But on the morning of that special breakfast, you realize that no matter what you've done, or sent-- the bagel with sausage, the breakfast empanada, the chocolate chips-- it still is miserable for your son to sit and watch his classmates of 12 years be served waffles, omelettes, pancakes, sausage by their teachers, and he is not. He goes to the kitchen to ask for his plate-- and the head has forgotten, no blame here there's 50 kids and lots of other holiday requests, but still.
They say misery loves company, but I think our kids often suffer it alone, not wanting to share their frustrations with others or get upset in public. Not saying we don't get the call, but I wish there were a way to have them not be so isolated.
I always say, the worst it can be is terrible-- and that morning, I guess I was right.