Getting The Boy out of the house in the mornings is usually almost always a battle. And it’s not like Mondays are worse than any other days, either. He just does not want to leave the house, so I end up promising everything under the sun just to get him out the door and into the car.
This morning, he asked if he could bring his crayons and coloring book. I allowed it, but I made very clear that both the coloring book and crayons were to stay in the car; he was not, under any circumstances, to bring them into the classroom. And this arrangement worked out fine until we actually got to the school.
I walked him to his class and calmly weathered the meltdown associated with being left at school in the morning, made worse this time because his coloring book and crayons were in the car. I handed off my child to one of the teachers (how they manage to stay sane when dealing with what seems like constant screaming and crying is beyond me), then escaped went to work.
I thought I was in the clear. Then this afternoon, Cute Husband called me.
“Did you let him bring a coloring book and crayons to school today?” he asked.
“I let him bring them in the car,” I explained. “I wouldn’t let him bring them into the classroom.”
“Okay,” he said. “I can barely understand what he’s saying, but he’s really upset about it.”
After assuring him that I would, in fact, bring the coloring book and crayons back home with me, I hung up and finished my day at work.
When I walked into the house, The Boy greeted me. “Mommy, I want my coloring book back.” (His pronunciation was a bit off, but that was the gist of it.)
No “Hi, Mommy!” Not even a “hello”. Just “Mommy, I want my coloring book back.”
At least he wasn’t angry anymore.