I carry a small notebook in my purse. It feels so matronly of me, maybe because my mother always did it. But I am now a "woman of a certain age," and I understand why she did it. I hate carrying a big purse around, but now I really need room for things like a notebook, because I can't remember a thing.
My notebook is a hodgepodge - Christmas shopping lists, websites a friend mentions, contact info for the person we are headed to visit, questions to ask at the next doctor's visit. But my favorite, and definitely most important, use for the notebook is to write down what the kids say. I forget things so quickly, and some of this I really prefer to capture.
Now, the trick is finding time to ever translate those treasures from the kids to this blog, my more permanent memory. So, the point of this entry is to catch up on a number of those. Therefore, I have included approximate dates, if I have them.
The Logic of Youth (December 28, 2009)
We were driving on a long car trip. James (age 8) says, out of the blue, "Mom when I grow up, I want my license plate to say "I-BE-APE."
"Oh. Um, okay." [Long pause, then I continue.] "Um, why?"
"Because that's what I want to be. And I couldn't fit, 'I want to be a gorilla.'"
John, Out of the Blue...(March 25,2010)
"Mom? When I grow up, I'm going to be a superhero. With a cape."
Maggie Works Out the Ways of the World (March 25, 2010)
"Mom, are boy captains and girl captains on ships called different names?" (I have no idea. Either as to the answer, or as to why you would ask the question.)
A short time later, Maggie chose to explain some things to me instead of query me. Maybe she decided I wasn't much good as a source of info after I blew the last one.
"Mom, I think I know what started World War I. The pilgrims were slaves and came here on the Mayflower and the people who were slaving them followed and started fighting." (Ahh, now that reassures me that all that school tuition has been well worth it.)
Life is Hard (September 2010)
"Mom?" It is John's voice from the back of the van, in a plaintive, even whiny tone.
"Yes?" I respond.
"I ... I ... I wish I could get more bigger."
"You will, soon," I reassure him soothingly.
He replies in a near panic, "But I can't wait that long!"
(Maybe this is related to being left behind when the older kids get out of the car for school. More likely, it is about his frequent questioning about how old he has to be to drive a car. Or a motorcycle.)
Negotiations (September, 2010)
Maggie and John love to play pretend together, now. We were driving in the car, and Maggie was proudly (vainly?) wearing a very fancy dress - red velvet with white fur trim. I overheard this exchange between them.
Maggie: John, let's pretend that I'm Mrs. Santa and you're little Santa, and Dad is ... Ho Ho Ho... Santa Claus.
John: NO! (Pointing at Jeremy and with a tone of "I've got a better idea") Let's say he's a bad guy. He's a storm trooper. But he's on our side. He won't hurt us, but he has a missile.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
First day of preschool
Speaking of underwear...
John had his first day of preschool today. He was actually nervous about it. I hadn't prepared myself for that possibility.
James and Margaret never gave preschool a second thought, since they had been going to daycare (which we always called "school" for them) since about 18 months, each. When other parents would talk about the "trauma" of the first day of school (preschool or kindergarten) I never really got it. Were they just over-dramatizing? No big deal at our house.
Well, I won't say it was a trauma for John, by any means. But it was a big deal. He asked questions all evening and through the bedtime routine. ("Mommy, will I go with no grown-ups? Why won't you be there? Will I get to play outside in the rocks? When will you pick me up?") He couldn't get to sleep last night. Even when I lay down with him (which usually puts him out within a few minutes), he tossed and turned next to me, muttering to himself about school. I was glad that I had given in yesterday at Meijer's with a small "school present-" a new package of underwear for the newly potty trained boy. (They were Star Wars Clone Wars, which he recognized himself though I am certain he can't yet read the words "Clone Wars" printed around the top band.)
Still, despite all his angst, he was happy to go this morning. He popped out of bed and dressed himself in the new underwear. (After that, who cares about clothing?) He asked Maggie to get him a bowl of cereal because he couldn't wait for Mom to get to the kitchen. When we arrived at preschool, he dashed into the gym with hardly a goodbye. As he had requested, I stayed to watch through the window for a few minutes, but he never once looked around for me. I watched the scene in pantomime through the glass, astonished that my Human Tornado was standing in his place in a circle, eyes riveted on the teachers, following every instruction for their "warm up exercises." Okay, once he did run off and swing on the Tarzan rope on his own. But mostly following instructions. Was this really my boy?
James, Maggie, and I took advantage of our morning alone to shoe shop. Amazingly, much easier without John along. 2.5 hours, 2 stores, 5 pairs of shoes (James-soccer; James-school, Maggie-gym, Maggie-school, Maggie-church) and 1 pair of socks (James-soccer), and less than $150. I felt like my world was once again manageable. In a certain way. (That 18-gallon tote of old shoes is finally starting to come in handy. Found soccer shoes for Maggie and tennis shoes for John for "free" from our hand-me-downs. At this rate it should only take one extra mortgage, not two, to keep all four kids clothed as they grow.)
We rushed back to pick up John at noon. Sadly, we discovered he was apparently the only one of the approximately 15 kids who had used his backpack (change of clothing). Ack. So much for the potty-training progress. At least we only came home with wet clothing, not dirty. Maybe they won't kick us out yet. :)
Back on Friday morning for more glee and giggles. I am encouraged that this will work.
John had his first day of preschool today. He was actually nervous about it. I hadn't prepared myself for that possibility.
James and Margaret never gave preschool a second thought, since they had been going to daycare (which we always called "school" for them) since about 18 months, each. When other parents would talk about the "trauma" of the first day of school (preschool or kindergarten) I never really got it. Were they just over-dramatizing? No big deal at our house.
Well, I won't say it was a trauma for John, by any means. But it was a big deal. He asked questions all evening and through the bedtime routine. ("Mommy, will I go with no grown-ups? Why won't you be there? Will I get to play outside in the rocks? When will you pick me up?") He couldn't get to sleep last night. Even when I lay down with him (which usually puts him out within a few minutes), he tossed and turned next to me, muttering to himself about school. I was glad that I had given in yesterday at Meijer's with a small "school present-" a new package of underwear for the newly potty trained boy. (They were Star Wars Clone Wars, which he recognized himself though I am certain he can't yet read the words "Clone Wars" printed around the top band.)
Still, despite all his angst, he was happy to go this morning. He popped out of bed and dressed himself in the new underwear. (After that, who cares about clothing?) He asked Maggie to get him a bowl of cereal because he couldn't wait for Mom to get to the kitchen. When we arrived at preschool, he dashed into the gym with hardly a goodbye. As he had requested, I stayed to watch through the window for a few minutes, but he never once looked around for me. I watched the scene in pantomime through the glass, astonished that my Human Tornado was standing in his place in a circle, eyes riveted on the teachers, following every instruction for their "warm up exercises." Okay, once he did run off and swing on the Tarzan rope on his own. But mostly following instructions. Was this really my boy?
James, Maggie, and I took advantage of our morning alone to shoe shop. Amazingly, much easier without John along. 2.5 hours, 2 stores, 5 pairs of shoes (James-soccer; James-school, Maggie-gym, Maggie-school, Maggie-church) and 1 pair of socks (James-soccer), and less than $150. I felt like my world was once again manageable. In a certain way. (That 18-gallon tote of old shoes is finally starting to come in handy. Found soccer shoes for Maggie and tennis shoes for John for "free" from our hand-me-downs. At this rate it should only take one extra mortgage, not two, to keep all four kids clothed as they grow.)
We rushed back to pick up John at noon. Sadly, we discovered he was apparently the only one of the approximately 15 kids who had used his backpack (change of clothing). Ack. So much for the potty-training progress. At least we only came home with wet clothing, not dirty. Maybe they won't kick us out yet. :)
Back on Friday morning for more glee and giggles. I am encouraged that this will work.
Proud parental moment?
I overheard today, coming from the back seat:
6-yr-old: "Hey, is that your shoe?"
3-yr-old: "Where?"
6-yr-old: "Under there."
3-yr-old: "Under where?"
6-yr-old: "I made you say 'underwear!'"
Two little voices utterly collapsed in giggles.
Now I confess, I am not usually one to get amused by potty humor, or any such sort of elementary-school nonsense. But the pure joy and delight these two shared over this joke (?) was completely infectious. I found myself laughing out loud as I waited at the stoplight. Ah, the warm fuzzy moments of parenting.
6-yr-old: "Hey, is that your shoe?"
3-yr-old: "Where?"
6-yr-old: "Under there."
3-yr-old: "Under where?"
6-yr-old: "I made you say 'underwear!'"
Two little voices utterly collapsed in giggles.
Now I confess, I am not usually one to get amused by potty humor, or any such sort of elementary-school nonsense. But the pure joy and delight these two shared over this joke (?) was completely infectious. I found myself laughing out loud as I waited at the stoplight. Ah, the warm fuzzy moments of parenting.
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