Thursday, December 17, 2009

Child sent to therapy in later years because his mom wrote about him in her blog...

A month ago a girl in Kieran's class gave him a letter that asked him whether he would be her friend--with check boxes for yes and no, and a big heart drawn at the bottom. He already considered her a friend...but the heart made him mighty nervous. He decided to check "no" because of the heart. Fortunately he didn't return the letter to her and break her heart.

Today she presented him with a Christmas gift bag full of drawings and works of art--with both of their names on them and more hearts. He seems very embarassed and very slightly tickled by it.

This evening I was telling him that all this reminds me of when he had a little crush on a girl in his preschool class (Mara). He made a love machine to woo her, regularly presented her with flowers and artwork, and spent his hard-earned money to buy her a Barbie doll. He claimed absolutely no memory of these incidents...and kept telling me that it never happened and I was making it up...a complete figment of my imagination.
Then I told him that I had proof--I had written about it in my blog. We went to the computer and I pulled up the posts...and he still maintains that I have made the whole thing up, although less convincingly. I told him that he was a very unlucky kid because his mom records his activities in a blog...he agreed and kept saying "oh why does my mom have to write a blog???" And I realized I could finally use this cartoon I've been saving for just this purpose:

I hope my writing will not lead to therapy someday (not that anything's wrong with therapists...some of my best friends [and parents] are therapists!). I think he'll be okay, though...and I know he secretly loves the spotlight and the attention.

This evening I was cleaning off a glass Christmas ornament I had helped him paint for his teacher--he did several, but he hand-picked the one he wanted to present to her. I wanted to polish it a bit with Windex...well, it slipped out of my hands and shattered on the kitchen floor. He was so sweet about the whole thing. I felt horrible, but he was totally cool. He went to choose another ornament and kept reassuring me that it was okay. I love that kid!

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