Sad, at School

More often than not, Jonah doesn’t want to go to school these days. It seems that Christmas break threw him for a loop from which he can’t quite break free. Unfortunately, his wonderful, warm teacher—Ms. Jennifer—has been absent more than usual. She is so good at taking him by the hand and helping him engage first thing. Once Jonah’s into his work, I don’t know that he gives home much thought, but it’s the transition that’s the hurdle (I’m with you on that one J).

By the time his intervention specialist arrives, he’s usually good to go. She sends home glowing reports on a regular basis (yesterday: “I have to tell you I am seeing him reading! It is sooooo exciting. I am taking letters and making 3 letter words. He is able to sound them out and put it all together to get the word. He even sometimes will use the word in a sentence.”). Of course, what’s not to love about a young beautiful woman giving you her undivided attention? J’s always had a special place in his heart for the ladies.

One morning this week was particularly heart-wrenching, and John spent a good twenty minutes easing him into the classroom. He then hid from J’s view to watch for awhile. Jonah plopped himself down at a table with his head in his hands. He made crying noises (he’s perfecting the cry-at-will skill). Finally, some work across the room piqued his interest enough to unstick him from his glum.

But the sadness is still apparent. That same day he brought home a rather pitiful looking snowman worksheet. Dear me. The poor chap looks like he’s been nailed in the eye with a snowball. Even his stick arms suggest a certain woe-is-me.

I don’t know how weather affects J, but it’s doing a number on me this winter. Last winter was cold and snowy, but bright, for all that snow. This winter is shaping up to be all grey and slush. Dreariness dreariness.

We had a rough sleep of it last night, and plans had to be cancelled today for lack of energy and stamina. I was okay in the morning (with a cup of coffee in my veins) but felt overwhelmed and sad on our morning walk. Sweet Jo was at his silliness, trying to cheer me up. Unfortunately, silliness often translates to a degree of oblivion. I had to get after him several times for running into light poles and crossing the street without even pretending to look for cars. He remained sweet and contentedly held my hand for the rest of our trek.

Later, while we were hanging our coats to dry, he said, “You know something mom? You were fine this morning, and then you were not.” That’s the way it goes my love. That’s the way it goes.


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