A Day's Worth of Thoughts

Junie B. Jones cracks me up. Well, I guess the author Barbara Park is the one to actually give credit to, but it's the voice of Junie B. (in my head and as I speak it to Tasha) that is actually making me laugh. Tasha was cracking up at the end of one of her stories tonight and I typically will have to stop reading at some point during each chapter. She named her Raggedy Ann doll "Raggedy Ruth", and her companion is "Raggedy Larry." Can you imagine the discussion that would have gone down with the parents and child trying to explain that the dolls already had names? And then her stuffed animal elephant is named "Philip Johnny Bob." Three first names, and she uses them all each time. Guess you have to read it to understand. There have been several occasions that I have thought of posting a page of one of her more crazy conversations.

The officer that works at McKemy is quite the traffic cop. He has cars and buses moving in and out of that place like it's no body's business. At first I thought he was out there to actually police the streets and send people on their way which would just be a nightmare. Much to my delight however, I realized that he was making things easier and having people break traffic rules to get things moving. Amen to that cop! And yes Bill, I rolled down my window and thanked him. He said, "Well, what can you do? This school was built in the 50's it wasn't prepared for this." Super cool.

I thought an Open House was just that, "open". I thought it meant that you could come and go like the wind, in and out at your pleasure, no formal gathering or lectures. I was wrong. Next time I'll read the parent letter and discover that when the school has an open house, the first grade has a parent meeting. Maybe then I'll be on time.

Only at a Waldorf school will a parent raise their hand and ask, "can you speak to the rhythm of the day?" I think I did an audible gasp as I choked on my Waldorf salad, realizing that I absolutely will never quite fit in at DMS. In her defense, she apparently works at the school and is accustomed to using such terminology. But I tell ya, the first time I hear someone say "pedagogy" it is going to take all my energy to not shove my pedi-somethin' in their mouth. Just sayin'. I guess I'm just not that learn-ed, edjumicated, or at least not that eloquent.

Tasha just needs to feel useful. All week long she's been a gem. (And by week I'm talking about the last 5-6 days, not just since Sunday!) She's had chores to do and sewing to complete and has kept her room picked up. Maybe she's just growing into her 6 year old body and is ready to start first grade, who knows? Today she single-handedly took care of Payton (willingly!) while I helped Kyra through a rough patch of Monday morning, second week of school, blues. Love it!

The end of "summer" (like the official meaning of summer, not the heat that is Arizona) is upon us. I'm going to have to give up my Sonic vice. I've gotten very accustomed to happy hour at Sonic and a ginormous cranberry limeade. Yum.

I might just fit in at DMS. Bill pointed out that another mother said, "what if sewing that thing just isn't going to happen at my house?" That makes me chuckle. Sewing is something I can do. Sing-song voice and rythmic morning (I've got a post in the works for that one) are just not in me. Neither are granola/earthy/organic meals/clothes/school supplies. Just not happenin'. Sorry.

And back to Junie B. Here's a quote of hers from school. Her teacher, "Mrs." ('cuz that's the only part of her name that Junie B. likes) is coming toward her desk because she's in trouble. "Guess what? I am going to do my work now, " I said. "Plus also, I am not even going to talk. 'Cause I don't actually like anyone in this area." I don't know if we should all be a little more or a little less Junie B. like.

If, after a friend was your house, they break something and then call and apologize for it and you forget to call them back and tell them it wasn't a problem, do you then become the lame friend? I mean, I got the message a week ago and can't even remember what was busted. I hope they weren't thinking I was ticked or something.

Peanut butter and chocolate really do go well together.

When you own a truck, everyone calls you when they are moving. When you own a van, everyone calls you for a ride. I enjoy the latter, and am grateful we don't own a truck.

Perspective

I took the picture below to show Bill where we were when he was texting us, asking about batteries. The intent was to get just the kids and the little circles on the Target cup while PT was sucking away at the straw. Of course, when you have 2 subjects of childhood/baby age, not everything goes as intended. I happened to be flipping through pictures on my phone yesterday and thought this picture offered some interesting perspectives.

• Poor Tasha. Look at how tall that cart is for her. That has to hurt her elbows to lean up and over like that. And the poor kid so badly wants to help and push. She gave up pushing months ago and that must have felt like defeat. Is this what life feels like for her so often? Ugh, to be six.
• While sitting in the cart, PT is taller than Tasha. He's looking down at her. He doesn't look down at many people very often. What must that feel like? His head is over hers when she carries him sometimes too. Interesting. I bet he thinks he can push her around. Again, poor Tasha.
• The lights on the ceiling look like runway lights to me. I turned my phone upside down to look at it that way and then I thought of a bowling alley. Strange. I don't recommend turning your computer upside down to get the same affect, but maybe you could stand on your head. Just a thought. Poor you.

The other thing I was thinking about perspective has absolutely nothing to do with this picture, but more to do with how we look at things in a thoughtful kind of way, not an actually looking with our eyes kind of way. I had a really bad, creepy crawly (if you know what I mean), kind of day yesterday. I was freaking out and not well and had to do all sorts of things to escape the horror which I saw as the end of life as I know it in my home, all because of the satanic bug that was lurking behind every corner of my home. Now, he's still there, and I'm still freaked out, and I still can't wait until 1ish when the pest people come and blow his brains out, BUT... There are worse things in the world. My situation could be a lot worse and my nightmare could actually be a nightmare that leaves actual physical or emotional scars. I'm grateful that things are as they are.

Are you Freaking Kidding Me?

There I was, minding my own business, typing a blog post, when I look up to see an invader. At the very toppest of the wall, right below the popcorn ceiling, was a bug, crawling. And it wasn't just any bug. It was a stupid freaking cockroach. And it wasn't just crawling. It was crawling it's stupid freaking cockroach legs across my wall, over my computer desk where I was sitting, minding my own business. Where the freak did he come from?!

Of course, I do what any unreasonable woman would do at 11pm at night when there is a freaking cockroach crawling around over her head. I jump up and go wake up Bill and run back in the room to make sure that monster doesn't get out of site. He's halfway across the room by now and Bill is not coming fast enough. I am glad, however, that when he finally does make it he has come armed with a weapon of mass squash-struction. I was sure that bad boy would do the trick.

I moved the diaper bag from under the stricking point so if he fell he didn't fall in there. I armed myself with a broom, just because that felt safer than nothing. Then I watched Bill line up for the kill. He stood back, held up the squasher, struck and missed. Damn it! Move quickly, move quickly, strike again before he runs too quickly. As Bill went back for another strike, I did the little dance of "Holy crap you missed, damn it, damn it, damn it, get him, get him, get hiiiiimmmmm..."

Well. I can't really talk about this next part. I am seriously close to tears just thinking about it. I keep getting shivers and cringing and popping my feet up on the chair even though I know that damn thing isn't crawling around by my feet.

OK. He flew. As Bill aimed for the second time that freaking cockroach flew off the wall, whizzed by my head, and flew to the other side of the room not to be seen from again. I kid you not. I've heard of flying roaches before, but You.Have.Got.To.Be.Kidding.Me!!! Oh man, what do I do?!

SH--! That damn thing just reemerged. I ran back, shoved Bill awake, grabbed the weapon, heard Payton yell out and ran back to the scene of the crime. He was gone. Damn it. I opened doors, banged on cabinets, threw out a few swear words, but nothing budged that little monster. I went back the bedroom, defeated, once again. While I nursed Payton back to sleep, Bill went out and did who knows what. I half expected him to come back claiming that he got the thing, but he didn't. It's a good thing too because I know he would have been lying just to help ease my mind.

Tomorrow I'm calling the exterminator. Better yet, I'll go online and see if I can set up an appointment via the Internet. Until they come, I'll be the one not sleeping...

2 Sweets and No Sour

We play "Sweet and Sour" at our house on occassion. It's an easy and fun way to assess how your day has been. Hopefully the sweet point is easy to come by and the sour point is difficult or not so sour. At the dinner table, the sour point is usually the same for at least 2 people (meaning they had a fight, and by "they" you know who I'm talking about).

Anyway, today was Kyra's first day of middle school. It could have been traumatic. I realized at some point that she really didn't know anybody for sure and was going to eat in a cafeteria for the first time in her life. Do we say something or just let it sneak up on her? We talked a little about it (Bill mostly). We discussed that everyone in her 4th hour class would have the same lunch hour and if she knew someone there she could just follow them in and sit by them. I also assured her that lunchroom antics in a real Jr. High were not at all like those on TV. She giggled at that, probably thinking of the scene in High School Musical where they all start singing and dancing on the tables.

As most of you know, Kyra is not much of a talker. Apparently, on occasion, she can stick her nose in a book and ignore you the whole drive home and you have to shout, "Bye Kyra!" as she's getting out of the car. (Not that that ever happened before!) After a long day at school you never really know what you will get from her. If it's been a trying time she can come unglued and let it all out: either by shouting, crying, or fighting. Other times she's a giggly schoolgirl. First day of school? I didn't know what to expect so I braced myself.

After she settled into the van and I finagled my way out of the parking lot, I hesitantly asked, "sweet and sour"?

She shot back immediately with, "my sweet was when Aiden came up to me and said 'hi' to me right before lunch". Phew, lunch fear is over. They also sat by April, another girl from camp, and their other friends from school. Then she added, my other sweet was when she saw another girl she knew and went up to her.

When we were leaving DMS, a parent there told me that this age was all about friends. For the kids, this is obviously true. They need to have friends to feel secure and have fun and enjoy their time at school. For the parents however, school demands a little more than that. Now I can just hope that McKemy fulfills the academic and athletic portion of schooling that we've been missing over the years. Socially, I think she'll be fine.

Twelve.

When did my daughter turn twelve?

Today.

Yeesh.

Summer Is A Drag

I imagine it's because we live in the stinkin' desert and it's stinkin' hot, but summer here is just a drag. I don't want to go anyplace or do anything which means I don't really get to see anyone. Drag, drag, drag. I sit at home staring at my walls, listening to my kids, and glaring out the window wishing the sun away. Blah. Doesn't that word just sum up an Arizona summer? "Blah." Not even an exclamation point is needed because that would mean some sort of exalted feeling. Blah, blah, blah. (period)

The end of summer is coming though. And how do I know this? School supplies!!! School supplies are on sale and Target has it's special holiday section devoted to nothing but papers and pencils and fun coloring items. Sticky tape, bottled glue, glue sticks... you name it, we can adhere it. Binders, backpacks, stretchy book covers that I've never really understood, erasers for all the mistakes we're bound to make, and sharpeners to make a point. Ahh, sweet school supplies!

And what's even better than school supplies? Yep, back to school night, meet the teacher night, and finally... you got it... SCHOOL STARTS!!! How fun was it to meet all of Kyra's teachers at a new school, for a new adventure? TOTALLY fun, and I couldn't stand Jr. High as a kid. All I know is that Kyra found all the rooms by herself, wrote down the supplies she would need, introduced herself (when she was asked), and played it all pretty cool. She's ready, no worry there. Transitioning to a big public school had made me nervous in the past, but I felt pretty good about things last year. I never looked back or considered looking elsewhere. McKemy was the place for her and she proved me right today. What a great day!

Now, we can coast this school's roller coaster for 2 years and them I'm right back to square one for research and finding high school. Yeesh. Maybe summer isn't so bad after all...

But, for now, "I'd send you a bouquet of sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address."

NTS: Feed Your Son

Hmm. Solid food. When did we start that? I tried some solids several months so ago but Payton didn't want anything to do with it. He didn't want to be spoon fed at all and his pincher skills were, well, anything but stellar. Slowly he learned to crawl and find everything on the floor to put in his mouth so we started finger food bits again. It entertained him while we ate dinner and created quite the mess on the floor. Hey, at least we've had a clean floor for a few months while we've swept and mopped to keep up with the messes he creates.

So when, exactly, did he start eating regularly? When did he decide to take a few bites from a spoon while shoveling crackers and what not in with his other 2 hands? I only remember making the food, trying to feed him, and him shaking his head or sticking his tongue out. Residue of mashed up food graces the table in front of his clip on chair.

Cranky, cranky boy. He fussed and fussed this morning. He woke up early, made his dad take him out of bed and played with the girls for a while before nursing a bit more and taking a mini slumber. Then he fussed and fussed some more. We saw a little Baby Einstein, nursed some more. Fussed some more. I tried to make me some food to eat while he played at his favorite toy station: the dishwasher. He fussed, he cried, he pulled at my legs. Then, as I was placing some breakfast on my plate, it occurred to me: could he be hungry? Like, for real food?

Yep, that did the trick. Feed the boy.