Family Schools?

Today is the first day of the last week of school.  Quite the event. 

It is to be a week filled with class parties, teacher gifts, pool parties, and more parties, hugs, kisses, and tearful goodbyes from the teachers. 

Somehow, when I was a kid, I don't remember the last week of school being so packed with festivities. 

I remember one day devoted to cleaning up the classroom and cleaning out our desks.  (I remember the year I found a birthday card I was supposed to mail on the way to school.  Wups.  I wonder what Auntie Judy thought she had done to be ignored that way.)  

And I remember the obligatory class trip to the zoo.  Always the zoo. 

And then we were free . . . and the fun began.  And we couldn't wait.

What fun?  Nothing, really.  Just a summer of kicking around the house, spending more time with my parents,  and hanging around the neighborhood with our friends.  No extravaganzas, but we were home and fun was just an organic byproduct of summer.   

I gotta tell ya, after this week of fun and frolic at school, I don't know if life at home can measure up for my kids.  Sometimes I think schools have gotten so far out of being schools, and have endeavored to be a second family to kids, that it is detrimental to families. 

I would like to be the one to take my kids to the pool for the first time this summer, thank you, but the school has arranged that honor for themselves. 

 This afternoon, the "teachers' party," complete with cake and punch and scrapbooks and gifts from the kids much resembles a grandma's birthday party. 

And speaking of birthday parties, is it really good for the kids to walk around in a crown all day at school on their birthdays?  Is it fair to the families when the child is, basically, "de-crowned" just before they have to leave school and go home to their ordinary lives? 

They go trick-or-treating at school, the Friday before Halloween . . .

And Santa comes for breakfast . . . at school . . .

And the loot they receive at school when they lose a tooth?  Even the tooth fairy cannot compete with that. 

And what about movie night?  My school never had movie night.  Watching a movie with our parents was a rare treat and a family event.  Now schools put on movie nights as fundraisers.  Parents are not invited, and kids are encouraged to wear their pajamas and bring their teddy bears. 

Am I the only one having a problem with all of this?

My daughter suffers from Reactive Attachment Disorder, so this is an especially challenging issue for us.  Basically, she rejects the parental relationship at every turn.  She repels an emotional bond with anyone.  It is taking an enormous amount of therapy, dedication, and hard work on our part to get her to a healthy emotional state.  But all this "school as family" stuff really, really confuses and even harms our daughter. 

And it's gotten me to thinking, wondering whether it is really good for any family.  Personally, I don't think it is.  I long for the days when school was for teaching and families were for everything else.   

 Thanks for listening,

7 Things You Don't Know About Me

That wonderful Penny at The Hen House gave me this lovely award. She is a delight, and it would do you good to go visit her blog, if you haven't before.

Now then, with this award comes the duty to tell you 7 things about myself that you don't already know.

Here goes:

1.  I worked part of one summer as a carnie ("carnival worker" for you more refined types) . . . even ran the ferris wheel myself a couple of times.  That requires more thinking than you would think as ferris wheels must be balanced correctly to run smoothly and safely.  The ferris wheel operator guestimates each rider's weight as they board.     

 2.  I took piano lessons for 10 years, beginning when I was a child.  When I moved out on my own, there wasn't a piano, and I didn't play for 10 years.  Since acquiring my own piano again, I have only played twice in 12 years.  Silly, I know, and must be changed.

3.  When the accompanying tune is played at a baseball game, I yell "Charge!!!" louder than anyone near me, usually causing people to look my way.  I consider it an homage to my father who always sat on the first-base side and taught us to cheer for our team with all our hearts.

4.  I hate beets.  No changing my mind.

5.  I once held Vic Damone's hand.  Nevermind that I was 9 and my grandmother was pushing me up to the front of the stage through hoards of little old ladies with their hands weakly extended.  And that I had no idea who he was at the time.

6.  I moved out the minute I graduated from high school.  I put myself through undergraduate school while I worked full time . . . it took me 7 years.  By the time I went to law school, my husband and I were a team, still have the law school loan scars, though.   

7.  I have a fear of water and never did learn to swim.  Every childhood summer of mine was ruined by the swimming lessons my mother forced me to take to no avail..  To this day, the smell of the chlorine in an indoor pool turns my stomach.

 (not me)

So there you have it.   

My thanks, again, to Penny. 

Distress Call

Now look.

My kids haven't been to school since the morning of Friday, February 5th . . . more than 10 days ago.  I can barely remember that far back. All that has happened. And not happened.

No "going outside" to play. No bikes to ride. No toads to catch. No friends to visit. No Christmas presents to soak up extra time . . .

No unmeasured time to peruse the blogs. No quiet in which to write a thoughtful post. No "good" talks on the telephone. No unrushed cups of coffee.  No unaccompanied trips. anywhere. I haven't been alone in ten-and-a-half days. Understand?

There is now a 2 hour delay in the start back to school today. Why? No reason. Literally. One inch of snow was forecasted yesterday. Blessedly, it never came. Now, for the sake of all that is good and holy, we need some routine. We need . . . school.

Puleeez!

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

Yep, they are in school today . . . BOTH of them . . . at the same time!

Now, nobody talk to me . . . Nobody ask me anything, rhetorical or otherwise . . . Don't ask me for anything to eat . . . or to drink . . . Don't ask me where we're going today . . . Don't tell me what your brother did . . . or what face your sister made at you . . . I don't even want to hear what the meannest classmate of yours probably didn't get for Christmas . . .

Here that?

Me, neither.

Ahhhhhhh . . .

And The Breaks Just Keep On Coming

So the saga continues.  You remember . . . the Christmas break that may never end.

My daughter went to back school today.  A good thing, I guess.  Except I think all her pouting last night burned any illness left right out of her.  You see, because the last two days before Christmas break were snow days ~ remember?! ~ my daughter's first grade class missed their class Christmas party.  Turns out, they had it yesterday.  (Why not?  Not like they have anything important to do . . . like teaching them to read, write, add . . .)  I expected acid rain to fall inside our own van yesterday afternoon when she saw most of her classmates all lined up holding their freshly frosted, heavily candied gingerbread houses at carpool.  I could feel my daughter -- all of 6 years old -- seething all the way in the back seat.

So guess who's home today?  Yep, the pale-yet-flush-faced 9 year old.  (Is that snickering I hear?  I don't find this funny!  Okay, maybe a little . . .)  My poor little guy had a headache to beat the band last night -- always a sure sign of impending doom and illness for him.  He managed to sleep most the night . . . that's better than I can say for myself.  I couldn't stop myself from checking on him several times after finding him basically sleeping on his head at 1am.  (No, really.  Can anyone other than those 9 and younger sleep on their stomachs with their knees pulled up under their chests?  With his arms at his sides, somehow, his whole body was pitched toward the top of his head!  Talk about a headache!) 

He's feeling better this morning, all sacked out on the couch watching Ripley's Believe It Or Not.  (I gave up after the guy with 600 rings pierced through his face and the other guy with the 25 lb. foot.)  Amazingly, my son keeps asking for more and more to eat and drink -- despite his chosen television program.  A good sign.

Perhaps, maybe, just maybe, possibly . . . everyone will be where they belong tomorrow. 

From the "Whoops" File of Parenting

Ever get the feeling you can't do anything right on a given day? 

So I went in to wake my daughter this morning and found her hot-faced, extremely drowsy, and complaining of various aches and pains.  Suspecting the annual holiday ailment had come after all, if a bit late, I kept her home.  I felt so ahead of the game . . . avoiding the dreaded call from the school nurse, noting that I'd rolled the dice and lost. 

I oh-so efficiently tucked her back into bed and encouraged her to rest.  After about an hour more rest, she was right as rain.  So right, in fact, she was wrong.  A lot.  Today.  We won't get into all of her misdeeds today; though I can be spotted lamenting some of it over at Anna's blog (Chickens in the Basement) earlier this morning.  Suffice it to say, it bespoke of a child who was bored and should have been in school today.  Ooops.

Well, you may ask, what's so bad about that?  Better safe than sorry.  No harm done. 

But you would only know half the story.

The other half entails picking up my son from school.  I picked up a pleasant, happy little boy whose day was reportedly "pretty good."  We talked all the way home about the new pens his teacher had passed out to the class today -- the first time using pens in school . . . a leap from nine right over to at least fifteen years old by his measure!  By the time we got home and he got his jacket off, he was pale . . . prompting me to ask, "What's the matter?"  He admitted having had a bit of a headache all day.  (uh-oh)  And by the time he'd put his lunchbox away and washed his hands, his paleness had turned red-faced and weepy, reporting a "big headache now." 

So now the one who was home "sick" from school is disappointed that the one who did go to school today is too sick to play. 

Whoops. 

Concert Update

Well, we went to the Christmas concert at my kids' school last night.  If you missed the prelude to this story, you can find it at An Encounter with a Scrooge.  To say I was lacking the spirit would be an understatement.  Gritted teeth and folded arms . . . I offered those around me $50 if they'd boo the music teacher's bow at the end.  No takers.  Drat!  Catholic school parents can be such goodie-goodies sometimes.

That was a tough night, but we all got through it, and I'm exceedingly proud of my son for still wanting to go.  All I can say is he's a bigger man than me . . . and that's saying something since he's nine and, well, I'm a woman.

An Encounter With A Scrooge

You'll have to pardon me this morning, I'm still reeling.

Just as an encounter with kindness at the right moment can soothe your spirit, an encounter with cold indifference can scorch your heart.

My son had to quit the school Christmas play this morning because the rehearsal schedule has become too demanding.

Now, as parents, we don't usually condone or allow quitting, but quitting is when you have agreed to do something and then refuse.  My son never agreed to this rehearsal schedule; actually, at no time, has the music teacher revealed the rehearsal schedule more than a day or two in advance.  I believe expecting 9 and 10 year olds to miss 3 recesses and lunch hours a week for rehearsal -- for months on end -- is wildly unreasonable.  Bear in mind, most of these kids, like my son, have 2 lines and then proceed to stand on their mark for the duration of the concert.  While I am sure it will be wonderful, Broadway it is not.  I thought the point of a school play was to kindle, in children, an interest and enthusiasm for the performing arts; to encourage them toward music and participation, not to provide the teacher a stage to live out her career frustrations to the detriment of the children.  

Because these rehearsals deprive my son of any break between his morning and afternoon classes, he is beginning to struggle with his afternoon classes and admits he cannot concentrate after having no break in his day.  (No talking or recreation of any kind is allowed during these rehearsals.)  I spoke with the music teacher yesterday regarding the difficulties my son is having; she informed me that my son was free to quit.  When I asked her how she could so easily replace him if all these rehearsals were so vital, she explained that she had plenty of understudies.  (Talk about delusions of grandeur!)  So cold she was . . . I pity her that.

So after a couple hours of discussion and tears last night, my son decided he would rather return to his school routine than continue with this rehearsal schedule.  All his enthusiasm, all his dedication, all his hard work squandered for a music teacher's confused priorities.  I, myself, am still reeling from watching my son suffer with the realization that either option is a painful one.  He's only 9. 

Your heart never hurts quite like it does when your child hurts.

I just kissed him goodbye this morning, and wished him a good day, knowing his heart was heavy and hurt.

I will get on with my day now, re-inspired in my mission to create a warm, safe, happy home . . . with lots of Christmas cheer.  My little boy will come to a home with Christmas trees shining, stockings hung, and whatever wonderfulness I can accomplish during these hours. 

Wishing you all a joyful day.

The Sweet Sounds -- and Flavors -- of Family Life

Well, life continues to improve. 

Still didn't sleep that well, but due to having the living room all to myself, I could keep the tv on all night.  I am now an expert on the biographies of Valerie Bertinelli, Melissa Gilbert, and Mackenzie Phillips.  Yah, it was a long night.

However, things have perked up since then.

I picked up both kids from school with a sneaky new trick I learned to bypass the carpool line (only to be used in instances like this, mind you.)  Both kids were ready.  No really.  Even the girl!

Obviously, I was being smiled upon today.

We needed to get out of there promptly in order to make it to the speech therapist for my daughter's first appointment.  She is at an age where the "F" sound no longer passes for S, TH, T, or anything else but F.  This speech therapy practice is highly recommended and extremely hard to get into.  Things seem to have gone well and, already tonight, my daughter, if she concentrates, can say "suck" without raising any eyebrows.  More blessings. 

Home to a wonderful supper I had thrown into the crockpot earlier in the day.  Here's a super easy supper for whenever you don't have the time, but still want to look like a culinary genius:

***

Pepperoncini Beef Roast

1 approx. 3 lb. beef roast
1 jar (approx. 16 oz/473 ml) of pepperoncini peppers
garlic as desired

Put roast in crockpot.  Before doing so, of you desire, cut slits into the roast and insert sliced garlic cloves into the slits; as much or as little as you like.  Sometimes I just throw the jarred minced garlic into the pot, though; and sometimes I ignore it altogether -- it's still good.) 

Poor entire jar of pepperoncinis over roast, juice and all. 

Cook on high 4 hours, or on low for 7 hours.  Then pull the roast apart using two forks and stir around to immerse in sauce.  Cook on low another 30 minutes or so.

Serve on rolls, with peppers on the side if desired.

Note:  Tonight I used stew meat and the jarred minced garlic and served over brown rice.  Still pretty good. 

***

I burned the rice a little -- added nutty flavor! -- because I got so immersed in reading The Poky Little Puppy with my daughter.  I just love that book and the illustrations.  And I can just never get enough of a six-year old voice saying, "puppy."  Nothing sweeter.

So, as I said, life is good.


 

Just One Little Number

And one hour later, I feel like my head is going to explode. 

What can be so hard about listening for your carpool number??



Warning:  If anyone defends her or offers a reasonable answer, I'll have to deck you.

Lunch Run

No time to talk, gang.  Today, in my free time, I will be taking my son's lunch to school.  He left it in the van this morning. 

See?  More school hours, more "free" time.

I'll be back later.  If more trouble doesn't find me first. 

Anyone seen my daughter's art smock??

 

School Daze

Aren't things supposed to slow down once school starts? 

For the parents, I mean.  Isn't it supposed to get a bit easier, with the kids back and school, occuppied and stimulated all day?  Not around here to make messes, need feeding, be bored, or wanna do stuff?

I always start out the school year brimming with enthusiasm and ambition for all the things I'm going to accomplish with all the new time on my hands.  I also look forward to the free time I'm going to have.  And each spring, I wonder where the time went and why not much is scratched off my to-do list.  Free time?  Ha.  When will I realize that, somehow, there is less free time when the kids are in school than when they are not.  I'm not sure how that's possible, but it is true.

For instance, take my day so far. 

Upon waking, I staggered down the hallway and woke my six year old and then presided over her shower, washing her hair and reminding her as she went along.  Then I laid her clothes out for the day.

Once I got downstairs, I did, indeed, sit down and have a cup of coffee with my husband, blessed maker-of-coffee that he is.  After that, it was a blur of hairbrushes, toothbrushes, folders, backpacks, shoes, and socks (in that order for some).  Somewhere in the midst of all that, breakfast was served and lunches were made.

I kissed the brood goodbye and waved as my husband drove off with the kids -- he dispenses them on his way to work. 

Then I sat down at the computer, to catch up with you fine folks.  Instead, I had my world rocked by an email sent out by the school principal late last evening.  A few phone calls and emails later, I was running upstairs to grab a shower, find some clothes, and throw on some makeup. 

Out the door for a meeting.  Said meeting, of course, runs over, leaving me running late to pick my son up from school (a result of the emailing).  Get to school, track down my son, sign him out, and explain to his questioning little self what is going on. 

Then we find a lovely little spot for a picnic.  A calm oasis in the middle of a tumultuous day. 

Then a quick trip to the grocery store for fruit.  And then a sprint around the store as finally an idea for supper descends upon me.  The few ingredients I need are, predictably, strewn across the store, forcing me to visit all four corners.

Crisis averted, I return my son to school, just in time for him to join his Spanish class.

Across town to pick up a new bowl for my fish.  (He seems to have issues with his latest abode.)  The next thing I know, I run into the mother of my son's classmate and end up spending the next hour talking about school, kids, daughters, life, money, and everything else that needs discussing when two great minds meet. 

Run home to put melting groceries in the 'fridge and, finally, check up on you fine people.

But no time to chat now, I've got to go pick my kids up from school, and then I really get busy.

Good thing the school day's over, all this free time is exhausting.

Written Punishment, Verbal Apology

 

I'm such a meanie.

And I hate it.

But what to do?  I have a kid who only learns by the meanie method.

Bummer.

My daughter has not seen fit to listen for her carpool number for four days now.  Each day, someone has had to go retrieve her, while I wait in the dreaded "waiting lot."  That's quite a few people inconvenienced just because a certain six year old isn't paying attention.   

I started out nicely reassuring her that she would hear it the next day, "Don't worry,"  I said.

Nope.  

After the second time, I told her to listen harder; if her brother could hear it, so could she.

Nope.

After the third time, I told her she had better hear that number if she didn't want to be left there.  Judging by the tone in which I said it, perhaps staying at school didn't seem all that bad of a proposition.

Nope.  Missed again.

So today she is in real trouble.  Harsh tones and punishments.

Right now, my daughter sits at the kitchen table, under duress, writing letters of apology to the carpool team at school.  At the rate she prints, she may be there until bedtime.

Such a meanie I am, but this is what my daughter requires in order to apply herself.   

Why must some kids learn the hard way?

Don't they realize how hard it is on their parents?

No, I know they don't.

I should know, I was just like this when I was her age.

I have to go call my mother now . . . and apologize.

Sweets for My Sweeties

Well, they've been and back.  The first day of school is always a half day.  A lot of hassle for just a half day, but I suppose it makes the transition easier for some.  For others?  Well, some of us are ready for whole days, let's just leave it at that.

This afternoon, my kids and I will observe the ancient (okay, 4 year old) family tradition of making cookies for the first week of school. 

Each year, for the first week of school, I like to send along homemade -- made together -- healthful cookies for their snack/lunches.  I think maybe they don't feel so far away from home that way.  I remember that, "I wanna go home" feeling.  (Honestly, I still get that feeling.  Often.  But that's another post for another day.)  Suffice it to say, it's my way of sending a little of myself along with them.

As wonderful as this all may sound, to be honest, I almost talked myself out of it this year.  I didn't think they really noticed it, and it's been a lot of work getting ready for school this year.  But, just as I had that thought, my son came around the corner yesterday and asked me when we were making "those school cookies."  He did remember.  Silly me.  To the store we went for the seemingly 900 ingredients.  But it will be worth it.  It already is -- he remembers.   


School Cookies

I always make these particular cookies for this occasion, because they taste great, they are nut-free out of regard for any allergy-ridden classmates, the recipe makes a big batch, and they are relatively nutritious, for cookies. 

2 sticks butter (I know, but it makes a lot!)
1 c. brown sugar
1 c. white sugar
2 eggs

Cream the above and then add and stir:

1 c. whole wheat
1 c. all purpose flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla
2 c. corn flakes
2 c. oatmeal
1 c. raisins
1 cup coconut (optional)
6 oz. chocolate chips (I usually substitute cinnamon chips)

Drop by heaping tablespoons and flatten a bit on greased cookie sheet.

Bake at 400 degrees for about 12 minutes or until done.

There they go.  My Sweeties.

Summer's End Mystery

My son's retainer ended up in the neighbor's yard today.

Just how does that happen???

I can't even imagine, my imagination now being shackled to adult sensibilities.  Such sensibilities would include:

-- You don't hang your head over the fence, face down, with your mouth open.

-- You don't wind up and, with mouth open, swing your head violently in one direction so as to hurl said retainer out of your mouth and clear over the fence.

-- You would never see the occasion to take it out and throw it anywhere.  Ever.

Of course, my son emphatically denies the occurrence of any of these things.

But how else could this happen?  

Since the culprit, the purveyor of such mysteries, the nine year old with a day-glo orange retainer is claiming complete innocence and ignorance in this matter, I am only left to wonder

. . . and count the hours until school tomorrow.

Efficiently Wasting Time

Please pardon my tardiness today.

First, I lost the battle of logic against the grocery store today, and took quite a tour through it.  And I have yet to put it all away.  So much for paring down the pantry.

Then, we all had a lovely lunch of turkey and tomato sandwiches, and then it dawned on me.  School begins this week.  I've known when school starts, but it hit me that tomorrow is the DAY BEFORE SCHOOL STARTS.  Perhaps the biggest and busiest day of the entire school year for a mother.  This was it.  As of tomorrow, it's alarm clocks, full breakfasts, a definite uptick in laundry needs, packed lunches, carpools, homework, deadlines, and firm bedtimes.

So I decided to use this afternoon to my fullest advantage.  To get one thing accomplished that must be done before school starts -- no time and not justifiable once school starts:  Waste time.  

Yep, I wasted an entire afternoon.  After lunch, the rest of my brood got busy with outside activities.  I slinked back inside.  Stealth-like, I stole away to the sofa and watched an entire movie . . . just me . . . in the middle of the day.  (Ever seen Calendar Girls?  I highly recommend it for a feel good chick flick with a brain.)   I could just feel my batteries recharging. 

At one point, my husband happened upon me, smiled, kissed my forehead, and wished me a nice time.  A keeper, that one. 

It was a lovely two hours of nothingness.  (For any of you who have not yet been there . . . I'm here to tell you.  It exists.  There ARE wastable hours.)  Any thoughts of uniform shirts or bread making were chased away as quickly as they arrived.  'Twas quite lovely.  (You must excuse my quaint British accent . . . the Girls have temporarily influenced me . . . for the better, I might add.)  

Here comes the brood.  They must be finished for the day.

Well, break time's over . . .

Tomorrow's the day.  The Day. Before. School.

Lots to do.

Guess what?

My son still needs school shoes.

The Ole' Soft Shoe

"Wiggle your toe. Are you wiggling your toe? You're not wiggling your toe. Wiggle your toe!"

Ahhh, the sounds of summer winding down.

Sure, there are the crickets and the cicadas. But the surest sign that summer is winding down is the time-honored tradition of buying new school shoes.

There's nothing like it. Kids move so quickly from fearing the measuring plate when they are toddlers to squirming around on it because it tickles. And it is the only time -- the only time -- my son is not given to standing on one foot. No matter how many times he is implored to "stand on this foot," his weight remains evenly distributed between both. That is the only time of year you will see that, because his common stance usually involves just one foot while one arm is wound behind his head and grabbing his chin -- just for fun.

And then there is the actual trying on of shoes. Children go mute at this point. At least mine do. All the way there I have been pelted with millions of questions, some pertaining to shoes, some pertaining to school, some lunch, and most pertaining to things entirely unrelated. However. Put a pair of new shoes on a child and all words leave them.

"How do they feel?"

Silence

"Do they feel tight?"

Silence and far away stare

"Can you walk in them a little?"

Slow reaction and then, gasp, something even stranger, even more rare happens . . . he actually walks around. Walks! No hops, no skips, no sideways steps just for added interest. Just walks. Forward facing. I just behold for a second, maybe two. It's such a beautiful yet rare thing to see a nine year old boy just walk. And he has to be coaxed and encouraged to go a little further and a little further -- this for the child who was 5 strides ahead of me in the parking lot regardless of my various threats and pleas. Finally, he returns.

"So? How do they feel?"

Silence, accompanied by a look down at the shoes.

"How do they feel?"

"Good." Hark! A response!

"Does the heel hurt?"

Shrug.

"Does your little toe hurt?"

"I don't think so."

"Does anything hurt?"

"I don't think."

Unconvinced, I assume the time-honored position: crouching over the newly-shoed foot, pressing incessantly, repeating, "Wiggle your toe. Are you wiggling your toe? Wiggle your toe!" I flashback to my father. I remember him fondly until I suddenly recall the sharp pain that shot through my toe when my father's thumb descended down, through the shoe pinning my toe to the sole of the shoe. "Wiggle your toe. Are you wiggling your toe? Wiggle your toe!"

Now I understand why all my right shoes had a dent just above the big toe.

If you see two kids with dents in the tops of their right shoes, you'll know they're mine. Or maybe they're yours, too.