I am weary tonight. Yesterday I got up with my piddling shoe on--I wanted to read, fiddle on the internet, run errands, do anything but work. Today I got up with my work shoe on, determined to get lots done. It didn't quite work out that way. I spent a large chunk of the afternoon watching Michael Jackson clips on my computer
It goes back to this morning when Jacob arrived in the driveway and proudly showed me the small journal his mommy had left for him while she's out of town. He was so proud and so excited, and he gave it to me with strict instructions to take good care of it. Thinking that the coffee table is where he drops his backpack in the afternoon, I put the book there. Forgot to take Sophie into that equation.
Right. She chewed it badly and ate the sparkly pencil that went with it. I worried all day about how to tell him, knowing he'd be heartbroken. I was ready to run him to Barnes and Noble to pick out a new one.
When I told him I had bad news and mentioned the journal, he said simply, "Sophie." And I confirmed. We had tears, we had anger, we had a deep pout. No, he did not want another one--his mommy got that one from the treasure chest (not sure if that is at home or at school) and wrote a note about how much she loved him. Sophie was never ever getting a treat again. I tried to explain that Sophie by this time had no idea what she'd done, and he was not to kick, scold, any of those things. I told him I was so sorry, it was largely my fault, and I'd do anything I could to make him happier. Eyes lit up. "Anything?" "Well, within reason." "Will you pull up Michael Jackson on your computer?" So began my marathon session of watching hip-hop or whatever it is.
He finally agreed to break for homework, ice cream and sparkling cider, and TV. Then his Aunt Betty and I took him for Mexican food, and he seemed to enjoy the evening. But once home, he wouldn't be parted from his pillow and his animals, and whenever he saw Sophie he said, "You're mean."
Before he went to bed he got the mangled book and had me spell so he could write, "Sophie is mean." Wonder how long it will take him to get over this? Meantime I haven't gotten a lick of work done today except the two hours between yoga and the retirees lunch.
Tomorrow is another day.
It goes back to this morning when Jacob arrived in the driveway and proudly showed me the small journal his mommy had left for him while she's out of town. He was so proud and so excited, and he gave it to me with strict instructions to take good care of it. Thinking that the coffee table is where he drops his backpack in the afternoon, I put the book there. Forgot to take Sophie into that equation.
Right. She chewed it badly and ate the sparkly pencil that went with it. I worried all day about how to tell him, knowing he'd be heartbroken. I was ready to run him to Barnes and Noble to pick out a new one.
When I told him I had bad news and mentioned the journal, he said simply, "Sophie." And I confirmed. We had tears, we had anger, we had a deep pout. No, he did not want another one--his mommy got that one from the treasure chest (not sure if that is at home or at school) and wrote a note about how much she loved him. Sophie was never ever getting a treat again. I tried to explain that Sophie by this time had no idea what she'd done, and he was not to kick, scold, any of those things. I told him I was so sorry, it was largely my fault, and I'd do anything I could to make him happier. Eyes lit up. "Anything?" "Well, within reason." "Will you pull up Michael Jackson on your computer?" So began my marathon session of watching hip-hop or whatever it is.
He finally agreed to break for homework, ice cream and sparkling cider, and TV. Then his Aunt Betty and I took him for Mexican food, and he seemed to enjoy the evening. But once home, he wouldn't be parted from his pillow and his animals, and whenever he saw Sophie he said, "You're mean."
Before he went to bed he got the mangled book and had me spell so he could write, "Sophie is mean." Wonder how long it will take him to get over this? Meantime I haven't gotten a lick of work done today except the two hours between yoga and the retirees lunch.
Tomorrow is another day.
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