Mr3 went to preschool in pirate regalia today. Striped shirt with skull-and-crossbones. Bandanna around his head. I drew the line at the sword and he lamented long and loud that he couldn’t be a real pirate because he had no parrot on his shoulder, but we got there in the end. He arrived with a hearty ‘shiver me timbers’ to much admiration.
It was a far cry from the sad scrap of misery that greeted me when he awoke this morning.
“I don’t want to go to preschool,” he said.
“I’ve got a tummy ache,” he tried.
“I’m really not feeling very well,” he reiterated.
You’re going (albeit with a surreptitious feel of the forehead in case he really was sick).
It wasn’t until we got out the front of the preschool that he admitted he was worried. One of the bigger boys in his class was being ‘mean’. My heart sank. My poor little pirate. The idea of him battling along alone made me feel sick. Three is really very small.
We had a little talk about what ‘mean’ things had been taking place. We had a little talk about what a good thing it was that he’d told me so I could help him. I had a little talk with his teacher, drawing it to her attention. I didn’t even have to mention the other child’s name. Several complaints have been made. She’s worried that if she can’t help him with his behaviour he’ll be labeled all through school.
I’m worried that if she can’t help him with his behaviour my pirate won’t be very hearty about returning to preschool next week either. All I can do is focus on helping Mr3 with his responses and reactions. He was happy enough when I picked him up, though sans bandanna as he’d ‘got hot’.
Mr3 told me that there’d been a little talk at morning meeting this morning about the importance of being kind. And about the importance of telling the teacher when you were worried. Would he be okay to do that? I asked.
He sighed. “It’s okay now,” he said. “I’m home with you tomorrow.”