My aunt told me that, years ago.  But it still haunts me today.

"Bigger kids.  Bigger problems."  she responded to my cries.  I had just found my three year old son with a lego piece that loosely resembled a gun, chasing our daschund around the house.  A gun!  Pointed at our dog!  Convinced that he was heading straight towards juvenile detention - I called my seasoned aunt, mother of three.  "He doesn't even watch TV."  I whimpered.  "Do you think it's the extra hormones in chicken?  Should we go organic?  What am I doing wrong?"

That's when she laughed at me and said, "Wait until he's older.  Bigger kids.  Bigger problems.

Jay as a three-year-old with me

(before I was introduced to self tanners, stilettos and a push-up bra).

Five years later and my eight-year-old son has no interest in playing with guns.  Instead I have bigger problems to tackle.

Yesterday morning, I began to read through all the amazing comments on my bullying post.  Absorbed in thought, I started to mentally beat myself up because the majority of you said approach the parent and stick up for your child.

"If I have to trudge through hell raising respectful humans, they have to first see me stand up for them." - Traci

I can not believe that I failed to see that.

Those eye opening comments couldn't have come at a more perfect time in my life. Because minutes after devouring them I got an email that made me cry more than I've cried in the last eight years of parenting.  It was the same type of email that I've gotten four weeks into the school year, every year, for the last three years.  I'm not sure I want to get into the details - not sure the story is mine to tell.  But as a mother who has read the same email in kindergarten, and first grade, and now second grade I wept until my back ached.  I don't remember the last time my body shook so much that I was physically unable to dial the phone.

I called my husband first.  I bawled.

I called a prestigious all boys school in Cleveland and cried like a baby to the admissions counselor, a complete stranger.

I skyped my mother on vacation and hiccuped through the story.

I emailed a girlfriend in academia and she called back a minute later.  I howled for thirty minutes.

My neighbor called to see if we were up for a hayride on Friday and I blew up in tears.

I tweeted "Considering turning off my phone because I'm afraid of crying if I speak to anyone else. So.Frustrated." 11:06 AM Sep 21st via web."

I was a complete wreck, ready to put our house up for sale and get a job at McDonalds to afford a school that could offer my son the attention he deserved.  My sweet sensitive first born son with a heart of gold, who loves animals and thinks of others first. He calls me "mousie mama" out of love.  (Insert me pathetically crying as I type this) Alone in my house I actually roared out loud at myself, "You dropped the ball!  You failed!  You screwed up your first born child!"  I refused to look in the mirror.  "You knew he was having trouble academically, but you trusted the teachers.  How many more emails, like this, do you need before you get it?"  I curled myself in the prenatal position on my bed and wept.  "The biggest mistake, was not listening to myself."

It was an epiphany of sorts.

I've gone far and beyond to do everything possible for him, at home.   Tutoring, reading, reading and tutoring until nightfall.  It was time for me to stand up for him, in school. Your comments, although out of context, were the backbone that I needed.  I gathered myself emotionally and emailed the school.  I WILL STAND UP FOR MY CHILD - even if the problem is tiny in the school district's eyes and doesn't gather enough attention for extra academic support.

Pretty sure that the principal thinks I am a suicidal mess now; but, my questions were not only answered - immediate actions were put into place.  It was awesome.  Hurray for adjectives!

Moral of the story?  Little kids with little problems turn into bigger kids with bigger problems - a mother always knows best.

If I was able to rewind (give me that pleasure), I would have told his kindergarten teacher that I was much more concerned.   I would have told his first grade teacher that I insisted he get extra support. Now that he's in the second grade I feel like... well, that I've failed him because I listened to the teachers that told me he was fine when my heart said he needed some more.

Regardless.  The school district will know who Pauline Karwowski is, this year.