The First Day of School is always emotional for me.
Sorry about the whole diaper thing.
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Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Monday, August 24, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Thursdays' Treasures
I have been negligent about posting my Thankful Thursdays or Things That Make Me Feel Rich. Maybe that's why I haven't been feeling so rich here lately.
1) My children's school - School starts on Monday. I spent a good bit of yesterday in the classrooms and getting things together. I hadn't realized that I missed the people there over the summer. They are an amazing group of women who have come together with the noblest of intentions - the respectful nurturing of a child's innate curiosity. They do it with warmth, gentle and quiet words and easy smiles. This school is easily on the list of the top ten best things that has ever happened to me.
2) Tax Returns - Dawn just had her taxes done and got a whopper of a return. We were able to pay off a good bit of the yearly school bill. The monthly bill will be significantly less than last year which means that I won't be sweating so profusely on the 14th of every month.
3) Good Coffee - I make a great cup of coffee, mostly because I buy really good coffee (on sale, of course). I like thinking about the lives of the coffeepickers and wonder if they think about the lives of the coffeedrinkers and if either of us is even close to imagining the other's life as it actually is.
4) Lightning at Bedtime - Our window faces East. We lay in the darkness last night, snuggled together watching for, waiting for and ahhhhhing when the lightning struck and lit up the room. She is beautiful in lightning light.
5) Books and Children Who Love to Read - Faith and William and I have read through #14 in the Magic Tree House series this summer. Dawn has read Runaway Ralph by Beverly Cleary to anyone who would listen. Bedtime Stories is a most precious time of our days. I especially cherish the nights that William falls asleep next to me in the glow from the aquarium, just pages away from the end of the book.
Addendum - William has been especially loquacious this summer, as I have noted here before. He has just now said something perfect, and I had to come back and include it here. He asked Dawn if he could use the flashlight he found when we go to the beach tonight. Dawn said, "We're going to the beach tonight?" He said, "Yeah, to check on the moon."
.
1) My children's school - School starts on Monday. I spent a good bit of yesterday in the classrooms and getting things together. I hadn't realized that I missed the people there over the summer. They are an amazing group of women who have come together with the noblest of intentions - the respectful nurturing of a child's innate curiosity. They do it with warmth, gentle and quiet words and easy smiles. This school is easily on the list of the top ten best things that has ever happened to me.
2) Tax Returns - Dawn just had her taxes done and got a whopper of a return. We were able to pay off a good bit of the yearly school bill. The monthly bill will be significantly less than last year which means that I won't be sweating so profusely on the 14th of every month.
3) Good Coffee - I make a great cup of coffee, mostly because I buy really good coffee (on sale, of course). I like thinking about the lives of the coffeepickers and wonder if they think about the lives of the coffeedrinkers and if either of us is even close to imagining the other's life as it actually is.
4) Lightning at Bedtime - Our window faces East. We lay in the darkness last night, snuggled together watching for, waiting for and ahhhhhing when the lightning struck and lit up the room. She is beautiful in lightning light.
5) Books and Children Who Love to Read - Faith and William and I have read through #14 in the Magic Tree House series this summer. Dawn has read Runaway Ralph by Beverly Cleary to anyone who would listen. Bedtime Stories is a most precious time of our days. I especially cherish the nights that William falls asleep next to me in the glow from the aquarium, just pages away from the end of the book.
Addendum - William has been especially loquacious this summer, as I have noted here before. He has just now said something perfect, and I had to come back and include it here. He asked Dawn if he could use the flashlight he found when we go to the beach tonight. Dawn said, "We're going to the beach tonight?" He said, "Yeah, to check on the moon."
.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Funny Morning
About every 2 weeks, we have a morning where everything comes together (or falls apart) to reveal the hilarious nature of our kids. Today is one of those blessed days.
Storm, age 8, sleepily walked down the hallway in mismatched jams. “Why did you change pajama bottoms?” I asked. He stared at me.
“Did you pee in your bed?” Blank stare. “Storm. Hi. I’m talking to you. Did you pee in your bed?” He shook his head a couple of times and then pulled the diagonal nod and gradually worked it into a full nod. “Does that mean yes, Baby?”
Blank stare then, “No.”
“So you didn’t pee in your bed?”
“Yes.” Now we’re both staring at each other.
“Storm, angel, did you pee in your bed?”
“Yes.” OK. He wrapped a blanket around his body and trudged to the table.
William, from the bathroom, yells, “Mom!” I went. He was sitting on the potty, so low that his butt must have been touching the water. His cheek was squished in his little hand attached to the elbow that was propped on the toilet seat. He calmly asked, “What that smell?”
“Poop.” I said.
“No, I not fink so.”
“Are you pooping?”
“Yeah.” he said with a little sigh.
“Well, then I think it’s your poop.”
“No, I fink it be Way.” Ray - the baby brother who is no where in sight or smell range.
Faith and Ray were at the computer, which is to say that Faith was sitting in the desk chair and Ray was sitting in the little kid chair next to the desk chair. Faith said, “I don’t want to play Nick Jr. today. I want the one with the big circle on it.”
“PBSkids.org?” I asked.
“Yes, that one.” She looked at the keyboard, frowned a little and asked, “How do you spell PBS?”
Ray, meanwhile, still had on his pajamas and still had his puppy lovey and his paci which he holds in the corner of his mouth like a cigar. He also though, was wearing sunglasses, red sunglasses, which were on his face a little bit askew because they were only over one ear. The other ear was smooshed under the arm. He was staring expressionless at the screen.
Storm, finally dressed with lunchbox and homework folder in hand, was waiting at the door for Dawn to drive him to school. He started to squirm. He stuck out his butt, pinned his knees together and shimmied. When that obviously had not fixed his problem, he stuck the folder under his arm and pinched repeatedly at his nether region. Mimi, my aunt who lives with us, said, “Storm, you all right?”
“Yeah,” he said, “it’s just my pants.” The shimmy continued with bursts of twists that would make Chubby Checker proud.
“What’s wrong with your pants?”
“Well, it might be my underwear.”
“Maybe you should put your things down so you can attend to it. You don’t want to be walking around like that all day.” He put down the lunchbox and folder, undid his pants and began to dig. And dig and twist up his face and look very pensive at times. Mimi was turning purple from the effort to stifle a giggle. When his arm finally came free and he re-snapped and re-zipped, Mimi asked, “So what was the problem?”
“It was twisted or something.” We resisted the urge to inquire as to what exactly was twisted.
Faith, meanwhile had decided that she wasn’t going to school and so did not need to get dressed. She and Ray were standing on her bed going through her jewelry/random-crap-that-she-won’t-part-with box. Ray had on a purple headband.
William, still from the bathroom, yells, “Mom! I fink I got dirrea!” This is a pretty good pronunciation for him. He says “diarrhea” differently every time. I went in there to find him still hunched precariously over/in the bowl. “I gonna need your help, Mom.”
“OK, baby. Mommy is always going to help you. What do you want me to do for you?”
“I want you get one of Way’s frozen wipes for my bootsie.” Translation - Get one of the baby wipes which is startlingly cold and wipe my butt. I did.
Mimi had by then miraculously coaxed Faith into some school clothes. She was standing in the kitchen, pink lunchbox in hand. Her wild mane was protesting the cherry print headband that she had worked over it. Her bottom lip was poked out far enough to warrant, “You could walk to Memphis on that lip!” She was totally silent on the way to school. Very unusual. When we got there she stomped into the classroom. I yelled after her, “I love you, Faith!” I was hoping to embarrass her into a reaction. She stopped walking and slowly turned around. She lowered her chin, furrowed her little brow and doing her best not to smile said through clenched teeth, “I love you, too.”
Storm, age 8, sleepily walked down the hallway in mismatched jams. “Why did you change pajama bottoms?” I asked. He stared at me.
“Did you pee in your bed?” Blank stare. “Storm. Hi. I’m talking to you. Did you pee in your bed?” He shook his head a couple of times and then pulled the diagonal nod and gradually worked it into a full nod. “Does that mean yes, Baby?”
Blank stare then, “No.”
“So you didn’t pee in your bed?”
“Yes.” Now we’re both staring at each other.
“Storm, angel, did you pee in your bed?”
“Yes.” OK. He wrapped a blanket around his body and trudged to the table.
William, from the bathroom, yells, “Mom!” I went. He was sitting on the potty, so low that his butt must have been touching the water. His cheek was squished in his little hand attached to the elbow that was propped on the toilet seat. He calmly asked, “What that smell?”
“Poop.” I said.
“No, I not fink so.”
“Are you pooping?”
“Yeah.” he said with a little sigh.
“Well, then I think it’s your poop.”
“No, I fink it be Way.” Ray - the baby brother who is no where in sight or smell range.
Faith and Ray were at the computer, which is to say that Faith was sitting in the desk chair and Ray was sitting in the little kid chair next to the desk chair. Faith said, “I don’t want to play Nick Jr. today. I want the one with the big circle on it.”
“PBSkids.org?” I asked.
“Yes, that one.” She looked at the keyboard, frowned a little and asked, “How do you spell PBS?”
Ray, meanwhile, still had on his pajamas and still had his puppy lovey and his paci which he holds in the corner of his mouth like a cigar. He also though, was wearing sunglasses, red sunglasses, which were on his face a little bit askew because they were only over one ear. The other ear was smooshed under the arm. He was staring expressionless at the screen.
Storm, finally dressed with lunchbox and homework folder in hand, was waiting at the door for Dawn to drive him to school. He started to squirm. He stuck out his butt, pinned his knees together and shimmied. When that obviously had not fixed his problem, he stuck the folder under his arm and pinched repeatedly at his nether region. Mimi, my aunt who lives with us, said, “Storm, you all right?”
“Yeah,” he said, “it’s just my pants.” The shimmy continued with bursts of twists that would make Chubby Checker proud.
“What’s wrong with your pants?”
“Well, it might be my underwear.”
“Maybe you should put your things down so you can attend to it. You don’t want to be walking around like that all day.” He put down the lunchbox and folder, undid his pants and began to dig. And dig and twist up his face and look very pensive at times. Mimi was turning purple from the effort to stifle a giggle. When his arm finally came free and he re-snapped and re-zipped, Mimi asked, “So what was the problem?”
“It was twisted or something.” We resisted the urge to inquire as to what exactly was twisted.
Faith, meanwhile had decided that she wasn’t going to school and so did not need to get dressed. She and Ray were standing on her bed going through her jewelry/random-crap-that-she-won’t-part-with box. Ray had on a purple headband.
William, still from the bathroom, yells, “Mom! I fink I got dirrea!” This is a pretty good pronunciation for him. He says “diarrhea” differently every time. I went in there to find him still hunched precariously over/in the bowl. “I gonna need your help, Mom.”
“OK, baby. Mommy is always going to help you. What do you want me to do for you?”
“I want you get one of Way’s frozen wipes for my bootsie.” Translation - Get one of the baby wipes which is startlingly cold and wipe my butt. I did.
Mimi had by then miraculously coaxed Faith into some school clothes. She was standing in the kitchen, pink lunchbox in hand. Her wild mane was protesting the cherry print headband that she had worked over it. Her bottom lip was poked out far enough to warrant, “You could walk to Memphis on that lip!” She was totally silent on the way to school. Very unusual. When we got there she stomped into the classroom. I yelled after her, “I love you, Faith!” I was hoping to embarrass her into a reaction. She stopped walking and slowly turned around. She lowered her chin, furrowed her little brow and doing her best not to smile said through clenched teeth, “I love you, too.”
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