, and when I went through the homework that was turned into the homework basket, there were no study guides in there. From anyone. I informed Mrs. Faraway of such and told her that I would have an additional study guide ready for her daughter when she came to class, even though my usual practice is if a kid loses a study guide (or anything else for that matter), they better find a friend and change for the copier. However, since her daughter is on an IEP, I do make exceptions (and how) for her.
Mrs. Faraway responds that she appreciated that I would give her daughter a new study guide, but she would really like the old one (which was completed) and that she has no reason not to believe her daughter so apparently, I've lost her study guide. After all, her daughter insisted that she turned it in. What other possibility could it be? I had to have lost it.
At this point I'm shaking my head over the fact that I have yet another parent who believes everything that comes out of the mouth of a seventh grader. If there's one thing that a seventh grader is good at, it is obfuscating the truth. Or, if you prefer, lying.
When Faraway Girl comes in to class, I call her over and hand her another study guide.
"You need to take this home and make sure your mother sees this," I tell her.
She gives me one of her patented blank looks. There are times that I swear I can hear the wind whistling between her ears. Loudly.
"But I have one already," she says.
"Really. Well, your mother says you don't."
"But I do," she insists again. "And it's filled out." At this point she goes to her binder, opens it up, and lo and behold, there's her perfectly completed study guide!
"Well an extra one wouldn't kill either one of you," I say. "Just in case it gets misplaced." She gives me a look like she's completely baffled (which she probably was) and puts the new one in her binder.
I email her mother and let her know I gave her daughter a new study guide. However, interestingly enough, her daughter insisted that she didn't need a study guide because she still had one in her binder, which she did, in fact, produce. I suggested that perhaps her mother might, just maybe, have my class confused with another one?
At least she said thank you. But I'm still annoyed that she was convinced I'd lost the stupid thing in the first place.