Lasts and Firsts

Sam and the enormous beyond.

Hoo, boy.  What a roller coaster of a day.

This morning, I dropped Caroline off at her new playgroup that she'll be in once a week this fall, and Sam and I headed out for our last morning together before he starts Kindergarten next week.  All this last year and some of this summer, he and I have had our Thursday morning date.  It usually involved a trip to Fresh Flours in Ballard for a latte for me and a shared pastry served up by our favorite barista, coincidentally also named Sam.  We'd sit in the window and people-dog-bird watch and chat, or read together a chapter book like Ramona or one of the Junie B. stories.  Then around 10:30, we'd amble over to the OAC for some time in the pool.  Sam is a fairly capable swimmer now, so we'd laugh and do laps together and occasionally I'd get creamed by a cannonball.  Then, we'd shower and get dressed and go to pick up Caroline.

This time, Sam wanted to do a bike ride.  We met a friend for coffee and a donut for fuel, then took our bikes on the Mothership to Gasworks Park.  We rode to the north edge of the U and on the way back stopped at an apple tree along the path, where Sam shimmied up the trunk and tossed down a few choice pieces of fruit.  We stuffed them in our pockets and washed them in the water fountain at the park, then climbed up Kite Hill while munching them.  Sam deemed his too sour and tossed it bites and all to the ambling geese, who greedily stabbed at it.  We both laughed hard when I tossed mine and it bounced unpredictably and hit a surprised goose in the butt, in the way things like that are only funny to a six-year-old and his mother.

I was on shaky ground by the time we got home after picking up Caroline and making a quick stop for lunch.  A few small, inconsequential chicken-peck type of annoyances sent me into a bit of an emotional swamp, so I turned on the TV to Curious George and hopped in the shower hoping to somehow gain some perspective while in there.  When it crossed my mind to contact a friend to pray for me, it occurred to me that I can pray for myself...I am actually allowed to do that.  So after getting dressed, TV still on and kids still occupied, I headed downstairs and grabbed my rosary.

Yes, the enormous kid rosary.

And the dam broke and the tears came.  Before the words of the Hail Mary were even out of my mouth, drops were dripping off the end of my nose.  As I traveled the beads, my mind was turned toward what had been playing around the edge all day:  Jesus' first miracle at the wedding at Cana, the nativity of his ministry, his reluctance to begin it ("Woman, it is not yet my time!") and Mary's gentle prompt ("Do whatever he tells you to do.").  If there was anyone who understood how hard it is to let go of a child and allow them to fulfill their destiny, no matter what it would hold or how wrenching it was for you, it was certainly her.

Sam is no Jesus, and I am certainly no Mary (I'm not very good at the "pondering things silently her the heart" part - I'm more of a "tell everyone loudly how she's feeling and maybe make a joke about it" kind of girl).  Kindergarten isn't exactly turning water to wine.  But there is a hard truth to this time.  Sam has started his path away from me and toward his own purpose.  Truly, it started from the moment he was born.  But this, in a little way, is the first of many small Canas.  I am urging him onto a path that goes away from me.  For the first time, he will spend more waking hours during the week away from me than with.  He'll be finding out who he is apart from me, what decisions he makes, what people he likes, what activities thrill him.  I'll be there to support, but he'll mostly be on his own in the hours he's at school.

What will he find out?  What will I find out?  It's a mystery, just as it probably was to that holy woman almost 2000 years ago.

But we both certainly could appreciate at the time the enormity of the first step on the path, the hesitant movement towards an unknown destiny, for both mother and child.

Why Sam's teachers looked at me funny at pickup today...

I would like to introduce you to my son's latest creative masterpiece. At his school, the kids often illustrate books and the teacher writes in the narrative as dictated to them. Sam's brought home a few of these, most having to do with fire trucks and fires.

Until today.

Without further ado, I give you:

That's right, folks, the next great children's picture book. "Zombie Hill."

Aw, look at that nice guy in his nice house. Too bad we all know what happens to people in stories like this with names like "The Guy."

Isn't that always the way it goes? You want to climb Zombie Hill, but you do not know. YOU DO NOT KNOW. Look how happy he looks. Smiling and everything.

Yup, that's right. There are zombies on Zombie Hill. How could he possibly have known?

It doesn't seem to bother him too much. After all, he's still smiling.

Man, I hate it when that happens. Thats what you get for buying a house right next to Zombie Hill. New realtor, dude.

What's that?? A happy end for our hero? Well, well, well. Looks like The Guy has defied horror cliches and lived to fight it out again at his poorly researched long-term investment, The House at Zombie Hill.

Hope you had the hero shoot him in the head, honey. Otherwise I smell a sequel. But don't worry, Sam's Teachers, we'll cover that at the next The Walking Dead family viewing party.

Sledding day

I've been writing a bit lately about how difficult it has been to mom Sam right now. The tantrums, the testing of boundaries...part of it his intense personality, and part of it is just that he's three (this too shall pass...this too shall pass...). There are times, though, when the urge to sell him on Ebay is not quite so overwhelming.

A few weeks ago, we decided to make the drive up to Snoqualmie and attempt to get a pass for sledding. Since I have the most snow gear, we decided that I'd go with Sam, and Mark would stay with Caroline in the warm lodge. So, Sam and I bundled up and hiked in our boots across the snowy field to pick out our tube and get in line. Snoqualmie has a very well groomed tubing area with about 10 lanes. There's a steep drop and then a long, flat length in each lane. The whole things is about a football field's length.

The first time, we attempted to go together. These tubes are a step up from the ones I used when I was a kid. They have these canvas jacket thingies that zip over them with leather handles, and if you're small enough you can sit right inside the hole in the tube. Suffice to say, I am not small enough. So after one terrifying backwards rocket down the hill with me perched on top of the tube and Sam on my lap, I asked him if he'd like his own tube so he could go by himself. He enthusiastically said yes. So, after I walked by him while he rode up the hill on the rope tow, I helped him pick out his own tube.

One more long wait in line, and we were ready to go. After some pretty specific instructions about hanging on, staying in the tube, etc, I gave him a little push, and off he went. Then, I jumped tummy-down on my tube and rocketed after him head- first.

About halfway down the hill, it became apparent what a little push Sam had gotten compared to my leap onto my tube. I was gaining on him...fast. As he came to a halt at the bottom, I was frantically trying to steer by dragging my feet and yelling, "SAM! STAY IN THE TUBE! STAY IN THE TUBE!" But there was nothing I could do. Bam! I bounced into Sam's tube hard, then spun around, bounced off my tube, and totally wiped out. I frantically turned around to assess the damage...and Sam was laughing. So, I started laughing, too.

"Are you guys ok?" asked the concerned teenager who came down behind us.

"Oh, yeah, we're great!" I laughed.

Back we went to get in line for the tow. At this pace, I thought, we were only going to get one or two more runs in before our time was up. It would be so much faster to just walk up the hill and pull Sam behind me...

It was about 3/4 of the way up that I knew I was in trouble. There was no way my rainboots had the traction for the last incline while pulling 30 lbs of Sam. Rather then see him careen down the hill while toddlers scattered like bowling pins, I asked him if he could get out and walk.

"Mmm-hmm!" He said cheerfully, popping out. So I turned and walked...until I heard a commotion behind me.

I turned around to see Sam sitting on top of a complete stranger in his tube on the rope tow, both of them laughing. He had slid down the hill and right into the 20-something's lap. Both of them thought it was hilarious, and Sam happily rode up the rest of the way, thanking him at the end for the ride.

I don't have much experience with other three year olds, but I know enough to realize that that day could have been a disaster. Another child would have gotten scared about getting hit by another tube, or would have freaked out about suddenly sitting on a stranger's lap. Either event could have been a disaster. A cold, wet, far-from-the-lodge disaster. Instead, Sam has a remarkable gift for taking risks, and for managing to charm his way around sticky situations. He has those qualities in common with some of the most successful adults I know. I only hope that I can remember that, and help him shape and nurture those gifts. Otherwise, keep your eye on Ebay.

Sam graduates from gymnastics class

This class was called "Superbeasts." I think it goes without saying that that is humorous.

Samism

Sam has this funny habit of jauntily repeating phrases that I've told him regarding how the world works hours, days or sometimes weeks after I've told them to him, seemingly out of the blue. Things like, "Flowers wilt after we CUT them!!" or "It's rude to pick your NOSE!"

His latest one is, "When fish die, we EAT them!!" Which is a little different from my original statement, something about how we eat fish, which happen to be dead. His version sort of makes it sound like dead fish are popping up in the lake, and we gather them up and start munching. Anyway, a few days ago, we were revisiting the topic of his dead pet fish from last year and how he is in heaven now. There was a pause, and then, "When fish die, we EAT them!! Another pause while the wheels turned, and then: "Did Jesus eat our fish?"

Happy Birthday, Sam!

Dear Sam,

Yesterday you turned three. It's hard to believe that three years ago I was holding you in the hospital, wondering what the heck I was going to do now with this lovely little person who needed me so, so much. So, we took you home, and we loved you. And now here you are, this bold, energetic boy who knows his own opinions and isn't afraid to share them...often loudly.

I know that this has been a challenging year for you, and I've felt every single growing pain right along with you. I've seen you go through learning how to share (especially how to share me), how to sing, how to dance ballet, how to use the potty, how to manage disappontment, how to fall asleep in your own bed and how to sleep through the night in your own room. Suddenly, there exists a little space between us during the day that wasn't there last year. It's not bad, it just is. Now, you sometimes go to your room by yourself, or want to lay on the couch and look at a book on your own, or you disappear up the stairs to use the potty and come back down five minutes later with your underwear on inside-out. I watch you nervously, but I try really, really hard to let you have that space. I know how that feels to need that, and I think that for all of your extroversion, you need it just like I do. Rather than an appendage, you often feel like a little satellite now, hovering around me. There has been so much going on in your little world this year, and sometimes you let it spill over and make a mess out of you and everyone around you. We've butted heads this year more than last, without a doubt. But I know that you're trying, and that you're learning. And I know that this phase, just like all the others, won't be forever. Remember, I love you no matter how you feel.

Mostly I've been so, so proud to see you take on your new role - big brother. Just today, Caroline was crying in her little carrier on the floor while I got ready to leave the house, and you went over and did a funny little dance in front of her, making her giggle and chortle. You ate it up, of course. She loves you so much, and I am so grateful that you want to make her laugh, want to hold her hand, and want to have her lay next to you when you go to sleep at night. She is so lucky to have you.

Thank you, sweet Sam, for another wonderful, exciting year. I can't wait to see what adventures the next one brings.

Love,
Mommy

Sam and Caroline

Caroline has started to gurgle, coo, and make other funny noises, much to Sam's amusement. Today in the car we heard:

Caroline: "Gah-groo? Awugh!"
Sam: "Noooo, Caroline! You can't have licorice! You don't have any teeth!"
Caroline: "Augh!"
Sam, giggling: "Caroline, I'm going to take you to bed to go to sleep with me! You'll be mine!"

Sure enough, he wanted me to keep Caroline upstairs with him while he went to sleep, and the last thing he asked for before falling to sleep was to kiss her one more time.

Lest this post sound like all is sunshine and bliss around the Leen household, I should assure you that these types of episodes mostly make up for the other kind - the screaming, tantruming, pant-wetting, time-out-inducing, unreasonable and intractable kind, which we're having a lot of. I really do try to remember that Sam has gone through so many adjustments in the last few months, most of which he's completed like a pro. He's done so much that I've asked of him, and he never, ever directs any anger toward Caroline. We have yet to hear any sort of "put her back" request. I find that responding to his needs promptly when I can, especially his requests to nurse, does wonders for his disposition (I did need to put a slight cap on that last part, so he gets 10 star stickers to redeem for nursing sessions each day), and that sometimes he just needs some alone time away from both of us to cool off when things get overwhelming. It's so easy to look at him and just see how big he is compared to her. A few nights ago I was putting him to sleep while Mark was downstairs with Caroline, and when I had that rare alone time with him I was suddenly struck by how small he still is. His little back was facing me as I lay next to him, and his little feet were tucked into my knees. His body takes up so little of his twin bed. I suddenly had the urge to hug him to my chest and nestle my nose into his hair, an urge that I indulged while he snoozed away. And I lay there thinking about how fast he's grown, how good he's doing, and how proud I am of him. And I got a little teary, as mommies sometimes do.

And Caroline...oh, Caroline. I am so in love with my little girl. She is just so sweet. I loved Sam at that age because he was curious and demanding and even funny. Caroline is sweet and mild and snuggly. She wants nothing more than to nurse and make eyes at me, and when she's done, to sit up on my lap and just be a part of whatever it is I'm doing - eating, playing with Sam, typing on the computer. And when she's had enough, I rock her in my arms and off she goes. She sleeps for long stretches at night snuggled up against me. She will sleep in the co-sleeper for shorter stretches, but I don't really want her to. She feels like my teddy bear, my security blanket. Her breath is sweet and warm, and her little body feels relaxed and safe. During the day I can tell already that she is completely in love with Sam, and Sam is eating it up. I can see forward years and years, as Sam bends over backward to make her laugh, and she obliges. What a great match of siblings.

Sam and I strung these beads that we madeon a string, and he insisted on wearing them to the park, where he ran around yelling "dinner for supper!" and shouting into the toy telephone, "Hellooooo! Is anyone there? Aiuta me! Aiuta me!" We're on a roll, socially speaking.

Modern Art

Artist: Samuel James Leen
Title: Sozzy (I asked)
Medium: Art clay, hotwheels and yarn needle

Adjustments

I'm trying really, really hard to not freak out about the fact that Mark goes back to work on Monday. He's been working from home a few hours and had a few meetings over the last few days, and I'm getting a taste of what it's like to stay at home with two kids. Oh, and did I mention that they're both sick, along with Mark? In true motherhood style, I am the only one that did not get the Horrible Disgusting Cold. Someone has to take care of everyone, after all. So, Caroline is snorting and woofing her way through nursing sessions every few hours, Sam is snotting all over his own face and occasionally wiping it on me, and I am upstairs in Sam's bedroom with both of them, trying to not think about jumping out the window and running down the street.

Ok, it's not that bad all the time. But I got a taste of what venturing out with two kids is like on Saturday while Mark was at a meeting. The weather was nice, so I loaded Caroline in the sling and decided we'd take a walk to Discovery Park. One tantrum later, Sam was happily riding his tricycle down the sidewalk. All was going well - a visit to the playground, running into some friends - when Caroline got hungry. Instead of trying to dash for home, I decided to go to the visitor's center to feed her in the playrooom while Sam entertained himself. Unfortunately, entertaining himself meant dumping sand on the floor, taking another little girl's toy, and eventually whacking her. I, with Caroline in the sling and still nursing, hauled him out into the hallway for his timeout, after which he refused to apologize to the little girl, in spite of my threat that we would be leaving on the spot if he didn't. Time to make good on the threat. So, I hauled him under one arm to the entrance of the visitor's center where a Grand Mal tantrum was had, and I think there was something said about leaving the tricycle here for someone else to have before it was gotten upon and ridden home, crying and trying to turn around the whole way, while I tried to steer it forward with Caroline fussing and crying in the sling. Not really fun, all told.

Along with that, we've had countless tantrums, refusal to use the potty, and (Mark's personal favorite), a dump in the pants. I'm trying really hard to be patient, knowing that he has a lot going on and needs to adjust to not being the baby anymore, but it's taking just about all I have to not list him on E-Bay right now.

The next step

I can't believe that I'm a mere 2 days away from my due date. Not that that means anything, other than that I could have the baby in a few hours, or in a few weeks.

As we're on the cusp of adding a new person to our family, I find that I'm getting nostalgic about our sweet little threesome we've had for almost 3 years. A few months ago, I couldn't wait to drop off Sam at preschool so I could go to yoga, write, or grab a cup of coffee by myself. Today, I had plans to go to yoga, but Sam and I were having such a nice time this morning that I decided to forego it and stay at home and play with him. After all, our time is limited.

I always pictured having more than one child, and I still am on board with that plan. But, I also understand how a mom can fall so in love with her one child that it's hard to imagine sharing that love with anyone else on the planet. Our little weekday twosome time of going to the park, the zoo, for walks is all coming to an end. I look at him, though, and I think about the tremendous gift that he's going to be getting in return for this sacrifice. It's a gift he may not always want - learning to be a sibling is going to be tough. But siblinghood is a school for learning life skills he'd never otherwise have an opportunity to learn. He's going to have to share space, share time, be tender, not always get what he wants or get it himself, and how to fight well. And when he fails, he'll know that even though he or his sister may not say it, they love each other. They're stuck with each other. He has no idea that this is coming his way.

Or, maybe he does. He's also been super snuggly lately. Not clingy necessarily, although that's happened to, but huggy and kissy. This is a child who returns hugs but rarely initiates them. He's just always been that way - too busy. Not baby who nestled into me, he'd rather keep his head up and see what was going on around him. Now, it's not unusual for him to walk up to me and wrap his arms around me, head resting on my shoulder. This morning when I was helping him get on the potty he did exactly that, and we stayed there, hugging on the bathroom floor, for almost a minute. Then, in his little stage whisper, he said, "I don't want to let go of you, Mommy." I don't either, Sam.

A job for everyone...

Sam and I have been talking a lot recently about jobs - how everyone has one, and how there are all kinds of jobs that involve fixing things, making things, and taking care of things. So, last night we were in the bath and he noticed that his little duck sponge was beginning to come apart where it was glued together. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when he sighed with resignation and said: "Oh, well. Better call the Sponge Man."

R.I.P. Naps

So the big news around here is that as of last week Sam has officially and seemingly permanently given up naps. A year ago, in a stupified zombie-like state, that possibility seremed unthinkable. I assumed that when it eventually happened, there would be great wailing and rending of garments in the Leen household. Lo and behold, though, at least so far, I not only don't miss them but am actually preferring the no-nap day.

Mostly the reason is that sleep time in general had become a huge power struggle between me and Sam, involving cajoling, bribing, yelling, and sometimes actually holding him in place in bed before he eventually succumbed to sleep. This delightful sequence of events took up to an hour a day. Twice. I was usually so wired after putting him down for a nap that it was almost impossible for me to relax, let alone sleep. And bedtime...oh, boy. He usually would fight and fight until 9:30, and then Mark and I would be so tired we'd just drop off to sleep ourselves.

Now, though, not only has bedtime become almost an enjoyable time of day, I find that when I'm not spending those two-plus hours a day locked in battle with Sam I actually enjoy spending time with him more, and he with me as well. In addition, when the 5:00 crazies roll around for both of us, I can look at the clock and think about how I can get him in the bath in about 2 more hours, followed by almost guaranteed sleep and the rest of the evening to myself by about 8:00. Delightful, restful, and rejuvenating. If I really, really need to nap, Sam has gotten really good at entertaining himself in his room, and I'll just lay down on his bed for a quick 20 minute doze at some point that perks me right up. I also no longer have to worry about how I'm going to get him down for a nap with a new baby to take care of.

Speaking of...I am definitly feeling ready to give birth. Not that I will probably any time soon (got about 5 more weeks until my due date), I'm just getting to that point where I'm ready to just move on, already. She's kicking a lot, although not as hard or as often as her brother did, and her most common annoyance seems to be if I'm particularly active she'll sort of float up and stick a body part into my rib - sort of a "Hey, mom, I'm still here...Could you slow it down for a sec?"

In general, this pregnancy has been easier and less all-consuming than Sam's. Of course, how could it not be? I was laughing about this with a few other moms at the community center play time today, right after I did a full-on dive into the bouncy house to pull Sam out in time for him to not run over another child. We all talked about how our second pregnancies hadn't provided the luxury of sitting on the couch eating, and how we'd all been chasing after toddlers or preschoolers to stay in shape. Every single one commented on how she had gained less weight and been in better shape, something I can relate to.

I'm gathering that this baby's babyhood will also be less all-consuming. Not because she'll be different than any other baby, but because it simply can't consume me. I have no doubt that I'll love her just as much as Sam, but she'll be beginning life as an appendage in a sling as I go about my life with him, not the sole and obsessive single focal point that Sam was. Also, one of the biggest shocks of a first child is simply the idea that your life, and your husband's life, is no longer your own. Everyone tells you that, but I don't think there's any way to really understand that without living it, and that's a hard adjustment. But, it's an adjustment that we've already made and have lived with for two-and-a-half years. I'd also like to think I know a little more about what I'm doing this time than last. We'll see....

Snow Day(s)

We're getting pretty sick of snow here. Seriously, what did the pioneer women do? Not only did they have to be housebound about 10 times longer in smaller quarters, they also had to keep their toddlers from jumping into fires, didn't have Teletubbies and couldn't just take their SUV to the Thriftway when they ran about of food. Hats off to you, ladies.

However, we got some pretty darn great pictures of Sam in the snow. Here they are...

Big Boy Bed

These are actually from a few weeks ago, but I'm just getting around to posting them. He's doing great in his new bed!

Nice Monster

First, an update: Sam has been doing MUCH better in the behavior category. His preschool teachers were great about incorporating my discoveries and ways of dealing with him, and he had a very successful day on Wednesday. We went to McDonalds for lunch to celebrate.

In other news...we now have an imaginary friend. Sam has talked about nice and mean monsters for a few months now, but just recently Nice Monster made an appearance. Yesterday, I was not allowed to help Sam with the potty because Nice Monster was helping him. We have to leave the gate open upstairs for a few seconds when we go up so that Nice Monster can come up, too. And at bedtime, he decided he wanted Nice Monster to put him to sleep. My excitement may have tipped him off though...he quickly changed his mind and decided that Mommy AND Nice Monster should put him to sleep.

I'm not particularly worried about this, and don't think I should be. It's actually pretty cute. When Nice Monster starts to tell him to jump off the roof, he'll be asked to leave. But for now, I think he's here to help Sam through a lot of adjustments he's had lately - new room, new sibling on the horizon...Nice Monster is welcome as long as he pulls his weight.

When preschoolers attack

Preschool drama. I picked Sam up from school, where he goes for about 2 hours on Wednesdays, and the teacher pulled me aside.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Uh oh. I know that teacher voice.
"Has Sam had anything, uh, BIG happen in his life lately?"

I told the teacher about his new room, and she nodded reassuringly. He apparently was rather aggressive toward the other kids that morning - pushing, hitting, grabbing toys, etc. They'd pull him aside and talk to him about using words, etc and I was nodding along, but the whole time I was thinking, "Oh my gosh. He's going to be THAT KID." I think the very kind teacher saw that look in my eyes, and she reassured me that her oldest son went through a tough phase like that, and now he's a delightful adult who runs his own business. Great, so he's not a serial killer. Oh, and Sam managed to get himself bitten by a little girl, complete with little pink tooth marks in his arm. The teachers were extremely apologetic and I'd feel sorry for him, but I think he had it coming.

On the way to the car, I chatted with Sam.

"Sam, I heard that the teachers needed to talk to you today about sharing."

He nods and looks at his hands, not looking at my face. "Mmm-hmm."

"If you want a toy, what can you say?"

He says in a canned voice, "Please, can I have a turn with that when you're done?"

Ok, that's a start.

I think this was a wake-up call for me about helping Sam develop these skills. Beyond preschool, he doesn't spend a lot of time consistently around other kids, and when he's at preschool they've got about one teacher for every 6 kids or so, and it's not fair for me to expect them to know all of his triggers, see trouble brewing, and head it off, let alone help him with every single interaction - that's my job. It's one of the reasons I chose to stay home, so I can do all of these things, not just the fun stuff.

So, today we went to an open play time at a local community center. Before we went in, we had a little talk:

"Sam, there are going to be other kids in there, and toys that you'll share with them. What are you going to do if you'd like to play with a toy?"

"Please, can I have a turn with that when you're done?" Sounding a little less canned.

"Good, honey. And you know I'll be there to help you if you need it, ok?"

"Mmm-hmm."

So, we go in and we have the place to ourselves for about 15 minutes, and then the flood gates opened. About 15 kids in the preschool came pouring in, taking over all of the riding toys and the bouncy house. I braced myself. Sam immediately went after the little girl on the motorcycle he'd most recently been playing with, screaming and running after her. Here we go. I scooped him up and walked him to the corner.

"Sam, she's taking a turn with that right now. I'll let you down when you can use words instead of scream."

He nods, and I let him down. He runs up to the girl again, and to my surprise says, "Can I please have a ride with you?"

She thinks about it and sizes him up, then nods. He delightedly hops on the back of the motorcycle and she scoots him about the gym, Sam giggling the whole time.

It brought me a lot of insight about why he behaves the way he does. I really, honestly think that he loves other kids, and wants to play with them more than he wants their toys. But, he's just so intense about it. With one little girl, he ran up and started talking in her face, then said he wanted her to take her finger out of her mouth and take her glove off so he could hold her hand, which he tried to accomplish by yanking her hand out of her mouth and trying to pull off her glove. She looked slightly shell-shocked. I can just imagine that at preschool he had some sort of interaction like this, and instead of me being there to sort of coach him through it, the kid rebuffed him or got mad, and it escalated into other ways to get the attention of the kid, then his frustration set him off on other negative attention-getting behaviors of the rest of the day. As a contrast, I helped him through that first interaction with that motorcycle girl, and things went more or less pretty well for the rest of the time we were there.

So, I have a new plan. If he throws something, grabs something, hits someone, or does any sort of other negative behavior, even if it's coming from an excited intense mood rather than a mad one, I calmly pick him up and take him away from the situation, where we have a little chat about what went wrong and how to do it differently. I hope at the very least he'll get the idea that if he does any of those things he gets a time-out, but I also hope that he starts to absorb how to do it better and that it sets him on that better path.

On the way home, I had another insight.

"Sam, I am so proud of the way you played with other kids today. You did a great job using your words and sharing toys."

He's gazing out the window. "I made that boy scream."

He's thinking about the one other time we had trouble, when he excitedly hit a boy who was playing in a tunnel, and I removed him to have a talk about it. Amazing - out of all the good interactions he had, he remembers the one that didn't go well. Is he going to be like this? "Good job, honey, you got mostly A's!" "But I got one B, mom." Is he going to take not pleasing people, especially those he's close to, really hard? I'll have to be sure that he knows when he's done well, and that it matters to me just as much if not more than when things go the other way.