Friday, September 17, 2004
The Day After
When Max walked into the kitchen this morning, his first words were, "Mommy, where's my cake?" Like his father, he's got a long memory and laser focus, and he knew that half the cake was still intact at the end of last night's party. Max was stricken to learn that we do not eat cake for breakfast. Buoyed at the sight of his birthday bounty, Max determined that he should stay home from school today to fully enjoy his new treasures. That also didn't happen. For Max, The Day After began as quite a let-down.
But all was not lost. When Max arrived home from school and noticed the green and white and black balloons still floating in the kitchen, he exclaimed, "My birthday is still here!"
And now he is ensconsed in his room with some of his birthday jewels: a shiny set of hot wheel cars with a battery-powered track, and a safari collection consisting of a veterinarian, his tent, SUV with animal cage and vet clinic, and miscellaneous jungle animals. Max took the entire outpost to bed with him last night.
In Max's world, the ultimate form of punishment, akin to being exiled to Siberia, is to have the doors to his room closed. When I put him in a time out in his "thinking chair" or leave his room for the night, his pleas often follow me down the hall: "Leave the door open, mommy!"
But today Max has closed the doors to his room himself. I can hear the hot wheel cars circling the track. Max is setting up a "farm" with his African animals. And as the musical backdrop, he has been singing dozens and dozens of times over, "I love my room! I love my room! I love my room!" What a difference a day makes.
But all was not lost. When Max arrived home from school and noticed the green and white and black balloons still floating in the kitchen, he exclaimed, "My birthday is still here!"
And now he is ensconsed in his room with some of his birthday jewels: a shiny set of hot wheel cars with a battery-powered track, and a safari collection consisting of a veterinarian, his tent, SUV with animal cage and vet clinic, and miscellaneous jungle animals. Max took the entire outpost to bed with him last night.
In Max's world, the ultimate form of punishment, akin to being exiled to Siberia, is to have the doors to his room closed. When I put him in a time out in his "thinking chair" or leave his room for the night, his pleas often follow me down the hall: "Leave the door open, mommy!"
But today Max has closed the doors to his room himself. I can hear the hot wheel cars circling the track. Max is setting up a "farm" with his African animals. And as the musical backdrop, he has been singing dozens and dozens of times over, "I love my room! I love my room! I love my room!" What a difference a day makes.
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