Back to School (and not a moment too soon)

I did not expect to find Ian charming in any way this morning. I envisioned this morning as follows: bundle child, bundle self, walk as fast as possible through the park (freezing) to school, deposit child with teacher and get the heck outta there. After two weeks of 'vacation' (which was much more fun when I was the kid), Ian and I had probably had a little too much together time.

But today on the way to school, Ian was verrrry charming. And that, in and of itself, is also charming: his ability to warm up to me when I least expect it - to chat effortlessly, to not complain, to smile, to squeeze my hand, to even say "thanks, Mom" more than once during our walk. Where was this kid during the last two weeks, I ask you!?!?

Our walk starts in the elevator. Ian is eating those little Sweet Tarts candies (I know, I know... don't call the police on me). He holds the roll out to me.

"Here, Mom, do you want to have one?"

Who am I to turn down a Sweet Tart at 8:30 in the morning?

"Sure," I say. He digs a sweet, little white candy out of his roll and hands it to me, all the while pressing his gloves under his elbow to keep them from falling.

"Thanks!" I say.

"Sure, Mom, you're welcome."

I finish it and he offers me another. Wow, what generosity.

As we walk out of our building, Ian stuffs his Sweet Tart wrapper into his pocket and discovers that one of his Transformers is in there. He gasps.

"Mom, Ms. Thomas doesn't let us have toys in our classroom. She's going to take this away from me," he explains. He's visibly bothered by this prospect, and seems to regret not having checked his pockets before leaving home.

"Don't worry, Ian," I say. "I'll keep your Transformer in my pocket and then put it at home, safe on the kitchen counter. How's that?"

"That's good, thanks Mom. When people take my toys away at school it makes me nervous."

Nervous? OK, well, glad I could help.

We walk on, Ian and I squeezing hands through our gloves. He skips, tells me he's excited to see his friends, and then laughs half way through the park because his pants are falling down. He couldn't be in a better mood. (Did I ask yet where was this kid during the last two weeks?)

When we get to his school, he dashes inside and takes the big turn-of-the-century (the one before the last one) marble stairs two at a time up to his classroom on the second floor. I trail behind, peeling off layers of hat, gloves, coat, sweater as he goes up the stairs. Once he's in his classroom, I try to remind him about not hitting. But before I can finish my sentence, he wriggles out of my arms and he's off talking to his friends. I slip out of the room.

You see, he was just as happy to have a break from me, too.