We were hopeful that his adjustment would be more or less behind him by now. Instead, his problems at school are getting worse, not better
It feels great to be making a full Shabbos again — if not overwhelming. With Yonason flying out to take care of his mother so often, and being involved in her care even when he is home, I’ve been accepting any and all invitations out for a meal. But it will be nice to be home for a change. And we’re having guests. I look at the empty stovetop and full counters. What did I get myself into?
I’m just getting sudsed up when the phone rings. Meir’s English teacher. My stomach tightens. The timing tells me that this can’t be good news. First grade PTA is this week; a nachas report could wait.
I’m right, except it’s worse than I imagined. I hang up disappointed, deflated, drained. Mrs. Schwartz is the sweetest teacher, and although she spoke gently, it was a tough conversation. Before this year, I had never gotten a call like that — Meir had always loved preschool. I have to admit, though, I’m hardly surprised. Meir’s my sweet and sensitive child, bright and curious, but since our move this summer, he’s been moody and aggressive, unpredictable, and… unhappy.
Time takes time, but we were hopeful that his adjustment would be more or less behind him by now. Instead, his problems at school are getting worse, not better. I think back to the shenanigan Mrs. Schwartz described, and I shudder. It did not sound like my Meir.
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