For weeks, Max kept refusing to go into the church where the cub scout meetings are held. I emailed back and forth with the den leader, and we decided the boys would come to our house and bake cookies. Oatmeal cookies, he decided, and I held my tongue from saying "But don't you think double-chocolate-chip cookies would be even better, because they are my favorite?"
That night, Sabrina and I headed out; I wanted Max to spend time alone with the kids. The two of us hung at the library, where she showed me the gingerbread men she had made the other day with our babysitter—one for her, and one for Max. Then she inexplicably wanted to hit the olive bar at Whole Foods, so off we went.
Dave texted me a play-by-play account of what was happening at the house:
Max upset and crying
He's upstairs in his room and he's calmed down
He wants to go downstairs
He's showing the boys his iPad
By the time we got home, the only trace remaining of the kids was a flour-y kitchen floor and a plate of oatmeal cookies. Max hadn't interacted that much with the boys, but it was a start—one of the first inclusive activities he'd ever participated in.
Of course, we can't host every meeting at our house. Now that Max has met the other cub scouts, though, he might be a little more amenable to going into the regular meetings.
It wasn't what I expected to happen, but it was still good.
I think that just about sums up our life.