Little E was excited to head back today. We went a little early, as we were in charge of snacks this week. Little E gave me a big hug and was off to chat his sweet teacher's ear off about the comings and goings of the Yoys over the past few weeks.
I, on the other hand, had my laundry list of chores/errands to accomplish over the next 220 minutes of freedom. And I was off!
After my workout, I came home to clean up the house. The weekends do a number on this place. With the cleaning people coming on Wednesday, I've got to pre-clean for my pre-clean that will be happening tomorrow night after the Yoys go to bed.
I was in the middle of a straightening up storm when my phone rang. It was Little E's school. At that moment, my heart always skips a beat. Please tell me he isn't majorly injured. Please.
Worse. He was being a complete turd, for lack of a more technical term. His teacher informed me he needed to be picked up. He was getting the boot from preschool. I checked the clock as I ran out the door. It was only 10:30.
On my short drive to school, I lamented Little E's expulsion for the day. I, the girl that never once received a detention, was the parent to a three year old with behavior so abhorrent, he needed to be removed from other three year olds. How's that for irony?
When we returned home, I spoke with Little E about his behavior. It is not appropriate to ruin his friends' work spaces, throw screaming fits on the floor, and charge at his teacher. He showed no remorse, just that he wanted to go back to school.
I WANT TO GO BACK TO MY SCHOOL!
He repeated this phrase over the next hour in a screaming/crying rage. I tried unsuccessfully to calm him down. He told me I was ugly. He had crossed over to the other side and I just had to wait out the storm.
Finally, a little before noon it was over. He put himself to bed. And he's been asleep ever since.
It's hard to imagine my sweet boy acting like this, so I'm just going to chalk it up to being tired and far removed from the school routine.