My dear Miles,

Last night, as we were getting ready for bed, you said, “Mommy, I had a fun day.”  I love it when you say that, especially after days like yesterday.  It was nothing special, just a Sunday at home.  We had lunch at Hy-Vee (your favorite, orange chicken and steamed rice), did our grocery shopping, went to the park, and you helped your dad with some yard work.  Around this time of year, things start getting really busy.  Sometimes it seems like we hardly have any weekends that are just the four of us in our own house, in our own town.  I really love that kind of weekend, and I’m glad you do too.

This month, you participated in your very first school Halloween parade.  You fit right in with the other kids, and some of them had some pretty great costumes, but you were the only purple monster.  For some reason you have a mental block against eating at school, even when it’s something you like.  After the Halloween parade, you joined your classmates in making a treat with Oreo cookies and pretzels, two of your favorites.  But for some reason, you insisted you weren’t hungry, so we brought it home in a baggie.  You devoured it as soon as we got inside.

It makes me think of mythology.  There’s probably more than one myth that tells a similar story, but the one I’m thinking of is Persephone and the pomegranates.  If I recall correctly, Persephone ended up in Hades, and she was supposed to be released, but she got tricked into eating pomegranate seeds, which made her get stuck there.  It’s a myth that rings true to me, and since myths were created to describe the universal fears of the human condition, maybe it rings true to you too.  There’s something about engaging in metabolic activity in an unfamiliar place that just isn’t quite right.  When I’m stressed out I lose my appetite, and maybe you do too.

Of course, that could all be bunk, because I don’t think you’re too stressed out at school anymore.  We’ll learn more on Friday, when we have your very first parent-teacher conference.  Willowwind doesn’t host a book fair, unfortunately, because that was always my favorite part of parent-teacher conferences.  Maybe we should start our own tradition and get you a couple of new books to mark the occasion.  In any case, I’m expecting your teacher to say that you’ve made a lot of progress since you started last June.  She has mentioned that you really like routine and get upset when something disrupts the usual daily plan.  I can understand that too.

You can still be a stubborn little guy sometimes.  It was warm today, and you left your jacket inside when you had outside play time at school.  When I came to pick you up, you absolutely refused to take your jacket with you.  I tried to explain that I’d looked at the weather forecast and that it was going to be cold tomorrow, so you should take the jacket home so you have it tomorrow morning.  Logic had no impact.  You threw a screaming fit and tried several times to return to your classroom to hang your jacket back up on your hook.  The whole thing left me a bit flummoxed.  Should I “pick my battles” and let you return your jacket?  After all, you have another jacket that you could wear tomorrow, even though it might not be quite warm enough.  Maybe it would be a good teaching moment if you got cold because you didn’t have your warm coat available.

On the other hand, I didn’t want to send the message that ridiculous, illogical tantrums get results.  If you’d come up with even one sound argument for your case, you might have swayed me, but you couldn’t come up with anything more reasonable than”I just want to leave it here.”  In general, I’m not in favor of the “You do what I say because I’m the mom” school of thought.  You’re old enough now that you can make decisions based on evidence and logic, and I want to raise you to be someone who questions authority.  You (almost) never have to do something that seems wrong just because someone tells you that you have to.

But seriously, you’re going to have to do better than you did today.  In the end, I stood my ground and dragged you and your coat out to where we’d parked the stroller.  I produced a snack from my purse, and your tantrum was over before I even had Tobin secured in his seat.  I think your blood sugar was low.

Would you please just eat snack at school?

Anyway, I intended that anecdote to illustrate some of the challenges we’re facing in this, your third year.  Never fear, there are a lot of really great things going on too.  You remain an excellent big brother.  You love to give Tobin snuggles and you do a good job being gentle with him.  You’re patient when I’m feeding him or putting him down for a nap.  You know the names of about fifty different sea creatures.  You are funny and sweet and witty.  Almost every day, you bring home a new painting that you made at school.

You eat noodles 10 times a week.  Fortunately, you also eat a lot of fruit.

You are my special little boy, and the rough spots are worth it.

Love,

Mommy