School Is Hard

Hi again. I'm sorry I've been away for so long. It's been hot, and Life's been hectic. And my son, while approaching angelic in most other ways, has been decidedly demonic about school (when we've had time to do it), so I haven't really had much to report. For the past week and a half, school has pretty much gone like this: I pull out the school shelves, Parker does some transferring or pouring or dusting, Parker announces he's all done with school, I encourage him to work with the graduated blocks or the scissors or what have you, Parker gives a (frankly) half-assed attempt at the activity then starts using the materials inappropriately (sliding blocks across the floor at breakneck speeds, trying to cut the tabletop), I step in and remind him of the objective of the activity, Parker walks away.

The thing is, we've been lately having a blast (and learning stuff!) outside of our school sessions. We've been building pulley systems, pretending to be macaroni penguins ("Let's go dive for some squid, Mommy Penguin!") and roadrunners ("It's hot in the desert, so I need some prickly pear juice, Mommy Roadrunner.") and talking about how our bodies work ("My intestines are full so I need to go poo.") And that "tyrannical threes" phase I told you about? The light at the of the tunnel is fast approaching. My son has been cooperating with me, listening more attentively and allowing me to help and/or guide him when necessary. We've had a bunch of ho-hum errands to do lately (bank boredom, DMV dreariness, trip planning tedium), and he's accompanied me throughout it all with minimal protest. Then the school bell rings, and I'm suddenly sitting next to the second coming of Mr. Hyde.

On a good day, I think, "It's just a(nother) phase. This too shall pass. I know I'm on the right course." On a so-so day, I start doubting, and run through the endless list of maybes: "Maybe it's too hot. Maybe he's too tired. Maybe the timing is wrong. Maybe he's bored. Maybe he's too stimulated. Maybe I shouldn't interfere so much. Maybe he needs more structure so I should interfere more. Maybe maybe maybe maybe maybe..." On a bad day, I find myself inevitably alternating between anger and dismay. One minute I'm biting my tongue so I won't shout at my son, and the next I'm struggling to swallow the lump in my throat, blinking fast to keep the tears at bay. My husband thinks I'm too invested. "You're taking it too seriously," he says to me as I sob into his shoulder, having greeted his arrival home from work with a full and complete meltdown. Of course I'm taking it seriously! It's our son! It's his education! Early childhood is one of the most vulnerable stages of life! This will effect him for the rest of his life! But I think what Mike means to say is, "You're too emotional about this," and there I'll agree. The evidence is undeniable: when we're playing together, my son not only gets along with me (relatively well--this is a three-year-old I'm talking about) but learns from me; my son fights me and refuses to let me guide (read: teach) him when we're doing school. The only difference between playtime and school time is me; or more to the point, my behavior. I often feel fraught with anxiety during school. ("Am I doing this right? Is he enjoying this? He's not cutting along the lines. Should I say something? Should I tell him to hold the scissors correctly? Oh no! I shouldn't have said anything! He feels discouraged, I can tell!") Kids are notoriously gifted at intuiting their parents' emotions. My son feels my anxiety and it makes him uncomfortable. How could it not? Have you ever been around an extremely anxious person? No fun, no fun at all. So he starts acting out and ultimately gives up in an unfocused but undeniable attempt to escape an agitated, irritating emotional environment.

I'm not sure what to do about this. Well, calm down, of course, but how? And, no, "Mother's Little Helper" is not an option for me. (Unless you're talking about the song. It's a good song, I like it. Though I'm not sure listening to it will help me in any tangible way.) Just keep swimming, I suppose. And step back a little for the next few weeks. Pull out the school shelves and sit down on the sofa and observe. Here's my question, though: Really? What if he doesn't put the materials back? Or mishandles them? Or or or...? Argh. School is hard.

Pulley fun

"I Love You" card for Kitty