“Sophie had a really bad day today,” she said. We were on the phone, but I could see her shaking her head. Sophie was out of sorts all day, in ball buster mode, totally stubborn. Refused to come in from the playground, wouldn’t listen to directions.

“Oh, and she bit someone,” Ms. X said in a rush, like it was an afterthought. I know she knew I’d freak.

“SHE WHAT?!”

“She bit someone. But, but — it wasn’t bad. She just took a kid’s fingertip in her mouth. I don’t think she meant to really bite. It didn’t break the skin.”

Apparently another kid actually left a bruise on a classmate last month, so this really wasn’t much by comparison. Still, Ms. X and I both know it’s got to be nipped in the bud. (So to speak.) Sophie was sent to another classroom for 15 minutes, and it was during Reading Buddies, when Annabelle’s class was there to read with the kindergarteners. Big punishment.

As always, I could tell Ms. X felt badly about being stern with Sophie. And she was quick to tell me that the last 20 minutes of school, Sophie was absolutely perfect.

Super.

“And as she was leaving, she gave me a hug and said, ‘You come my house Thanksgiving!’” Ms. X reported happily.

I was not happy. I called Ray to report on the day’s events and warn that he not mention the bite. We don’t want to make a big deal, I cautioned.

“OK, no problem,” he replied, not seeming concerned. “I know where she got it.”

“Where?!”

“From watching `Charlie Bit Me.’”

Grr. Not on my watch. I’m the queen of inappropriate, but even I have my limits.

Am I the only one who doesn’t find that You Tube video funny? Check it out for yourself if you’re among the handful of Americans who hasn’t seen it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HE4FJL2IDEs

Word around school this week is that Sophie’s been swiping other kids’ drinks at lunch. She drains her juice box and nabs someone else’s drink, particularly if it’s strawberry milk. I stuck 35 cents in this morning, so she could get her own, which she thoroughly enjoyed.

I didn’t mean to be in the cafeteria during her lunch hour, but Sophie spotted me at school this morning so I promised to reappear at lunch — then hustled through Mrs. Z’s Xeroxing (man, I better not quit my day job — the copy machine and I DO NOT get along) and made it over for most of the kindergarten lunch hour.

Arrgh. I’d heard all about kindergarten lunch — it’s legendary — and most recently, both my mother and Sophie’s occupational therapist had spent time in the cafeteria, observing.

What a freaking mess. I know the idea is to let the kids blow off steam during the lunch hour (um, it’s hardly an hour — 30 minutes from start to finish, including time on the playground) but it’s ridiculously out of control in that cacophonous, smelly, linolium-lined lunch room. I didn’t see one kid finish his/her lunch. Probably a good thing, considering what they were serving — something that passed for a BBQ rib sandwich. I had to ask a kid what it was.

Sophie brings her lunch, mostly so I can put stuff in that she’s able to eat easily and quickly. It was a liquid lunch for her today (probably every day); I was lucky she consumed half a mini-quiche. The raisins went untouched and the cheese/crackers were just played with.

And Sophie stays in the lunch room almost the whole time; I was blown back against the wall when someone blew a whistle and most of the kids cleared out to the playground. Before the half hour was over, I’d clapped my hands over my eyes at least twice. (It is true that I scare easily.)

I braced myself for the playground, having been warned about the horrendous ratio — every kindergartener in the school versus one “duty” (please, someone, come up with a better term!). The woman walked around the playground, looking hard and blowing her whistle; but lacking eyes in the back of her head, I just don’t see how she (or any one person) can adequately watch all those kids.

Last week when my mom was there, a little girl wet her pants. Today a kid fell and skinned her hand; she didn’t know what to do. Neither did I.

As I’ve written before (I’m almost sure I’ve covered this already in some depth) there is no law — state or federal — regarding playground ratios at public schools. The ratio at the aftercare program at our school is 12 kindergarteners to one adult. In the classroom it’s as high as 23 (maybe higher) and outside, apparently a 1 to 90 (or so) ratio is cool.

The duty has a walkie talkie, the principal told me, the first time I complained. Anyhow, she said, the school’s not violating the law.

Yeah, I replied. Because there is no law.

I’m holding off while I formulate my second complaint. I need more ammo. And, yeah, less snark.

So the Elmos aren’t working, as you already know. It looks like the tough love approach might be the ticket.

Ms. X called the other day to report that Sophie had had a pretty terrible morning. In the afternoon (and without any interns to help out) Ms. X tried a new tactic. She sat Sophie down and sternly (but lovingly) told her, “Sophie, you are a smart little girl! You can do the work the other kids are doing. Stop screwing around and do it!”

And sent her off with the afternoon’s work, a multi-step project: pasting the correct words onto a picture of a tiny plant (stem, seed, etc), coloring the plant, writing her name at the top.

Ms. X held her breath and firmly sent Sophie back to her seat.

A little while later, Sophie appeared at Ms. X’s side, paper in hand. It’s now proudly displayed on our fridge. Darn good, and the best writing of her name I’ve seen yet. The leaves are black (hey, her mom’s never kept a plant alive, so she has no point of reference) but the flower is yellow, the stem green, the soil brown.

“And she did it all by herself!” Ms. X said proudly.

One afternoon down. So many more to go.

It’s a tradition at the girls’ school. (The festival, not the spying.) Every Halloween, all the kindergarteners — and only the kindergarteners — parade through the school in their costumes. Cutest thing ever. Then they gather in the cafeteria for the morning, where sevearl stations are set up with carnival-like activities: story telling, cookie decorating, pin-the-smile-on-the-jack o’ lantern. That kind of thing.

I signed up immediately as a helper for the morning. It was my first real look at Sophie in action, amongst her peers. I’ve banned myself from her classroom, which kills me. Not that I have so many hours to volunteer, but I’ve always managed some lurking time in Annabelle’s classroom. It’s good for her to see me around, and even better for me to see what’s up in the space my kid occupies for such a big hunk of her life.

Last year when Annabelle was in first grade I got an eyeful of just how much time some teachers spend texting (hey, it was a new boyfriend, cut her some slack) and got to organize someone else’s supply closet — which for some reason is infinitely easier than organizing any of my own crap. This year I’m in absolute awe of Mrs. Z and her Smart Board (google it if you’ve never heard of one — amazing) and her ability to keep just enough control over a group of 7 year olds to get them to work without feeling like they’re working.

And while I’m grading homework, I get to keep tabs on the kids’ social lives. I admit that’s the best part.

But I’ve never gotten to hang with Sophie’s class. In pre-school, parents were pretty much banned from the classroom. At first I was really upset, but Sophie’s wonderful teacher promised she’d be a different kid with Mommy around. “We’ll videotape her if you want,” she said. I was allowed to come at Hanukkah, and the teacher was right: Sophie spent the whole time showing off for me and disrupting the group.

Lesson learned, sadly, so I’ve stayed away from kindergarten. I’m lucky because Ms. X keeps me posted on classroom activities and Sophie’s ups and downs. But as I stood with Sophie the other day before school, I realized I know very few of the kids in her class. Several of the girls, yes, but not many by name, and the only boy I recognized was the one who came to school on Picture Day with both ears pierced. (He’s memorable, and also a good friend to Sophie.)

The Kindergarten Festival went well, although I got stuck at the math station — not my strong suit. OK, I admit it’s not like it was algebra. The kids made patterns with construction paper pumpkins, ghosts and bats. Still, it was stressful, and partly because I was afraid of what I would see. Would the other kids  leave Sophie in the dust?

Let’s say I was pleasantly horrified. I’d figured she’d emerge as the slowest, but as I got to see each kid complete (or not) an activity that required a bit of concentration and effort, I realized that Sophie’s hardly at the bottom of the pile.

I’m not deluding myself, trust me. Well, maybe I am, but not entirely. Last week the “Clifford Journal” came home — the kids are allowed to take home a stuffed Clifford the Big Red Dog to play with, then asked to write about the “visit” in the journal.

My eyes welled up as I flipped through the book. Many kids had drawn fairly intricate portraits of Clifford engaged in activities around the house, along with several well-constructed sentences describing the visit.

Sophie wrote her name in her Sophie way, and drew a, well, a more rudimentary picture than the others in the journal. She dictated her description of the visit to me, which I dutifully wrote, verbatim:

“Don’t feel bad,” Ms. X said when I mentioned it. “I’ve watched parents dictate to their kids. They don’t come up with that stuff themselves.”

But even that wouldn’t have worked with Sophie. She still has trouble forming the letters to more than her name, dictated or not.

So I was nervous as I set out glue sticks and paper cut outs. And yeah, I saw my share of whiz kids. But what surprised me was how many kids were completely unable to do the simple task at my station. Although patterns are a big thing in kindergarten — the precursor to math and all that, something that has no doubt been covered to death by three months into the school year – some children stared blankly when faced with the task. A few couldn’t figure out how to rub the glue stick on the back of the paper, or how to get the finished product into the brown bag they were carrying around.

By the end of the morning, I’d decided several things:

I will never, ever teach elementary school.

Sophie’s doing just fine in kindergarten.

And she looked damn cute in her Cookie Monster costume.