Kale has been going to preschool with some regularity for a few weeks now. He can go (and we pay for) five days a week, but so far we haven’t yet made it to five for a variety of reasons. He enjoyed it immensely when we first started going and we’re starting to see a bit of a backlash from him about going now.
For one, he’s dropped his naps. Sigh. It was only a matter of time, I suppose for Kale to give up the nap, and I’m torn about this because I’ll be honest with you guys – I got a buttload of work done while Mr. Pants slept. This house doesn’t magically clean itself, laundry doesn’t magically do itself, and clients do not magically pay me for doing nothing, and so that short burst of time that Kale would sleep was the time in which I got a lot done. Don’t get me wrong, Ross contributes to the household operations, and so the few people who have given me the sage advice to “make your husband do more” – while good intentioned – are shooting at the wrong moose.
So I’m having to learn a new way of completing my billable work. The summer market season is finally over after 18 long weeks, and so I have less time-dependent work that needs doing. But i also have more research and thinking based work that needs doing for the consulting business. So, I’ve so far been fitting it in during preschool. Which sort of works though I always feel like I haven’t gotten enough done and never feel like I can get into the meat of things in the limited time I have between drop off and pick up.
And the other, slightly more troubling part is that Kale has recently decided he HATES going to preschool and when we ask why, he tells us he dislikes another child at the school. This child does not speak English, and while he’s a nice kid and he’s only three, he sometimes tries to get the attention of the staff and other children in ways Kale doesn’t necessarily appreciate such as sticking his hand in Kale’s face, or more seriously, pushing and hitting.
I’m struggling with this on a few levels. One, Kale is a great kid who is good natured but he’s not an angel. He has done his fair share of inappropriate pushing or invading space and I’m mostly okay with it because, well, he’s THREE and that’s what they do. We have been working incredibly hard to help him learn that we are nice to other children and that getting the attention of people is best done with words and timing. So, here’s this little boy he goes to school with doing the EXACT OPPOSITE and not knowing enough English to be told how better to do it.
Secondly, I’m struggling because I’m the one that gets to listen to the WAILING Kale will start once he knows he’s going to school. Dropping his nap also means that Kale is more tired, and is sleeping more, and Ross and I are working on trying to scale the kid back so he is in bed earlier and won’t sleep as long in the morning, thus giving him more time to wake up on his own and be happy and peaceful, rather than me stomping around the house trying to wake him up with enough time to eat breakfast and get dressed and walk to school without rushing him. This kid is like me and will NOT BE rushed without a scene.
I know, wah wah wah, right? I have friends who have told me stories about how hard it is to get their families organized first thing in the morning, at like, 6, so that there is time for daycare drop offs, school drop offs, et cetera. And here’s me whining about it being hard to get Kale out the door for 9AM. So there’s a whole other part of this connundrum to analyze – why am I so bothered about it?
I can deal with the time – with the summer market season over I literally have every weeknight available to do my consulting work (although I don’t mind going out to socialize once in a blue moon) and so its going to take some getting used to.
The big thing is that I’m feeling horribly bad about myself and how angry I find myself getting.
Today, for example, we actually got out of the house on time, and about 50 yards from the house, Kale had a complete meltdown about the fact that I grabbed his wrist to speed him up, and in the process, it jarred a piece of cereal (the breakfast he hadn’t eaten) out of his little snacky bag, where it promptly fell – splat – into a puddle. So he FREAKED and it just sent me over the edge and I screamed at him, right in his face, I was so full of RAGE, and now, I don’t even know exactly what I said, I was that angry. I seem to recall I yelled at him about leaving the cereal alone, about how we were going to be late, and I think I even threw in a “IT’S YOUR FAULT” for good measure.
Let me just state for the record that this is not a parenting moment I am proud of.
We came home and it was Ross to the rescue and he spoke to Kale on speaker phone and got him calmed down and all that. And I apologized to Kale for yelling at him and we’re all good, he and I. But still. I feel like a giant heel.
[Pity Party: To make matters worse, I had to go to the dentist today to repair a broken tooth that I broke last week and he had to freeze it and drill it and fill it, and then I found out the company didn’t get a (totally improbable but hey, since we’re whining here) bid we put in for. Seriously, I’m pretty certain I’m going to get shat on when we take the dog for a walk. ]
And so, here we are. Kale is working on the permanent couch dent in the living room watching the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and I’ve escaped to my office for my own little bit of downtime.
Right now, I’m not sure who dislikes preschool more – Kale for the child that he doesn’t like, or me for the hammer it’s thrown into our lives. Trust me, I know it will get better and will normalize and we’re working on Really Big Stuff here and that’s okay. But seriously. Preschool. Meh.