Have you guys met Super Kindergartener? Here he is:
He is also ill-named, because he is no longer going to be in Kindergarten.
After three phone calls from the principal, numerous melt-downs, 2 flat-out refusals to go to gym, countless tears (mine, his, and, I assume, the teacher's), and a week and a half, we have all come to the conclusion that Super Kindergartener is not ready for Kindergarten and would be much happier in preschool. So, that is what we are doing. As of tomorrow, Super Kindergartener goes back to being Super Preschooler. Only this time, it's all week, in the afternoons. It is a great solution and everyone is thinking this will help him ease into a full school day for next year or even later this school year, perhaps. Neat, tidy, and everyone's happy, especially Invisible Grandpa, Super Preschooler's imaginary friend, who doesn't much care for all-day school either and refused to attend with him. Happy happy.
So, why can't I stop crying?
Because they rejected my baby.
Now, I need say that, of course, no one rejected anyone and no one was in any way cruel or dismissive or anything but caring, as we sought a solution to Super Preschooler's obvious discomfort and frustration. I know that. I just wish someone would explain it to my heart.
The crap going down in there is downright cruel, dismissive, and anything but caring. Not towards the teachers, they did exactly what they were supposed to do. Not towards Super Preschooler, he did exactly what he was supposed to do. But me? I don't know. That's where my train goes off the tracks. That's where my Inner Voice is saying, "This is because I ate lunch meat that one time when I was 4 months along with him. This is because I didn't breast feed. This is because he didn't talk right away and I just let him take his time. This is because he walked late and I thought the physical therapy was premature. This is because I didn't do those math flashcards. This is because we have too many children. This is because I don't like to cook dinner. This is because we moved. This is because I didn't get him into therapy when his imaginary friends showed up. This is because of me. This is my fault. This is because I am a terrible mother."
Yeah. So, that's been going on since this morning when I went and picked him up and he smiled up at me and said "oh, thank goodness you are here. I was missing you a ton." And I took him into my arms and told him that he didn't have to miss me as much any more because we were changing our schedules and he was gonna eat lunch with me every day and then I took him to his new classroom down the hall and we met his new teacher and they played with markers for a little bit while I filled out all the new paperwork. And then I took him home and we ate lunch and watched Jake and the Pirates and now he is playing dinosaurs with his sister while I mentally abuse myself for having my child's best interests at heart. So, like 2 hours of mental abuse from my inner critic.
And that's 2 hours too long. So, you can just shut up now, Inner Voice. I don't have to deal with enough mom comparison, confusion, and conflict from the freaking entirety of the internet? I don't have enough self-doubt and worry to overcome without you piling on? Being a parent isn't hard enough? You have to start too? You are wrong and exhausting and, I've never told you this before, but sometimes your voice is incredibly whiny and grating. So, get it together, Inner Voice. I don't want to replace you with a soundtrack of Morgan Freeman reading Shakespearean sonnets on a loop, but I totally will. So, get it together, Inner Voice. Get positive. Get supportive. Get with the program.
Get. It. Together. Right. Now.
It doesn't matter what we call him.
He's Super, regardless.