Being Ellie

My husband and I had our parent-teacher conference today for our daughter, who is in fourth grade. I have to admit this was the first time I've actually met my daughter's teacher, which pretty much makes me the Worst Mom Ever in the history of my daughter's school, which I'll call Helicopter Parent Elementary (HPE). But, you know, I HAVE CANCER, PEOPLE! LOL.

Anyway, I had no idea what to expect. I have no idea how my daughter is doing in school. And it's fourth grade, so I don't care that much. I care enough to occasionally scream at her when she doesn't get something that she should get, or when she tells us at 9 PM that she has to create a salt dough map of our state for school tomorrow. But other than that, I know nothing. And in fairness to myself, I was pretty laid up until a few weeks ago. I'm too lazy to be a helicopter parent, but I'm not normally this clueless. I got the feeling my daughter's teacher knew why I had been so MIA, because she asked me a few too many times, with a lot of interest, how I was doing.

And no matter how clueless I am about my daughter's academic achievements, I'm pretty in tune with her strengths and weaknesses in general. If you know me, you know I spend a lot of time lamenting that God cursed me with a daughter who is the exact opposite of me. This is not necessarily a bad thing for her, because I have a lot of bad qualities I wouldn't wish on anyone, but it does create constant tension between us, because I do not understand this alien being who is 50% me but yet Not Me in every possible way, good or bad.

Thus, I was fairly relieved when my daughter's teacher started off with how much she LOVES Ellie. Yes, she needs to work on organization and neatness and focus, but overall she is doing fine. This is pretty much how all our conferences go. We chatted a bit about academic stuff, then eventually the teacher asked us if we had any questions. I entered the dreaded territory of asking how my daughter was doing socially. Her teacher paused, then said she thought she was doing fine. But then added, 'Unless she's telling you something I don't know.' I replied that Ellie never said anything, which in a way worries me, because she is very oblivious to a lot of things that I feel she should notice. I said that from a parenting standpoint, it is easy to have a daughter who is fairly clueless, but that I also understand that can't work forever. I worry about the day when she does get a clue. Her teacher replied in just the right way - not an overly assuring Oh no! She's FINE! way, but in a realistic, thoughtful way. She said, 'There are a lot of issues in the class, especially with the girls... but... Ellie really doesn't do drama.' Then she added, 'It's really interesting because everyone in the class is really protective of her. She's really nice to everyone, and it seems like everyone likes her.' She said this in a way that implied that it was really a respect thing, and not an I feel sorry for you thing. But she also sounded surprised by it - like... How can this be? It's weird. Yet it is.

I keep thinking of this: Ellie really doesn't do drama. WTF? WHO IS THIS CHILD? It seems like everyone likes her? Are you sure you are talking about the same person who lives with me?! And it struck me that after being inspired by all the amazing people who have rallied around me in the past few months, that perhaps I could learn a lesson or two from my own daughter, who doesn't do drama. After talking a bit more with her teacher about it, her teacher said that while she thought Ellie was fairly naive, she wasn't totally clueless. So her 'not doing drama' wasn't 100% because she didn't even know it was there. She just... doesn't do drama.

It is hard to know how to feel about this. On the one hand, you hope your child will be upset when you tell her have cancer, and that this is a serious thing. On the other hand, you're happy when none of it seems to faze her, the same way she was okay when our cat was run over by a truck or when our chickens were gutted by raccoons. After my surgery, she was okay not knowing who was going to pick her up from school for over a month, and she took going home with random classmates in stride. I never have to worry about her throwing a fit if I forget to pack her a lunch on the day of a school field trip when they can't buy lunch, or if I'm not feeling good enough to go watch her at her running meets, or if the tooth fairy forgets to come. Because she just... doesn't do drama.

It struck me during the conference that I don't want to do drama, either. I feel like I've been a drama queen for the past five months since my diagnosis, and I'm done with it. I hate being emotional and feeling sorry for myself and crying and I dunno, all that other dramatic stuff that comes with cancer. I just want to be the person who is nice to everyone that everyone likes and protects - someone more like my daughter, and less like me. I'll add it to my self-improvement 'to do' list.