Two Weeks Later
"Look what my teacher wrote on my rort card!" Ty exclaims, holding the piece of paper much too close to his mother's face for her to see. It's the first time that the kids have ever received true grades. At the end of preschool, the parents were given a list of things that their children could and couldn't do, but it wasn't the same as tacking a letter onto them. Even if the letters were "E" "S" "N" and "U" instead of the more traditional alphabet.
"You mean report card, honey," Sam says, pulling it back far enough so she can see her son's grades. He's got all 'S's for 'satisfactory', apart from the 'E's in P.E. and reading.
"This is great."
"Did you see the note by the smelly sticker?" he asks bouncing.
She reads it out loud, "Ty is an emotionally mature child with a great work ethic. He is a great reader, and shows great enthusiasm for his work. He is a pleasure to have in our class."
Ty beams up at her.
"This is a really great report card, honey, I'm really proud of you!" she exclaims. She turns to Emma, who is kicking a rock with her shoe, "How did you do honey?"
"My teacher didn't give cards," the child says, not looking up.
"Are you sure? Because you go to the same school." Sam asks, looking back at the school building to assure herself that she could go in and ask if her current tactic doesn't work out the way she plans.
"She's a liar, mom! She had me read her report card to her a second ago."
"I'm not a liar!" Emma protests.
"You told a lie, and that's what a liar does," Ty retorts.
"Tyler, let your sister be," Sam says, picking up the girl. Her older children are too large to be picked up, especially in front of their friends. But Sam can't help it.
"I was lying," Emma says.
"I know, but you're still not a liar," Sam says, looking at her daughter.
"Momma, if I was really your baby, would I be smart like Ty?"
"Baby girl, you are my baby, and you are smart," Sam tells her.
"Nuh-uh, Mommy," Emma says, squirming around until she produces a crumpled sheet of paper.
Sam talks it, and soothes it out. 'N' for 'needs improvement' in reading and writing, and the dreaded 'U' unsatisfactory for math. The rest are all 'S', apart from a single 'E' in P.E.
"This isn't so bad," Sam says, smiling at her daughter.
"But the teacher doesn't like me," Emma pouts.
Emma's eyes scan down to the 'teacher's comments' part of the page. "Emma likes to visit when she should be working, and her work suffers because of this. She has poor organizational skills. She has difficultly with transitions."
Sam clothes her eyes. Must it always be all good or all bad? Couldn't the teacher have said something good about her daughter?
"You're teacher loves you, she says you're a beautiful social girl who is really good at P.E." Sam says. It's not completely different than what the teacher says, but it has a much better spin on it.
"You're not mad?" Emma asks, hiding her face.
"Were you trying your hardest?" Sam asks.
Emma nods her head.
"Then why would I be mad?"
"I hearded some older kids talking, 'n they said that if they have bad grades, their parents ground them."
"Well, that's not happening, Em."
Her forehead crinkles, "Is it 'cause I'm not really your daughter? If Ty got bad grades, would you ground him?"
"It would depend how hard he was trying," Sam says with a slow smile. "Do you have any homework? Something we can do to help you?"
Emma shakes her head.
"Listen, babe, I'm going to go talk to your teacher for a second. You guys can come along and wait for me in the hallway."
-0-0-0-
"Hi, I'm Emma's mom," Sam says, poking her head into the classroom.
"Mrs. Claire, it's nice to meet you," the women says, extending her hand.
"Ah, so Emma just gave me her report card, and I was wondering if there was anything that we could do at home to help her out."
"I've told the kids a bunch of times that they can take their reading book home. And has she even been practicing her flash cards?"
"I'm sorry, what flash cards?" Sam says.
"They have flash cards of the high-frequency words. Simple small words that make up 50% of all written language."
"Do you have a copy of them?" Sam asks.
"I'm sure Emma has them, they're probably in her desk," the teacher says, gesturing vaguely to a side of the room.
Sam walks over to the desks, and sees one that has Emma's name, traced in perfect D'Nealian script.
She opens the desk to find the biggest disaster she has seen in her entire life. Seriously, she could not imagine there could be so much mess in one desk. There is no way she's going to find the flash cards, but she manages to fish out a reading textbook.
Sam turns to the teacher, "You don't have another copy?"
"I can't make dozens of copies of everything for each kid. They lose everything."
"Ok," Sam says meekly, "Her biggest problem seems to be math. Can you tell me what we're working on?"
"Right now we're working on understanding place value."
Sam was a bit disappointed. If the teacher had said 'addition' or 'subtraction', it would have been easier. But she'll work with what she has.
"Thank you," Sam says, and makes her way into the hallway where she takes a hold of Emma's hand and gives it a quick squeeze. Her children follow along, and Sam works really hard focusing on not crying.
-0-0-0-
"Sorry I'm so late, babe," Jack says when he arrives home near to midnight.
"It's ok, I know that you had a mission today," Sam says, and her voice sounds icy even in her own ears.
"Is everything ok?" Jack asks, sitting down on the bed next to her still wearing his clothes.
"Report cards came out today," Sam says.
"And…" Jack says.
"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?" Sam asks.
"Lead with the good."
"Ty is doing great," she says, pushing the report card toward him.
He gives it a quick glance, not even enough time to read all the comments before he asks, "And Emma?"
Sam starts to cry, and Jack pulls her into a tight hug in order to comfort her, even though he desperately wants to press her for information.
When the sobbing stops, she pushes away and hands him the report card. He takes it from her hand and gives her a smile before he looks at it.
"This isn't so bad, Sammy."
"I'm a horrible mother. I didn't even know that she was struggling."
"Neither did I, Sam."
"What are we going to do?"
"It's kindergarten. These grades don't actually matter. We'll get her some extra help, and everything is going to be fine."
"It's just… you always assume your kids are going to be above-average, perfect, I never really considered what it would be like if our kid struggled," Sam admits.
"Think how she feels," Jack says.
Sam snorts. "I don't have to imagine that. She told me. She's terrified that this is because she's not really our kid, and that we are going to punish her for it."
"This might actually be because she's not ours," Jack says thoughtfully.
"Jack!" she scolds in surprise.
"I mean… she just lost her dad a few months ago, that could affect her grade."
"Right, of course, I should have thought of that. I should have told the teacher that," Sam says hanging her head.
"Babe," he says, lifting her chin up, "You were blindsided there. We can also tell her tomorrow."
"Jack, I worked with her all night, she can't do single-digit addition problems. There are these couple hundred words she's supposed to know, and she knows maybe two of them. And you should have heard her read."
"Look, tomorrow is Saturday, and I have it off. I'll work with her all day."
"You promised you were going to take the kids to the batting cages, remember? Janet was going to take Hannah."
"Yeah, well, this is more important."
"She's trying her best, and I don't want to feel that she's being punished."
"Ok, but after the batting cage…" Jack says.
Sam nods her head.
Three Days Later
"Mommy, teacher said to give this to you," Emma says when Sam comes home not long before her children's bedtime.
"She wouldn't let me look at it," Jack say curiously.
Sam opens the envelope to reveal a brand new set of sight word flash cards, carefully cut by the teacher just for her forgetful daughter. She's sorry for all the things she thought about the teacher before. She wasn't unhelpful, so much as a bit stressed and overworked.
Two Weeks Later
Shelby's eyes open to see a flower on the nightstand. She knows it wasn't there when she fell asleep last night.
"I made you breakfast in bed," Teal'c says, pushing the door open and laying a tray on her lap with toast and coffee on it.
"This is another one of those things you're misunderstanding. This is traditionally done either by kids on mother's day or… it's romantic."
"Indeed?" Teal'c says with a raise of an eyebrow.
Shelby turns her head toward the rose.
"Is the flower correct?"
"Correct for what?" Shelby asks.
Teal'c's face gives away more than she meant to.
The doorbell rings, and Shelby jumps out of bed before Teal'c places the board on her knees. She figures she saved by the bell.
"Mom?" she asks in surprise when she opens the door. She has changed her mind about being saved by the bell now.
"I just need you to watch the kids for a minute," her mom says frantically.
"Is this minute going to be like the week-long minute you spent in Las Vegas when I was ten?"
"This isn't like that, I just need you to watch them while I go to a job interview."
"You're high, mom, you're not going to a job interview."
"I'm clean. I haven't been on drugs for years, and you know that!" her mom yells.
"Is there a problem?" Teal'c asks, walking up behind her.
"You're new boyfriend is black?" Shelby's mother says.
"He's not my boyfriend, we're roommates."
"Whatever, just watch the kids," Shelby's mom insists, walking away.
"Kin of Shelby, do you like toast for breakfast? My cooking skills are somewhat rudimentary," Teal'c says.
"They eat whatever," Shelby says, shutting the door. "Teal'c, these are my sisters Tammy and Becky Lynn."
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Teal'c says, offering them a bow.
"Shelby, Mommy is sick again," the eight year old, Tammy, says.
"Yeah, well, Mommy chooses to be sick. She didn't bring you any spare clothes, and..." Shelby sniffs, "When is the last time your clothes were cleaned?"
"The washing machine is broken," Becky Lyn, a five year old, says.
"Of course it is," Shelby says sarcastically. "Once you guys eat the toast, we're going to bathe you, and wash your clothes, and we'll buy you new clothing, and then we'll get you to school."
"Shelby, you have classes today, don't you?"
"Not for two hours," she says.
"Today is my day off. Give me the sizes, and I will purchase the clothing. I will return in time to finish child care."
"I can do this, Teal'c."
"You can't be late. Take care of them until I return, and I will get them to their school."
"They're not your sisters."
"No, but they're yours."