Skip to main content

Don't take my sunshine

I cried this morning when I dropped off Sweet Boy at preschool. I've only really broken down once before, even though he has cried pretty much every day that I've ever left him at daycare in his entire life, and it hurts me every freaking time. Usually I can shrug it off once I'm back in the car sipping my coffee, because I tell myself he's already stopped crying and is now happily immersed in silly play. Whether it's true or not, who knows?

He's verbal now, so the crying is often accompanied by streaming entreaties intense love, longing, and despair. Today he got me with this, complete with gigantic crocodile-tear sobs:

"Mommmeeeee...don't go! No, Mommy! I love you so much! When you go, I miss you! Please don't go, mommmeeee...I love you! Please don't take my sunshine away!"

How do these little brains learn so quickly just exactly what's going to break you?

I'm now tearing up again, so I'm gonna go grab a hanky.


TODAY I LEARNED
when the swimsuit that your ordered from Lands End a year ago starts to disintegrate (because of the massive amounts of chlorine in the YMCA pool), you can just call 'em up and they'll refund your money or apply it to the purchase of a new suit. You can then just return the old suit in the mail or take it to your local Sears. How awesome is that?!
Labels:

Comments

  1. AnonymousAugust 4, 2008 at 6:25 AM

    Wow, that's a lot tougher to handle than just the tears and/or clinginess during dropoff. Padraic also hates to be dropped off, and every single day I hope it will be different, but it rarely is. It makes me really worried about kindergarten, which is still two years away! (Only two years?)

    Anyway, I wish I had awesome advice, but I'm just rowing along in the same boat as you. You know, the one that keeps taking on just enough water to make you have to continually bail it out so it doesn't complete sink?

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A boy and his cat

Our backyard is a decent size and backs to woods. Every time a visitor steps onto our back deck, friend, family, and neighbor alike, we hear "What a yard! You need to get that kid a dog!" Apparently this is the natural progression here in Suburbia: house + yard + boy child + dog = happiness. Now, it's one thing to hear about our need of dog from friends or family who know us, but coming from neighbors and relative strangers it gets a bit old. My first response is always, Why do you think so? Which makes people hem and haw because they don't want to insult me by saying what's really on their minds: Because you're depriving that child of a human sibling , and he needs a friend . One problem: We're not dog people. I mean, we like other people's dogs, and I often think having a dog would be a major motivation to walk long distances regularly and get myself into shape. But a dog is like a toddler who will never grow up. They are needy, and they bark and poo...
3 comments
Read more

Ottomania!

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about ottomans. A ridiculous amount of time, actually, given the number of other things I truly should focus my thoughts on. I find, though, that when the world outside gets scary (and scary is a truly relative term these days) I turn to online shopping for things I don't really need. Actually, it's more like online browsing; I rarely purchase. I spend hours searching for, oh, erasable colored gel pens or standing desks or all-natural curly-hair gel or the perfect black sweater. (Yes, these are things I've fixated on over this winter; I still haven't clicked "buy" nor settled on any of them.) This week, it's ottomans. By the way, my girl  Brené  Brown would call this behavior numbing . I'm okay with that. Because online browsing is way less detrimental (so far) than chain smoking, which is what I'd really like to do when the world is scary. It's a way to escape, to daydream, to focus on things tha...
16 comments
Read more

Grace happens

Today Honey's roommate in room 364 at Maine Medical Center was discharged. Some other day I'll tell you about why Honey is in the hospital again, but this story is about the roommate because it's way more interesting. Let's call him Elton, because all I really know about him is he plays guitar in an Elton John tribute band and he's originally from the very northern part of England, bordering Scotland. (Or as Honey described it, "that place in England where the Roman Empire decided, nope, those Celts are crazy, and put up a wall.") Elton was in room 364 before Honey arrived, and what struck me immediately, besides his delightful accent and soothing Liam-Neeson-esque voice, was his gentle, good-natured manner. He was going through heck from a botched surgery and compartment syndrome - pain and gore and fear of losing the use of his dominant hand - yet he spoke kindly and softly to every person who came into his room. Every time a nurse walked in, Elton gre...
9 comments
Read more