Meeting with the Village Wisemen

Last Friday my husband and I had the opportunity to sit down with our son's teacher and the school principal, vice principal, and counselors.
I was dreading the appointment. I was sure we were going to go in there and face a panel of judges...all offering opinions and blame as to why our son was misbehaving in school, with the ultimate outcome being medication.

Wow. Was I wrong. I couldn't have been MORE mistaken by the course of events. We sat down and briefly discussed the behaviors that are unacceptable (tantrums, hitting, disrupting class), and then they immediately focused on the cause of his outbursts...and not just that he needs to develop more self control, which he does.

They developed a great, proactive plan to help ward off some of the events that cause his meltdown as well coming up with ways to help mentor him to make better choices.

I've heard horror stories about parents' experiences with school administrators...mostly with parents in opposition to the school. It was such a relief to leave that meeting with a positive feeling. I felt like I was working together with the school to encourage and build up my child.

It really does take a village to raise a child, and we're in a pretty good place.

Oh...you want to PRETEND you're a football player

So, my son is not exactly a group activities kind of kid. Especially if those group activities have established rules that are not adjustable on the fly.

I learned this when he was three and taking Jumps, Giggles, and Wiggles. He didn't really care to march to the beat of Raffi, he preferred to look at himself in the mirror and blow puffer fish faces. We decided to try a more sport type activity when he was four, and we enrolled in a parent-and-kid soccer class. He spent most of the time laying on the ground whining. The summer he was five, we thought we'd try t-ball. Daddy was the assistant coach for the team. Luckily, there weren't any serious kids or parents on the team. (T-ball for small kids is BRUTAL...too much standing around time...not enough action to keep their little minds from wandering.)
Last fall he wanted to try football (flag, not tackle). It was the most painful experience thus far. There's so much to remember, and so many rules...and it was the first experience he had with team competition. He didn't enjoy it. Neither did we (especially dad who was again coaching).

Around Christmas time, he asked if he was going to get to play football again. Given his lack of enthusiasm for team sports, we were surprised, but we figured we ought to encourage where we can. We signed him up again...we were late, so we had to pay extra money, but it's worth it, right? He asked to do it. That means he must really want to play football.

After several weeks of twice-a-week practice and games on Saturdays (our season record is rivaling the Detroit Lions for you NFL fans)...after tirades and tears from everyone in the family (dad is coaching again...don't ask why)...after countless hours of wondering what were we thinking, I had an epiphany...our son does not want to PLAY football....he wants to PRETEND he's a football player. With two games and two practices left, we are on end-of-the-season countdown.

We're moving on to golf next. I'm digging deep into my cobwebbed recesses of optimism and trying to remain hopeful that this might be the thing that will click.

If not, I think I'll find a nice drama program.

He's Mine

Yup! He's mine.
I'm the mother of a six-year-old. I don't feel great about it, but occasionally, I wonder what the hell I was thinking. I have never exactly emulated the skills of great parents: patience, understanding, picking a battle...and amazingly, my sweet little boy has inherited most of my finer personality traits.

Just a quick anecdote to define our relationship...
A few weeks before his third birthday, he asked if he could go potty in the potty. We got very excited and encouraged him and went and bought big boy underwear and bought a Sesame Street potty seat. We didn't push. We held back and helped him when he seemed interested. Something clicked in that little brain, though...he knew we really, REALLY wanted him to get potty trained. Flash forward to a year and a half later. By the time he was 4 1/2 he still was not reliably potty trained. He had developed the attitude that if we really wanted him to use the potty, we could be responsible for taking him to the bathroom. I finally gave up. I had a little conversation with myself that if he could become potty trained by virtue of my sheer will and desire for it to be so, it would have been done. Seeing as he didn't care, why should we. I took a step back, deep breath, and we stopped reacting and even responding, and the battle wasn't fun for him anymore. Poof. He was reliable.

Now, I find myself in a parallel situation. My sweet, sensitive boy is in trouble with a capital T at school. He has not learned how to express frustration, sadness, anger, shock, etc. with any reaction other than his hands. His first impulse, and he almost always gives in to it, is to strike out. Now he's starting to be viewed as a bully. It's shocking to us, because he has a sweet, sweet heart, and not only that but he's very articulate and completely remorseful after he lashes out.

Anyway, we have our first meeting with his school on Friday. I'm not sure what to expect or how to deal with my emotions, so I'm turning to my standby...I thought maybe writing about our adventures and experiences might give me a chance to process things and gain a little perspective...

At the least, it will give me a chance to look back over our days with a sigh and realize: Yup. He's mine.