"I want go school!"

Wesley had to go to the doctor for his two year old check up this morning, so he did not head to Brighton as usual. 

He was not a happy camper/hooky-player. 

When he ran into our room as our 7am wake up call, I pleasantly told him that he was going to stay home with me (really, this was much to my chagrin, as I'm pretty sick right now). His response was to turn down his lip and yell, "I want go school!" at the top of his lungs. 

Despite knowing that I was going to be the one to have to deal with this little fit for the next few minutes (my husband is on-call with work for the week, and he's had some long nights), I couldn't help but feeling a little self-satisfied smirk building up inside of me. Look, I know better than anyone that I can't hide a look of disdain on my face for the life of me; hence why I'm not staking any high bets during a poker game. I've seen the same looks from more than a handful of people when I mention taking my kid to school during the summer even though I don't work. Even the kids in my class this year questioned why I planned on doing that. 

It has gotten old justifying staying at home for two months and still sending my son to school, but it's not to get away from him. 

#1 --- He. Likes. It. 

I spend the majority of my day with adolescents who would rather be staring at the grass watching it grow than sitting in a classroom. Better to build a love of school at a young age, right? If he likes it now, chances are that he'll hopefully like it later. Or at least he'll like it on the inside because we all know that it's a teenager's job to tell a parent that he hates something at least once a day, but we'll cross that bridge in a dozen years or so.

#2 --- Routine

During the year, Wesley is one of the first kids to arrive in the morning. He's there before 7 every day, and it's usually between 4:30-5pm before one of us gets him in the afternoon. That makes for a long day away from Mommy and Papa. Granted, he's not there that long in the summer; he gets there right before breakfast at 8:30, and I usually get him after his nap around 2:30. But if he went from being home all day long for two months to being dropped off for 9 or 10 hours, he'd think we left him. He (and his teachers) would be miserable. Not only that, but he'd have to go back to learning how to share with 13 other kids, sit in a certain spot, and sleep on a mat in a particular place. No thanks, I'd just as soon keep up with the daily routine. 

#3 --- Activity Schedule

This one is a big one because I don't believe in younger kids watching much TV at all. I don't have the patience required to do a big arts and craft project with a two year old every day. I work with him on his ABCs/123s/shapes/colors, and we read books all of the time. But...then what? It's 9:30. Play outside for a little while before it hits 100 degrees. Okay....and now? Today we had a doctor visit to take up over an hour of the morning, and we played trains for a good amount of the time. But each day doesn't have an outing, and some mornings he decides all of his toys need to go to time out. 

I could go on and on about his developmental and cognitive abilities because of what they do at school, but that's an entry in itself. 

It's just a good thing that there are plenty of things for him to do at school.

#4 --- Other kids

He has me and Papa to play with him at home. He can play, chase, learn, tease, and share with 13 other children and three other adults at school. I sometimes wonder if he's lonely here. It's been a comment since he was in the infant room two classes ago that he's an independent child; he often takes a toy or a book and sits by himself to play. I can only assume it's because he's an only child and does this at home, too. I don't want to take other kids away from him. It's cute when he comes home and tells us about the other children, too. They all know us; I get hugs, and Tobias gets high fives when we walk in the room. Wesley is bombarded with a chorus of "Wesley's Mommy!" when they spy me in the observation window in the hall. He needs those kids friends.

#5 --- Sanity

Teaching is an all-consuming job at times. My house isn't as clean as it should be, it took me months to unpack after moving, eight hours of Mother's Day was spent working on AdvancEd paperwork, and I worked until 5:30 with another co-worker 8 of the last 10 Fridays of the year. It is hard balancing work, a home, a marriage, and motherhood. The scales inevitably tip. But did you notice who I didn't mention just then? Me. I don't have time for myself during the year. That's probably why I'm sick right now, but that's another story for another time (or not). 

I'm not trying to pawn him off so I can head to the beach; I'm just cleaning and gardening. But it's nice to be able to pick up a book and head to the backyard if I want. My mind needs to mentally cleanse before taking on too much again at the end of August, and my body needs to physically heal, too. So even though I'm doing chores, it is admittedly nice to just do them by myself. Does that make me selfish? Some may argue yes. I spend 180 days a year with other people's kids though, so if they want me to be at my best during those 180 days, they better learn to say no. 



If you're a parent who chooses to keep your child at home, that's your decision. If you're content with it and feel it's right for you, your child, and your family, then it's what's best for you. But come on. From one readable face to another, trust that us parents on the other side know what we're doing, too. 

The Second Year is Twice the Fun: A Letter to My Two Year Old

Happy birthday, Wesley Bear! It's hard to believe that two years ago you were this tiny little newborn with dark hair and clenched fists. 

Now, well, now you're a towheaded bundle of energy who occasionally clenches his fists, but that's typically followed by a tantrum over the batteries in your train choosing such an inopportune moment to die, or because they're clutching the linty lone fruit snack found shoved in the couch crack that you don't want me to take. 

 

You're currently in the "trains, cars, trucks, tractors, boats, big bus!" all things that transport goods and people, move, and have wheels that go round and round stage. Sometimes, if we pass a school, we'll drive through the bus parking lot just so you can make this patented, "I Saw a Bus Face!" 

Then you proceed to tell you us, "Look out the winnnnooow!!" and repeatedly yell the word bus until we've long left the lot. The same thing usually happens with tractors and trucks, but not with quite as much fervor. The only thing that excites you more than a bus is a train. When we took you to the transportation museum a few weeks ago, it was quite possibly the happiest day of your life because not only did you get to see many trains, you got to ride one. A couple of days later, you got to ride (and drive!) Rick and Cassandra's boat. 

We kept the transportation theme in mind when we moved you over to your big boy room from the nursery, too. Now you're in a regular bed instead of the crib. It's a good thing, too, because your extra-long body just didn't fit in it anymore. After throwing in the books you read before falling asleep, blue blankey, Mr. Puppy, and Dikkie Dik, this was the result:

See? Your crib was turning into a game of Tetris. You transitioned over to the new room and bed quite nicely though. You were in that bed in a weekend with only one bad night. 

Two things that haven't changed since you were a wee little lad are your love for books and your undying loyalty to your Boppy. We have already begun preparing the speech we'll have to give your future college roommates regarding Boppy expectations; there's no resting your head on Wesley's Boppy. Don't place it on the couch in an incorrect position. Heaven forbid you rest your feet on it. I'm sure the list will expand as you grow to understand more about property rights, personal space, and attachment, but let's draw the line at a Boppy tattoo just because it will then always be with you. I'm almost hesitant to post a couple pictures of a younger you with the Boppy, since after looking at older pictures together the other day, you jealously had to comment, "That's MY Boppy," in those with Baby Wesley. 

When it's time for bed, we don't say, "Let's go to bed, " or something similar. Papa and I always say, "Let's go pick out some books to read." You readily respond, "Get my books," and we find some books for you to peruse before falling asleep. Some nights you already have heavy eyelids, and you barely brush your thumb over the corner of a cardboard page before nodding off, but other nights Papa and I have to contain our laughter from the living room as you loudly make up words to accompany the pictures or sing your ABCs for Chicka Chicka Boom Boom or "The Wheels on the Bus" for one of your many truck books.

Sometimes when I look at you, all I see is your father. The build, the height, oh yeah, this circa 1985 face:

But the love for reading? When I find you quietly sitting in the corner with a book or pulling the books off the shelves in your room (or at the library--don't worry, LRB, I'm there to fix those), my heart steals a line from Dr. Seuss and grows three sizes because that's a reflection of me. As a lifelong reader, it's something I love, but as an English teacher, someone with a Masters degree in Library Science, a parent, it's something I think is invaluable. Your life will undeniably be better because books are in it. Don't forget that. When you're old enough to thank us, do it, but don't forget to thank school, too, because there are many times I see you choosing books over toys as I watch from the window when collecting you in the afternoon. Plus, it's helpful to remember that when I'm not letting you watch Thomas the Train, you spent the first 18 months of your life not able to watch television at all. You will survive. Grab a book. 

You have grown so much in the past year, but you've especially blossomed since March when you moved to the two year old class. Your vocabulary consists of more than just words; you create coherent sentences. Sometimes I groan inwardly (other times, outwardly) at the little smart remarks coming from you because if you're already making these contextually correct comments as a toddler, we're in for it at a later age. On the other hand, anyone who knows me, knows that I love a good pun, so I usually have to work really hard to contain my laughter. Please refrain from greeting the old lady doctor with, "Heeeeey, Baby," when she says hi next time we're at the pediatrician though. Okay? You count to ten in English and to six in Dutch; however, no matter what we say, you stubbornly insist counting to five in Spanish is uno, quatro, cinco. Some words you only know in Dutch, but sometimes when your father tries to teach you new words, you tell him the English word like you're teaching him something. 

No human is perfect. I don't have the expectations that you'll grow up without fault, and I don't assume that your father does either. We love you more than you can possibly ever imagine. Keep that in mind as your begin a year that has such a foreboding name as "The Terrible Twos." Enter age two with the eagerness to learn and the willingness to try that you've lived your life thus far. 

And do it with that beautiful smile on your face.  

  

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