The Long Run Home

D. went to a youth group event for the first time today on the other side of town. The kid that went with him said, "Don't worry, D. can come home with me. I'll take him home."

Saturday night, I hear frantic footsteps run up the stairs, and D. blasts through the front door, bursting into tears. "The kid just got in his father's car and went home. I went to to talk to the youth group counselor, and that was it. Everyone was gone!" D. said over frantically.

Seeing no other way home, D., a bookish 8 year old, took to the streets and ran as hard as he could go. He wasn't even sure if he was running in the right direction. He asked someone about the street he lived on, and saw them pointing where he was running. Along the way he saw a few familiar restaurants, and was re-assured that he was at least going in the right direction.

Despite the dismal ending, D. enjoyed his first day of youth group and wanted to go back. But next time he would wait until Daddy came to pick him up.

The Ball

We were running late for school and had all gotten into the car. "Wait!" said D. "can I go up and get my ball."
"No," I said, "I'm sorry but we're running late. Next time."
D. went ballistic. As we pulled out of the parking lot, he started kicking the seats and screaming "Let me just go get the ball. It will only take a minute. Please!"
I didn't relent and we drove off to school. He called up along the way and got out of the car and went into school.
Later I told my wife about his reaction. "The ball has become his new ticket for socializing at recess," she explained, "when he brings the ball to school then he is the center of attention. He gets to organize the games that they play with the ball and he feels important socially. That's why it was so dear to him to bring the ball."
I made sure that he brought his ball every day after that.

Keep it Dry

Took the kids to a movie (Smurfs 2). Went smoothly, then I took them to get a bit to eat in the mall after. They all wanted McDonalds (it's Kosher in Raaanana). At ordering, I got confused, and the kids all said they wanted the Happy Meals (instead of just an individual sandwich and sharing a large fries).

Barely balancing two trays of Happy Meals and drinks, I navigated past the other parents and got to the table. I took each chicken burger out and gave it to the kids.

D. unwrapped his and lifted up the bun.
"Lettuce!"  he declared, and started scraping the lettuce off.

"Uh Dad," said H. "this has lettuce...and ketchup!"
I looked at him, feeling as though a key support pillar in a building had collapsed. "Well could you just eat it this time?"
"Nope," he said, shaking his head side to side.
I examined the chicken burger, and the ketchup had been spread in good and deep so that I couldn't just scrape it off.
H. was looking up at me with those hungry eyes. I felt like more support pillars were falling and any moment that whole building would collapse. I took a deep breath.
"Ok, come with me," I said, "what do you get with Mom?"
"Mommy always orders it saying to Keep it Dry."
"Keep it dry?" I asked, "ok, no problem." (I can do this!)
We went back up to the counter. I ordered just the sandwich and told them to 'keep it dry'.
H. stood there and waited for them to serve him. I went back to our table and sat with the other kids to make sure they would finish eating.
H. came back over with his chicken burger sandwich with absolutely nothing on it, and sat down to eat.

Note to self: check with kids about condiments that may be put on sandwiches and burgers and confirm that each gets his sandwich the way they like it.

Until the next vacation.

Brilliant Insight from an 8 Year Old

I was helping the kids get ready. My 8 year old, D. was up first and wanted to brush his teeth. I went into the bathroom and looked at the boys' toothbrushes - they were exactly the same!

I went back to D. with the toothbrushes, "Hey which one is yours?"
He rolled his eyes and looked at me, "Just put the toothpaste on both brushes, then I will pick mine."
"Oh!" I thought, "yeah, that could work too."
Why had I mad a task unnecessarily complicated, trying to cater to him? I could just do the simple thing, and rely on him to work out what to do.

D. went ahead and brushed his teeth.

Camp Justice

I opened the door in the morning and saw the boys wrestling with each other on the sofa. They were locked in a bitter fight.

"Give me my shirt!" H., the older one, said.
"No!" cried D. defiantly.

I came over and pulled them apart, asking what is going on.

"He took my shirt for camp and hid it," H. said.
"Is this true?" I asked.
"Yes," said D. satisfied with himself.
"Well can you give him his shirt so we can all get ready and go to day camp?"
"No," said D. "it's his shirt, he should find it."
"What?!" I said.
"Yes, he should find his own shirt."
I looked at my older son, who had no idea where his shirt had been hidden, and we were all rushed to get ready and be off to camp.

A Gentle Confrontation
I told my older son to get ready, put on his shoes, brush his teeth and to wait for me. Then I approached D.
"Can you please tell me where you put his shirt?"
"No, he should find it."
"Why are you doing this?"
He just shrugged his shoulders and curled his lip, crossing his arms.
"Well then, if you don't want to share with us where the shirt is, then you can stay home today from camp."
D. seemed to bubble up into a heated rage, taking cushions from the sofa and throwing them in all directions. He threw himself on the sofa, screaming in anger and frustration. I took a few steps back.
My wife tried to ask him too, what was going on. She also suggested he would miss a  fun day at camp. His rage grew worse, and my wife retreated to her room.

I picked up my laptop bag as though I was going to work, taking my older son. Finally, D. went into our bedroom and confided in my wife.

Justice
Trying to reason with D. she explained that she knew he was a good boy, but some demon had crawled inside him in the morning sent him in the wrong direction. She implored him to try to go with the flow in the morning, and not get into needless fights. She explained that she was baffled for what would motivate him to take his brother's camp shirt and hide it, something that he absolutely needed for his camp day. Then, moreso, insisting that his brother should find his own shirt.

"Well yesterday after camp," D. said, as tears started to flow, "I waited outside at the bus stop like I was supposed to. I looked for H. everywhere, but he wasn't there to wait with me."
"His group went to the playground yesterday, and I picked him up from there."
"Well it wasn't fair that I waited by myself, so I punished him and hid his shirt."

Wiping his face, he went and found the camp shirt. H. put it on and we went off to camp.

Meltdown

Today my son had to take some popsicles to school. My wife had them all frozen - the little juicy ones in their own bags that you have to rip open with your teeth. My son being a sharp 8 year old asked that she put them in a bag to preserve the cold. The bag just has an extra lining that looks like foil inside, so that they can stay cold on the ride to school.

However, my sharp son reasoned that if this was a bag that preserves cold, he felt that he was carrying his own personal refrigerator. So instead of giving the load to his teacher to put in the freezer, he kept the bag next to him in class all day.

Finally when it came time to enjoy their treats, he produced is bag of melted popsicles.