Archive for the ‘life’ Tag
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 18 2010
Like with twitter previously, I was one of the few remaining holdouts of Facebook. I didn’t want to sign up, because I didn’t think I particularly cared to find people I went to school with, who knew me back when. However, I found myself missing a few connections, a piece of my life from before. And so I finally took the plunge as a beginning first step.
Self-discovery, it starts with Facebook.
While it has been great to reconnect, it’s also forced me into contemplation. Especially when asked what I’ve been up to all this time.
What have I been up to?
I barely travel outside my home, let alone exotic destinations. There is no career that I’m proud of. Most of my friends are words on a screen. In the past 10 years, I have had pregnancy after pregnancy. My stomach extended and deflated. I quit my job to change diapers and chase kids. I yell “no!” so often my throat hurts. I pick up toys and blocks. I clean the house like a maid. I wash dishes and vacuum and sort laundry. I cook dinner. I don’t shower as often as I’d prefer. I’m not allowed to use the bathroom by myself. I am a human tissue, my clothes always stained. I stay in the same pajama pants most days. I feel lucky when I can frame a decent photograph. I check email and twitter for some interaction (validation?), though the concept of social media is still mind-boggling. I spin tales about poop on the internet. I’m a writer, maybe. I’m a mother, sometimes poorly. One step forward, two steps back.
This can’t be it, there has to be more.
What the hell have I been up to?
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 10 2010
We have new next door neighbors. This is a good thing, since the people who lived in that house previously broke our car’s rear window last year. It was an accident, sure, but feelings soured very quickly, especially after they refused to pay for it.
The new neighbors are older. I’ve seen the man sitting outside a few times and we’ve waved. I’m not the most social, so this is my curmudgeonly attempt at being friendly.
Over the weekend, he witnessed my parents come and go. On one of those occasions, he stopped my dad before he could shuffle his way inside. He asked how many kids I had then retreated briefly. A few seconds later, he returned bearing gifts.
Two peaches.
“For the kids”, he offered kindly.
Which is all very nice. I’m not against fruit. I wish my kids ate fruit. Obviously, though, he doesn’t know my kids.
I’ve had to place these peaches on top of the refrigerator, out of their immediate reach. If I hadn’t, I’m certain I’d be cleaning peach mush out of my carpet courtesy of Buzz. They think they’re toys. Round, fuzzy toys. Fuzzy balls, if you want to go there. Jedi just wanted to walk around with one in his hand. I told him if he touched the peach, he had to eat it. He promptly backed away and hasn’t so much as looked at it since.
You’ve succeeded in a positive first impression, Mr. Neighbor Guy. But if you really want to win (me and) my kids over, you need to come bearing chocolate next time.
