Spring break drama

One day, The Boy will look forward to Spring Break. One day, he will welcome the idea of going someplace where he won’t be expected to do anything but play.

One day, I will tell remind him of a time that he pleaded with me to take him to school (or my work) instead of dropping him off at day care because (as he says) “they don’t have challenging lessons for me.”

I love his old day care. They’re awesome. In fact, when I gave the requisite 30-day notice that I was removing The Boy from their care, I included a note of thanks, praising their staff for their level of care and attention. But The Boy, for whatever reason, has not wanted to return. In fact, after he toured his current school and had his interview with the program director, he asked if he could start at his new school right away.

“They’re doing lessons,” he gushed when I asked him why he wanted to go right away. “We don’t do lessons like that at my Three School!”

But his old school has a couple perks. One of his friends, E, attends the voluntary pre-kindergarten program there. And they serve lunch (meaning he doesn’t have to bring his lunchbox), which is now a novelty. There was once a time he thought the school only gave lunch to the kids who didn’t have a lunchbox to bring food to eat; he has now learned that purchased lunches at his school are a treat.

But this didn’t make today’s drop off any easier for him. It began in the car; I would unbuckle him and he would buckle himself back into his seat. I got carried him out of the car, and he ran back to open the door so he could crawl back into the car. I carried him into the building, checked in at the front desk, and ultimately carried him to the classroom where he would spend the week.

It was a nightmare. I felt like the meanest parent ever.

Thankfully, Mr. C, The Boy’s last teacher before starting at his current school, was there. He was so surprised and genuinely happy to see The Boy, and tears started welling in my eyes as Mr. C told The Boy how much he’d missed him.

After a bit of small talk (“How does he like his school?” “He’s reading now and writing sentences!” “Oh, my gosh!”), I signed The Boy into the classroom and Mr. C pried him away from me so that I could escape leave.

Fortunately, the tears had subsided by then, so I didn’t feel so terrible about abandoning leaving him. And as I left, I asked The Boy to be a good helper for Mr. C, who promised, in turn, to put him to work.

Cute Husband gets to be the hero and rescue him this afternoon. And I can only hope tomorrow will be much less painful.

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