Er, my kid can do no wrong?

Add this to the list of parental shortcomings I told myself I'd never have but ended up having anyway. Yesterday, Ben came home from school and told me that the lunch supervisor had sent him to the back of the lunch line because she had told his class not to touch the wall, and then she caught him leaning against the wall. Sheesh, that seems a little harsh, was my first thought. What fourth-grader isn't a little spacey sometimes?

See, this is where the whole parent-I-thought-I'd-never-be part comes in. I've heard so many stories about those parents whose child misbehaves at school, and when the child is disciplined at school, the parents get upset and defend their child as if their darling offspring could do no wrong. I would never do that. Or would I?

Now, never mind that Ben didn't seem too upset about the situation. When he told me about what happened, it was more like this: I got sent to the end of the lunch line, and they ran out of French toast sticks, so I got pancakes instead. Yay! No matter. Suddenly, I was feeling what you might describe as defensive of my child.

This wasn't the first time I'd felt this way in recent weeks. A couple weeks ago, Ben forgot at school his agenda, which a parent needs to sign each day. He told me, again with no fretting on his behalf, that he would lose a ticket (part of his class's reward system) and have to stay in for a recess. I felt a ridiculous urge to save him from his penalty. Could I somehow get to school and get the agenda, I wondered. I felt like Gloria on last week's Modern Family, wanting to save Manny from the consequences of taking his classmate's locket.

Alas, unlike Gloria, I didn't act on any of my wacky ideas or urges. I didn't complain about the lunch supervisor or make a desperate dash to school to pick up Ben's agenda. Rationally, I know that logical consequences are good for kids. I know that kids, or people in general, for that matter, rarely recount happenings completely accurately. For all I know, Ben had been warned several times not to lean against the wall. Anyway, it doesn't matter much, does it? When my kids are at school, the discipline decisions by and large belong to the responsible adults there. So I guess I've had to arrive at a somewhat uneasy peace with that. But man, that lunch lady was a little harsh, no?

Guilty of insensitivity in the first degree

As a parent, there are few things I'd like to avoid more than hurting my kids' feelings, but yesterday I managed to do just that. It all started after a trip to the doctor's office. Ben no longer cares much about the stickers the office hands out to kids, but this time, he happily chose a Garfield one, and as soon as we got home, he announced that he knew just where he would put it.

Apparently, Ben has a favorite coloring picture, nay the best coloring picture he's ever done. On that coloring picture, he likes to affix the stickers he procures. It is that coloring picture, I realized with a sinking feeling, I had thrown in the recycling bin a few weeks earlier.  Crap, crap, crap! Ben searched for the picture on the "Look What I Made" clipboard that hangs on our kitchen wall. "Maybe I put it in your artwork box downstairs," I said feebly, hoping that maybe I'd forgotten that I'd thought better of my callous decision to recycle his pièce de résistance. "You threw it away?" he asked me tearfully. Ben's hurt feelings blew over fairly quickly, but I was left feeling terrible.

This all comes back to my lack of organizational skills. I am unendingly flummoxed by the problem of what to do with all the boys' creations. In my closet sits a paper bag filled to the brim with Paul's preschool projects from last year. If I still haven't figured out what to do with those, what hope do I have? Each day, Paul's folder comes home from school containing new paintings and drawings. Seriously, what's the right thing to do? I don't want to cross over into hoarding territory and keep everything the boys make.

I thought I had a system. I try to keep a sampling of what the boys make. For a while I had been taking a picture of the boys with their art projects and then throwing out the projects. Ugh! Even writing that sounds heartless, somehow. Besides, that doesn't take into account that I rarely manage to follow through on my best-laid plans. I have friends who display their kids' works in adorable and creative ways. I aspire to be able to do that, but then my complete lack of design and aesthetic skills kicks in.

Honestly, I don't know where this leaves me. I think all I can do is keep doing what I've been doing. I can't ask the boys: "Hey, do you mind if I throw this away?" I can see where that would go. I'll just have to use my clearly flawed judgment and hope for the best. But those tears, those sad, sad tears. I won't soon forget the sorrow I inflicted.

Who's really struggling?

With the second week of school tucked safely behind us, it's time for me to do a little reflecting. As I had predicted, the week that contained Paul's first full days and maiden voyages on the school bus did invoke some worries in my boy. And in me.

As the hours until bedtime dwindled last Monday night, Paul's anxieties began to mount. It's always evident with him because he begins to ask a lot of questions. How am I going to get to the bus? How will Ben find me? What if I can't sit with Ben? And the statement that about broke my heart: I don't want to go to school, I want to stay with you, Mommy. Feeling sad for the umpteenth time these past few weeks, I promised that Paul's teacher would get him safely to the bus, that we'd ensured Ben would be able to wait for the bus with Paul, that Gus and I would walk down to his bus stop to greet him when his bus arrived. Furthermore, I said that we'd give the bus a try for this first week, and if he really didn't like it, I could start picking him up instead. Paul's worries were assuaged, for the moment anyway, though my malaise lingered.

The next morning went fine. No tears during the drop-off at school. When I met Paul at the bus, he was smiling. However, soon he told me rather emphatically that he did not want to take the bus again the next day. Using the rationale that if taking the bus was the one issue that was getting in his way of feeling comfortable at school, I slipped into his folder a note to his teacher saying that I'd pick him up that day.

That afternoon, the phone rang. It was Paul's teacher. First of all, there was confusion because Paul was insisting that I was picking up, but my note must have gotten shoved down in his folder because his teacher hadn't seen it. After I cleared up that I was indeed picking him up, it quickly became clear that his teacher was irritated with me for giving in so soon. She delivered a mini-lecture about the need for consistency. I felt affronted, tried to explain that I was viewing the situation as his mom, trying to shield him from discomfort. She stood her ground, saying that he cries at the end of the day whether he gets picked up or takes the bus. That was true so far, but, but ... OK, she was right, a fact that took me a while to admit to myself.

That night we came up with a plan: Paul would take the bus home from school but would be able to choose one day a week to be picked up. Thursday and Friday both were successes. Paul had some tears on Thursday and none on Friday. 

So who really was struggling so much? As much as the 5-year-old boy, it's the 34-year-old mom who's having a hard time letting go and maybe was secretly hoping her boy would need her to pick him up. I've learned now, though, I've learned. I think we'll both be happier now that Paul's conquered a fear and I have, too.

And they're off!

After a lot of fretting and some tears on my part (and a few on Paul's), I must say I'm glad to have the beginning of school under way. You know the anticipation is always the worst part. When I dropped off the boys at school on Thursday, their respective behaviors said a lot about who they are at this point in their lives. Paul hung close, holding my hand on the walk into school. Ben, on the other hand, blurted, "Can I just go, Mom?" Without waiting for an answer, he sprinted away without so much as a goodbye for his weepy mom. I suppose maybe a fourth-grader doesn't feel like receiving a schoolyard hug from his mom, anyway. (See the reason for the tears? Suddenly it's feeling like time is passing too quickly!)

With Ben having taken care of himself, all that remained was getting Paul to his classroom. I'm so thankful to Paul's kindergarten teacher. She'd had him in her get ready for kindergarten summer school class, and seeing his separation anxiety, she ensured us she would work to get him placed in her class for the fall. I think it's for that reason Paul's transition has gone relatively smoothly. Paul immediately found his seat and sat down with a smile on his face. (He did shed a few tears at the end of the day worrying that somehow we would fail to pick him up, but overall I'm calling his first two days a victory.)

The kindergarten teachers hold small group meetings with the parents the first week of school. As we met with Paul's teacher, I was struck by how much kindergarten has changed since I was kindergartener. There's the obvious changed that kindergarten is a full day now, but where I recall kindergarten as largely a rather laid-back preparation for the whole school experience, it's now very academics-focused. My recollection can't be crystal-clear, but I remember mostly snacks, play time and rest time. Paul's teacher explained that 100 minutes each day are devoted to literacy and ensured us that Paul soon would be writing short sentences. Wow! And that's not even to mention the time they spend on math, social studies, science.

As for Ben, he's in teacher heaven. For the first time ever, he has a male teacher, and not just a male, but one who is a sports fanatic. Ben's classroom is covered almost wall-to-wall in football and baseball clippings. It's funny how differently I view this when I have a son. I remember being mildly irritated when I came across teachers like these in my education (I remember one middle school teacher who used to give extra credit for predicting football scores - I'm pretty sure as a seventh grade girl I couldn't even conjure a plausible football score). As it is, I'm happy for Ben. Anyway, Ben's third-grade teacher thought this particular teacher would be a great fit for Ben because he previously taught in the district's now-defunct accelerated learners program. He told Ben he was going to challenge him and asked Ben if he was ready. This is exactly what my bright boy needs.

After I dropped off the boys and reached my car on Thursday, I had a good little cry. I'm glad to have the hardest part finished, but I know some unknowns still remain. Tomorrow Paul will have his first full day and will take the bus home with Ben. And Paul's teacher's baby is due in November, so he'll have a different teacher for three months. I know all of these are good life experiences for Paul. I'm optimistic that this will be a great school year.