Today, tears. I don't want to go to school! I don't want to go to school! He throws his head back while we walk, face tearstained, his pleas rising to the heavens. I'm not really caring about anything at the moment except my 9:30 meeting. Have I told people where we're meeting (have I even booked a room in the corporate maze of meeting rooms?) Do I need to prepare anything? Why didn't I think about preparing anything yesterday? Will I be on time? Who do I need to Blackberry if I'm late? My arm is yanked half out of its socket and I focus again on the agony of my first-born.
"Ian, c'mon, this isn't fun for Mom," I plea on my own. I don't know why I think this should carry any weight with him, but I plea anyway. I'm sure that there is a chapter in some parenting book somewhere in which "seeking sympathy from your child" is in some kind of "don't" column.
I sit him down under a tree to calm him down. He heaves and cries and gasps some more. Strategy, strategy, I need a strategy. I go into my purse. What's there that could be a distraction? I dig out my last piece of Trident. "Ian, do you want some gum?"
Sudden calm. "Sure," he says, as if he hadn't been close to self mutilation a mere 30 seconds before in a last-ditch attempt to avoid school.
He pops it in his mouth and smiles broadly (is he kidding me?). He carefully folds up the empty paper, opens his coat pocket and tucks the paper away for later. I taught him to do this so he wouldn't hold out the chewed up gum and expect the palm of my hand to be a permanent depository for it. I was so proud. My child can now dispose of his own gum, if it occurs to him not to swallow it, which it usually doesn't, but we're getting there.
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