Sometimes, we get it right
He told him what was for snack today.
Tonight, when I was exiting my son's bedroom in order to let my husband have a turn at goodnight, I overheard my son tell his dad what he had for snack at school.
For almost two years, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday this was a regular thing. My husband has a gift at getting information out of our boys. His secret is that he avoids the mom-like open ended questions. He never says, "what did you do?" or " What was fun?". Instead he goes for the black and white information. How many kids in class today? What was for snack? It's pure genius really. It became such a routine that my son would ask, if too much time had passed at dinner, "don't you want to know what was for snack?".
The best part of this was that he gave a retelling of snack and attendance with such enthusiasm that it was clear to anyone in the room that he adored his school and had his teachers as high on a pedestal as one can possibly go.
Then we moved and from March to June we never heard one word about how school was. It was heartbreaking.
The preschool we enrolled him in was fine. The teachers seemed nice. The school is lovely. But there was something. It was a gut feeling that I made the wrong call. I had no idea why but I just thought this school and my boy didn't fit.
I worried aloud to my husband who assured me the boy was fine and that we had just moved to a new state with an entirely new schedule and of course he might seem a little off. Don't blame the school. Don't blame yourself.
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