Smunchism #161

Smunch: "Sometimes Mam is still pesterous to me."

Home Alone

It's a weird feeling to misplace your child. It's never really happened to me before this week. One minute I was on the playground chatting with another mom about orthodontists, the next Smunch came out of his classroom without his sweatshirt. I told him to go back and look for it. He couldn't find it. I told him it was probably on the hook outside the classroom. He couldn't find it. He said, "I wonder where I could have left it." And he took off toward the other side of the playground.

Assuming he was off looking for his sweatshirt, I kept chatting. He didn't come back. I finally decided he must've been distracted by an afternoon game of shoot-out or wall ball and headed out to the playground myself. I didn't see him. I went back to his classroom where his lonely sweatshirt hung out the hook outside. I asked his teacher if she'd seen him. Nope. I walked around the playground again, figuring I must've missed him somehow.

I still wasn't feeling very panicky. I mean, he and Mam often take off into the larger playground if I stay and chat too long. It's annoying because I have to head out there and get them if I want to go home, but it's hardly dangerous. He had to be out there somewhere.

I was getting hot walking around and around on the blacktop, overdressed for the warm weather in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. I walked around again and again. I went in the office. Nope. I went back to his classroom. There were now three first grade teachers in there and they all sounded concerned. "Would he have gone home?" one of them asked. "I don't think so," I said. "Has he ever gone home by himself before?" "No."

At this point, I'm starting to feel a wee bit panicky, remembering the note from the superintendent that went out the previous day, describing a potential kidnap attempt on another student in the district. My mind starts visiting unimaginable scenarios. I can't think for the life of me where he could be and can't imagine he would have gone home all alone. I walk the playground again. His teacher goes to the office and sends out a school-wide page over the intercom. "Smunch Ryder, please come to room 12!" Nothing.

I decide I'd better head home, just in case. I tell his teacher to call me if he shows up. In turn I promise to call her if he's at home. I head as fast as I can for the crosswalk, which goes across a busy street, but has a friendly crossing guard. "Did my son go across here?" I pant. He nods.

Although I wonder what he was thinking crossing Smunch without me (he's held both kids for my arrival many times before), I thank him and walk faster. I cross another street that is often busy. No crosswalk. No crossing guard. I can see my housecleaners leaving, but waving and gesturing. Clearly, Smunch has made it home and he's in the house. Turns out they've been trying to call my cell phone...which, naturally, isn't on me. They're awesome for realizing this was an unusual situation. They didn't even see me leave and head to school, as far as I know.

I walk in the house and there is Smunch, not the least bit abashed, beaming from ear to ear. He's so very proud of himself for doing such a big boy thing. I have a split second to think about what to do. Should I yell? Should I speak harshly? Should I tell him I'm glad he's safe? I came up with what I thought best fit the situation. I knelt down on the floor and gave him a hug. With Smunch giggling with pride, I burst into tears.

It was the right move. He apologized profusely and I could tell he actually meant it, for a change. Then I told him how worried I'd been, and asked why he'd left without me.

"You were talking," he said.

Hurumf. For the record, I've had much more important conversations while standing on the playground and talked for much longer. It didn't make him take off. I called the school office and cancelled the search of the campus.

We talked for a while about the necessity of telling me if he's going to leave. I told him how his teacher was worried and how he'd been paged all over school. He seemed both mystified and entertained by the whole idea. Now he was famous. Or infamous, at least.

What I will never, ever, ever tell him is that there's a little part of me that's really proud of him too. My shy, anxious little first grader decided what he wanted to do and did it...independently and with no help from me whatsoever. It was absolutely nothing I would have expected of him. It was gutsy and showed a side of him I've never seen. It's so nice to know that not everything scares him and that he can take pride in doing something a little scary and succeeding...even at the risk of his mother's fragile mental health.

The Big Day

Well, I thought it was a big day. We turned on the TV early to watch the presidential inauguration this morning. By the time Obama and Biden left the White House and got to the Capitol, Aretha Franklin sang and Joe Biden was sworn in, the kids were bored to tears. They squirmed, they whined. They left. I let them go.

But at some point, it crossed my mind that although they may not remember today, there's a chance they will...well, at least they might if they actually watched the inauguration...you know, if they were nailed to the floor and forced to watch. It's hard to communicate the import of such things to kids who really just want to go play with Legos or whatever. But if it wasn't important, what were all these people doing there?So, like a good mommy, I went and corralled said kids and insisted that they sit their bottoms down on the sofa and WATCH. They saw Obama sworn in as president...doubtlessly failing to notice their teary-eyed mother who couldn't even sit down. They heard his whole speech, although they probably understood little of it.I particularly appreciate President Obama's instruction to foreign leaders that their people will have greater appreciation for the things they build than the things they destroy. Mr. President, would you like to come to my house and explain that line to my first grader? He might listen if it came from you.

CNN had some kind of "inaugural album" where you can submit pictures of yourself or your family watching the proceedings. I'd like to submit mine, but I'm afraid the President wouldn't take the request above very seriously if he saw how seriously our children took his inauguration.

Sister for sale

After school today, Smunch drew this sign for Mam. He then dutifully led her out to the end of the driveway and made her sit there.

Chicken and the eggs

Yesterday, I cooked some pre-made chicken cordon bleu. It wasn't as yummy as if I'd taken the time to make it myself, but it really wasn't bad. We hadn't had chicken in quite some time. Naturally, Smunch hated it. If it's not noodles, or cheese, or tortillas, he's likely to claim it's going to kill him...although the promise of dessert is often enough to make him resigned to his fate.

This time, he tried logic.

Smunch: If we keep eating chicken, there won't be any more eggs and I like eggs.

Hmmm. Let me think about that.

A "Wacky Creature"

Sometimes I call Smunch a wacky creature, but what the headline really refers to is an article than ran in the Washington Post the other day about this critter and its newly sequenced genome. It turns out, this little animal, found in certain areas of Australia, has some really crazy genes. It lays eggs, produces milk, has venom(!) It's got reptilian genes, bird genes, mammal genes and 10 chromosomes carrying genes that determine gender. Geez. It must be confused!When this story ran in our local paper on Thursday, I showed the photo to the kids and asked them what it was. Neither of them knew, so we had a little educational moment. Despite that, this morning Smunch claimed that this is a QUACKAPOTOMUS! And so it is.

Bedtime conversation

One thing that hasn't changed as Smunch has grown up is that he loves to have me come talk to him before he goes to sleep at night. So, I come in and snuggle in next to him. The conversation always starts out the same:

Smunch: What are we doing tomorrow?

Me: Well...

This goes on and on through each day of the week. He'll go through two weeks at a time if I let him. Tonight, he got bored at Tuesday. That meant we stopped at Mercedes and the conversation turned to stuttering because she is his stuttering specialist.

About a week and a half ago, Smunch had a bad experience where he went to ask the older sister of one of his baseball teammates for a drink. He had trouble asking. Both she and her friend laughed at him. It was hard to tell if it got to him or not, but over time, it's become clear that it did.

Smunch: Why did she laugh at me?

Me: Well, she probably just doesn't understand what it's like to stutter and how hard you were working to talk to her.

Smunch: Yeah, she doesn't know what it's like.

Me: But, you know, there are like 5 million people who stutter in the United States.

Smunch: 5 MILLION???!

Me: (oops, I haven't really done my homework) Something like that. Definitely more than a million.

Smunch: How many are there in China?

Me: I have no idea, Smunch. I'm not really sure how many there are, but I'll go look it up after I go talk to Mam.

Smunch: Will you come back and tell me?

Me: Yes...(leaving)

Fortunately, Mam had already passed out, so I went right to the National Stuttering Association website and returned to report to Smunch.

Me: O.K. So, 3 million people in the United States stutter. And guess what? Fifty million people in the whole world stutter.

Smunch: Cool. (big smile)

Me: So you're NOT alone, right? Lots and lots of people out there stutter.

Smunch: Yeah. And I bet they wouldn't laugh at me, huh? (still smiling)

A Pressing Need for Caffeine

This morning, I'd finally cajoled the kids into getting into the van...by yelling down the hall, "Bye, see you later!!!" and headed towards the door. It's one of the more foolproof bluffs I've got left in my flagging arsenal. We were going to the park, you'd think they'd be more interested.

I pulled out of the driveway and about 50 feet from the house, decided I needed to go back.

Smunch: What??

Me: I forgot my coffee. I'm backing up.

Smunch. Why is THAT so important???

Someday, my dear boy, you will understand.

My son is a freakin' genius!

We'd all like our kids to communicate a little better though, wouldn't we? My son is in kindergarten. He can read (a little), he can write and now he can communicate his innermost thoughts...on paper...in beautifully constructed sentences with perfect spelling. Can I tell you how AWESOME I think this is??? I'm so proud.