Rainy Days and Thursdays

Is that thunder I hear? No. Just my daughter rocking her crib against the wall in such a manner that I think the second floor is going to come crashing down on my head. She’s almost ready for a big girl bed, so we are waiting out the “unsafe” old wooden crib that was new in 1984, and I slept in it, both my sisters, the kids my mom baby sat for, Miles, the little girl I babysat for, now Clementine. So, it’s been through the ringer. But the price was right so it is ours!

I have to share a controversial story with you and of all days it happened on the anniversary of 9/11.

Yesterday morning I rounded the kids up plus one (Clem’s birthday twin happened to be with us for the morning) to get Miles off to preschool. Always the slow-poke, I said I was getting the babies in the car, so to get his shoes on and grab his backpack and come on out when he was done.

Babies all strapped in: check! Miles comes running out, velcro straps almost tightly in place and hops in the van (yes, we traded our Edge for a van) with is backpack. I had checked it the night before and took out his papers and confirmed there were still extra socks, underwear and a somewhat matching outfit inside.
I dropped him off and in he went, saying very little like most days I drop him off and pick him up! It’s always, “MOM. I can’t tell you about school, it’s a secret.” or “MOM. I’m tired of talking, I need a break from talking. You ask me a million questions!” To which I say, “Ah, how the tables have turned.” or “MOM, I will tell you about it 4 weeks. It hasn’t been 4 weeks yet.” Okay.

I get home and the babies, who aren’t so much babies anymore, play, snack, poop, learn the art of sharing and soon enough it’s time to pick up the big kid. No problems, he gets in, backpack and all, we drive off. I may or may not have driven slower than usual because, let’s face it, having three kids who are strapped in and can’t move are kids that I don’t have to chase.

We make our way inside the house and shoes come off, and I zip open my son’s back pack. Eyes widen. “MILES!” “What?” “You CAN NOT pack your toy gun and take it to school with you!” I was mortified. His cowboy gun sling was empty and the plastic toy had made it’s way into his backpack while he was “putting his shoes” on and I was buckling in the little ones. He had also decided to show and tell his mini Etch-a-sketch, a toy tractor and a lint roller, but I was mainly concerned about the gun.

Now, it is sad that we have to worry about things like this now. But it’s the age we live in! I was surprised no teacher said something to me when I picked him up. Thank you, teachers, for giving me the benefit of the doubt! I did write a note for today explaining that I did NOT let him take the toys to school and that we had a talk about what’s appropriate to take to show and tell. He’s 4. He’s a sweet, innocent kid who sometimes likes to play with the toy gun that was a gift from someone to “shoot the aliens”. It just makes me sick that as parents we have to think about so much danger that is out there and what could be perceived as a threat. In some schools, Miles may have gotten kicked out for that. What a shame. Thank you, Miles’  preschool for being a good judge of what is danger, and what is not. Oy vey. MILES!!!!

Protecting his sister from the "awee-ins".

Protecting his sister from the “awee-ins”.

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