the irony of the divine

Did I get born on opposite day? It's like everything I say with conviction will most likely get tested and ultimately shown to be yet another false assumption. I should know better. If I ever try to sound definitive about something here, just remind me that nothing is permanent. And certainly, when it comes to a certain wildebeest known as Diego! I was so victorious, so happy about Diego's adjustment to his Montessori classroom. I finally was feeling the pride of a parent whose child is comfortable, has his needs met and is able to participate in the world of children without event. I was patting myself on the back for his good week, and feeling like most other parents who pick their children up from school each day, receiving little comment from the teachers unless to say, "we had a really good day today, right Billy? See you tomorrow!"
Oh, no...not our little tiger. This Diego, a child whom I knowingly named something that can be looked up to mean "wild, untamed" is the very definition of his name. Like his mother and father before him, he flaunts convention, has disregard for rules, and is in constant violation of the laws of gravity (well that is mostly dad). So upon picking him up at school, the teachers form a huddle at the sight of my shadow in the door of the classroom. I can hear them, an electric crackle of static "Diego's mom is here. She's right there. Okay, someone, go talk to her." I am, at my child's tender age of two, already having flashbacks of my own parent-teacher conferences, shades of Stacy the discipline case flooding my mind as the teacher leads Diego to the door. "Mama came!" comes the bright and happy voice of my little troublemaker. Attached to his hand is his teacher, Ms. Ro. Diminutive in stature, she is magnificently endowed with a sense of peace, calm, and order. Her face is unflinchingly stern yet enormously kind . In her eyes I can see her quizzical but non-judgemental search for the reason's behind Diego's continued contribution to the uproar in his class. She expresses concern over his stuffy nose, asks not unkindly if he is not feeling well, how he is sleeping and eating at home. She tells me that Diego was throwing puzzles on the floor today. This behavior is challenging in the Montessori classroom, because the children are all at different types of play, and the teachers need to trust they can care for their work without being hovered over. Diego was asked to put a puzzle away before taking a new one, and he furiously hurled them both to the ground. Not surprised, but disappointed, I ask my small son if this is true. He seems to be upset, and says "A hug will make Mama feel better." At this, a singular act of love and trust, I drop to the floor to embrace him. He speaks with the voice of a little angel, even if he behaves more like a devil sometimes. Head spinning, we exit the school, my promises of talking about this behavior at home echoing in the halls as we wave goodbye to the sainted, patient teacher who is probably heaving a huge sigh of relief as I take my little wild, untamed child home to battle him down for his nap. Chalk it up to being the victim of Murphy's Law, the only constant that seems to pervade my very tapestry of life.