Today was the worst day of his life.
He’s a shy one. It takes him a while to warm up to people. But once he does, he loves them with his whole heart. His is a powerful love that melts me on a daily basis.
He was nervous going to kindergarten this year. Really nervous. But he warmed up quickly to the second most wonderful woman in his life — his teacher.
The young, beautiful, sweet teacher, with her southern accent and bonus prize box and big heart.
The same teacher who resigned today.
LBSH cried. And he cried. And then he started wailing. Then he moaned and cried. Then he just sobbed.
“I want my normal teacher,” he cried, rejecting any talk of a substitute or a replacement who might just be the very best teacher on the entire planet.
I drew upon all of my mothering skills and realized immediately that it would have to be LBSH Day. You know, the day when he gets to decide everything and he can basically have whatever he wants.
Spiderman Mac and Cheese for lunch. Along with corndogs.
Hours glued in front of the computer playing games on the LEGO web site.
Mugs of hot chocolate.
Mickey Mouse pancakes for dinner. With lots of whipping cream and chocolate chips on the top.
Hershey bars for dessert. That finally made him smile.
Hugs. Hugs. And more hugs.
But this kid is what one might call attached. He still carries his baby blankie around the house and sets it on the front bench so I will bring it along when I pick him up from kindergarten.
His 4-year-old preschool photo is bent and smudged from all the time he has spent staring at it. He names off all of the children who are his “best friends”, even though we haven’t seen them for over a year. He begs and pleads with me to call the mothers of these children who have skipped off to kindergarten in other areas and most likely would not have a clue who I am.
He loves people with all his might. And she was top of his list.
We could be eating a lot of chocolate this week.
And giving lots of hugs.
I don’t expect him to forget her anytime soon. And I have a feeling this won’t be the last time I’ll be nursing this one’s broken heart.