As it would be, C has just turned three. I'm now somewhat regretful for having informed him of this because this graduation from toddler to pre-schooler has seemingly given carte blanche permission for all hell to break loose. In a fit of three-nage angst, yesterday my son renounced bedtime, declaring "it's noooooot faaaiiir!" and, as if pre-programmed, my mind began responding "sometimes life isn't faaaaaiiiiirrr!" Somewhere in the back of each parent's mind, there is stored a repository of answers that one's brain traverses in instances like this. This is the place that "Because I said so!" is kept.
The good news is that the more frequent and dramatic these episodes have become, the more I have forced myself to be patient. Patience, for me, is an unnatural response. It is a virtue I decidedly lack (which is probably why C's patience level, at thirty seven months, is about on par with that of our ravenous bulldog when he is waiting to attack dinner).
At pre-school they have introduced the 'treasure box' - a manners incentive program. If a child can earn nine "manners" stars by end of day, they get a trip to the treasure box to earn a small trinket or toy. I'm not quite sure that C appreciates the concept of "earn" just yet. The moment he walked into school this morning he made a point of immediately helping and sharing with another child. And then made a bee-line, hand out, for the treasure box. When I tried to explain to him that he needed to use his manners all day to earn the other seven stars necessary to visit the treasure box - well, I may as well have just sliced open his favorite stuffed animal and disemboweled his fuzzy insides. His face fell and he burst into tears - is there a more potent arsenic to parents than witnessing the utter devastation and disappointment of a three year old? He had used his manners - why couldn't he (snuffle) have (sniff-snuffle) the treasure....now!! I hugged him and tried to reiterate that he needed to be patient. I looked up at his pre-school teacher with sad parent eyes seeking words of wisdom from someone who had been there before, to which she replied: "In Kindergarden they have to wait a whole week" (cue claps of thunder and ominous sheets of lightening).
And just for a split moment I seriously considered leaping heroically onto the counter to retrieve the treasure box, throw open its lid and spill its toy-laden contents into the grabby-grabby hands of the other three and four years olds held at the mercy of its sweet, reward goodness. A Robin Hood to the toddling masses - taking from the rich and generously giving to the poor, depraved little boys and girls so that no one, ever again, had to wait until the end of the day to reap the benefits of their begrudingly submitted manners - no more please and thank you's, no sharing, no keeping hands to oneself, no raising hands, no waiting, no hand washing, no eating politely - just toys, oodles of plastic bobbles and bubble wands...and they would all look to me, their little eyes brimming with gratitude, and cheer...
Instead, I kissed C on the head and wiped his tears. I told him I loved him, that I believed in him, and that if he was just his very good little self, that it would all work out in the end. Today may or may not end in a trip to the treasure box - sometimes all of our efforts and patience add up, sometimes they don't quite make it. Sometimes life really isn't far. What matters is that we try - and try again - to just be the best we can be on any given day. And though he may not understand it now - what I want him to know is that no matter what we encounter, successes and failures alike (due to or inspite of our best efforts), just coming home to him is my trip to the treasure box.
