It's been a traumatic week or so here in the BoyMommy Household. Large broke his collarbone playing football. Being the kind, sensitive mother that I am, I want to point out that I TOLD him when he started playing that "you better run fast. Those kids are bigger than you."
Anyway, he got tackled and then a child - heretofore known as the 120-lb. 7-year-old - fell on top of my sweet little baby and broke his clavicle. I didn't see this happen because I had been running late trying to get Medium and Small out of the house. (Truth be told, there was also a stop at Dunkin Donuts in there somewhere.) I, personally, cannot vouch for the heftiness of the other child, and I have a feeling my husband is telling fish tales when he describes a 2nd grader who weighs as much as, well, something that weighs 120 lbs. [Seriously, try to think of something that weighs 120 lbs. You can't do it either, right?]
But let me tell you something: if I ever get my hands on that kid's mother . . . I'm gonna ask her how the h*ll she gets him to eat. For years, I've been telling Large to eat his vegetables so he can get big and strong, but to no avail.
Here's our little trooper:
Medium is making himself right at home in Kindergarten. His teacher, fresh off her stint in the U.S. Navy, is a stickler for the rules, which is exactly what we wanted for Medium. He needs a teacher who is a firm disciplinarian and believes in structure. Part of her disciplinary system involves cards that progress from a smiley face to a warning yellow to a red, and finally to a phone call home. Obviously the goal is to stay on a smiley face all day. (And by "all day," I mean the friggin' 3 hours he's at school.)
Large's first grade teacher had a similar system last year, and every day the students would color the date on their calendar either green, yellow, or red so that parents would be apprised of the day's behavior. Large had a green square EVERY day except one day when he had to color the date yellow because his entire group had been talking excessively. He came home and cried about "getting in trouble at school." We reassured him that it was okay and it was no big deal, but that he should continue to try for green every day.
We have stressed to both boys that their behavior at school is important and that their teachers should not have to take time away from the class to address a disciplinary problem from either of them. Trouble at school means BIG trouble at home. Imagine my surprise when Medium got off the bus the other day and said, nonchalantly, "Mom, I hate to tell you this, but I got a red today." Just like that.
I literally gasped and my voice automatically dropped a few octaves.
"You did WHAT?"
At this point I think the gravity of the situation finally sank in. He picked up on the subtle Mommy's-pissed vibe I was sendin' out. He clutched his hands in close to his body, shrugged his little shoulders, and repeated himself.
"I had to flip my card to red."
"Medium Dale!" Yep, I pulled out the double-namer. "WHAT were you doing?"
"Flicking somebody," he explained. I asked if he had to flip to yellow first or if his teacher went straight to red, to which he replied, "straight to red." I have serious doubts about this, however, for two reasons:
1. The handout she gave us on Back-to-School Night explains the entire process, which includes a natural progression from a yellow card to a red card. And . . .
2. I've met Medium.
I know she asked him to stop and he didn't listen. Kudos to the teacher for breaking out the big guns already; now he knows she means business.
My message to Medium is this: Pace yourself, son. It's only the 3rd week of school.
Sometimes you just have to laugh. They are so different, and I love that they have such big personalities.
I leave you with a photo of Medium's pigs, taken by Medium himself with Mommy's iphone. I can just imagine his little brain working . . . "I'm gonna take a picture of my feet. Hehe." It's simple, but I leave the photo on my phone because it makes me smile and giggle a little every time I see it.
This little piggy's going to bed. Night-night, y'all.