Ah, number lines. L approaches them in an assembly-like manner. Assess question, color in least number of squares, write digits in sequence.
M: “I notice that when you’re doing these exercises, you always color in the least number of squares necessary.”
L: “Yes, that’s my strategy.”
M: “Seems to work well. Looks like it’s a good strategy.”
L: “I’m a good strategy.”
Can’t argue with that.
To continue, dad calls to say he’s on his way. L picks up.
L: “Dad, I need you to be very sensitive to mom. If you start to see her eyes start to water, it’s because she had a difficult day. And you really love your wife, so let’s try to be very sensitive to her.”
D: “Yes, I do love my wife.”
Rotten day, yesterday. Worst day of my career. I’ve never seen a more ridiculous set of adults in my life. I’ll leave it there. Left work early. Picked up the lad from school.
The goal: Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry.
I cried.
L: “Mom, what’s wrong? Why are you sad?”
M: “Some people at work weren’t very nice to me. You know when you’re really good at something and no one can see it? That’s what it felt like. Felt like I was embedded in a world of aliens.”
L: “I’m so sorry, mom. I don’t want you to be sad. I love you. You’re the most amazing person I know. And I think you’re really good at what you do.”
M: “Thanks, sweetie. That means everything to me.”
L: “I’ll be very sensitive to you. Let’s go do my homework. Then we’ll sit together under a blanket and you can put your head on my shoulder and hopefully you’ll feel better.”
M: “I’m sure I will.”
M: “It’s time to sign up for chess club.”
L: “Oh, man, seriously? Please… Not this time.”
M: “But you’re so good at it. I wish I could play like you. Why not?”
L: “If you were to eat the same thing every single day of your life, it would get boring, right? It wouldn’t be zesty anymore, right? That’s what chess feels like to me right now. It’s the same thing over and over. Can I please take a break?”
Well said. He did win his last tournament. Maybe someday…
Finally, a much-needed hair cut. Being a nut, I shun the usual Super Duper Easy Cuts and go for something a bit different. I love his hair. It’s beautiful. Not as blonde or as curly as it once was, but abundant, lovely hair.
Let’s keep it long. Just a touch off the sides. Maybe…?
Haircutter: “L, who’s in charge of your hair? You or your mom?”
L: “Hmmm… That’s a good question. She made me. I guess you’d better ask her.”
L: “Mom, do you love your bike?”
M: “Yeah, it’s okay.”
L: “When I ride, I feel like I’m one with my bike. I feel like the wind.”
L: “Is there anything more beautiful than this?”
L: “Why is it cooler at a higher elevation if we’re closer to the sun?’
L: “How did I go from breathing fluid to breathing air? I don’t get the whole birth process. I don’t have gills, right?”
Me: “I’ll get back to you on those questions…”
L-“I’m not nervous. I’m not nervous. I’m totally comfortable. I’m really excited. I’m just so not nervous.”
Teacher during K initiation, circle time:
“Does anyone have any feelings or thoughts he or she would like to share?
L-“Yes, I’m really, really nervous.”
Teacher: “Thank you for sharing that. Does anyone else feel that way?”
Many, many hands instantly fly upward. OF COURSE. Everyone’s petrified. Including me.
I documented L’s last evening as a seven year old. I took treats to his class the next day. His school has a great tradition of asking if anyone would like to share something they appreciate about the birthday kid. Some of the responses:
“L is a great friend and is always by my side when I need him.”
“L is my best friend.”
“If anyone ever needs any help, L’s there.”
“L is really, really funny.”
“I love how creative he is. He’s helping me learn to draw.”
“L taught me more than I ever knew about gas masks.” (Said by his teacher.)
My Kid Wears A Gas Mask 