Call the Bomb Squad.

King is under a chair in the kitchen. I just told him that in two days we are going to go look at a "big" school for him to go to kindergarten next year. I told him he would take a test. It was the "t" word that sent him under the chair.

My mind races back to last year at the cardiologist office when he lay curled up on the cold nurses station floor refusing to let anyone touch him. Or on team picture day at soccer this fall when we had to drag him away, hysterical because he didn't want his picture taken. The list could go on.

"Get out from under that chair! Stop whining! You are five years old and you are hiding under a chair? I'm not going to have it!"

King gives me this shocked look that says, "has my mother gone mad?" I too am surprised at my completely unsympathetic outburst. I make a quick mental note that maybe I should try to fit in a nap today.

Then King says, "what if I get all the questions wrong?" Ooooouch. I am such a bad mother.

I try to recover. "That's fine. I know you're smart. You know you're smart. So it doesn't matter how many questions you get right."

Not only do I fear that I have just emotionally scarred my child FOREVER, but I am panicked because we still have to do the testing and this is obviously an issue. I decide to retreat and wait for reinforcements.

Skip to the next day... King is on his bed, in indefinite time-out, for throwing a shoe and a book at his teacher's head, hitting his mark both times. As I lament the fact that we have to deal with this the day before the TEST, I am still perceptive enough to realize the TEST is exactly why this is happening. But I am at a loss as to how to diffuse the ticking time bomb that is set to go off at 9 Am tomorrow morning in front of the school admission officials and the other parents with their normal children.

Again, I retreat and say "wait 'til your father gets home." I love this line and the dread it creates. Ooooooh, you're in trouuuuble now!

When Curtis gets home, IT'S ON. There will be no leniency because of the big day tomorrow. Throwing things at anyone, let alone your female teacher, is inexcusable. King will be going to bed right after dinner AND he must apologize. But King has decided there will be no apologizing, and after several counts to ten with bedtime getting earlier and earlier, he is sent to bed immediately. It's 2 PM.

Skip to this morning... King woke up well rested, to say the least. The morning went along without a hitch. We arrived at the school a half hour early (good thing too, because apparently the test started a half hour early and nobody informed us. EXCUSE ME?). But all went smooth. We can all wipe the sweat from our lip because the bomb has been diffused.

I'm sure there is a lesson in this. Something about me chilling out and not worrying about things I can't control. But I'm not sure how we got out of this one.