January and new beginnings

Well, it’s been MONTHS since I wrote, and we’ve had a few speed bumps along the way, but overall Zack is transforming slowly into a much happier, centred boy. St Christopher’s is a curiosity to me - that a school could exist where children can be themselves, teacher’s are caring and so, very, interested in their pupil’s wellbeing and obtaining the best from them. That education seems fun, and studies feel like juicy grapes, ready to be bitten. I don’t get a sense of the penal attitude that is so very prevalent in his old school. For example, one of the girl’s in his class had a very difficult day on Wednesday and had a massive meltdown at school. Her mum felt it necessary to email all the class parents and explain, as well as apologise. I said there was no need, and that we all understand how hard it can be. How different from his old school! There was no, “X got a red card” or, “X got detention!” which is what Calvin brings home regularly.
When questioned by a good friend, if he’d made some friends, Zack responded with:
“Everyone in my class is my friend!”
I was open-mouthed with joy and relief. I know that he has made friends with children in years below and above him, as well as a few of the teenagers (see my previous post) on the coach/bus. He is now at ease with the coach journey - with where he sits and what he does. Those teething problems were a part of the adjustment process. He knows the names of other bus-trippers, and shares ear-phones with them. They play games and compare scores. It's so healthy.
We’ve also seen real signs that he is feeling better in himself - the past week has been pretty smooth going in the mornings. Having to get up every day at 6am, while it’s still dark, has been hard-going. In December we’d had a few really difficult mornings - Zack throwing enormous, shout-y tantrums and having to be carried (80kgs) to the car so he doesn’t miss the bus. But the past week or so, has seen a boy waking up by himself, without prompting, having set his own alarm. I’m still having to dress him, but not having to fight about waking up is a big thing.
Now that we’re into the second term of year 5, he has joined two after-school groups playing netball on Mondays and rugby on Tuesdays. It means he gets the late bus home, and I only pick him up at 6:50pm - a very late, long day for a 9 year old. But he often does a little dance as he walks from the coach to the car which speaks volumes about his inner state.
A few weeks ago, we went for a blood test at the local hospital, which didn’t happen because he’d worked himself into a state of high-agitation saying “I hate needles!”, “I can’t do this Mummy!”, “I’m scared!”… it’s a tough one, because I decided that it would be better to give him the heads-up that we were going. But the downside was that he had a few days to dwell on the terror of having a needle stuck in his arm. aaarrghhh!
Then, last week, he said to me, “Mum, my god-mother Heather only cuts her hair once a year. I think that’s a really good idea. If I cut my hair really short, I would also only have to cut it once a year.”
His hair is well below his shoulders now and the bird’s nest at the back of his head has grown. The challenge of brushing it and washing it, loomed large, as it we’d had a number of ‘discussions’ in December while in SA, to no avail.
I agreed, that cutting it a lot would mean not having to do it as frequently. As such he insisted that we make an appointment for the weekend, and he have his hair lopped off.
I took him to the hairdresser on Sunday, and we cut, cut, cut it. He cried a bit when she combed it - the part he hates the most. But it is now radically shorter, tho’ not a buzzcut. In the middle of it all, Zack said to me, “Mum, I am facing my fears.”
I just want to hug and kiss him. I squeezed his little hands and said, “I am so proud of you. This is a big, big thing. Lots of people never face their fears love, and you are nine and you’re doing it!”
When we got home the verdict was, “Mum, it’s not short enough! and the blow-dry makes it look poofy!”
By Monday the verdict had changed to, “its not really a boy’s haircut Mom. I look like a girl with short hair.” You have to laugh, because in SA he was addressed as ‘young lady’ and ‘madam’ a few times - a country where people CANNOT get their heads around a boy with long hair. ha ha.
So we now have another appointment for Sunday this week, with daddy’s barber, to have it cut much shorter and styled to look more like a boy. Watch this space!
And on top of all that, he said to me, “I think I’m ready to go back and have my blood test Mum”.