…and soon he’ll move out – Part 2


This morning we took it easier, we even managed to shower and eat breakfast ourselves. Or, Vegan-Dad had time to shower, I had time to eat. I see it as a big step forward since this new era of making work and preschool live in symbiosis is oh so new to us. Except I’m not working. Then the bus never came. It was freezing cold and our bus station is a temporary one, so it was a bit like hell if hell was placed in Frozen. Prince Child was snug in his footmuff, talking away to himself in his pretend language but I think it was worst for my husband. His newly showered hair had turned into rastafari ice cycles, his belly was rumbling since I was the one who ate instead of showering and his glasses were covered with little frost-stars.

Finally at the preschool and don’t let the cover picture of this post fool you. That was the only calm moment Igge had during the whole day. The first thing he did when he arrived at Mosquito (the suitable name of the preschool) was to jump around in the wrestling ring with static hair and one giant ball in each hand. Then he spotted the kitchen, where he absolutely wanted to go in. Of course he wasn’t allowed. It lead to screaming and nagging until he finally gave up and went to the play kitchen instead. It took a few seconds before he realised that no matter how he turned the taps, no water came out and then it was time for another breakdown. It lasted for about five seconds and then he spotted a toy stethoscope and a toy syringe. He lost the battle of the stethoscope to the oldest boy in the group but he got the syringe, which was purple with glitter on it, so his day was definitely saved. All of a sudden he went up to the oldest boy, pushed the syringe up his nose and said “psssch!”. I then realised that the syringe looked a lot like the nose spray for babies we have at home. One of Igge’s best moments in life is when my husband or I have forgotten to put it away and Igge gets his hands on it. He runs around and sprays everything and everyone with it whilst laughing and shouting “Psssch! Psssch!”. Then some boring adult catches him and takes it away and there will be grieving until dinner. The oldest boy did apparently not need a pretend nose spray because he got very upset and started yelling at Igge. However, my son is either very smart or very afraid of conflict because he put the syringe up his own nose and ran away. I’ve been warned about kids putting the same toys in their mouths and then getting sick but no one told me about this situation.


                     I do see the resemblance between the nose spray and the toy syringe

Circle time. All the children sat nicely in the wrestling ring and sang together. All except one. One little boy in a pink sweater with skunks on it was standing in the middle doing the twist (that’s how he dances) and going “boooo! Boooo! Boooo!” (They were singing about a cow and we all know cows go booo). His mam was very entertained and started clapping her hands, which made the other children in the ring also stand up and shake their diapers. Second day of school and my son is the root to the destruction of circle time.

When circle time was done  it stood clear that someone had pooed and Igge wafted his his hand in front of his face and went “puuuuiiii! puuuuuuiiiii!”, just as I jokingly have done at home when somebody in the household farts, when Igge has pooed or when my husband takes his socks off at the end of the day. I did not think it stuck with the child. The poor child who had done a bobo in his diaper walked with his head down towards the changing room and my evil child walked after him repeating “puuuuiii!” holding his nose and waving his other hand around. Talk about scarring somebody for life. While Igge was in the changing room the staff took the opportunity to change him as well. What they don’t know is the obsession Igge recently has taken on, making it a sport to get off the changing table so he can run around naked. It was the first time someone unknown changed him so I thought he would be still because he wouldn’t dare mess with a stranger. Oh how wrong I was. The teacher wouldn’t, of course, want to wrestle my child down on the table which resulted in him somehow cutting loose. I was talking to another teacher in the play room when I suddenly heard a little girl go “titta, nopp” meaning “look, willy”. I turned around and there he was, my child, in a pink sweater with skunks on it, pink ballerina slippers and all free willy. He was running as fast as he could, laughing uncontrollably and looking behind him – it was a how far can I get before the teacher catches me – look. Not far, of course. But the damage was done. His friends to be will always think of him as an exhibitionist.

Time for lunch! It’s usually the highlight of Igge’s day. Except for breakfast and dinner. And snacks. And välling*. It was beef patties with rice and tzatziki and lots of good, fresh vegetables. I put two patties on his plate, lots of rice since I know he loves it, one tomato slice and just a splash of sauce. He put the tomato slice on his arm like a bracelet, grabbed a patty in each hand and squeezed them as hard as he could, then threw their corpses on the floor, ate the tzatziki using his fingers (at least he was holding a spoon in the other hand) and turned the plate upside down. I did try to stop and correct him but he was so worked up he didn’t even notice me. Anyone who’s had sticky rice all over the floor knows that it takes a little while to clean it up. While I was under the table swearing every time I felt a piece of rice penetrate the threads in my socks I heard the staff, with slightly desperate voices, shout and run up to the table my child sat at. I popped my head up to see what was going on and it showed out that he had eaten all the tzatziki straight from the serving bowl. I’m sure nobody else wanted any, anyway.

When we left the preschool at the end of the day Igge was singing about the cow with his garlic breath, happier than ever. The staff thought that he has been so independent (a nice word for respectless?) and secure in himself (another nice word for respectless?) that they think I can leave him tomorrow rather than on Thursday.
I’m so nervous. Not so much about Igge being sad when I leave him as him ruining the preschool.


                                                                      Tunnel vision


*Välling is a warm, thick fluid made out of different cereal. It’s not a substitution for food but a very nutritious complement. Igge loves loves loves to drink it when he’s winding down in the evenings while we read him a book.