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Fire Drill Apocalypse

Sometimes I feel like the meanest mom in the world.  And that is because I just quite possibly am. I don’t know why God felt I should be the mother of a sensitive son, but He gave me Joshua so apparently I am supposed to be. But sometimes I do not have the patience for his sensitivities and that makes me feel really, really mean.

Joshua is in 3rd grade, which means this is his 4th year of school – the same school since kindergarten – where they, like all schools are mandated by law to do a once-monthly fire drill.

Joshua hates fire drills. He doesn’t mind the drill itself but the sound of the alarm and the surprise of it all scares him and despite the fact that he’s participated in oh, 25 or so fire drills during his academic career, he still lives in fear of the fire drill. He starts getting very nervous near the end of the  month if they haven’t had one yet, and he gets mad if they have one near the beginning of the month because GEEZ WE JUST HAD ONE! IT’S TOO SOON!

Last week one of his older friends in our carpool had been informed by a teacher that the fire drill for September would be the next day, and he innocently mentioned this on the way home from school. Joshua busted through the front door after school and told me the dreadful news, breaking down in tears. TEARS.  He’s 8.5 years old! He cried about it at school last month which concerns me because, dude, they are going to start making fun of you for that soon. This is 3rd grade. You aren’t in kindergarten anymore. The next day I heard through the grapevine that whenever he wasn’t working, he was sitting at his desk with his hands over his ears. ALL DAY, until the fire alarm rang. AAAHH!!

My child is sensitive. (And maybe a little wimpy!) We’ve talked about it ad nauseum and there doesn’t seem to be anything Bobby or I can say to make him less afraid of the dastardly dreaded fire drill.

And I really want to tell him to just grow a pair, already!

See?

Mean, mean, mean.

Sigh.

Any suggestions?

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A Family Tradition

You know how you have those things…those things you are going to do, those things you want to do,  yet can never remember to do at at time when they can actually be done?

I have lots of those things.  And by some miracle from above, last week I remembered to do one of them, at a time when it was physically feasible and not be interrupted by a child before the task was completed.

That thing? Was to order this:

My mom read my brothers and I both Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little when we were kids. I’ll never forget piling onto my bed in my small bedroom with my mom and older brothers and listening to her read to us about Zuckerman’s Famous Pig and his hairy black savior. The suspense! The excitement each time the clever Charlotte spelled out just the right message to give Wilbur a longer leash on life. And of course, the poignant ending. The lesson that life does eventually end, and begin again.

I liked Stuart Little as well, of course, and the Little House and Chronicles of Narnia books mom read us also, but it was Charlotte’s Web I wanted to read again and again.  I loved the movie, too.  But mostly I loved that special time with my mom.  The coziness, the sound of her voice, the exciting stories.  Not being able to wait until the next night when we’d continue the story. Those are all picture-perfect childhood memories for me.

I am really excited that I am now reading it with my big kids.  I was probably Sophie’s age when I first heard Charlotte’s Web read to me, which means my mom was about my age at the time. That’s crazy to think about, but totally cool too. I’m not much into making my kids think that life is magical and that everything they did as a child was sprinkled with fairy dust, but if I can even come close to re-creating the memories for them that reading with my mom left me with, I will be very, very happy. And hopefully, so will they.  I’m praying our reading time together will leave them with some memories of how wonderful books can be and how much their mom loved spending time with them. I’m praying I can shake off the impatience and weariness that sometimes dogs me at bedtime and just savor the time with them and their eager and curious little minds.

Two chapters down, so far so good! Man, I love this book. And those kiddos!

What books were special to you as a child? What books are you reading with your kids?

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Tough Transitions

A picture of Sam’s picture on his cubby at school. It cracked me up.

After a couple months off hanging out with his dad and sister, Sam is back at preschool. He’s been bumped up to the pre-k room (I am in deep denial about what “k” stands for), which is fantastic, but as usual with Sam, he’s having a slightly rough time with the transition. He does great in the mornings, but he’s struggling with nap time. He’s not been sleeping, and he says nap time is too long. When not sleeping, I’m sure an hour and a half IS a long time to lay quietly on a cot. (but seriously kid, SLEEP. Sleeping is a wonderful thing. Maybe grown ups should have nap time instead of kids).

Earlier this week, his class had a teddy bear picnic and I went over to join them for lunch. When I picked Sam up, his “how I did today” color was orange, which is dangerously close to red, which means trouble. When I asked him what was wrong, he said he kept thinking of when I was there at the picnic and it made him sad and he wanted to call his mommy.

Is that not pathetic and sad and sweet? The kid is killing me.

Drop off was awful today – he was crying and so sad, and when I hugged him before I left, he grabbed onto my belt and wouldn’t let go. As soon as I pried that hand off, he grabbed it with the other one. And so on. His teacher was great and I could hear her comforting him after I left the room (why yes I was eavesdropping), but man it broke my heart.

We’ve been down this road before. I know he was fine after I left, and I know that once he gets comfortable in his new room, nap time will be fine. And really, drop off has been great every day but today.

But today was painful, and it’s the painful ones that stick with ya.

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