Rojo started his summer job on Tuesday, July 5th. He rode his bike the four short blocks to Sandy’s house, the woman that runs a preschool in her home. I followed along on foot and Sandy quickly shooshed me out the door, “You’re more anxious than I am, Mom, go on, he’ll be fine.” I came back to get him at 1:00 (four glorious hours later) and he looked exhausted but happy, so did Sandy. “He did great, Mom,” she said.
He was pretty wiped up (and a pain-in-the-*#@) for the rest of the day, but Wednesday he was much more settled and full of stories, too. “God, those kids just love me,” he kept saying. “They can’t get enough of me.”
Sandy called Wednesday night, “It’s only been two days, and I’ve already seen such growth, he’s really doing well, I’m very happy!” Oh, and did I mention that she is a retired special ed teacher? While her preschool is full of “typicals” (for the most part), she knows a thing or two about the “exceptional learners.” “I’d like to work with him on his eating habits, if that’s okay with you.”Is that okay with me?
Is the Pope Catholic?
So, we are a few days into it now and Rojo is trying a few new foods, he’s now getting himself totally to work and back without me following behind and checking to make sure he turned at all the right corners. He’s learning how to clean up after others, how to model good behavior, to help work out conflict between a couple of three-year-olds.
I know some parents who get defensive and weird when other adults in their village step in and in some ways, take over. I, for one, am not one of those parents. I am happy to move over, back, way over there, wherever you want me, please, here are the reins, take them. Giddy-up!