It was a really rough day today. It was preceded by an epically bad night-- between Mazen teething and coming down with a cold, and staying up really late to finish up work (C) and projects (me) the morning was doomed to be hard for the grown-ups. But on top of the sleep deprivation, we were dealing with Geo having pretty much a full-blown panic attack with nausea and chest pain. He did eventually make it out the door and to school and I settled into the morning-- trying (and failing) to get Maz to nap, talking to Geo's pediatrician (might as well have saved my breath, he told me to make an appointment if the anxiety continued) and eventually getting Mazen and myself dressed and out the door. We picked Geo up for lunch, had an uneventful noon and I took him back in time for the afternoon session. I was relieved to get home; Mazen was finally ready for a nap-- and so was I. I had just started to drift off when I realized my cell phone was ringing. I checked and saw it was Geo's school.
When I answered the phone, Geo's teacher explained that there had been a little accident at recess. Geo had fallen on his wrist, which was red and swollen and his forehead, which was scratched. He was in a lot of pain. She thought it would be best if I picked him up. I groggily tried to figure out what to do-- I couldn't leave Mazen, but really didn't want to wake him up. Luckily, my local friend came to the rescue and ran over to sit Mazen. When I picked Geo up, he was crying but trying really hard not to. The school's principal explained that it was the same person who had caused previous issues who had tripped George. She asked me to call back and let her know what the doctor said. She also asked me to ask George what had happened to see if the stories matched up.
I got home, C came home from work and took Geo to the general practitioner next door. In turn, he recommended we go to the hospital for an x-ray. So off went Geo and C.
In the meantime, I was fuming. The same child who tripped Geo today also dislocated his elbow at the school party last year. He is the same child who pushed Geo off a bike rack, causing him to split his lip open (but luckily nothing worse). This same child regularly pushes, hits and kicks my child and many other children at the school. So I have a right to be angry, right?
Well, here's where things get more complicated. I know this child's mother. She's a single mom, busting her butt to raise her two sons. She's working really hard with this kid and is fully aware of what he's up to. She's getting help for him, or trying to. I want to be gracious and kind and recognize that her son isn't a thug. Although it's hard when you're waiting to hear whether your son has a fractured wrist or not.
Soon after I'd heard from C that all was well and it was just a really bad bruise, she called. To apologize. I wanted to rant and scream, but more than that I wanted her to know that it was ok. No real harm was done. I know her son isn't a thug, he's a strong, physical little boy who doesn't think before he acts. He's not malicious. So I faked the forgiving and the understanding and I hope that soon I will truly forgive and understand.
Fake it 'til you make it.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
Peter Pan
It's the morning rush. Getting everyone fed and dressed and Geo and C out the door in time for school and work. Geo has been told at school that there is a particular skill he needs to master. It doesn't matter what the skill is, let's just pretend that it's zipping up his coat by himself.
The scolding (if it *was* a scolding; it might just have been an off-hand comment, it's hard to know with him) has left him incredibly anxious. I have told him that we can practice at home and soon he'll be able to do it by himself. He cries. He resists. He doesn't want to practice. I tell him that when he's a big boy, a teenager, he won't want me to zip up his coat. He cries harder. I say, "When you're a grown up, you won't want me to zip up your coat. Wouldn't it be silly if Taita had to come zip Baba's coat every day?" More tears and sobs.
We sit down on the couch and he snuggles on my lap. "I don't want to grow up," he says. "I don't want to get married. Charlotte told me at school that she wants to marry me, but I don't want to."
I reassure him that marrying someone is a choice. No one will ever force him to get married.
"Are you going to die before me, mama?"
Ouch. I guess I should have seen where the "I don't want to grow up and get older" thing was heading.
"Yes, probably, but not for a very, very, very, very long time, inshallah. I'll be an old, old, old woman and you'll be an old man."
Tears roll down his cheeks. He's trying not to sob. "Mama," he squeaks out, "I want to die at the same time you do."
My sweet son. He doesn't know yet that a parent's deepest wish is *not* to outlive her child. He doesn't know that one day he'll feel so differently. About all of it-- from zipping his coat by himself, to getting married or partnered, to dying when mama does.
We talk more. About how he and Mazen will have each other no matter what. About what we think happens after we die. About what heaven will be like. ("I think we'll sing lots of songs, like in church, mama. That's it. Just singing.") I say, "We're so lucky to have each other right now. We're lucky to be part of such a nice family". We talk about how spring is coming, how the Earth is waking up again, how beautiful the forsythia blooming outside our window is.
The moment passes. He practices zipping up his coat. He does fine. We'll be fine.
The scolding (if it *was* a scolding; it might just have been an off-hand comment, it's hard to know with him) has left him incredibly anxious. I have told him that we can practice at home and soon he'll be able to do it by himself. He cries. He resists. He doesn't want to practice. I tell him that when he's a big boy, a teenager, he won't want me to zip up his coat. He cries harder. I say, "When you're a grown up, you won't want me to zip up your coat. Wouldn't it be silly if Taita had to come zip Baba's coat every day?" More tears and sobs.
We sit down on the couch and he snuggles on my lap. "I don't want to grow up," he says. "I don't want to get married. Charlotte told me at school that she wants to marry me, but I don't want to."
I reassure him that marrying someone is a choice. No one will ever force him to get married.
"Are you going to die before me, mama?"
Ouch. I guess I should have seen where the "I don't want to grow up and get older" thing was heading.
"Yes, probably, but not for a very, very, very, very long time, inshallah. I'll be an old, old, old woman and you'll be an old man."
Tears roll down his cheeks. He's trying not to sob. "Mama," he squeaks out, "I want to die at the same time you do."
My sweet son. He doesn't know yet that a parent's deepest wish is *not* to outlive her child. He doesn't know that one day he'll feel so differently. About all of it-- from zipping his coat by himself, to getting married or partnered, to dying when mama does.
We talk more. About how he and Mazen will have each other no matter what. About what we think happens after we die. About what heaven will be like. ("I think we'll sing lots of songs, like in church, mama. That's it. Just singing.") I say, "We're so lucky to have each other right now. We're lucky to be part of such a nice family". We talk about how spring is coming, how the Earth is waking up again, how beautiful the forsythia blooming outside our window is.
The moment passes. He practices zipping up his coat. He does fine. We'll be fine.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
We made it through both weeks of school break, including a very long six days when C was traveling in India. The kids and I even managed a full day at the science museum, a trip to see Guignol (the traditional French puppet that has been amusing children for two hundred years), a playdate for Geo with a school friend, a trip to the Luxembourg Gardens in the freezing cold AND, this being my life, a trip to the doctor's office.
Not too shabby.
Next week Geo gets tubes in his ears. Maybe he'll be spared some ear infections and we'll be spared more doctor's visits and antibiotics. I'm nervous about it, probably more nervous than he is (and believe me, he is anxious about this upcoming operation). That's the trouble with parenthood. You try to do the best thing for your children, never knowing 100% whether you've made the right choices.
Not too shabby.
Next week Geo gets tubes in his ears. Maybe he'll be spared some ear infections and we'll be spared more doctor's visits and antibiotics. I'm nervous about it, probably more nervous than he is (and believe me, he is anxious about this upcoming operation). That's the trouble with parenthood. You try to do the best thing for your children, never knowing 100% whether you've made the right choices.
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