Part the Second

Call me Mother of the Year.

In reading yesterday's post, I realize that I elaborated more on the crankiness (mine) rather than the confusion (Peanut's). And his friends.

Peanut is still trying to understand why I took school away from him. Boomer has done his best, but the message is only being repeated back to him by a still befuddled toddler. I just don't have the words yet. Actually, in the interest of being completely honest, I don't have words that may hurt a small psyche. Right now, Boomer and I are working on the temper tantrums, the physicality of Peanut, and the all important potty training. We're having some small successes, and I'm encouraged by that.

Peanut, however, still wonders about his cohorts. One in particular. The other half of the Dastardly Duo was in Peanut's preschool class (still is). He was thoroughly down last week, and refused to talk about it to the teachers or his parents. Mommy Cohort told me that when he finally talked about what was wrong, he looked at his teachers and said "I'm sad because my friend Peanut isn't here anymore."

Ouch.

Don't worry, Partner-In-Crime. Peanut's bouncing back from this. As is his mother. He may be in a different class from now on, but the park is still your kingdom. And as long as the slides are available, Peanut will know the love of friends made and turns taken. Without shoving. Or not.

Call me Mother of the Year.