Grilled cheese, not Ritalin

The school has me picking up T.K. for his twice-daily nutrition/recess breaks, because it was the unstructured times that were causing the most problem (or, as the principal rather agitatedly put it after one incident, "kids are getting hurt whenever he goes out to recess!!") Nowhere near the truth, but clearly, something needed to be done. So, twice daily I leave my desk, and go to the school. T.K. and I scooter, or ride bikes, or climb trees in the park, or go walking, and eat a snack on a park bench or even at home, with a few minutes of Scooby-Doo on the telly. He chills.

It's been totally gutting my work productivity, but it's helped a lot -- his teacher reports that he returns relaxed, ready to learn, and with his "frustration beaker" emptied out for another round. He's not melting down nearly as often. And it was totally worth it when T.K. collapsed happily on the grass in the park and said, "Mom, this is GREAT. Nobody's BUGGING me!!!" I know how you feel, kiddo. It's not a coincidence that I work at home by myself. Part of me knows I'm supposed to be pushing him back towards a full, uninterrupted 6 hours at school... but part of me also remembers how much I wanted, NEEDED my lunches at home, with grilled cheese and ten minutes of the Flintstones and a grandmother whose love was unconditional.

Well, yesterday I went to pick him up and the gym teacher was just leading his class back to their classroom... but he wasn't in the lineup. Her lips were pressed tightly together and she conspicuously did not meet my gaze. Then T.K. arrived with his "cool-down basket" (more on that later) -- he hates gym class, and had decided simply to opt out, with a stint in the principal's office instead. Oh-kay. I stared wistfully at the orderly line of little conformity-droids trooping obediently back to their classroom, and indulged in a bit of self-pity. Why can't *I* be one of those parents who just drops the kid off in the morning and collects them at 3:10, and doesn't have to brace themselves for the tales of what the kid has done wrong THIS time??? T.K., immune to both the teacher's disapproval and my droopy expression, was already outside and turning his face up to the sunshine of freedom, or at least of 40 minutes' worth of freedom.

The low mood didn't last. It couldn't, not on such a beautiful day, and in the company of T.K. and his happy chatter. We ate a snack and climbed trees in the park (am I being immature if I choose the ones that are visible to the kids who eat their lunches confined to their desks in the classrooms? I want to make it clear that T.K. is not being punished for needing his breaks.)

Signing him back in at the office, I listened as the intercom crackled. Mrs. R, one of the intermediate-level teachers, announced to the secretary, "I have just been informed that Cindy threw her water bottle at Melinda during the break and told her that she hated her. For this ASSAULT, she needs to come see the principal." I imagined Cindy standing there, head low or defiantly high, as the teacher proclaimed her crimes for the entire class and the administration too. I've seen Cindy in the principal's office before. She's a frequent flyer like T.K. Has a nice smile, when it comes out.

And I wonder... is anyone speaking for her? I hate the amount of time I have spent listening to accounts of T.K.'s crimes, consulting with OTs and behaviour specialists and aggrieved teachers, using words like "consequences" and "triggers" and "impulse control", feeling like my parenting (and my genome) are on the trial stand, and trying to somehow create a fit between my son and the school system he's just not quiiiite ready for. But is anyone doing that for Cindy? Sure, it wasn't right to throw the water bottle. But maybe all she needs is a break too, now and again, a bit of breathing room with "nobody bugging me" and grilled cheese and a bit of Scooby Doo laid on by someone who doesn't judge you.

She probably needs it... but I imagine that trips to the principal's office and the whispers of her peers and the teacher spitting words like "ASSAULT" is all she's getting. And I'm also betting that that won't solve the problem for anybody.

Yuck.