The WeeOne. Oh my. This child keeps me on my toes. Like a prima ballerina, I tell you. The other day on Facebook, I talked about his behavior leaving me reeling, wondering what in the world had just happened. Here’s a little back story:
Big and I had gone to the orthodontist, and Daddy picked up the WeeOne. WeeOne and Daddy arrived home minutes before Big and I. We walk through the door thinking “Ahhhh. It sure is good to be home.” Immediately, WeeOne starts yelling about how Daddy was supposed to call me and tell me to pick up supplies for an extra credit project. (Side bar: The project was received that day and isn’t due for ONE WEEK). Admittedly, I lost my cool. I was stressed from being in traffic in the city, from learning we have a few more months in braces, from life. When I regained my composure, the WeeOne and I discussed his project and came up with some really great ideas. Fast forward.
Yesterday, the WeeOne and I worked on and completed his project and man was this kid appreciative. He said things like, “Mama, thank you for your help; you really helped me bring my ideas to life.” I told him, “When you’re sweet, there’s nothing sweeter. When your’e mean, there’s nothing meaner.” It’s true. I posted this reply to my dad on my Facebook page. My dad says to me: Like his mama. If you want to check the authenticity click here. This is a true fact. For real.
This morning, I ask the WeeOne where are your new glasses? Remember, we just picked up the hipster glasses Monday? To see his adorable face click here. He says, “I must have left them at school.” In I walk with the kids. Down the second grade hallway, to his classroom. I tell his teacher the situation, walk to the boys’ desk and am thrown back to second grade. This is MY desk. The papers. Oh-Em-Gee. The papers. Crumpled. Lots not his. Broken crayons. Pencils the size of his pinky finger. Food. What?!? They aren’t allowed to eat in the classrooms?? Stuff crammed in. We take it ALL out. Children bring me a trash can at some point. We lay the papers out as smoothly as possible in piles that seem like some sort of organization. There were names in there that I’ve never even heard of. Papers from when his first teacher was there at the beginning of the year. But NO GLASSES! “What elective did you have yesterday.” I say. Best Bud says, “PE, but he didn’t wear them in there.” OK. I tell WeeOne, “no worries. I’ll check the car one more time.”
Guess where the glasses were? In. The. Car. Yup. I go back into the school. Get my badge. Walk them down. Best bud says, “Where were they?” I tell him, and his reply is: That sounds about like WeeOne.
So, this is why I call him Neurotypical-ish. But, what’s typical, anyway?