Home On The Fringe

Fringe Art

Contact Us

Recent Ramblings

The Chronicles

Fringe Reads

  • Powered by Blogger
  • Weblog Commenting and 

Trackback by HaloScan.com
  • Get StatCounter!

That shuffle just kills me.

This morning, Bryce woke up in a great mood, but as soon as I reminded him that he was going back to school today, things turned sour. John made the fatal mistake of throwing Bryce's blanket in the washer with a load of clothes without warning Bryce first. Let the regression begin. There was whining, pleading, and oh so much pouting of lips and furrowing of eyebrows. "But I wanted to watch TV with Noir on the couch! That's what I do every morning." Sniffle, sniff. "She'll be waiting for you when you get back from school, and she'll be all clean," we cheerfully told him. No good. "I want her now! I don't want her in the washer! I don't want to go to school." I seized the opportunity to try to distract him. "Why don't you want to go back to school today?" His mind visibly raced as he tried to come up with a good reason. Here are two of them:

1.) He doesn't like it when "other people like each other." Oh, god, me too, Bryce. What a pain in the butt it is to see people being NICE and polite all over the place. Geez, who would want to go to school and have to witness THAT crap?

2.) He doesn't "like the paint color on the outside of the school building. It looks like something black got it dirty and it will have to be painted all over again." HUH? The school looks like a freaking art museum. It's surrounded by a beautiful college campus and is a nicer building than most office buildings. He was really reaching with this one.

Once we were in the car, Bryce was over the whining about his blanket and coming up with completely nonsensical reasons to stay home, but I noticed that he got quieter and quieter as we approached the school. When we drove up, I let him out of the car and told him goodbye, and he pulled up the hood of his bright yellow coat, put his backpack on his shoulders, and walked away slowly. I yelled in the happiest voice I could, "Have a great day, buddy! I'll see you later!" but he just kept walking, didn't turn around, and halfheartedly lifted one hand in a wave that said, "I'll acknowledge you, but I don't have to be happy about this."

As I drove home, all I could see was that little yellow hood shuffling away with the tentative steps you'd expect from someone who knew they were about to undergo torture or execution, and had already exhausted every opportunity to escape. To Bryce, who thrives on routine and order, I think Christmas Break might have been too much. He loves his teachers and his school, and we know it's the best place for him, but to return there means a change in his routine of the last few weeks, or a return to a real routine as opposed to the free-for-all of presents and TV he's been living in for the past three weeks. A year ago, such a change would have meant screaming, horrible tantrums and hours of cajoling and negotiations. Today, all we saw was a little whining and a random collection of excuses and reasons to stay home. I'd say that's major progress.

But, really. Whining and excuses on a day one is returning to daily pressures after a long break? That seems almost adult-like to me. In fact, it's not unlike my own sentiments regarding, well, a lot of things lately. Waaa, I don't want to do work after being bored in my job for two months. Waaa, I don't want to get back into my exercise routine and healthy diet after being lazy and eating crap for a month. Waaa, I don't want to go out and help John clean the garage that I've been bitching about. Waaaa. If I feel this way, imagine what my quirky, intense, sometimes inflexible son felt this morning as his mom not only trapped him in a locked car and transported him against his will, but chatted and tried to spread her moronic, forced cheer all over him in the process.

No wonder he wouldn't turn around to wave goodbye. He was probably thinking, "don't look her in the eye or you might encourage her. Just. Keep. Walking."