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Yet Another Instance in Which I Look Like a Crazy Person

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Although we’re back to using the drop-off lane at school in the mornings, last week I had to park and walk Connor in to drop some things off.

His school has one of those big, shiny metal buttons near the front door that, when pushed, automatically opens the door.  It’s meant to be used by someone in a wheelchair, but Connor has been steadily obsessed with that button for three years.  Each morning he rushes to the door and hurries to get in front of other kids so he can push the button.  If the door is already open, he will wait for it to close so he can push the button and open it again.

Can’t. Resist. Button.

Since I was walking him in, I decided to make it a teachable moment.  And also, I’m not much of a thinker first thing in the morning. Go figure.

So, this particular morning I told him we would walk together all the way to the door.  No running ahead.  We cross in the cross walk, step onto the sidewalk, and I notice his pace steadily increasing, until he is sprinting.  I stop.  I call him and tell him to come back to me, and walk together.

Remember, it’s morning.  There are all kinds of kids and parents scurrying around.  I don’t usually do stupid things without witnesses.

As we walked to the door, I told him we were going to just walk in without pushing the button.

“But I like to push the button.”

“I know, but every morning that’s all you can think about, and I want you to see that we can walk right past that button and go inside, and it’s not a big deal.”

“If it’s not a big deal, why can’t I push the button?”

“Because you’re stuck on that button, and you need to get unstuck!”

As we neared the door, I saw his arm reach out, but I quickly grabbed it back and repeated, “we’re not pushing the button this morning, just let it go.”

We got to the door, he pulled it open, and in his sweetest, most respectful voice ever, said “after you, ladies first.”

My heart swelled with pride.  I turned and thanked him, and told him he was having wonderful manners.  Hey other parents, see that?  See how mannerly my kid is??  As I stepped through the door, I turned…just in time to see him dash for the button and push it.

Nicely played, Connor.  Nicely played.

And this is why I should always stay in the car, because I’m not even smarter than a first grader, let alone a fifth grader.

No. No I’m not.



About Flannery

Kid, husband, dogs, my mother, full-time job, maximum stress, minimal relaxation...sooner or later I had to vent. AND we moved from California to Texas. I could start a whole other blog about that.

11 responses »

  1. Haha, I love this 🙂

  2. lol @ I don’t usually do stupid things without witnesses. Nicely played indeed Connor.

  3. confessionsfromhh6

    Hahaha I totally saw that coming. Part of the reason I always make my kids walk in front of me. I MUST see what they’re up to at all times.

  4. So, so funny! I love his manners. And his tenacity!

  5. Clever kid. Imagine how much these little geniuses would accomplish if they pooled all that determination and ingenuity into…um, something world-changing. (I’m not so smart either.) Best line: “I don’t usually do stupid things without witnesses.”

  6. Ha! He got you!

    What is up with those buttons? My kids flip out, and I mean FLIP OUT, if they don’t get to push them while the doors are shut all the way.

  7. Those things are magic buttons I tell ya. Like crack for the six year olds. Well played indeed. Gaw, he’s a smart one.

  8. Too cute! What a great memory!

  9. A juke with manners. Nice! That little 1st grader is going places. At least to the front door buttons of places…. 😉 Tootles will take turns pushing the button with him, or perhaps in the true spirit, they will push it together, each trying to get to it first and we can call it “cooperation”.

  10. the sad thing is, I was nervous for you and for Connor and for what your WHOLE DAY would have been like if he hadn’t pushed the button. Aren’t I well trained!

  11. …not to mention those elevator buttons, garage door buttons, etc. Love your blog! We have PDD and ADHD at home too, and I’m so glad to find someone else who sees the humor in these situations. Thanks for the best belly laugh I’ve had in a while.


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