On Thursday, Tommy started Year One in Miss Lorna's class. (She is Scottish and twinkly. I really like her.) Tommy's comment about Miss Lorna: "She is so kind." He was happy on Friday afternoon because he was selected as the lunchroom helper, and also happy because he had completed his work and received golden choosing time (aka playtime).
And then I dropped him off yesterday and watched four boys tell him that they couldn't play Lego with him.
!!!
He didn't mind. He went to another table -- alone -- and played with another toy. I left with a lump in my throat and very near tears. I was distracted only because Lizzie was trying to escape into the playground and made a run for it.
I thought about it all morning and when I picked him up, I jumped right into the conversation I had planned to have with him. I told him what I thought I saw, and he confirmed that the boys had told him he couldn't play with him. I asked how it made him feel and he said sad. He said they weren't very kind, and I agreed. And then I said that when something makes him feel worried or sad, he must tell me. That we don't have secrets and that often just telling something like can make you feel better, and that there might even be something I can do to help him feel better.
His response: "Mummy, I have so many secrets I could never tell them all."
"Oh?" I said.
"Yes," he confirmed. "I am a super hero. ... (in a quieter, more secretive voice) I save bugs."
"OH!" I said. "I'm so proud to know that my little boy is a super hero. And what a wonderful super power."
"I am also very strong. I can lift the dining table, and I could when I was just three years old."
"OH!" I said again.
And I spent the rest of the walk thinking about how I need to fight against my impulse to take parenting moments too seriously.
Our hero -- see the saved ladybug on his shirt?
And then I dropped him off yesterday and watched four boys tell him that they couldn't play Lego with him.
!!!
He didn't mind. He went to another table -- alone -- and played with another toy. I left with a lump in my throat and very near tears. I was distracted only because Lizzie was trying to escape into the playground and made a run for it.
I thought about it all morning and when I picked him up, I jumped right into the conversation I had planned to have with him. I told him what I thought I saw, and he confirmed that the boys had told him he couldn't play with him. I asked how it made him feel and he said sad. He said they weren't very kind, and I agreed. And then I said that when something makes him feel worried or sad, he must tell me. That we don't have secrets and that often just telling something like can make you feel better, and that there might even be something I can do to help him feel better.
His response: "Mummy, I have so many secrets I could never tell them all."
"Oh?" I said.
"Yes," he confirmed. "I am a super hero. ... (in a quieter, more secretive voice) I save bugs."
"OH!" I said. "I'm so proud to know that my little boy is a super hero. And what a wonderful super power."
"I am also very strong. I can lift the dining table, and I could when I was just three years old."
"OH!" I said again.
And I spent the rest of the walk thinking about how I need to fight against my impulse to take parenting moments too seriously.
Our hero -- see the saved ladybug on his shirt?
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