Sometimes I feel like the meanest mom in the world. And that is because I just quite possibly am. I don’t know why God felt I should be the mother of a sensitive son, but He gave me Joshua so apparently I am supposed to be. But sometimes I do not have the patience for his sensitivities and that makes me feel really, really mean.
Joshua is in 3rd grade, which means this is his 4th year of school – the same school since kindergarten – where they, like all schools are mandated by law to do a once-monthly fire drill.
Joshua hates fire drills. He doesn’t mind the drill itself but the sound of the alarm and the surprise of it all scares him and despite the fact that he’s participated in oh, 25 or so fire drills during his academic career, he still lives in fear of the fire drill. He starts getting very nervous near the end of the month if they haven’t had one yet, and he gets mad if they have one near the beginning of the month because GEEZ WE JUST HAD ONE! IT’S TOO SOON!
Last week one of his older friends in our carpool had been informed by a teacher that the fire drill for September would be the next day, and he innocently mentioned this on the way home from school. Joshua busted through the front door after school and told me the dreadful news, breaking down in tears. TEARS. He’s 8.5 years old! He cried about it at school last month which concerns me because, dude, they are going to start making fun of you for that soon. This is 3rd grade. You aren’t in kindergarten anymore. The next day I heard through the grapevine that whenever he wasn’t working, he was sitting at his desk with his hands over his ears. ALL DAY, until the fire alarm rang. AAAHH!!
My child is sensitive. (And maybe a little wimpy!) We’ve talked about it ad nauseum and there doesn’t seem to be anything Bobby or I can say to make him less afraid of the dastardly dreaded fire drill.
And I really want to tell him to just grow a pair, already!