I’m achy-sad this morning. My nene (little one) didn’t want to go to school and we made him go anyway and it broke my heart a little.
He’s been having a really hard time. With zero comprehension and hours of sitting, he is bored out of his mind. And when he’s bored, he starts to think of me and then he gets sad and it’s all downhill from there. His teacher is a very nice woman, but quite reserved—he needs someone to engage him, to draw him in, to do more than just smile at him.
So this morning he sniffled and whimpered from the moment he woke up, and then when it came time to get in the neighbor’s car, he flat-out refused. So the kids went on their merry way and we took the tearful boy inside and explained to him in no uncertain terms that he was going to go to school period.
Fifteen minutes later, we were in a taxi, headed to school. He and I sat snuggled up together in the backseat, my arms around him and his arms around his stuffed snake, his sweet head leaning on my shoulder. I sniffed his head and hoped with all my might that the safety and coziness of the moment might, just might, be enough to carry him through the day.
At school, I walked him to his room—the closer we got to his room, the slower he walked—and when we arrived, he burst into tears and clung to me. But I got out his play dough, and the teacher, a sub (the director for the primary grades and a much more dynamic woman—maybe she’ll catch on that the poor child needs some extra help?), set up his desk and greeted him in English. And then he sat down obediently, and I fled out the door and down the corridor to the waiting taxi, his muffled sobs chasing after me.
On the way back to the house, the taxi driver ran over a dog, oh my word NO. (It's not dead, he assured me cheerfully. Whatever.)
Hello, Monday morning.
PS. At least the sun is shining.
Update: he had a great day, hip-hip!