My new "job" at church on Sundays is to teach a class of 4-year-olds in the Primary, the organization for all kids ages 3-11. I started yesterday.
The reason I have this new job is because Hubba is not a big fan of going to his class on Sundays. The thinking was that if his mom was his teacher, he'd go. Sounds reasonable, right? I thought so, too.
We underestimate Hubba.
I came prepared and excited for my first day with Hubba in tow. At first, he seemed excited.
"You are my chee-cher, Mom! You will be my chee-cher all the year!" he happily chattered on the way to the Primary room.
After 5 minutes of sitting on my lap, it started.
"Mom, let's get out of here."
"Where should we go, Hubba? I am your teacher now, remember? I am the teacher for the other kids, too. We get to be together all the time on Sundays now! Let's listen to the new song!"
"No, Mom, you don't look like my chee-cher no more. You're just a mom. Let's go to nursery."
(Nursery is the class I used to teach - the 18 months to 3 years old class. In nursery they have puzzles, trains, books and treats. Hmmm. Wonder why he likes it there.)
"Hubba, I am not in nursery anymore, and you are a BIG boy! Big boys don't go to nursery!"
"Yes they DO! And Primary is DUMB! And I want a DRINK!"
"Hubba, we will get a drink when we go to our class. Not right now."
And so on.
When we finally went to class, things started off well. The lesson was on choosing the right. The kids all sat in their chairs and listened well. Except Hubba.
Throughout the lesson he did all sorts of things.
He walked over to the light switch and flipped it off.
He tipped his chair upside down and sat on it, making train noises.
He kicked the divider that separated us from another class. Repeatedly.
At one point, he kicked the chair of the girl next to him. She raised her hand.
"Yes?" I asked, smiling.
"Hubba is kicking my chay-uh. I dough wanna sit by him any mo-uh."
Hubba sat in his chair again for about 20 seconds. In this brief window of time I passed out CTR rings. I told the kids they could look at them as a reminder to choose the right every day. Each child was excited and proud to wear one. Except Hubba.
He threw his at the window. Repeatedly.
And then it started. One of the kids in my class said, "Hubba! Choose the right!"
Another child chimed in, "Yo mom is tee-ching us to choose the wight! You are choosing the wong!!"
And another, "Look at your wing and wemem-buh!"
Hubba then proudly proclaimed (while laughing) "I don't choose the right! I choose the POOP!"
The way I see it, it can only get better from here.