As I made breakfast this morning, I heard a shriek and huge sobs alarmingly hurtle out of G’s bedroom. I sprinted down the hall, leaving a dust storm of oats and a thought bubble filled with swear words behind me.
Once in his room I grabbed him up off the floor, scooped him into my arms and assessed the situation. I saw no wounds, no missing teeth, no apparent tell tale signs of future hospital bills. But still he wailed, with his new Hairy Maclary book (he went to go get from his room for show and tell) on the floor next to him.
‘What is it G?’ I asked softly, ‘What happened, did you hurt yourself?’
‘Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo,’ he wailed.
‘Ok, sweetie, ok. Are you sure? Why are you crying?’
‘I won’t tell,’ he blurbered into my chest.
‘Well I need you tell me so I can help.’
‘Ok’, (three little gulps of air like pauses in a Pinter play), ‘I don’t want to go to school all daaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!’
‘What?’ I stifled a laugh of combined relief and disbelief, ‘Why not, sweetie? You had so much fun last week.’
In truth, last week I picked G up at 5pm. You see, pre-school in Sydney coincides with day care. So I can leave him there from 7am-7pm if I need to. We felt 9-5 was the most we’d ever do. But, you see, on his first day, he only went for two hours and when I went to pick him up after that short amount of time, he looked at me with disdain and said, ‘What are you doing here?’
can’t you see i’m dancing?
So, for his first full day, we thought we’d give 9-5 a shot, but on that day when 3 o’clock rolled around I had this nagging feeling I should go get him. I fought that urge and picked him up at 5 like we planned, but he seemed a little disconcerted. I could tell it was too long a day and I kicked myself for not trusting my instincts.
‘I will come and get you today just after your preschool lesson ok? You’ll play outside, have lunch, have your school lesson and then I’ll come get you at 3. How does that sound?’
‘Ok,’ he sniffled, ‘that sounds good.’
So, guess who just ran across the street to pick G up at 3 and is now back at her desk at 315 typing this post? Me.
I asked G if he wanted to stay on since he looked like he was having quite a nice time at a birthday party that featured piggie faced cupcakes. He said yes. So I asked him when he’d like me to come back and he said, ‘In 12 hours.’