Success

Sine we informed Michael of the big decision, he likes to remind us constantly that he is a big boy now.  And no matter what it is, "THIS IS THE WAY A BIG BOY DOES IT, MOM!" (Um, can we talk about the fact that he now calls us mom and dad?  My 8 year old nephew calls my sister Mommy, yet I'm mom.  I'm not okay with this.)  Anyway, THIS can be wearing his pants inside out, mismatched socks, or any number of things I've asked him to change.  BUT "THIS IS HOW A BIG BOY DOES IT."

We went out to dinner last night.  A local burger joint opened down the street, organic, grass feed meat and veggie burgers and yummy fries.  I'm glad I ran for 25 minutes yesterday so I could eat fries.  I skipped the milkshakes although Doug and Michael declared them wonderful.  Michael also declared that BIG BOYS DIPPED THEIR FRIES INTO THEIR VANILLA OREO MILKSHAKE.

It sounds disgusting.  It wasn't.

I stayed true to yesterday's promise and made Doug call the director and tell her we were moving him.  I just couldn't do it.  In many ways that school saved us, saved him, and certainly saved me from so much of the heartache last fall.  Did I ever tell you I cried the first time I met with her?  I cried when I told her that his old school thought he had ADHD/ODD/would never read and he was too bright for special ed but could never go to public school and he was such a behavior problem the there were phone calls every day and weekly meetings and we were drowning.  Drowning in worry and despair and he picked his cuticles to the point of an infection so bad the pediatrician yelled at me.  I cried.  I never cry.  Doug cries at everything.  We are a good pair.

I told her all that we had done.  All the evaluations, all the services, and that we had no answers, no diagnosis, NO WHY.  Other than a bad fit preschool and I STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.  She looked at me and said, "you have a 4 year old boy that is hitting.  This is not the end of the world.  You will be ok.  He will be ok.  You are doing too much,  Stop."

And we did.  And we were.

She of course stopped me when I picked Michael up yesterday.  I knew she would.  To tell me that she understood.  That he would be ok.  I told her that I think we need to get him in the system now in case he needs extra help, to get the IEP ball rolling.  She looked at me like I was crazy.

"This child is going to be fine.  This child is fine."

"He is one of our greatest success stories."

No matter what happens next year, I will always remember what that felt like.  That moment. 

Michael.  A success story.