Wednesday, February 18, 2009

A play date planned

As I was cooking dinner last night, Kisae was at her usual spot on a stool at the kitchen counter. She was writing out the ABC's, as usual, and talking, the conversation bouncing around as conversations with 4-year-old's usually do.

And then quite unexpectedly she told me she was going to write a letter to Barack Obama. Because she wanted to ask him, "I play with his girls?"

So she got a new sheet of paper and told me she was going to write, "Dear Barack Obama. I go to your house and play with your children?"

She didn't, of course, write those sentences. But she did insist I tell her how to spell Barack and Malia and Sascha and then the word "president," and she wrote those out very carefully, in her lopsided but oh-so-cute, 4-year-old hand.

I think she figures her White House play date is all but set.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Bad mom moment

Let's just say that your kid is having a bit of problem with talking too much in school. And let's say that you are aware of this problem and, while it is not a crisis, it worries you.

So let's say that a certain Tuesday was particularly bad and the "infraction" notice sent home indicated that, once again, there was talking when there should not have been. And then let's say that on Wednesday you hoped for better. And that Wednesday afternoon, just as school was ending, your cell phone rang. And it was your kid's enrichment teacher -- and he'd been in enrichment that day. And your heart sinks and you brace yourself for the bad news about bad behavior.

But it is not that.

No let's say that the teacher is upset because your child burned his fingers on a hot glue gun. And she feels bad and she is (clearly) worried that you are going to be mad that he was even using a hot glue gun (to build a bridge from Popsicle sticks).

But let's say you do not feel mad. Not at all. You feel just RELIEF. He is only burned! (and not that badly). He did not get in trouble for talking. Whew, whew, whew.

Oh, you do inquire about the burned finger and because you have to run to the school later anyway, you say you will stop by and check in on him at his after-school program (and the errand to the school is to drop off food for a family dealing with unimaginable tragedy, which is always a good reminder that there is far, far worse out there and our little problems are mostly, well, little). When you stop by, your child is fine.

So again, you are relieved -- but honestly mostly because there wasn't too much talking, not so much about the finger.

And then you think, you got a call that your child was hurt and all you felt was relief? Bad mom, moment, right?