Archive for the ‘Daily’ Category
August 26 2010
The morning of his first day of school, we carefully packed Jedi’s many supplies into his backpack. This included his blue pencil box, which we arranged and prepared expressly for his ease of use, containing a handful of pre-sharpened No. 2 pencils, sharpener, box of 24 crayons, pink eraser, his own pair of safety scissors. The usual suspects.
He came home that afternoon with an empty backpack.
I expected the boxes of tissues to be gone, and the Ziploc bags. Even the Clorox wipes. I known these items are used freely about the classroom. But what about his blue folders and his dragon-covered notebook? What about his fully-stocked pencil box? I don’t remember much from my school days, but I know pencils are important. I asked if he knew where his stuff was, maybe they keep it at his desk, but he said he hadn’t seen them.
I wrote a note in professional red crayon the following morning for his teacher and stuck it in his backpack. Not surprisingly, he forgot to give it to her that day. Yesterday, however, he returned home with a briefly penned response, his dragon-covered notebook, and a bare-boned pencil box.
“The folders are used for journals, is this OK?”, the responding note read.
That’s fine, not a problem, but what about the other stuff? WHAT ABOUT THE PENCILS?
I don’t know about anyone else, but I already find kindergarten confusing.
August 25 2010
We were standing at the corner of the street, waiting for Jedi’s yellow carriage to emerge. I had gotten us there early, because I wanted to make sure we arrived in time to see him home. I now know that I didn’t need to worry, as his bus wouldn’t come for another 30 minutes.
To pass the minutes by, and to give my sweating hand a rest, I told Buzz to sit. Take a break. Play in the overgrown grass. He found a stick and began raking through the bug-laden yard in need of mowing. Around us, butterflies continued to flutter. That’s when I bent down and saw a swarm of them, basking in the summer sun, scaling tall blades of swaying green.
Caterpillars. Black and white, in varying sizes. There had to be at least 6 in that immediate patch of grass.
“Look Buzz! Caterpillars!”, I showed him.
“Caterpillars”, he repeated softly, concentrating on the new find.
“Caterpillars turn into butterflies”, I informed studiously, as one danced above our head and another at our feet.
We spent the next few minutes poking gently at the caterpillars, watching as they spread their elongated bodies against the picturesque blue skies, ready and waiting for the day when they develop their wings. Small changes at first, but then it happens so quick.
Soon after, the bus pulled up, carrying my oldest son. My once helplessly dependent baby, who’s also shedding his cocoon, morphing into a glorious butterfly.
August 20 2010
We had a tea party. I’m sorry you weren’t invited, it was a simple affair. A table set for two, mother and daughter. A few minutes of the morning, a small moment in time. No boys allowed even, though it didn’t stop them from trying to intervene.
I’m afraid I forgot to dress up for the occasion. I’ll try to remember to wear my pearls next time. Abby adorned in striped pink pants and blue Flower Power shirt. Dainty ceramic teacups, her Fisher-Price musical teapot. A vessel in my lap with hers clinging against the table. Pinky extended.
She’d fill my cup then walk to hers. Pour. Again and again, I’d pretend to slurp the best tea I’ve ever tasted. If I believe it’s real, and she believes it’s real, then it must be.
“Mmmm… that’s good!”, I exclaimed.
“Some more?”, she asked in a knowing tone, my daughter’s vocabulary expanding every day. What she can say, what she understands.
“Oh, yes please!”, I declared.
Motioning to the pink play teapot, Jedi nudged his way through to ask, “Are you really drinking anything?”
It all depends on what you choose to believe. Love, air, happiness, forgiveness, imagination, even the most delicious tea for two. Some matters might seem mythical, but you don’t have to taste it to know what’s real.
August 16 2010
The start of school approaching has kicked my butt in gear on a number of tasks I’ve been avoiding. Such as taking Jedi on his first trip to the dentist. I’ve had it in mind that there would be plenty of screaming and kicking and maybe a punch or two. Surprisingly, there was none of that. There was only poop.
While we were waiting in a packed area filled with other kids and families, Jedi remarked boisterously, “I’ve gotta go potty! Oh, no! I think I’ve gotta go STINKY!”.
I motioned him over amidst chuckles from the other waiting room patrons and explained with the slightest whisper, “When they call you back, let her know that you have to go potty. Don’t say stinky, just potty. Nobody else has to know you have to take a poop.”
He told me he understood and went back to sit again. Soon, his name was called and he promptly informed her of his need to potty like I told him to. I wasn’t allowed back with him, but I could hear him clear as day from outside the thin door. He seemed to occupy that bathroom for many, many minutes. Long enough for the dental assistant to take a couple phone calls. I then realized I forgot to remind him to flush the toilet.
Finally, I heard the door open and his little voice declare, “I’m all done.”
What I didn’t hear was a gush of water.
“I hope he flushed the toilet”, I whispered to myself, out loud, into my hand.
The things you never thought you’d worry about before you have kids.
August 11 2010
Abby had her 2 year well-child doctor visit this past Monday, which is also the day we registered my oldest for school, which is a huge fail in parenting in itself but hopefully all works out in the end. Really, I don’t even want to go there.
Before we registered him, though, my daughter had her appointment of torture where she was poked and prodded and not having any of it. She screamed like only she can do, filling the entire office area. The boys came along and they initially sat contently and watched in fascination, fortunate in the knowledge that it wasn’t for them. In fact, when the doctor walked in, Jedi quickly piped up and declared, “Only Abby’s getting a shot today”.
To which she did. A single vaccination.
Upon witness of the nurse carrying that one syringe into the room, though, both of the boys cowered. Buzz hid completely under their desk while Jedi scrunched himself into a defensive ball, like a roly poly. It’s amazing the trauma and fear a needle can project.
When Abby cried, Jedi flinched but Buzz cried real tears with her. She hollered for good reason, but so did Buzz. She was fine almost immediately after, while it took plenty of coaxing to pry him out of hiding. Leave it to her brother to steal her thunder. From the look of it as we finally left the room, it would appear he was the one who had the rough morning.
Her brothers felt her pain, dramatic movie of the week style, and it hurt. Though nothing a cherry-flavored sucker and handful of stickers couldn’t fix.
