Who knew how much this little face would need wiped.
Thank God for letting me be his mother.

Today we did a lot of outside work at our new house. Since the weather was nice, most of the families on our street were doing the same things in their own yards. It was the first opportunity we’ve had to meet a lot of our new neighbors.

First impressions mean everything. To my own defense it was my first time on a riding lawnmower. Picture me mowing in our front yard, waving at the next door neighbor and then immediately running into a tree.

If anything they got a first impression of the true me.

I remember when I was pregnant that my fears weren’t about the pain of childbirth, breastfeeding or the unknown. Instead, I worried about the small stuff.

Several weeks after bringing Ethan home my mother-in-law visited and stayed with us to help. The kind of help that sits to the side and tells you everything you’re doing wrong and how she would do it. There was one thing she helped with and that was teaching me how to trim a newborns finger nails. I was terrified of using clippers and being a new mom I wasn’t aware they made these little curved scissors that work wonders on little bitty fingers.

Words cannot describe my fear of possibly hurting this small being. After the first year of Ethan’s life I became more comfortable and he became more active. As those of you with little ones know it’s like hitting a moving target.

Fast forward to present day. Ethan is almost 6 years old. At what age do they get over being afraid of getting their nails trimmed? Seriously? The kid is Mr. Drama when the clippers come out. You’d think I’d previously ripped his entire nail out by the way he acts. Or in his case performs.

I’m deeply afraid some day this will all turn into some freaky foot fetish. I have dreams about it at night - picturing him sitting with a therapist saying that his problems all began when his mother tortured him with the nail clippers. That is what he screams out when I trim his nails, that I’m “killing him.”

My belief is that all this started when he was younger and my mother would tease him saying she was going to bite his toes. He’d completely lose it, sometimes bringing tears and more drama. She will deny the relation between the two, but I see some coincidence there.

Whatever his own fears are, I’m fairly certain he inherited this anxiety from me. He doesn’t seem to sweat the big stuff, but the small things are constantly on his mind.

For instance, today he asked me if the trash man came on Christmas Day. I explained that they did not pick up trash on holidays. When I asked why he wondered that, he said that it wasn’t fair that the people who had pick-up scheduled for that day missed their turn.

The small stuff matters to him. That’s why the finger nails mattered to me.

I’m a little sad tonight for a 5 year old boy in Ethan’s pre-k class. I spent the morning at his school and accompanied them on a field trip to a play. This little guy came to school, but didn’t end up going on the outing. During morning circle time he was sitting in a crunched up position rocking and appeared to be in pain. The teachers all attended to him and decided to call in the principal to assess the situation.

What I didn’t know is that the little guy had been seriously injured a week ago and was just returning to school. He and his older brother had been playing with matches, and he received second and third degree burns on his stomach.

It was obvious that there was no way he would be able to participate in this field trip. The bus ride alone would have been terribly painful. He could barely move. They decided to have the mother return to pick him up immediately and I heard the principal explain that they would need a doctors release before he could come back to school.

The mother was very put out with the situation and remarked, “I have things to do and can’t care for him at home. He’ll be fine in a few days. Just let him sit and watch.”

I’ve been around this little guy before and honestly always found him disruptive and needy. The more interaction I’ve had with his mother (and father) I’m beginning to see that his outward behavior is probably a result of his home life. She is a stay-at-home mom and anytime I’ve seen her outside of the classroom she hasn’t been friendly. In fact she can be pretty rude.

His parents never remember to dress him in the field trip t-shirt, so the little guy always looks like the odd kid out when everyone has on a red shirt and he’s wearing something else. They never remember when it’s his snack day. If it’s 40 degrees outside he’ll be dressed in shorts. If it’s 90 degrees outside he’ll be dressed in long pants and long sleeves. It’s just the way they roll.

Those things alone do not make them bad parents. Letting your child hear that you don’t care if they are hurting however, is cruel. The teachers have all dealt with this family for several years and have a way of handling them. I think I’d have a hard time keeping my mouth shut if I were in that role. She can’t or won’t care for her own child?