Memo to Renley
Dear Renley Doodle,
So you’re heading into kindergarten soon. By far, my most challenging child.
Today is the perfect example. 4 days of pre-k left. You had boogers in your nose. You wanted them out. But you did not want to blow your nose. You wanted me to magically clear your nostrils. And with each unsuccessful attempt (my snot wand is not perfect), you got more whiny and teary and worked up.
So worked up I thought Asian Grandma would have more luck getting you out the door with a wad of Kleenex and a 15 minute walk to school where you’d eventually recover. (If I took you, I thought you’d be even more attached and less independent.) You finally exited the apartment and entered the elevator and the crying became fainter. Not because you were calming down, but because you were going down 19 stories.
10 minutes later, you were back. No tears. Triumphant. Apparently you would not budge from the lobby and refused to keep walking. Asian Grandma brought you back upstairs and into the apartment, “If you stay home from school, you will not be allowed to watch any shows.”
Mommy was not so generous. I stood up and said, “We’re going to school babe.”
Instant tears. Like when Cup O Noodles turns into ramen with hot water, you turned into a howling, crying, crazy person when I got out of my chair and put on my cap.
The huffing, screaming, “I don’t want to go to school” out of control crying. You didn’t want to take my hand. You were backing away and refusing to come to the door. I pressed the elevator button and gave you a “count of three to get to me” ultimatum.
A couple steps forward. More howling and screaming. I used my Mean Mommy voice “Get in the elevator NOW.”
Somehow we got to the lobby. You were unabashed. Nevermind being in a public space. You kept going with the kind of crying where people turn their heads and the doormen look bewildered and Mommy has to smile and scoop you up and get you outside so the sirens and New York city noises could blunt the audio assault of your wailing.
I tried all the rationalizations.
“I go to work, you go to school. That’s your job. We don’t just get to stay home when we want to.”
“Your friends will miss you. You only have a few more days.”
“Isn’t there an ice cream party this week? Maybe it’s today!”
“If you can calm down and get it together, I have an awesome sticker for you after school.”
“Do you want to see the cool video Al Roker made for your friend Vladimir this morning? I will play it for you when we get to school.”
You: CRYING CRYING CRYING.
More you: “I can’t go to SCHOOOOOOOL. I CAN’T. I CAN’T!” “Mommy please don’t make me.” “Please Mommy please Mommy please Mommy.”
It almost worked. You sensed my weakness. I was doubting myself. “Can she really not go to school? Am I being cruel by forcing her to go to Pre-K? What if I am traumatizing my child by marching her off to class?” The “please Mommys” were the absolute worst. Am I doing permanent damage in this moment?
I started carrying you. Which amplified everything. Now you’re crying INTO my ears. Pleading. “I can’t go to school! CRYCRYCRY” I feel terrible. People walking by with their dogs and their lattes were turning their heads to look at me and that’s something because people in New York don’t give a shi* about most things but I think people were wondering if you were being kidnapped. You legit were so loud Grandma said she could hear you from the balcony. She wanted to see the show apparently.
At the corner, you’re still crying. LOUDLY. So I FaceTimed Daddy. Didn’t want to deprive him of this moment. Also, I needed some back up. He was calm, we could barely hear him over your crying and huffing. You kept turning your back and refusing to look at him. We did catch one part of his sage advice from the OR behind his mask, “Just stay with her till she calms down because she doesn’t want to go to school crying like this.” Which of course, I knew, but when you heard that you said, “Yes, I want to calm down.”
And so began the transition. I said of course we’d wait outside until you were calm. As long as we needed to wait, we’d wait. For minutes and minutes and minutes. I distracted you by talking about the playdate at the end of the week and how fun it would be to play soccer. I told you it wasn’t going to be a good day at school, not a great day, but a marvelous, fabulous, fantastic, splendid, amazing, incredible, magical, supercalifragilisticexpialadocius day. We sang the days of the week song ten times and I made up random lyrics to add to the end.
You stopped crying. Like a switch. Within 5 seconds you were calm and talking to me and laughing. Like nothing ever happened. Like New York weather. One minute it’s sunny, the next a torrential thunderstorm.
I guess Emmy and Odessa were so easy that you’re making up for all of their non-tantrums by giving us a run for our money.
Your teacher says you were your “usual cheerful self” in class today.
*Eyes to the sky. I love you Doodle. When you’re good, you’re very, very good. Sweet, hilarious, talkative, curious. When you’re bad, you make Mommy question my very existence and qualifications as a human being.
But as I told Asian Grandma, we can not let the terrorists win. If I just let you stay home from school whenever you had boogers, life would be very hard for you.
Love,
Your Mommy
