I see you

I see you over there. Yes, there are 30 little five year olds running around the parking lot and 30 adults- moms, grandmothers, dads, all trying to keep their young charges from running past the orange traffic cones meant to corral the safety towners until the gates open. Yes, it is loud, with babies crying, kids laughing, cars trying to park. Yes, I am just as distracted as the other moms, watching my oldest son hop around the parking lot, chatting with the older brothers and sisters of the safety towners. This kid of mine, he knows everyone. I watch him smile and wave to his friends, totally confident and sure of himself. To be honest, he is a little jealous. His little brother's safety town has permanent structures and a great little town to drive around. My youngest son is wrapped around my leg, hiding from the noise and people. Sure, if I encouraged him he would run off with his older brother. He would laugh and hop and race around in circles like the other little ones. I don't encourage this, though, because, unlike the other children waiting in the parking lot he will not be able to calm down when it is time for class to start. In our world there is a time and a place for "free play", and this is not it. I pick up my youngest. He wraps his fingers through my hair and pets my head as he pops his thumb into his mouth. I whisper into his ear.  "I am so proud of you! You are doing great with safety town!" He vacillates between agreeing with me and saying "No, I'm not doing good." We have some self esteem issues to work on with this one.

There is a lot going on, here in this parking lot, but I still see you. I see your son smile at my youngest, the light of recognition in his eyes. I wonder- day care? Pre school? Church? I bend down to my son, questions on my lips, ready to point out his friend and ask where he knows him from. Your son takes a step forward and then I see it. You pull him back. I watch you tell your son "No." "Don't go talk to him."

My oldest appears back by my side at the exact moment that I turn away from you. I heard about you. My sweet husband told me that you had refused to let your son say hi to our youngest the day before, that you acted as though you knew our family from somewhere. My oldest confirms my fears. You do know our family. From church. From daycare. Daycare. Sigh.

I take a breath. I have a choice here. I can be mad. I can tell you how thankful you must be that you have typical, cookie cutter children who never have behavior issues. I can tell you how thankful I am that your children have obviously never suffered at the hands of someone they expected to be able to trust. I could ignore. But this is just the beginning. If we have found ourselves at the same daycare and at the same church, then we very well might find ourselves in the same school class. I know your kids go to our school; your older son was in my oldest son's first grade class. Our kids are friends, and I am not about to allow my oldest son to lose a friend over your narrow mindedness. What happened at that daycare was nothing. A blip on our radar screen that we have already forgotten about. Frankly, it wasn't even the worst behavior we have seen from our sweet boy. Please. You have no idea. My life is busy. Job. Therapy. Doctor's appointments. Kids' activities. Time with my husband. Family fun. House. Managing the household. Errands. Relationships to maintain. I don't have time to educate the world on what can go wrong when babies aren't loved. Or even worse, when babies are starved or abused. I don't have time to educate you. But I know I have to push past all that. My oldest son deserves to have a chance at maintaining his friendship with your oldest son. And my youngest son deserves something too. Understanding.

Yes, this is uncomfortable for me. Yes, I would prefer to not have to step outside of my comfort zone. I want to turn away from you, folding my son into my arms. But I know that this is just the beginning. There will be more moms like you. Moms who need a little education. And I can't run from them all.

No, I can't run. I can use each incident as a teaching opportunity for my boys. As learning opportunities for myself. I can refuse to be narrow minded. I can refuse to allow my oldest to be embarrassed by his little brother. I can refuse to allow my youngest to think he is any less than. I can refuse to hide. This week we are at Safety Town. We will be at Sunday school. We will be at the family wedding. We will be at the bowling alley and the amusement park and the restaurant. We will be at the beach. So yes, I see you. I see your looks and I feel your judgement. I don't care. Bring it on because we are only getting stronger every day.

mothers and sons, it's not an easy thing

We met with the big five year old's kindergarten teacher this week for our first parent teacher conference. We dropped the tiny toddler off at day care so we would have as few distractions as possible. We loaded the big five year old up with healthy on the go breakfast choices since we had to leave the house an hour earlier than we usually do. We tried every door to the school before we found one that was unlocked at the horribly early hour of 7am. After finally finding an open door, on the other side of the school, we made a mad dash through dark hallways and a empty gymnasium only to arrive at the conference 3 minutes late. (score!) His teacher showed up 5 minutes later...

We sat on tiny blue chairs with our knees tucked up to our chins. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my big five year old wandering around his classroom, trying on a hat, touching a book, looking out the window. While we talked to his teacher he found a seat and ate his breakfast before hopping back up and joining us at the "adult" table.

We learned that our big five year is very smart. We learned that his reading and comprehension are high for a child his age. We saw school work that was A+ quality and some that was definitely a fail. We nodded our heads and agreed that he was a smart kid who needed to work on his behavior and impulse control. His teacher called him a "blessing" and said that he "marches to his own drummer".

I walked out of the large, colorful classroom proud. We have things to celebrate and things to work on. We were not surprised by what we heard.

What has surprised me these first 6 weeks of school has been my emotions.  Our days are ruled by the color my big five year old achieves on his daily behavior chart, yes. If he brings home a yellow, orange, or, (gasp!) red day our evenings are filled with reminders, (which sometimes turn into lectures), no TV or screen time, and early bed times. It is not easy on anyone. How one small child can bring home news that can totally change the family dynamics, every single day, was a surprise to me.

The daily school bus ride from school to his after school program has also been a landmine my big five year old has had to navigate, alone. So far he has had nose bleeds and lost his thermos. He had an assigned seat for a while, most likely brought on by his desire to sit with the other kids and his indecision of where to sit when they say "no". And it breaks my heart. Who are these kids to say "no" to my sweet little boy? Why won't they let him sit with them on the bus?

I tell him that they need to get to know him. That the older kids have friends already from last year. That he needs to let the other little boy from his class, who also rides the bus, pick the seat. That he needs to relax and let it happen. That making friends is not easy and takes time. I tell him all of this with a smile. But inside I am seething at these children who won't let my boy share their seat. I hold back tears and want to fold him into my arms and never let him go.

Some days my big five year old comes home full of smiles and stories about his day. Some times he comes home full of sadness because "no one wants to play with" him. Now my boy is smart and outgoing and energetic and I suspect that he might be a tad too controlling when his friends don't want to play with him. He is imaginative and likes to create elaborate stories as he plays. I tell him to ask his friends what they would like to play, to join in with them. He tells me that his friends make his "eyes water", which is what he says when he feels as though he is going to cry. And I smile and offer encouraging words. Again, I want to take these children by the hand and force them to play with my sweet boy. I want to be there, with him. I want to remind him to sit in his seat and pay attention to his teacher. I want to sit with him on the bus. I want to play pirates with him at recess. I want to stop him from working so hard to please his friends. I want him to relax and let it happen. I want to stop my heart from breaking and his eyes from watering.

This is kindergarten. There will be many successes and challenges along my son's journey. Sometimes I will be there to pick him up. Sometimes he will have to figure it out on his own. Sometimes we will cry together at the unfairness that is life. Sometimes we will celebrate together the amazing things happening in his life. I won't always have the right answers, and sometimes I might not have any answers at all. What I do know is this; it is easier and harder every day. Sure, he no longer requires diapers and total supervision. I can turn my back on him in the bath tub and let him play downstairs while I put his little brother to bed upstairs. I can let go of his hand in a parking lot and he can buckle himself into the car. He can help me make dinner and get his own snacks. But his days are no longer filled with naps and play time. And with age comes concern. Ever since his stint at Safety Town this past summer my big five year old has been more aware of the dangers this world holds. The smoke alarm going off in our home can now send him into a panic, now that he more fully understands it's implications. The TV news is unsettling to him now that he knows a little more about what's out there. The more we teach our children the more innocence slips away.

This is life. It breaks my heart to see my big five year old struggling. Letting go, letting him find his own path may just be hardest thing I have ever done. And to think that in a few years I get to send another little one out into the world, without me. I want to keep them close, protected from the things that make our eyes water. Mothers and sons. It's not any easy thing.

you are NOT invited to my birthday party!

My big four and a half year old has been planning his fifth birthday party for months now. For reasons unknown to me he is super excited about turning five. Well, I do know one reason. He seems to think that turning five will gain him automatic admission to Safety Town, where he will get to drive a car. I have tried to gently explain to him that I do not think, in fact, that he will be driving any cars anytime soon. But he is convinced. And he is usually right, so we shall see.

So the party theme seems to bounce back and forth between "construction" and "trains". Currently "construction" is winning. He has planned the decorations, what the cake will look like. He even knows what he will include in his goody bags. What he doesn't know is who will be invited to this shindig of his. He can tell you, however, who won't be invited. Mommy.

Nearly daily I do something that gets on his nerves to the point where he says, "Mommy, you are NOT invited to my birthday party." The other day he told his tiny toddler of a little brother that he was no longer invited either. The tiny toddler took it better than I did - he pointed his tiny finger at his brother and said "No!". And then he wandered off and that was that.

"Mommy, you are NOT invited to my birthday party!"
"You'll miss me if I am not there."
"No I won't. I won't miss you because I will be having so much fun!"
"Who is going to plan this birthday party?"
"You can plan it, Mommy. But you are NOT invited."
"Well, little brat sweetie, I am not NOT planning your party if I am not invited."
"Daddy will plan it."
"Alrighty then. It will be you, Daddy, Alex, a folding chair and lots of talk about football."
"That doesn't sound like fun."
"So am I invited again?"
"Sure! I want a round cake this year, NOT a square one, Mommy."

This exact conversation happens at least three times a week. We have nearly nine weeks until his big birthday rolls around. God help me. I may just lose my invitation and let my husband have at it. Maybe he'll bring two folding chairs.