Beautiful

"I don't like school, Mom."

Now, I counted on hearing these words at some point -- you know, in the same conversation as the I hate you, Mom, I hate everything drama you'd expect to have with a teenager. But at age two? No, no, no! The whole point of this year was to have Will learn to enjoy a little structured play with same-age children and acknowledge the authority of an adult besides his dad and I! What have I done? I lamented: I should have just kept him home until the Spring.

The Moms Morning Out program Will attends is at Honey MacCallum Preschool. It's 2.5 hours, two mornings a week. His teacher, Miss Cher-Cher, is actually Cherie Crescini, who happens to be Chuck's boss' wife. They are family friends. The situation could not have been more ripe for a positive first foray into the academic arena. How did this go wrong?

"Ok, buddy. Thanks for telling me." Tuesday morning he had informed me that he was not going to play playdough. Oh, and by the way, he was not going to sing songs either. I had gone through the obligatory supportive questioning, "What is it you don't like? Is there something you would like to do instead?" To which he replied, "I just don't want to. I just want to walk around."

The week before his teacher had said,"He's choosing not to engage, not to participate."

Before I leaped off the roof because I had permanently scarred my child and irreparably damaged his educational experience at the pre-pre-school level, I went into crisis mode: stay calm and examine the facts.

I've witnessed my son shriek at pitches that Mariah Carey would be envious of, cry louder, stomp his feet harder, and downright refuse to move over Great Evils like not being allowed to cook Mommy's bacon in his kitchen, or being told: "ONE lollipop." During the short trip from home to school, he'd squeeze Doggy a little tighter and his dark brown eyes would widen with just enough moisture to make one wonder if they were misty.

But flailing protestations? No, there were none.

I recalled birthday parties, play-dates, and the like and how Will would quietly linger on the periphery of the action, curiously observing the goings-on while engaged in his own play. He'd smile and chuckle when funny things happened with the group then go back to his imaginary cooking. Someone less intimately involved might mistakenly judge his behavior to be aloof or awkward. A caring mother once concernedly asked me how he was. "He's great," I smiled. Despite my love for behavioral observation, I have a hard time sitting on the sidelines. To witness my son so expertly be true to his own nature while engaging with the cacophony that is toddler socialization was nothing short of beautiful.

"Ok kids, who likes to sing?" My attention was drawn back into the present moment, back into the room as I watched Will lift his hands maestro-style and lead his enthralled pupil, Doggy, in an articulate (if somewhat out-of-tune) rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." He finished and smiled. "That's a song we sing at school, Mom."

What a dummy. ME that is. I had written on the school info page that Will likes to observe and will engage when he feels ready, but somewhere in the anxiety and expectations of this new experience, I had forgotten how my son operates. Thank God he was strong enough to school me. I won't forget again, buddy.

At school pick-up Will came out wearing a sticker that said, "My Teacher is Proud of Me." Miss Cher-Cher excitedly reported that Will had a fantastic day and that he participated in all of the activities. I smiled and was proud and happy; but, it didn't compare to the joy that came with knowing in this first major experience with the big bad world, my son confidently did things his own way.