States right

So the JackRabbit’s newest obsession is the U. S. of A.

It started with Al Roker and the Today show. Jack and I have a little standing agreement that Mommy gets to watch the Today show from 8-8:15 a.m. so that I can hear Ann Curry read the news then get a glimpse at the weather with Al. Jack could care less about the news but when he hears Al he comes running to see the map. He loves the map. Through the wonder of TiVo we sometimes pause the map so he can peer at it more closely and point out the little suns and clouds and other icons.

So it started there… then seeped into our trips to the playground of the elementary school where there is a huge United States map with all the states outlined on the blacktop. We’d go there and make up impromptu games where we’d travel from one place to another and count the states we’d have to cross, etc.

Then I remembered the placemat I’d bought quite a while ago and tucked in the drawer– a map of the United States on one side and, on the other, a black and white outline of it. Jack carried it everywhere for a few months– to church (it’s a “quiet” toy), to the grocery store, to his fort in the backyard… He’d point at a state and ask, “What’s this one’s name, Mommy?” and memorize within one or two mentions.

He perfected his memory during visits to my Granny. At “The Ranch” where she lives there is a Melissa & Doug floor puzzle of the USA that they keep in the common room. Jack borrows it and takes it to Granny’s room and plays with it while we visit with Granny. Our conversations there are peppered with interruptions of “Granny! This is Idaho!” and “Granny! Granny! This is Florida. Mickey Mouse lives there!”

It was around that time that I remembered the “50 States That Rhyme” song. I tried to find it on iTunes but came up with some other song and a really annoying version of the one I’m familiar with sung by some wretched hip-hop children. The song I know is one from car trips when I was a kid. I think it was a Christian singer– I thought that it had something to do with Sandi Patty (Dad was a big fan) but still haven’t tracked it down. Anyway. It’s a song that you sing through faster and faster where all the states are in alphabetical order. It’s set to “Turkey in the Straw”*

Jack learned the song after four times through.

The latest is a magnetic puzzle of the U.S. He loves it. I’m trying to track down a Europe puzzle so that he can learn the countries there.

In the meantime– we’ve found some great books at the library (who knew they write books for 4 year olds on the shapes of states?)…

And did I mention that he has about 40 of the state capitols down cold? (That’s more than Robby and I combined two weeks ago.)

Robby: “Jack, what’s the capitol of Michigan?”
Jack: “M.”
Me: (Sigh) “Jack, what’s the capitol city of Michigan?”
Jack: Lansing!

*Alabama and Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas.
California, Colorado, Connecticut, and more.
Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Idaho,
Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, there’s 35 to go.
Kansas and Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine,
Maryland, Massachusetts, and good old Michigan!
Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri and Montana,
27 is Nebraska, number 28’s Nevada.
Then New Hampshire and New Jersey and way down New Mexico,
New York, North Carolina, North Dakota, Ohio,
Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, now let’s see…
Rhode Island, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee.
Texas and there’s Utah, Vermont, I’m almost through,
Virginia and there’s Washington and West Virginia, too,
Could Wisconsin be the last state? I’m almost out of time…
No, Wyoming is the last state in the 50 states that rhyme.

Not so young and restless

Today I don’t feel much like being a grown up.

I spent three hours cleaning and rearranging Jack’s room. (He was on a special outing with his grandparents.) I sorted out clothes and redid his drawers and baskets so that it’s easier for him to find things. I spent a big chunk of time on my knees cleaning the floor. I like Jack’s floor– it’s honey colored wood and shiny. Robby refinished it while Jack was being gestated. I stuck up a few new pictures on the walls and some glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. I pulled all the books off his shelves and pulled out a few that we haven’t read in a while to surprise him with.

My birthday iPod came in handy. I listened to “Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me” podcasts while I worked.

It’s a crappy week. (”Crap on crap on crap”, says Robby.) Our pals Chris and Sue spent their last nights as residents in our town this week. They’ll be back to visit– but we’ll miss them being so handily close. We both took turns soaking in their sweet baby because now he will grow so quickly– we’ll see him by the weeks and months instead of the hours and days. Last night was so normal it made me ache. We ate dinner (boxes of take-out sushi) and cupcakes while Jacky played and Baby Adrian was passed from one set of arms to another. Occasionally we would reference the last nightness of it but mostly we all pretended that this would go on and on.

I’m not maudlin. We’ll remain friends– I’m just mourning the proximity we’ve had this last year.

Today more crap piled on the other crap. Robby’s job is tied into the automotive industry so as the Big 3 sink into the mud it’s inevitable that he’ll have wet feet, too. We try to be grateful that he still has a job but the temporary shut downs have us both nervous.

Gone went the mini-vacation we’d planned for next week. And, with two weeks in July without pay on the horizon, we’re having to rethink any other plans this year to get away. For a girl with wanderlust this is a bitter pill to swallow.

Under the crap pile is the concerns we have about where to send Jack next year to school and some household projects that loom too large.

In this imperfect week of big changes– tomorrow is Jack’s last regular day of pre-school. He’s really loved going to school and I’m sorry it’s coming to an end for him. It makes me sad to see this little group of “schoolfriends” scattered across the district to different schools. I’ve spent enough time in their class getting to know them and I’ll miss them, too. I don’t have the confidence yet in next year that I did with this decision this time last year. We knew our choice for preschool was exactly right for Jack. I wish I could feel that about the fall, too.

I suck at “casting all my cares” upon God. It’s easier to say thank you. (And it’s not as though God really needs me whining right now. It must be like a mosquito swarm up there with all of us pleading for this and that. Ugh.)

Sorry to be so rambling. I’m sad and discouraged and anxious. This does not fuel my fingers well. Stopping now to go read a book. And tiptoe into Jack’s room and watch him sleep.

K-K-K-Kutcher

In light of all the many, many school adventures in front of us let’s file this one under Are We Being Punked?

We’re at the 2nd of Jack’s Kindergarten Round Ups (a blog for another day). Today’s featured a power point and a lot of “This will make sense when the kids are actually in school” information… The principle pointed out that their school, like the others in our district, use D’Nealian Penmanship. She told us we would find an alphabet sample in our packets.

There was other information– the usual stuff. And then Principle asked if there were any questions regarding the information she’d just covered.

A man sitting a few rows back and quite possibly the infamous Louis of our Birthing Classes (or at least a reasonable  facsimile) asked, loudly, “Why is there a cursive k instead of a printed one?” (A D’Nealian lower-case k is loopy– it’s like a more traditional cursive k… D’Nealian is supposed to facilitate fewer strokes in the writing process. I’ll stop but I could go on about this. Penmanship fascinates me.)

Principle: “We use the D’Nealian method of penmanship…” She went on to expound on the district’s choice to use that particular method.

Scary Man Who’s Son Will Be in Close Contact with My Precious Baby: “Well my mother was a schoolteacher for 30 years and she said printed ks shouldn’t look like that. I just want you to know that we will be teaching our boy to make the right k.” 

Principle: “Well sir, we can talk about this further later.”

Terri’s thought bubble: Hooray! I finally get to meet Ashton Kutcher. How fun that will be!

Insomnia

Can’t sleep tonight.

I’ve done all the stuff to welcome sleep– drank some milk, took a bath, read some, facebooked some… but it’s no use. I’m wide awake.

So here are some random thoughts:

1. Read any good books lately? I just finished Geraldine Brooks’ People of the Book. It’s good. Not as good as her Year of Wonders but good. I wonder why her stuff isn’t optioned for movies.

2. I’m down to my last box of Mallomars. And I’m getting nervous about it. My Mother-in-Law gave me two cases of them for Christmas. There’s nothing like a good Mallomar and orange juice.  A little chocolate, a little marshmallow, a little juice– ah, bliss. My bliss, unfortunately is about to run out.  Stupid midwest.

3. I’m wanderlusty lately. I want to pack us all up and go someplace for a few days or weeks. Live out of a well-packed suitcase and eat new things, see new places, return home sated.

4. On Sunday night, also unable to sleep (stupid time change?) I found Mark & Olly on television. Two british men who go off on tangent adventures because they can. The series has them living with an Amazon tribe in some far part of Peru. I watched two and a half episodes that night– this is how I fell into the trap of loving Deadliest Catch, too– but it’s interesting TV.

5. Jack’s vocabulary has exploded again. This time it’s all the funny little in-between words… adjectives and adverbs and the ilk. He used the word “also” today. It broke me up. He’s delighted in our recognition of his new words. And he’s a great mimic. He’ll try out phrases he hears from us or his movies. This week we’ve watched A Charlie Brown Christmas a few times so there is a lot of Linus, Charlie, and Snoopy coming out.

6. I can’t beat Robby in Scrabble. Or Lexulous rather. We play it on Facebook. It’s disconcerting to lose to him when it is a matter of words and not numbers… but he’s a much better strategist than I am. My problem is I get so delighted in discovering a word I forget to pay attention to what might be more advantageous. Sometimes the two letter words get more points than the 7 letter words. It’s frustrating, too, because Lexulous circumvents the rules of Scrabble. I grew up on the rules of Scrabble– my grandmother was unyielding when it came to those rules. And there was no use of the Official Scrabble Dictionary unless there was a challenge thrown– you had to rely on the words you knew and could defend– not thumbing through the dictionary to find a word that incorporated the tiles in front of you. You can cheat quite a bit in Lexulous against those rules– it takes a lot of the fun out of it.
And it makes me a crabby opponent. The other day Robby started a new game (which irritated me– the loser gets to do that, not the reigning champ) and played a word that I didn’t know.
“Oooh! A new word! What’s it mean?” asked me earnestly.
“I don’t know,” came my husband’s hesitant reply.
“Yeah, then we’re done with this game then, aren’t we?”

7. To do: Learn the Kitchener Stitch so I can finish up two pairs of socks. Sew Jack’s teddy a little cape so that he can be “Super Georgia.” Drag Robby to IKEA to look at ideas for the kitchen and dining room (we’ll pay the Swedes in lingonberries). Paint a family tree on the upstairs hallway wall for Jack. Clean the basement. Get Robby to do his Charo impression again.

8. I need to come up with a fun treat for Friday at Jack’s preschool. I like bringing in the treat. It’s fun to try to find something that all 20 kids will eat.

Okay.  This hasn’t helped. I’m still not sleepy.

And now I want a Mallomar.

The Miracles of Ed and Adrian

Jack is still not “completely trained” which is a nice Mommy Euphenism… what I mean to type is that Jack is “still soiling himself.” (Were I the Daddy, and not the Mommy, I’d type Jack is still “crapping his pants.”)

We haven’t pushed it (no pun intended). Our theory is that, in his own time, he’d decide that the little Mickey Mouse undies would be far more appealing than Size 4 Huggies. (Particularly because I made a solemn vow when Jack was tiny that I wouldn’t ever buy the Size 5 Huggies. They seemed akin to adult size diapers and it creeped me out… Consequently, the little man has been somewhat squeezed into his Size 4s each night.) Of all the battles we’ve endured and have in front of us– this one, this basic function of polite society, seemed the least worth fighting.

Everyone’s weighed in. Some of our friends and family are horrified that he’s yet “untrained.” We see it in their eyes even as we shrug it off. “He’s not going to college in a diaper. Eventually he’ll decide he’s ready,” became our mantra in these scenerios. (We used to say “kindergarten” but somewhere we gave ourselves a wider berth.)

And we’ve had plenty of useless advice:
“Give him m&ms!” (He won’t eat chocolate.)
“Take away a toy” (He shrugs and says goodbye to it and finds something else to do.)
“Don’t change his pants.” (He walked around one afternoon with an increasingly bloated Huggies until his little legs chaffed. And never complained.)
“Make him sit on the potty.” (This was our favorite. He sat there one day for nearly the whole day. Completely happy. Watched a movie on the portable DVD player, flipped through his train catalogs, ate lunch, and sang every song he knew… )

Jack is unbribable. As exasperating as that can be sometimes (bribable kids are easier. Think about it.) we can’t help but think that might hold him in good stead down the road. He’s not going to cave easily to pressure– whether it’s our’s or the idiot buddy that says, “Hey! let’s go joy riding in that car over there!”

And then came Adrian and Ed.

Adrian arrived first– he’s the newborn son of our best pals. Suddenly Jack was no longer the baby in our midst but a “great, big boy!” in light of tiny, mewing Adrian. Jack was somewhat disappointed that this long awaited little friend was somewhat incapacitated– Adrian’s not able to run and play and eat pizza like Jack can… but there was a glint in Jack’s eye of the realization of his own cababilities.

So, in the blink of an eye, Jack was casually mentioning to us, “I have to go to the bathroom” and then going off to urinate, flush, and wipe his hands. 

Robby and I held our breath.

Ed came along this week. Inadvertently. Jack and I were home one afternoon this week and both of us were a little cross. I’d just changed his pants again. After he’d promised, “I’ll tell you when I have to go potty, Mommy. I promise.” I went back to reading a book and Jack went back to playing with his toys. We have steam radiators in the house and they tend to pop and hiss and clink. Jack can go weeks without noticing the sounds then have a day where he needs to be reassured that “it’s just the furnace, sweetie. It’s okay.” But this day I was distracted. I was in the middle of reading The Reader by Bernard Schlink and so when Jack paused in his play to ask, “Mommy! What’s that?! Mommy!” I didn’t look up from my book and said, “That’s the monster that bites small boys in the popo when they poopoo in their pants.” (Yes, I know, Tolstoy only wishes he’d written that sentence.)
Jack: “What? A monster? It’s not the furnace?”
Worst Mommy Ever: “His name is Ed.”

Jack’s little face went white and his lip started to tremble. I closed my book. He burst into tears, “I don’t want Ed to bite my popo Mommy!” I started to laugh. Because, really, Ed is quite possibly the poorest name for a monster… and it was all rather ridiculous. “Jack– it’s okay. I was kidding. There’s no Ed. There’s no monster. Mommy was being silly. It’s just the furnace baby.”

But he didn’t believe me.

So now, suddenly, we have a kid that runs to the bathroom when he needs to poo. That Ed is pretty effective.

Yesterday I had to go to a funeral so Jack was going over to play at the grandparents. “Let’s go potty before we go, okay?”
Clever Jack: “I’ll go potty at Grandlady’s house”
Clever-er Mommy: “Ed knows where they live.”
Jack ran. RAN. to the bathroom where he promptly shat. Three times in the space of a half hour.

I’m torn. I should put a stop to this. Somehow prove that there is no Ed.

Ed is growing. At our pals’ last night Ed took on a shape and size. Apparently Ed has been spotted before– and the glimpses show that his head is all teeth. No lips. So he drools and makes a horrid sucking sound when he uses a straw. Robby and Chris exchanged Ed stories while Jack played nearby and I shushed them, guilty that I’d started it all.

Yet, really, teeth and all, Ed isn’t so bad. I’m not sure which I feel worse about– giving a name to Jack’s worst fears or taking this long to give a name to Jack’s worst fears…

Because, and still holding our breaths, we may be on our way to those Mickey Mouse undies yet.

Thanksgiving

A snowman called "Georgia"

I overheard my sister once, in a quiery about her growing girls, respond that this was her “favorite age”– she has said that at each stage of their childhood. Each new phase passing along new adventures and new advantages so that she never really mourned the loss of the old phase.

When I overheard her Jack was a tiny babe. He was nestled in the crook of my arm and I thought, “Oh! but how, how could anything be as wonderful as this?”

Four year old Jack is darn near perfect.

Last week was his little preschool’s Grandparents Feast where he was sufficiently feted over by his Grumpa, his GrandLady, and his AunT (who stood in for his Momma in France). Our holiday table now has a wobbly little paper turkey with feathers and featues glued carefully on by Jack. (He loves to glue.) And on Tuesday, fighting the cabin fever that came about by way of all of us being sick, Jack and I escaped to the afternoon movie. We watched Madagascar 2  and shared a ginormous and full-priced popcorn (who knew that Tuesday is Bring-Your-Own-Container day???) He’s a good movie date. He’s still small enough to sit on my lap without impeding my view.

This weekend we’ve come up to The Lake where a blanket of perfectly sticky snow allowed Jack and his Daddy to make a magnificent Snowman. His name is Georgia, if you’re interested.

Last night, after a huge Thanksgiving Feast that left 13 people dazedly fat and happy (Jack, no. 14, ate Fruit Loops), the smallest pilgrim was ready for bed. Dressed in his footie jammies and yummy smelling from his bath, he snuggled up against me and whispered, “Mommy. I love you most more.”

Four year olds whisper about as subtlely as a Belle Tire ad. The addition of the “most more” comes from a little thing he and I do where I say, “I love you, Jacky” and he responds, “I love you, too, Mommy” and then it’s a matter of “I love you more/I love you most/I love you most more/I love you most most” and on and on until we give up for giggling.

And then it was on to playing spider. We make little spider hands and sing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” which segues into a weird little adventure for Mommy Spider and Baby Spider or Jack Spider where they eat breakfast, get dressed, go to school (enter Mrs. Brown Teacher Spider), and run errands… Jack delights endlessly in the Spiders going to the Doctor Spider because, inevitably, the little spider will need “pokies” in his legs and that will set Jack off on either acting very brave or crying out on his little arachnoid alter-ego’s behalf.

Because we aren’t at home– but in the great white north for the Thanksgiving weekend, we are, Robby, Jack, Philbin, and I, in one big bed. The little spider game is indicative of this rare treat– and I am, at the end of a really great Thanksgiving, most grateful for this little exchange between my too-quickly growing son and me.

I’d freeze him at Four Years Old forever except that I’d hate to miss out on what Four And a Half and Five bring.

My sister, for one brief shining moment is right. Yikes.

Where’s my check, Tom Bergeron?

Jack is having his first sick day.

After last night’s tossing and turning and punching and kicking (he manages to get both Robby and I at the same time so that Robby is groaning, “Uhhhmnf!” While I’m moaning, “Ow! My eye!”)– he wasn’t in any better shape then when he’d gone to bed (the first time).

There’s an inherent pressure amongst the preschool parents… and an unspoken understanding that one of the Big Taboos is sending your sick kid… Jack was flushed with no fever but with running nose and hacking, phlegmy cough and watery eyes. I called his school and told his teacher Jack wouldn’t be in today. Then called my supervisor and texted my boss (because, of course, today would be a day I was supposed to meet with them both).

Now Jack’s in comfy sweats while I’m still in a bathrobe and we’re both staying in. The living room looks like a bookstore exploded (assuming that said bookstore also sells wooden pretend food and little cars).

The highlight (I hope) of the day came with our comedy routine in the kitchen… My boss had called and while he was on one phone, the other phone rang. I’m trying to move across the kitchen to see who it is when Jack and Philbin come barreling through and run into me. I trip and, in a vain attempt at not crushing my small son or smaller dog, grab the freezer door handle. The door swings open, knocks me in the head on the way down where I land on the Jack (the pup escapes, barely). I don’t know what hurts more– my head? my elbow? my knee? Jack bursts into tears (the trauma of his mother hurtling out of the heavens toward him will, no doubt, come up in therapy down the road) and I cry, too… because I’m laughing. I hang up on Boss while the answering machine kicks in at some extreme volume to alert me that the caller has hung up.

Somehow the glamour of a sick day when I’m NOT sick is lost in Jack’s running nose, my new bruises, and the thought of having to put the living room back together at some point.

That Jack is trying to kill me isn’t lost on me, either.

September 19, 2008

Dear JackRabbit,

You will turn four this weekend– or at least you will technically. You keep insisting, “I stay three!” whenever we remind you of your birthday.

There’s a big difference, it turns out, between three and four. In the last month you’ve been a different kid. At choir you’re a good listener– you participate in all the little singing games like “sleeping” during “Frere Jacque” and all the little motions of the Echo Song. Last year each week was an exercise in me holding my breath that you didn’t cause too much of a disruption. (The week that you enlisted Brandon into running through the racks of choir robes until Mrs. L had to stop. STOP. the class and untangle the two was a real highlight…)

You seem to be doing well at school, too. Your vocabulary has exploded again– Daddy and I are amazed at how much better you are able to express yourself. You’ll tell us, “I’m feeling angry right now!” with such a scowl that it’s hard not to laugh. You’re negotiating our world a little bit more each day– figuring out that being a good listener and using good manners can be rewarding. There are grown-ups who don’t have that down, kiddo.

You still like watching your stories– Caillou, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, Sesame Street, The Wiggles, “The Camel Story,” and Thomas. You’ve (FINALLY!) come to appreciate Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood with me (”He’s home from working Mommy!” is what you said the other day when he took off his suitcoat to put on his cardigan). Cars and Mickey Mouse Christmas are still your favorite movies. You play with your trains and Cars cars and blocks. At restaurants you ask to play with your “lemons” wire toys and the little Mickey Mouse figures we picked up at Disney last year.

You can run very fast. You like to jump off things and climb a little too higher than I’d like sometimes. This month you figured out how to really pedal your little trike. I think it was after the day you and Trey played together that it clicked for you. You love to sing and pick up songs very quickly. Sometimes we sing whole conversations to each other. It cracks you up.

Every night you say prayers and we’ve been trying to teach you that we go to church because we love God– not because we’ve “been bad” like you say.

You’re very affectionate. You still love to cuddle us both– which is good. We can’t get enough of you. Your sweet kisses are our favorite part of having to send you off to bed.

I wish, JackRabbit, that you didn’t have to grow up quite so fast. But I so love the kid you are in this moment that I can’t really regret that you are already (nearly) four either. Our hearts have grown so much since you came into our world. We really are the luckiest Mommy and Daddy.

Love,

Mommy

Waiting for naptime

Shhhhhh. We’re in the post-school napping zone. It’s a small window of the possibility of my small son taking a siesta.

I’ve stacked the deck by pulling a movie off of TiVo. [Three Came Home is one of my sister's and my favorite movies. It's the 1950 account of Agnes Newton Keith's harrowing ordeal of life in British Borneo during the Japanese occupation during WW2. Claudette Colbert stays crisply ironed throughout.] It’s black and white and not very interesting to my Cars loving little man.

The fact that he’s singing “(We’re going to) Jackson” to the little black dog right now is not encouraging.

Meanwhile, our adjustment to preschool is going well. Day 2 seems to be a success. When I went to pick up Jack at noon I got there just a bit early and the children were all seated on their pieces of carpet. My Jack was seated. Quietly. Who knew??? He still think his teacher, Mrs. Brown, is nice.

As for me, it felt a little less strange to be going to the office. It shouldn’t be any different then when Jack’s at my Momma’s or at Robby’s folks, I know, but it is. Besides, Fridays are a great day to work at our Museum– half the staff is always out or tied up in a meeting. I got a lot done. Plus, apparently, the not-so-best-kept-secret about Fridays at work is that there are usually breakfast brunch leftovers! Sausage!? Potatoes!? Yippeekiay!

I met a couple of coworkers near the buffet area– one asked about our upcoming trip to Ireland, “Why are you going there?” “Uh, ’cause it’s there?” Who justifies their travel?

Ahhhh. Jack’s singing “Wildwood Flower” now– that’s a good sign. He’s bringing it down. Shhhhh.

First Day

We had our first day of preschool today.

I think all three of us did okay.

I didn’t cry. (Or at least not much.) Jack made it easy on his old mother. His face lit up in the parking lot and he was all about the wearing of the very cheap Cars themed “pack back” that we’d bought for him until his grandmother’s present of a Land’s End monogrammed pack arrives. Once he had the straps slipped on his shoulders he was up the sidewalk in a shot towards the door. His teacher, Mrs. Brown, was there to enthusiastically greet him, “Hello Jack!”

I’ve dreaded this day. Last night I tossed and turned and thought only of me and wishing I could have all four years back again. Until today, for the most part, he was all ours. We didn’t have to share but for an occasional moment here or there. In the wee smas Jack fussed enough in his own bed (still his crib, by the way) that Robby brought him into our bed where he slept between us. He’s a sound sleeper. This morning I curled up around him and smelled his still baby neck and whispered good thoughts.

We celebrated the day with a First Day breakfast– Jack’s cousins brought over McDonald’s hotcakes. McDonald’s hotcakes are easily one of Jack’s favorite foods. And then– merciless clock ticking all the while– it was time to drive to school. All the way there we did the usual things– sang Johnny Cash songs and made faces in the mirror at each other.

And my heart skipped when it was time to unbuckle his car seat. For a second I thought, “we could still slip out of here… run home. Put our jammies back on… watch some Caillou and make block towers or Thomas tracks…”

Jack, however, was so gleefully excited that my heart skipped back to its normal beat– how can I wish this away from him? This tempura paint crayoned world of letters and numbers and games and new friends?

I at least got a kiss from him– his poor Daddy only rated a, “Bye Daddy!” and then, when the Daddy lingered for a minute an exasperated, “Dad! Bye!”

Jack was already on the little carpet with Mrs. Brown and a box of little trucks and cars. We were forgotten. Or at least he took for granted the fact that we’d come back for him eventually. So, not necessarily needed, we hovered for another minute or two out of Jack’s eyesight then walked quietly to our cars. I went into the office but it was a dysfunctional day– my coworkers were off in 10 different directions and I was watching the clock until 11:45.

We met Jack again on the playground. He was in the tire swing with two new little pals completely oblivious to our arrival. When he did see us he squealed and ran to give us kisses. The realization that he’d have to leave behind his “painting! my picture!” was the only dark spot in our understanding of his day. The painting was wet. It needed to dry. On Friday it will come home in his little pack-back.

Later, a very exhausted little man fell asleep on the couch next to me– Mr. Independent is still cuddling with Mommy at naptime.

That was good of him. First Days can be tough you know.