It was another tough morning when it came time to actually get in the car and go to school.  Again, the whole time we were driving I heard that we should turn around and go home.  I also heard “mommy?” about a million times, since I was ignoring his incessant pleas to return to the house.  When I pulled up at the curb the principal was the one who was available to help me get Michael to the cafeteria.  She knew his name already which made me think she is familiar with his attitude toward school—a little disconcerting to say the least.  Then, I have the boys in the back seat so that Mikey sits behind me and Pierce sits on the other side.  It’s this way because I enter our garage on the passenger side of my car and there is more room to help the child that needed the most help getting into his car seat from there.  Well, the principal asked me with a bit of exasperation in her voice probably at the idea that I hadn’t already deduced how much safer it would be to have Mike exit the car curb side, to switch the car seats.  At which time Mikey yanks her arm in an effort to escape.  Between his distress and me feeling like a reprimanded child, we drove away with Pierce now crying.  I have had one other opportunity to employ help from the school principal, and have come to the conclusion that all people in this vocation have forgotten that they were ever children.  The common personality trait appears to be highly educated, no-nonsense, and marginally condescending.  It makes me kind of sad to think that tenderness is a quality that is hard to conjure when a child may need it.  I don’t know…maybe I’m all wrong, and what a child really needs from his principal is firm, unemotional guidance.  I’m ok with being wrong, but I still ache when my child appears to be insufferable by someone who is supposed to be a mentor.

I am emotionally spent today, I need to get some exercise, go to the store, so some laundry, and all I want to do is lay on the sofa.  I hate that!  Pierce did “wanna die”  (go outside), so I grabbed my laptop and am writing from my backyard and enjoying the cool breeze that wafts inland from the outer bands of hurricane Irene.  It’s really quite beautiful.   The cardinals are chirping in Herb the camphor.  I can see those pretty little red flames perched in the swath of green above me, and the wind chime is accompanying them in their song with its own resonant melody.  I’m glad Pierce wanted to come out.  I still want to lie down and take a snooze rather than anything else, but I think that may be beginning to pass.

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