With a smile that can break through steel...

The week that was. Three members of the same nutball family begin school in some fashion. It went pretty well, really. There was that little mishap, as it was called with Sam and a bus ride. Where he was put on a bus, even though he was supposed to stay at school. Well there was this list, and that list, and it was an understandable mistake since he will be taking the bus in the morning… You know me. I freaked. Then I asked others for ideas on who to approach, and with what tone. Then I wrote and called and was heard, to a degree.  The issue is not my upset, as Sam was fine, and thought nothing of it. The issue is what is in place so it doesn’t happen again. That is not always the message people hear. The next day he rode the bus in earnest, in the morning, and reported later that he already knew the bus driver. Uh huh.

His favorite things about school; strawberry milk, going outside and playing on the playground at least three times a day, and his teacher’s beautiful smile.

By the second day she tells me that he is so smart that sometimes he has trouble listening. Translation: Sam gets bored and Sam gets active. She says she has asked him to take on a leadership role for Monday. This is a great strategy. Meanwhile I am looking at fidget toys for the room.

Soccer started. Sam is a head taller, and one of maybe four “Under Sixes” that has a skill set way beyond the other fifty or so dribblers on the field. I am not asking him to go to Brazil to train for the next world cup. But, I was hopeful they could at least praise acknowledge his given talents, and pull aside perhaps a smaller group for some individual attention. Response: Wait until next year lady, and chill out.

Last night I hear screams from Sam’s room. Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaama. I ran around the corner, and arrived expecting to see him in full up right nightmare mode. Instead he is resting quietly.

You OK Sam?

Uh huh. I just wanted to say hi.

Marcel? Well aside from bending steel with those pearlies he is completely unraveling every afternoon when he gets home.  I am used to this routine. I did let his relatively new teachers know that all of those glowing reports I am getting from school do not mean that it is as easy as it looks. He has nothing left when he gets home. They  were really supportive, and offered me some good ideas and things to consider.

Mom? Exhausted. Feel like I have been hit by a cement truck this week. Up until eleven most nights working on school work–plans–schedules-feedback on getting to know you activities the kids are doing for me. Processing. And queries for the workshop are amping up, while registrations have stalled. I am not exercising like I SWORE to myself I would figure out somehow every day, so I could be a better mama-me. I locked my keys in the car for the second time in my life last night. And the first time was about twenty years ago. Response: Universe is raising the overload yellow flag.

And folks, I am listening.

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