Imminent Independence

We went to preschool today for a visit, so that I could get a look at the place and see how max would handle it. It was a kind of dress rehearsal. And I liked what I saw so we’re going to start pre-school for real next week. My little dude will be on his own and out of my line of sight for 2 mornings a week, Tuesday and Thursday from 9 to 11:30.

The idea of preschool used to fill me with a weepy fearfulness. Even leaving him at the childminding facilities at the gym was too much for me to bear the few times we tried it. I’m sure every parent hates leaving their crying child, and given my proclivity for anticipatory anxiety, it wasn’t going to happen.

The big difference now is that I know other people can reason with him the same way I can, and he’s shown a lot of interest in socializing with other kids and doing other things. On some level, I think I’m boring him. I don’t take it personally, I get bored with our routine too.  He’s ready to play with other kids, and learn from other adults.

There is a small part of me that is appalled at the ‘conformity practice’ he’s going to get, like sitting quietly when you’re told and following the instructions of authority figures, but that is the secret hippie buried deep inside of me. I don’t know where it came from and I want it to shut up. As much as I want my boy to be a free-thinker and individual, he will not always be able to call his own shots. Life will require him to get in line and do his homework assignments, it’s just the cost of doing business.

Blam! Scatterbrained assortment of Topics!

I am unused to consistent hard work, or maybe more correctly, an increase in workload. This week has been a pile of different new tasks and persistent challenges that have thrown me off my schedule, and I’m fed up with change.  Bah.

I noticed that I was getting pretty surly and angry this afternoon as I thought about the laundry list of things still left to do (including laundry). I wanted to dig my heels in and yell NO!, but instead I muscled through it and made it out of the house. I now know exactly how Max feels when we ask a lot from him. Does this mean I have the tolerance of a two-year-old? Some days I do.

Let me put on my pseudo-science hat again. Every human being has a spot in the middle of their back that they can never scratch to their satisfaction. Even if you jury rig an elaborate back-scratching device and go to town, it will not feel as good as having a person do the job. Perhaps this is nature’s way of reminding you of the value of partnership. You may lose sight of the advantages of being in a relationship when you’re in the middle of a stupid fight over dirty dishes or what to watch on television, so the itch you can’t fix is a biological trick that  makes you think ‘oh well, at least you’re good for something’. As a side note, does reading about an itch you can’t scratch make your back itchy? If it does, I will try not to abuse the power.

 

 

A boy’s first job!

Today Max accompanied me up to the medical school to be a practice patient for the 2nd year med students, and he was great.

At first, I felt bad that we were being paid to give these doctors-in-training practice and not delivering. Max was feeling a little overwhelmed and shy, so he was reluctant to answer their questions. But one of the other parents there pointed out that this is exactly how children behave at doctor’s offices. If you want practice at pediatric medicine, Ta-Da! It’s a lot of patience, noise, and occasionally urine. So really we were giving them the real deal.

Of the 6 doctors who practiced taking a medical history and brief physical exams, 2 were really good, 3 were nervous, and one was a little to aggressive with her questioning (me, not Max. She was fine with him). I wonder if she considered a career in law previous to this journey of medicine, because she was cross-examining the heck out of me.  Just a touch abrasive too.

Even though the lad wanted to leave and head home a couple of times, he buckled down and made it through the hour and a half with flying colours. To celebrate, we made a stop at the donut store, and he picked out his own first paycheck, a chocolate chip cookie. I tipped him 3 timbits for a job well done.