Back to School

Children who would rather go to school than pose for pictures

I was doing so well. This morning was the first day of school. Erik was so excited to be back with his friends. Anna was looking forward to being a kindergartner and going to school every day. Even William seemed happy (but then, he usually is). As a mom, the big kindergarten step isn't too tough when its just a new classroom across the hall from Anna's preschool class. We've been through kindergarten before and know that the teacher and curriculum are wonderful. Anna's been looking forward to being in that room for two years now. So, she had no worries about the new school year and Erik was only annoyed we wouldn't let him run into school the moment we pulled into the lot. No need for tears anywhere, right? It's been a good summer, but we're all ready for a little less togetherness. Bring on the school days!

So, I did great at not being at all snuffly at school. Not one tear shed by anyone in my family on school grounds. Yup, I saved that stuff for myself, at home, putting away my big kindergarten girl's laundry while she was away being all independent and stuff. (Meanwhile, from downstairs, "Maaaa!" says the two year old who has just learned how to open the fridge and freezer and help himself to Popsicles.) So, on with the business of being at home while the big kids are at school. Clean that kitchen -- only halfway -- then marvel that it's already time to pick them up. Already?

All is well. They had a great first morning. Everyone is happy. Everyone can't wait for tomorrow. Homework was even done in the car on the way home! Success! Success! Success!

We're home. We eat a little lunch. I put a small, squirrley toddler to bed and prepare to do some read-aloud time with the older kids. Just in time for summer to end, we finished On the Banks of Plum Creek last Friday. To my delight, they have been fully enjoying Laura Ingalls Wilder's books and wanted to get started with the next one, especially since By the Shores of Silver Lake features traveling by train. Certain 7-year old boys still (and always will) love trains. So, happy day, they want to keep reading historical fiction. Sit right here and lets get to it. Enjoying, enjoying ... and then Chapter Two: "Grown Up." I was just a few lines in when I knew this was not going to end well for me. You know, we preview TV shows, movies, and computer things for content. It's just smart parenting to be sure you know what your kids are going to encounter. It's been a few decades since I read this book, but it was harmless. I was not expecting Mrs. Wilder to throw me an emotional fast ball ON THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL. *** Spoilers *** You know what happens in "Grown Up"? Laura's dog dies. Her beloved dog Jack goes off to the Happy Hunting Grounds just as her family is about to pack up and move yet again. Crud. By the second paragraph I was sniffing, by the third paragraph I was tearing up. Pretty soon my dear children were patting me and saying, "It's okay, Mom." Sigh, well, assuming I haven't scarred them permanently for seeing their mom sob openly over the death of a fictional dog, maybe they will have that much more respect for the power of a well written story. See, it was merely a back-to-school, language arts lesson.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go pet my old dog and tell her she can never go to kindergarten.

Some observations of the day

Today's insights into my children's minds:
Erik: "When I'm a train engineer, the only time I'm going to stop driving trains is to come to church. Then I'll go back to the trains." Nice.
Anna: "One of my friends thinks there will be ice cream in heave. I don't think so. There will be pickles! And cheese." Okay.
William: "Hee-hee-hee." That's the sound of him giggling after locking me out when I went outside to fix the downspouts. Sigh.

Quotes of the day

Quotes of the day (all before 8:30 a.m.)

"Anna, you're an artist of butter! It's like a real painting!" -- Erik, describing Anna's post-pancake breakfast fork and plate art.

"I don't want a walrus for a pet. They're too blubbery." -- Anna

William would have something to say, too, if he wasn't so busy sneaking off to the bathroom to treat his brother and sister's toothpaste and toothbrushes like a sweets' table. Eww. Those candy and fruit flavors are apparently too difficult to resist.

You might be a Lutheran if...

On most Sunday nights, Jamieson makes pizza. He has mastered the art of homemade dough and we have a family love affair with Weyauwega Cheese (and, frankly, anything that comes from the enormous dairy aisle at Woodman's). Last week, the dough wasn't in top form since our yeast apparently died. Yesterday, new yeast did the trick. Jamieson peeked at the dough when we came in from an afternoon of yard work and said, "That dough is really risen." To which I said the only thing a Lutheran girl can say a week after Easter: "It is risen, indeed!"

Looking for the thrill

A few weeks ago, a blog post, titled "Let's Bring the Holidays Down A Notch" caught the eye of many of my friends in Facebook-land because it voiced feelings so many of us have about kids and celebrations. Every last one of us loves doing fun stuff with our families, but the expectations to have Pinterest-worthy holidays and contribute time, money, crafts and/ or food to FUN events at school almost every stinkin' week is a wee bit overwhelming. Now as the Easter-candy hangovers start to wear off, everyone is once again swearing off sweets, toys and projects. Except that June, July and August are coming and it's time to plan a magical, activity filled summer break right now!

Exhausting, isn't it?

The consensus seems to be that we keep over entertaining our kids because we, the parents, love it. We are addicted to that moment when the kids come down the stairs and see what "Santa" left, or the thrill of going to school because it's a party day, or whatever the magic moment of the month may be. Thanks to a highly-commercial culture, the easiest way to get that guaranteed spark of childhood joy is to buy it. Buy a new toy; buy 100 eggs to hide around the house; buy into the idea that every kid needs an Etsy-worthy craft to bring home from the party. The problem is that we parent type have to keep working harder and harder to make these magical moments happen. How do we give them joy -- how do we give ourselves joy -- without creating greedy little monsters and a very empty bank account?

Since seeing that blog post, I've been more conscious of looking for the thrill. I am not gifted in the art of being a hostess, so I will never be able to present my family with any "perfect" celebrations. My children are normal human beings; they would love to have the toys, the parties, the stuff that they know other kids have. On the other hand, they aren't totally jaded yet, and I'm trying to see the moments where they burst with happiness over something simple. Then I can mentally bank those times to remember when our celebration days are more low-key than the events happening in other houses.

So here's what I've got this week. These are moments that are just as good as Christmas morning. In fact, they were unexpected, so maybe they were just a bit better:

• "Baby plants!" I have yet to hear Anna shriek about any present the way she does when spring finally comes and those little green shoots start poking up. I couldn't have hidden an Easter eggs as well as God hides the seeds and bulbs that give her such a thrill this time of year. What's even better is that she's out looking every day and it's just as exciting to see a new plant grow taller as it is to see its first peek out of the ground. 



Doing a little gardening:
A broken rake outside is currently more fun for
William than any new toys inside. 

• Bubbles: This morning William and I took a break from putting down mulch and vacuuming out the van to blow some bubbles. There isn't much on earth as cheerful as watching a toddler happily screeching and chasing bubbles. Since he hasn't figured out how to blow bubbles without my help, I think I'm getting points for doing something pretty amazing. 
• "Cool." The reason my kids hate shopping with me is my tendency to seek out every clearance item in a store. I have three growing kids, so buying a $3 off-season, too-big shirt makes a lot of sense to me. The payoff, beyond the pocketbook, is sometimes finding just the right item to get a smile. Yesterday I happened upon a cheap, red (large) T-shirt. It was goofy: marshmallows on a cocoa mug jumping in and shouting, "Cannonball!" Red and silly seemed a perfect buy for Erik. I put it on his bed and told him later in the day to take a peek at what I found for him. He did, laughed and said, "Cool." It was a simple, but honest reaction. The odds of getting joy from a clothing purchase when a Christmas or birthday present is involved are minimal, but I had a moment of satisfaction for being able to clothe my oldest child in a way that made him happy. 

So, there you have it. Nothing spectacular. Nothing to rock the Internet with my profound insights on parenting. And yet enough simple joy of getting it right as a mom, for just a moment, by being with them and seeing what makes them happy. (For cheap!!!)

Doing it right!

Kudos to the First Years company for standing behind their product. Not surprisingly, my darling toddler and his razor-sharp new teeth managed to tear through one of their soft-spout sippy cups. I contacted the company to see if I could buy a replacement lid. They kindly send me an entire replacement cup. I was told "just this once" but still, that's wonderful. It was a favorite cup and now it can live on. For now. Anyway, thanks First Years!

Square peg; round hole? Make a bigger hole!

You know those old Fisher Price shape sorting toys? Do an online search for "vintage shape sorter" and you'll see what I mean. It's the yellow cylinder with a lid that has three holes for shapes. Babies are supposed to develop sorting skills and hand-eye coordination by popping the a plastic shape into the matching hole.  Well, two weeks in a row, my dear precocious 18-month old son has used that very toy at our library. (We have a similar toy at home, but everyone knows that the toys at someone else's house -- or library -- are much more interesting.) Either when he encounters the a pile of shapes left by another child or when I hand a shape to him and ask him which hole it goes into, he simply pries off the lid, dumps the shape or shapes into the can and clicks the lid back on. Done. Next toy, please.

You have to give him credit for problem solving a more efficient way to get the job done. Someday, he's either going to be a brilliant student or we're going to get a lot of calls from teachers. Or both.

(By the way, this same "toddler" is becoming infamous for sneaking into his siblings' classes. So he will be well known to teachers by the time he legitimately attends these classes -- and can verbalize his preferred way to do the assignments.)