FBSG: The Field Trips

Every Fall Break adventure should be sprinkled with field trip. That is not to say you should take your children somewhere new every day they are on break. This will exhaust them. It also sets you up for disaster once summer comes. Those little brains of theirs remember that load of activity and will expect it all. Summer. Long. Do yourself a favor and be mediocre during Fall Break.

We had 5 trips a field. This sounds like a lot over 10 days, but two of the trips were actually repeat locations.

Trip No. 1: The Zoo

I had the pleasure of being invited to join some other mothers and their sons to the zoo on the first day of break. This was a herd of 2^nd grade-kindergarten boys and four moms. There were a lot of boys. As is our lot in life, we live 17 miles away from the zoo. Once boys were loaded, we’d driven the 30 minutes, and found a parking spot, and renewed our zoo membership to the tune of $100, the sky – which had been forecast to be 70 degrees and sunny – turned cloudy and black. We even felt a few drops.

While I’d like to say we are usually very prepared for this type of thing, the only coat in the car was mine. So, I marched myself right into the gift shop and bought sweatshirts for everyone. I then got sucked into buying huge stuffed animals. It was like a whole thing. Blah!

Please note how large my kindergartner is (on left end).

The next few hours were enjoyable. The boys were with their friends. I was with mine. And we didn’t loose anyone. Have you ever noticed there is a time limit on such peace? Someone in the group of 8 starts to whine a little bit and complain of hunger, the lead dogs start to stray a little farther from the group, the pensive observers start to linger a little longer at each exhibit and you can tell the end is near. This is when I decided to call it quits. Call me a party pooper but I can tell when I’m about to yell at my kids and I don’t want to do that in front of people, so I left.  Everyone should know when to leave.

Trip No 2: Haunted Party Shop

All of the costumes in our house were decided but we were missing some parts and pieces. Before I plunged into trying to sew something before Halloween we decided to visit a costume shop in Old Towne Littleton.  It was super creepy. Mason’s heart rate soared and he was trembling and he had to be carried in. (Yes, we’re those parents.) Once inside he relaxed and cozied up to the deli case filled with body parts. My husband and I jumped our original costume ship and decided on new ones on the spot. Then we procured a few of the small things we needed for the kids’ costumes. I’m totally looking forward to showing off those pictures next week.

Trip No 3: Lifetime Fitness Swimming Pool

I’m always in favor of killing two birds with one stone. Remember the request to go swimming? When another mom friend of mine asked what our plans for Fall Break were (I think she was trolling for ideas) I confessed that our plans were modest, just the swimming pool. Then she saved my day. She offered up her club’s pool and decided to join us.

Off we traveled to Lifetime Fitness. I signed in which was a total cluster and the kids jumped in the pool. Then a lifeguard approached me and informed me that if I didn’t plan on getting in the pool my kids would have to take a swim test. Part of me laughed inside because I was like, “Yeah, my son wants your job.” The other part of me was like, “Oh, I wonder if my other son will have performance anxiety about this.” But I offered them up he pulled them aside -- to another pool in fact -- and told them to swim a lap without stopping, touching the wall or rope, or needing help of any kind. Cooper jumped in, swam his lap, and started back toward the other pool. Mason started a negotiation. Then he methodically slipped into the pool and started swimming. Without a struggle he swam the full lap, climbed out of the pool then looked up at the guy (goggles still on) and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Is that all you got?”

Proud of those two. We may get Mason to do swim team, yet.

I also want to say, this is a brilliant system and I sincerely think more pools should have this rule. 

Trip No 4: A Traffic Jam

One of our field trips was to the city. Yes, I said it. We’ve become that suburban. Wanting to see our friends who had recently moved closer to downtown from the burbs we planned a dinner date at their house – two moms, five boys.

But something, I don’t know what, had traffic all snarly. A drive that literally takes 30 minutes turned into 90 minutes! Let’s review. Trapped in a tin can with two small boys. Dinner time. 90 minutes of snail pace movement.

It was an extraordinary reminder that I don’t like commuting at all.

Trip No 5: The Zoo, II

OK. I know what you’re thinking. Why? Because it is never the same. We met some friends and the weather was much better. We didn’t stay as long, but we saw more. It was great. Well, except for the part when the boy elephant let it all hang out – if you know what I mean. That was so uncomfortable. My boys couldn’t even laugh, they were horrified into silence.  Oh did I mention we were with friends, girl friends?!?!?!?

The most exciting part of the second zoo adventure was our license plate hunt. This is a game we play pretty much non-stop everywhere we go. But for some reason early in the trip we could tell we were going to have a record day. The object of the game is to find as many different states’ plates as possible. I don’t mean vanity plates or one state’s multiple versions. I mean different states. We saw 28! Also, there are a lot of Texans here.

Generous Heart

You know that awkward moment when the teacher puts you on the spot in front of 23 kids? Guh. Why do they do that? 

Mason's kindergarten teacher -- who we like very much -- invited me to be a part of a tradition she does during a student's birthday week. Basically it's some form of show-and-tell every day of an entire week. Gratefully she gave Mason a short week. 

I'm sure you can guess her reasons. During the presentation of his life on a poster board -- 5 years condensed into 10 photographs -- he stared directly at the poster board and read word for word the captions I had written. These captions said things like, "My brother Cooper and I built a replica of the Fukushima nuclear plant disaster." and "I volunteered to paint the cafeteria last fall." Come on, the kid was reading it having never rehearsed it! I was both totally proud and somewhat aching at the awkwardness.

His teacher wanted him to improvise, however, and was trying to get him to talk into a microphone. Hated it. But he endured. Oh that's when sweet kindergarten teacher said, "I'm going to ask your mom to list some of the reasons she loves you so much." 

Is this a test? Am I supposed to cry? Or am I supposed to let things just eloquently roll off my tongue like a Hallmark card? Pah-lease. I decided blubbering would be frowned upon. Basically I said, but I can't remember exactly what I said because I was mostly concentrating on not crying....

1.  When Mason was born, one of the reasons he stayed at the hospital (they had just seen his grotesque NICU picture) so long is that he had what is called a generous heart. Generous is a word we use when we mean big. He was born with a big heart and he still has a big heart. He is kind and gentle and generous of his time, and his things. He never wants to leave out someone. 

2.  Have you ever noticed Mason doesn't talk as much as some of your other friends? (Can I tell you how many times small boogery children point out this when I'm in the classroom volunteering?) And when he does talk he speaks very quietly? Well, I call this soft spoken and it is one of my favorite things about him because I know he listens to others before speaking. When he does speak, he means what he says. 

3.  And last, he's creative and I love creative people. 

And here is where Mason interrupted me and said, "What about those LEGO crayons?!?!" What a transition! Basically he gracefully got me off the hook and allowed me to stop talking and start handing out tiny LEGO men made of melted crayons. He then bragged about me while I bragged about him. It was excellent. 

Tonight, as tradition dictates, I tucked in 5-year-old Mason for the last time and said good bye. sniff sniff. Thankfully Mason, reassured me with, "I'll still be the same person tomorrow." And just as I'm wishing they didn't grow so quickly I'm reminded of a conversation I very recently had with Mason. 

He asked, "Mom, do some kids grow up and never leave their mom's houses?"

Tentatively I answer, "Yes. Why? Do you think you wanna do that?"

"Well, I been thinking about it. " And that was the last I heard of that. Until today when he twisted off the stem of his apple in 29 turns and declared that is when he would get married. Great. Idea. 

PS -- I'll be writing about the party on my sewing blog later this week.

Kindergarten, II

See this picture?

On a campus far, far away in a decade long, long ago.

I’m the one in the ever-so-striking pleated shorts, too much make up, and earrings that are large enough to pick up AM/FM radio. It’s significant, however, because that short imp in second row sent it to me via text message just a few days ago. And guess why she had it? Because our university was going to throw it away. Apparently our legacy is obsolete. We’re old. They took our picture out of the frame and probably put new “kids” in – ones that definitely are not wearing pleated shorts – and threatened to throw it away if no one claimed it.

This blow to the ego was the horse pulling the dreaded cart of a new stage in life. My Masaroni is growing up and stuff. That’s right, the littlest starts kindergarten in less than 48 hours.

Oh yeah, he's that cute.

I’ve been worrying more about how I feel about this. But then, in a quiet voice Mason asked me, “How long until I go to my new school?” There was obvious uncertainty fluttering in his eyelashes. The kind that makes a mother gasp in her heart of hearts and choose her next words very, very carefully. At the time it was a mere two sleeps. In fact, it was this afternoon and he is to report to class on Monday morning. Explaining this time period brought a silence in him that was more silent than usual.

With hesitation I asked him if he was nervous. Pregnant pause. “I don’t know,” he muttered.

“Well, you know," I started, “The Coop will be just down the hall; you can ask your teacher to go and get him.” Mason nodded, thoughtfully.

“You are going to rock kindergarten! They will love you!” I said with just a touch of desperation in my voice.

I knew I should be asking him what he was afraid of, but I also knew if I asked I would cry when I, a) admitted to myself that he was afraid, and b) heard why he was afraid. Also, I am afraid. I am afraid that if my kindergartener leaves the home campus, I’ll step even closer to the “old” that my alma matter has labeled me.

This isn’t my first kindergartener. You’d think I was an old pro at this talk. But, Coop was… I mean is a different type of student. He can’t wait for school to start. He, frankly, thought very little of the first day of school that first year, or this year. He shooed us away when we tried to take pictures and make a big deal of it. Then he walked into class. Didn’t even look back, or hug us, or cry.

Darn it.

I felt cheated that year. Wasn’t nostalgia supposed to drip off the day? Isn’t the first day of kindergarten for the first child you send the very reason Jackie-O sunglasses have never gone out of fashion? I had no running mascara to hide that day. But this year, I suspect this year will be – wetter. Crying-er. Maybe down right pathetic-er.

And Hooorah! Right?

If I missed out on something last time, should I be happy I’ll definitely get it this time? This very last time. Sigh. Nope. I think I’m wishing for some courage for the both of us. Which feels better? That your child hang onto your leg, shed some tears, and hesitate as he crosses the threshold of the classroom? Or should we all wish that our kids bound in, take a seat, and excitedly breathe in the scent of freshly sharpened pencils? I’ll report back once I’ve had a taste of both.

For now, good luck to my two favorite students. Both of you. You have each other. You will be liked at school. And you will be missed here at home. Got any suggestions what I should do with myself?

Hoppy Hoppy Joy Joy

How we hopped to it, a photo essay. And the crafts.

It Was All Very Non-Traditional

I'm not sure -- even at this juncture -- if it grew from laziness or a desire to embrace some heritage, but our family left the tree up until Knut Day this year. We did it. Which is to say, we didn't do anything at all. It just sat there taking up all the space in the sitting room (te he he, I just said sitting room). We refused to touch it in the name of Knut. But today is Knut Day and I'm predicting the tree will stay right where it is until Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. But damn it, it better be gone by Abraham Lincoln's birthday.

"Why," you might ask did we leave the tree in its spot for so long. First and foremost, we are procrastinators. In this house, some more so than others, and all equally in denial.

Next, the basement is finally under construction. If I wanted to put the tree away, there is no away for it to rest. This situation is only going to get worse before it gets better.

Lastly, I really have wanted to have a Knut Day celebration of my own for a few years, now.

I'm quite sick of talking about my procrastination. So let's just skip to the basement nonsense, shall we? I cannot even describe to you the disaster this phase of construction has written on the wall. It's all there, time constraints, space constraints, patience constraints. People, this will be a true test of going-through-hell-to-get-what-you-really-want.

Did I mention the unfinished basement is the former home of aforementioned Christmas tree? Oh yes. It's current home is temporary -- though my neighbors will question my grasp of the meaning of "temporary" by the time all this is finished. It's future and mostly permanent home is yet to be determined. This is the main reason I hesitate to disassemble it. Is it better to let an assembled -- though not decorated -- tree stand in your living room; opposed to an undecorated, disassembled heap of tree parts stand in your living room? Yeah, I'm not sure about that. Feel free to discuss amongst yourselves.

I'm feeling terribly lost in my current predicament because I had such a strong plan up until 6:30 p.m. today. Until today I was resting easy in the luxury of knowing I was -- on some level -- a little bit Swedish and could tell people I was observing Knut Day this year. (This is also a total misnomer. You don't observe it so much as mark it as the day the season of festivity is over with one last festivity.)

We invited a few friends over for a crafternoon and smorgasbord. It was a delightful plan. Now it has unfurled and I have to have a new plan to get that tree out of the house.

But let's look past my panic and talk about what a hit the photobooth at the Knut Day celebration was. Magic. In the grand scheme of my Pinterest fueled thoughts I thought the crafts would be the big hit. But the photobooth was clearly the one thing that every kid wanted to try out. Well, every kid except Mason and another guest who is a) Mason's age and b) a lot like Mason.

The photobooth was assembled half-heartedly and consisted of a cast-off piece of banana yellow broadcloth thrown in front of the T.V. to create a fearfully unironed backdrop. Then I plucked a few props from our prodigious costume closet and provided the kids with a few guidelines. Pick a prop, pose, and take a picture. Hysterical. I will have a photobooth at my next party. I will have a photobooth at the next classroom party. I will have a photobooth at the next fundraiser. Hell, I'd have a photobooth at a funeral. It is a scream. Enjoy the pictures.

We munched on Swedish meatballs from IKEA, veggies, fruits, lemon cakes, and golden raisins in boxes wrapped to look like Swedish flags. I also filled my Christmas card tree with goldfish bags and notes that proclaimed the holiday season to be o-fish-ally over. I served glogg to the adults. I decorated with undecorated smaller Christmas trees, candles shaped like Christmas trees, and even a miniature battery operated Christmas tree meant to adorn one of those creepy miniature towns (it's amazing what you can find on clearance).

The theme was really less about Swedes (because I don't know or remember much about Swedish traditions) and more about blue and yellow. I had the kids create a goat mask, a foam smores snowman, and a goody bag for the tree plundering. Once all the crafts had been crafted or had an upturned nose presented to them, and the photobooth exhausted, pandemonium broke loose. I actually had to use a whistle to get things back to order. A whistle.

Once I got over the shame of using a whistle in the house I got the kids engaged in a good 'ol fashioned game of who can do the most push ups. Then we had a pretty good face off for the most sit ups. Then, and only then, did I encourage them to plunder the tree of its gingerbread cookie ornaments and bags of popcorn.

Here's a short list of the things I was determined to do, but did not:
1. Take a picture of all the Swedish flag adorned raisin boxes.
2. Take a picture of the smorgasbord.
3. Take a picture of the Christmas tree with its edible ornaments.
4. Take a group picture of all the kids.
5. Dress like a scary goat and perform mischievous acts.

Alas...

Christmas has come to an end,
And the tree must go.
But next year once again
We shall see our dear old friend,
For he has promised us so.

That Word Actually Means What You Think It Means

Good is broad. I believe that there are lots of good. Lots of good restaurants. Lots of good schools. Lots of good parents. And none are alike. Agree?

So to you good mothers and fathers who if they heard their child curse would sharply gasp/freak out/smack their child’s face/wash their child’s mouth with soap/talk sternly to and add time out… you may not want to read any further.

I’m a good mom, too. And mainly because I was a curious child who asked a lot of questions that resulted in some, if not all of the aforementioned responses from my good parents I’m another kind of good.

Which is why I didn’t even flinch when my 5-year-old said, “I know ass is a bad word.”

Instead I thought to myself, I wonder if I can peg this on my husband.

“Oh that’s a new word. Where did you hear that word?”

“Nowheres. I just knowed it. What does ass mean anyways?”

“Just to be clear, it all depends on who says it. If you’re reading a bible story at school and they say ass, it means a donkey. But usually moms, dads, and teachers don’t like to hear little kids say that word.”

“Oh right. But what about the Ass Jack?”

“You mean Jackass?”

“Yeah, Jackass. (Let me just say it is uncanny how easily jackass rolled off his tongue. It was like he was talking directly about Rick Perry.)

“Oh that’s a terrible thing to say. It means jerk. Like a really dumb jerk who is mean.”

“Anyways, Mom, what about that ass of the kicking?”

“You mean like, I’m going to kick your ass?”

“Yes. Like when Cooper said that at the zoo!”

“Oh that is a naughty way of saying, I’m going to kick your butt (and here I nicely kicked him in the behind.)”

“Oh-ho-ho, now that would hurt worser!”

And that was basically it. No immediate intrigue and mischievous smile that told me he understood he was in trouble; but couldn’t wait to be in that kind of trouble again. Just, a stoic and placated peace from the backseat. See, I’m not that bad.

PS -- Remember when Cooper kissed my butt?!?!?!?

Empty Bucket

The last day of summer.

An empty bucket.

Four boys under the age of 9.

Today we set out to fill the bucket, an adventure a little more meaningful than usual. These are our cousins, and they are moving Friday. This is not only our last day of summer, but our last summer day with them. (At least until they get settled in Albuquerque and we meander down there for a playdate.)

Besides the four stinky boys, I permitted no less than seven crawdads, a snake, a few grasshoppers, and a couple of minnows get in my car today.

But Mason really just wanted that duck.

A little mud, a lot of water, and wet shoes.

Tomorrow the bucket will be filled with

sharp pencils, new crayons, notebooks, and 2GB jump drives.

Photobooth Friday: Playdough Edition