Today ONE got a yellow slip at school, which means he had a warning. Green slips mean he had a good day and red slips mean he was sent to the office. When he gets green slips all week, we go for ice cream on Friday afternoons. And I have to say, I probably enjoy that more than the kids do.
When I arrived to pick him up today, he looked downcast and said in a low, whispery voice, “Mommy, I got a yellow today.” We gathered his things and I guided him down a crowded hallway.
” … Mommy? Are you mad at me?”
“No! I’m a little disappointed, but I’m not MAD at you! Now tell me about your day.”
One of the teachers was listening to our conversation and whispered to me as we passed, “Now THAT’S a good mom.”
I often talk about everything I do wrong here. I relay my failures and my messes and my children’s messes and the hormonal wreckage I leave behind me at every turn. In sum, I don’t give myself enough credit. Because I am a good mom, and a good wife, and a good person. My children are a lot to handle, but I can take them anywhere because they know how to act in public. They both say “excuse me” and “thank you,” and “yes ma’am,” and “please.” Even my little 19-month-old.
And while I am cutting myself some slack, I think it’s fine that I have gained 40 pounds in 30.5 weeks of pregnancy, because my job right now is to survive … and sometimes survival is just ugly.
So back to the yellow slip. This was the explanation written on the back:
I find this comical for several different reasons. I mean, have they met my son?! Of course he was trying to be the teacher. He probably thinks he could do a much better job of it. He tries to be the parent at home all the time, and the driver of our car, and the police, and the family doctor, and the freaking President of the United States. That’s how he rolls. Clearly, he needs to learn that he’s not in charge. He’s four. This is a work in progress, and I’ll do what I can, but I can’t guarantee he will ever grow out of the belief that Maverick Knows Best.
ANYWAY … when I asked him about it later, he said that he told Andrew “You can do it yourself!” when Andrew asked the teacher for help with his finger puppet craft. And then Andrew proceeded to bite ONE on the stomach.
Preschool sounds super-dramatic to me, and I’m kind of glad I don’t have to go there anymore. I have grown up troubles, but no one bit me on the stomach today. In fact, I treated myself to an iced coffee and some chocolate cinnamon bread from Starbucks, and the person in line ahead of me paid for it. And so we soldier on — bite marks and widening girths and all.