And then... I noticed the stick figure. It seemed that my dear boy must have made a mistake on it, since it was slightly scribbled. Nevertheless, I searched throughout the house to find the young lad to elaborate on how wonderful a picture he had drawn. I found him, lavishly praised his creativity and then inquired about the stick figure. "It's you, Mom." I then asked if he had made a mistake on it due to the excessive lines. With head down, he grinned and announced that it wasn't scribbled "It's you on fire, Mom". Shock! Disbelief! I asked him "why" and he just giggled. I decided not to make a big deal out of it and instead told him it was a great picture anyway, but, oh dear, the tumultuous thoughts that began racing through my bewildered head would not quiet! I acted on the notion of tormented child syndrome immediately and phoned a few family members, who also thought it rather humorous and dismissed any negative connotations. Thankfully, I also spoke with a friend (who happens to be a psychologist) and he informed me that it was not that my son had pyromaniac tendencies, nor did he wish me in harm's way, it was simply a common way for a child to express himself when mad at a parent. Earlier in the day, my son was forbidden a third cookie at Grammy's house and mom's nastiness at the sweet omission warranted a good ring of fire about my humble likeness as a stick figure.
The evidence of childhood displeasure is bad enough when relinquished in the confinements of your own home. It is when the disclosure is made to the public that leaves a mom a bit sheepish. And, might I add, it is an experience that every self-congratulatory mom should experience. Revelation #2 came earlier this autumn month while in 1st grade. The students were instructed to decorate a pre-drawn vehicle which represented their transportation home after school. The choices were school bus or car. My son, being the mom-taxi'd lad that he is, chose the car. I stumbled upon this visual when I had come to school to assist the students in making apple pies. There I was behind the wheel, a side profile of mom with long chunky red hair, a big, bold blue eyeball and a big, blood-red... for everyone to see... frowny face. Lovely! I guess for popularity's sake among the class (teacher included) I should try to refrain from excessive morning scoldings toward my son's tail-dragging tendencies.
