Thursday, September 13, 2007

How much chuck can a Chuck up-chuck?

Tuesday when I took Gryffin to Day Out there was this poor little boy in his class that was screaming hysterically for his parents. It was his first day and he was not happy about it. He had worked himself into such a frenzy that as I helped Gryffin put his lunch in his cubby the kid (who shall henceforth be named 'Chucky') puked. Gryffin had been pretty calm up to this point but seeing Chucky up-chuck was traumatic enough to make him scream and grab hold of my leg with a vise like grip. I tried calming Gryffin down by reading him 'The Cat in the Hat' but Chucky was still screaming like a claustrophobic shut in a coffin. I was hoping/praying that the teacher would just escort him out of class until he calmed down but it didn't happen. Finally the teacher's aide came in and could see that Gryffin was distraught so she took over the book and pryed him off me. I left and by the time I had signed Gryffin in he was sitting in the aide's lap calmly. Chucky on the other hand was still screaming.
When I picked Gryffin up later than afternoon he was happily playing outside and had fully recovered. Chucky was still, yes still, screaming. The haggard teacher said that she had gotten him calmed down for a short period of time but for the most part he had been like this all day. I felt so sorry for her and for the kid.
This morning when I told Gryffin that it was Day Out day he did his best Chucky impression, sans yakking thank goodness. He told me it was too ucky to go to Day Out. Great, now my kid is scared to go because of Chucky. Stupid Chucky. I am preparing myself for meltdown when I take Gryffin this morning and I won't be able to stick around for a book because I have a dentist appointment. Considering how I feel about dentists I would rather hang with Chucky for the day.

1 comment:

Roger L. Waggener said...

This reminds me of one time when Ruth and I were on nursery duty at church one Sunday morning.

Ther was one kid who did NOT want to be there. He didn't necessarily want his parents, there was no "MOOMMYYY!" or "I want my PARENTS!"

He just wanted to go "Let me GO! I want out of here!" at the top of his lungs for fifteen minutes and oblivious to attempts to console or calm him.

He had slowly made his way right in front of the door and was leaning against it. When I gently took hold of his arm to pull him away from the door so he wouldn't get his noggin conked if anybody came in, his attitude changed for the worse.

"Let go of ME!!" the three year old yelled, "I'm going to get a knife and KILL YOU!"

At least he didn't throw up.