Bigger Kids, Bigger Problems

Ironflower and Lovebug's preschool teacher used to say that to me, as I dragged a screaming toddler (or two or three) off the playground. In those moments, I had no concept of what she was saying, so focused was I on just getting all the kids strapped into the car.

It popped into my head when I was at yet another pediatrician appointment with Ironflower and there was a screaming baby. The poor baby was very new and had clearly just gotten a vaccination. The screaming stopped so abruptedly that Ironflower was confused. "Pacifier," I said, "or maybe the mom is nursing for comfort." Ironflower nodded sagely before gripping my hand during yet another coughing fit. Poor kid got pneumonia in December and has been dealing with repeated colds ever since; they have now diagnosed her with asthma.

Which cannot be fixed with a pacifier.

Or a piece of chocolate.

Or even a nap.

Most of the time, I really love where my kids are now. I love the conversations we have, the jokes they make and the fact that I never have to strap them into car seats. I love watching them develop responsibility, especially when it means I don't have to get up early Saturday mornings to fix them breakfast.

But there's something to be said for being able to fix your kid's problems with a small piece of silicone*. Or by getting up early to make breakfast.

When a classmate doesn't want to be your kid's friend, or when your kid is struggling to learn how to read, fixing gets a lot more complicated.

Of course, later you don't even get to fix the problem. If you're lucky you might get an assist, or at least hear about it after the fact. Ironflower sobbed about math the other day; apparently she panics during tests and then she makes stupid mistakes and now she believes she will not get into advanced math in seventh grade.**

I barely have an assist here. Sure, I gave her some ideas on calming down during tests. But I have no control over whether she'll use them or whether she's placed in advanced math.*** AND THAT TOTALLY SUCKS BALLS.

THIS is why I miss my kids being little and this is what I want to yell to every frazzled mom of toddlers, past me included.

*I just had to Google what pacifiers are made out of , I'm so far out of the baby stage. 

** I was kicked out of advanced math after seventh grade for screwing up the mid-term, despite the fact that I got an A on the final. Not that I'm bitter, but I did point out to Ironflower that this was way more humiliating than not getting in at all. Oh, and I think I also mentioned that not getting into advanced math did not mean she wouldn't get into college. 

***I happen to think her math teacher is delightfully competent, so there's no way in hell I'd even try to over-ride her recommendation.