Play Dates at the White House

President Obama. How long have we waited to utter those two words? I know I've waited for what seems like a hundred years. And then, in a surreal series of events on January 20, it happened. We wept, we cheered, we silently emoted, and we were thankful that this time had come. 

I grew up attending a racially balanced school in Cincinnati. The first boy I ever kissed was African-American. Because it was an arts school, our principal ensured that the leads of our plays were racially mixed: one white girl opposite one African-American boy, and vice-versa. And then I went to college. Whoo, boy. The real world wasn't quite as balanced. Not by a long shot.

I thought of my racist and fearful family members as I watched Mr. Obama take the oath of office. I wondered what they would say were they still with us to witness this historic event. Some of them are still with me, fortunately, but I don't relish the comments I'm bound to hear when I see them next. But you know what? It's our turn. It's time for this country to breathe again, to feel hope, to feel represented. So it's OK if a few grumps need to make snide remarks. This is better than Christmas: I'll be grinning like a fool for a good long time. 

Last night, as I was tucking in my son, he asked, wholly innocently, if he could have a play date with the Obama girls. Son, you let me know when that invitation comes...Mommy will be more than happy to drive you to their house. I hear they even have their own movie theater. 

So Tired

Our son Henry has always been an early to bed, early to rise kind of kid. But lately I've been growing more and more worried about the early to rise part. He is dreaming away by 7:30 every night, he never complains about going to bed, and he falls asleep within minutes of head hitting pillow, so I'm pretty sure his bedtime is right on. But a mere 9 hours later, at 4:30 in the AM, he is at my side asking if it's time to get up yet. Um, no. 

I go to work at an obscenely early hour so that I can leave work in time to pick Henry up from school. Therefore, Henry thinks he should be up every morning when I'm up, so he doesn't miss saying good-bye. And once he's up, there's no getting him back into bed. I love that I get to be at school every afternoon: I feel like part of the stay-at-home-parents club, even though I'm not a full member. I love that Henry and I chat in the car on the drive home and that I'm there for him to talk to if he's had a "bumpy day," as we call them. But this week especially I've noticed that my usually sunny boy has seemed not so sunny. Down. Serious. Unenthusiastic.  When I ask him what's up, he says "I'm just so tired..." He rests his head on his hand during dinner, even when chocolate-chip pancakes are on the menu, a Henry favorite. Last night he chose a recipe from his cookbook and we made it together, an apple-y dessert. He had playtime, movie time, snuggle time, goofy time, book time, all our usual after school and bedtime activities. But his usual spark wasn't there. He wept while we tried to do his homework, which he usually enjoys.

I think I asked him 15 times if there was anything he wanted to talk with me about. Had something happened at school? Did someone make him sad or upset? Had he had a time-out in gym? Nope, just tired, he says. We've had (and continue to have) the talk about secrets and inappropriate garbage and the like, but he is usually very forthcoming when something has gone wrong at school. So, I chalk it up to exhaustion. 

Today I'll be calling our pediatrician to see what we can do to...what, reset Henry's internal clock? We've tried keeping him up a bit later (and a lot later). But what we end up with is an overtired boy the next day. He gets fresh air, we dance in the living room, he has gym, we try to make healthy meals. I'm hoping we can find a way to convince him to stay in bed, even though I'm getting up to go to work. I hate leaving him every day, but I hate it more when my son is unhappy every afternoon because he's so sleepy. Yawn. 

You're On Your Own, Kid

This being the first full week of school since the holiday break, I've been anticipating some fussing, some reluctance to cooperate, and some bleary, sleepy mornings. And since this is the first full week back to work since a spate of days off, I've been expecting the same from myself and my husband. Ahem. Turns out Henry has been a cooperation champ lately, so if there's any fussing going on, it's coming from me. 

So far, the week back to school has been uneventful, at least for us. A mate of my son's had a rough day yesterday, though. I meet Henry after school to drive him home—we live too far away for him to walk, and we pulled him off of the school bus last year for reasons I'll have to get into in another posting. (I'll just say here: you think you've prepared your kid for some of the bad things that can happen. Then it turns out you haven't thought of them all.) I know several of Henry's friends, and a few of their parents, by virtue of my presence at the school yard every day. One boy's parents seem to arrive a little later than most of the adults from time to time, so I've gotten used to his hanging out with us until he sees mom or dad. Yesterday, as the crowd thinned out, I could see he was growing more and more anxious, and I was getting concerned. Of course, I would stay with him until I saw one of his grown-ups, but he was really worried. My being there with him (and my son's trying to distract him with snowballs) wasn't helping. 

Finally, after the school yard was pretty empty, he had the idea to go back to his classroom to see if his teacher had heard anything. We went back inside and his teacher calmly told him he was supposed to walk home that day. His mom had called and instructed him to walk home. He froze, then blurted out, "the whole way?" and burst into tears and ran away from us. I called him back and offered to drive him home, but he was in a hurry. I imagine they had discussed this at home, maybe they'd practiced his doing this on his own, but he seemed stunned. He took off on foot, headed for home, and refused our offer to walk with him. I wish I'd insisted. 

I found out the next day that his mother had been looking for him on his path home, and I didn't get to speak to her to see how it had gone. He lives blocks and blocks from school, and he has to cross some busy streets to get there. He's six years old, like my son. I know we parents want and need to teach our kids how to do things for themselves, and giving them wings is our job. But it broke my heart that he was so upset about walking home alone. Is this what Free Range Kids is all about, or was this an error in judgment? He didn't seem ready for what was being asked of him. Would my son be able to find his way home if he suddenly was being asked to? I have no idea.