I don’t know who was the happier camper this week, Sam or me.  OK, we’ll call it a draw.  He really was in his element there, running off to jump in the little blow-up pool when we arrived, not even checking to see if I was still behind him.  That sure is a far cry from the sobbing mess he was when he started preschool last fall, clutching onto me and wailing, “Mommy, stay here!“ Ah, my little man is growing up.  Whoever said, “The days goes slowly, but the years go quickly” was so right on the mark.  Cheers to you, wherever you are! 

I must say, though, I am enjoying these days so much more than the infant daze, and they sure do fly by before I can catch my breath.  It is so nice to be able to communicate with him—he can tell me he’s thirsty.  I can find out exactly what he wants for lunch, usually peanut-butter-and-jelly-like-he-had-at-Trent’s-house, animal crackers, and some pineapple, all washed down with some apple juice.  And he has a good idea of what he wants to do, always “something fun,“ an expression he picked up from me.

Don’t you worry, though.  We still do have our miscommunications.  The other day when I showed up at school, I mean, “camp,“ to pick him up, the poor little guy was roaming around moaning to himself.  Miss Julie said, “I don’t know what’s wrong.  When we had lunch, he kept looking around like there was supposed to be something else in his bag.  And he didn’t seem to enjoy the pineapple.“  Well, the heat-sapped Saminator was starving!  After playing in the water outside all morning,  he only had some measly pineapple to eat for lunch.  I don’t have him on an all pineapple diet on purpose—really! 

Both Sam and his teachers were confused because I had only put some pineapple and juice in his Veggie Tales refrigerated bag.  To save space, I had put the other non-perishables directly in his canvas bag —the peanut butter & crackers, animal crackers, and raisins.  Alas, they didn’t see them in there buried under the clothes.  So Sam had to sit there and salivate while watching the other kids (whose mothers loved them more) eat their deliciously filling lunches.  Yes, there was some serious mommy guilty stirred up there.  I felt so bad for him, ravenous yet unable to explain himself or his mother’s well-intentioned packing rationale.  Oh, well.  He can tell his therapist all about it when he is 25.  I’ll even sport the co-pay and bring him some non-perishable snacks in a canvas bag.

On a brighter note he forgot all about it, but as you can tell, I haven’t.  I guess kids don’t learn to hold grudges, even against themselves, until they are older. 

Note to self:  Try to be more kid-like.

LibbY