Decisions, decisions

Okay, I'm ordering Kate a dress and a leotard/tutu for her birthday, but I can't decide on the fabric for the dress. I think the style will look great on K, but I need some help with the details!

Here is the dress style:

Obviously, the halloween is darling, but I want it to be able to be used all fall/winter. I'll layer it over a long-sleeved shirt and leggings. Here are the fabric choices:

Incidently, I'm also getting a tutu/leotard. The tutu will be pink, purple and gold and have a satin ribbon (instead of a flower, which some girls think is scratchy and I don't want to take any chances.) The leotard will be hot pink and have a K on the front in a dark flowered print. Here's a sample:

Isn't this stuff the cutest? You can order it too from my old youth group friend Michele through her website http://squeaksandbeeps.blogspot.com . She's so creative and I'm excited to get some things for Kate that actually fit her!

PLEASE comment or email me and let me know what you think!

Starting School: The Bad Mom Way

Since Sam was in utero, I have dreamed about him starting school. I've drooled over the aisles of school supplies each summer, just waiting for the day when we'd pick our pencil case, our backpack... you get the idea.

Starting last spring, we began receiving little glimpses of elementary school life. We went to kindergarten enrollment. (Previously called screening, which they still do but don't want to call it that or be too critical because that wouldn't be PC.) One thinks, as an educated and modern mama, that the point of such a process would be information. I have learned, however, that parents are on a strictly need-to-know basis. We provide all sorts of personal information about our kid and ourselves, but when it comes to dates or procedures or even expectations we can have for our first school days-- don't need to know.

So, welcome to August, where I ("new parent") am bombarded with required meetings and events-- all before Labor Day. Some with kids, some without kids. Some informative, some social. Some required, all required-- who knows? Therefore, here I am, trying to navigate the complex world of Elementary School.

Top off the total sense of confusion with something I should have expected, but in fact did not: social hierarchy. Why is it I feel like I have returned to junior high? It seems so obvious who the cool parents are and the fun parents and the popular parents... throw in the conservatives vs liberals, rich vs poor, and worst of all the concerned and the nonchalant. Who do you want to be? What do you want the other parents to think about you? The world and identity I've worked hard to create, to earn, to be in other spheres of my life is irrelevant here. I'm an unknown, and whether or not that will be good enough for everyone else is unknown too.

Of course, all of this heavy pressure comes from the inner desire to create the perfect school experience for your child-- sign up for the right volunteer opportunities, the right after-school clubs, the perfect Cyclone sweatshirt. As if any of that will actually impact their experience at all. The truth is, Sam's school years are his, not mine, and it's his role to create. He was totally cool with the whole process. In the car on the way to school, he said, "I want to try everything. Everything you can do, I want to do." And he shook hands with other kids and introduced himself, just like he always does. He'll be exactly who God made him to be. And he's so much stronger and bolder and more secure than I think that he is, and I know he will be just fine.

Now whether I'll make it or not remains to be seen...

Such a sucker

The countdown to Kindergarten is on. In my head, a clock is ticking away every day, every minute until my little man steps on the bus for transition day.

For those who don't know, transition day is elementary school code for letting the kindergarteners have a practice day all to themselves before being trampled by the more experienced bullies, I mean, 6th graders. They even have a "yahoo/boohoo party" during the morning, which I think means that the parents of kindergartners who are home on friday mornings get together and bond. Aren't I going to be spending enough time with these people over the next 7 years?

The impact on my life seems to be that I have become a total pushover to the whims of my son. Now, he's gone to timeout twice in the last 24 hours for disobedience and attitude (yes, my son, with the attitude). But if he wants to play computer all day, fine. If he wants to build a space ship in the living room, whatever.

Case in point: yesterday I took him to piano. This is Monday routine: Kate to Jo's, Sam to piano, Sam to Jo's, mom to work. Well, he heard me making plans for Five Guys, and wanted to come to lunch too. It's an adult lunch, with boring conversation, I said. No games. No problem, he responded. So, he came.

Then during lunch, he looks at me with those big eyes, and comes over to give me a hug and tell me that I'm his "best mommy." I assume this public appreciation will disappear with many other vestiges of youth on August 14.

So, when I mention going to Jo's and he gets all, "Let's run errands. Let's spend the day together." What am I supposed to do? Run errands. Spend the day together, even though that is Sam code for going downstairs to play Jump Start World while I work upstairs.

It's going to be a long two weeks (but oh so short!!!!)

I hate mornings.

Actually, I don't. If I had to characterize myself as a morning or night person, I definitely fall on the morning side of the fence. So does my son. For sure.

So, to clarify, I hate WORK mornings. In order to be at work near the 8 am target, we need to be out the door as close to 7 as possible. No, my commute is not an hour, but the sitter is 10 minutes away in the opposite direction, add in a stop at McDonald's and my 30 minute commute—you get the picture.

It shouldn't be a big deal, I tell myself, because Sam gets up at 6:15 on a Saturday anyway. Murphy's rule applied to children: The child who wakes up at 6 am on Saturday will always want to sleep late on work days.

I remember mornings B.C. (before children). I'd take my time getting ready, stop and watch the news a little bit on my way out the door, grab a leisurely breakfast and read a little before heading out the door. Now, I didn't give myself as much grace in the desired time of arrival, but in general, it was relaxing and a great way to start a day.

Now, mornings are filled with terror, prodding, and frustration. The kids have to be woken to cries of "it's too sunny in here" and "leave me alone" (both from my 2-year-old) and a constant battle with Sam about watching "just one more cartoon" and taking a Wii game to the sitter. I have to look over the banister about every 5 minutes or so while making breakfast, monitoring morning potty stops, and trying to remember all the things we need to take with us for that evening's activities. I look over and yell: "How can you not be dressed by now?" or "We need to leave in 5 minutes! Eat up!" Then, when the clock strikes 7, it's mush, mush, get out to the car, what have we forgotten today?, and is the garage door closed? Heaven forbid that I failed to see the morning forecast, because my drive to the sitter may include a quick U-turn to put the dog back in the house if clouds look menacing.

Does all that exhaust you? It does me too. And it honestly makes me rethink the entire parenting ordeal. Was I this difficult to get out the door? It takes me the entire drive to work just to calm down from the frenetic pace of it all.

I'm doing a Bible study about the thoughts we carry and how they affect our lives. Let me just tell you, the thoughts that are generated between 6:30 and 7:30 each morning are not helpful. God is not being honored. Even our traveling prayer team (i.e. circus) inspires little positive thought.

I'm not sure if I'm alone in all this, but I doubt it. I'm just thankful that it isn't a 5-day-a-week occurrence. For that, I consider myself blessed.

All spiffed up

As some of you know, I'm doing the JSL president thing this year. In my capacity as president, Stuart and I are going to be attending a few more social events. My response: "Great! What fun! Clothes shopping, parties, friends. What's not to like?!"

Stu's response: "Okay."

So, we attended our first official event last weekend-- a celebration of the Independence Jail's 150 years. Here's a pic of us all dressed up-- although we went without the accessory attached to my leg.

No offense intended, but dogs ARE a lot like kids

We've had some dog issues of late with our aging, but quite lovely, pooch Maddie. It's enough to make me want to pull my hair out after I chase after not two, but three mess-making children around here! We got the good word last Saturday that her kidneys are o.k. (whew!), so all seems well on that front.

Last night we had dinner with my friend Ellie, who has just become the proud owner of a cockapoo puppy. As she followed the puppy and raced it outside to potty and cleaned up its messes, she told me she realized that it really was like having a child. Here she is going through the potty training process again, yet finding herself totally enamored with this furry little friend. You know she's crossed over into dog-lover territory when she mentioned her desire to kennel the puppy during vacation with a place that will truly love and care for her dog.

So, here I am this afternoon, racing home from work in a mad dash to get my poor, somewhat anxious dog out of the pouring rain. (Who knew it was going to rain today? Not I, and I get the weather by text message every morning! I guess it helps to read it.) I got home to find a very wet, very muddy Maddie waiting by the door. You know the drill-- I rush her into the bathroom, trying to minimze collateral damage, and give her a bath all while wearing my sexy new wedge sandals. Nice.

It's then that I realize, Maddie is truly like having a child. I know you skeptics and dog-haters out there are thinking, "Don't compare your dog to my child!" and I've heard that before. But as I'm scouring the tub and cleaning the mud off the floors and trying to salvage the new rug, I'm thinking that this is the same thing I do for the kiddos every day. I'm constantly loving on them, caring for them, washing them, keeping them warm-- all the good parts of parenting. Yet at the same time, I'm gritting my teeth and scrubbing the mud or crayon off of the bathroom tile, putting in another load of laundry, and thinking how much cleaner and easier life would be in general without all of the mess-makers.

I wouldn't offer my heart to my dog were she in need of transplant, or jump in front of a moving vehicle for her like I would my own children, but a lot of the feelings are the same. Maddie is a part of my family, take it or leave it, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Mom’s Perspective

This week we reached an exciting milestone for Sam: preschool graduation. I'll admit that before having children, I mocked these teeny commencement exercises with great vigor. I mean, really? Do we want to convey the same measure of congratulations to a kid who's managed to attend 3 days of morning classes and learned his ABCs as we do someone who's completed 12 years of schooling or has completed the work required to obtain some sort of valuable career? And those tiny little caps and gowns? Come on.

But, as a mother of a preschool graduate (class of 2022—woo!), all of the sudden, I see a reason to celebrate. The end of preschool and beginning of Kindergarten is a real milestone for these little graduates—they are leaving the safe confines of snack time, mommy pickup and morning songs and are headed to the big bad word of daily expectations, monotony, standardized testing. It's a step that we've been waiting anxiously for since Sam was born—the move to Kindergarten. He's so ready, I know that, and yet, I get emotional when I think about the end of preschool.

I've never been particularly nostalgic, at least I don't think of myself that way. And though we've been blessed to attend a terrific preschool the last three years, I've never thought about missing it or the comfort and familiarity it offered. But preschool was a proving ground for Sam—where he made his own friends, followed directions and achieved things that he'd never do for Mommy (coloring!), and navigated the complex world of schedules and projects thrust on the 3-5 year olds in attendance. We learned that Sam has an uncanny knack for memorization, particularly when set to music. He's graduated from the love of Thomas the Tank Engine to the much more sophisticated world of Legos, Wii, and Star Wars. We thought he was so grown up when he started in the Red Room three years ago, but I look at him now and see a totally different Sam. He's a big kid now. No remnants of baby remain. He doesn't need me to dress him or write his name or brush his teeth (though I still help with the shoe-tying and the lunch-making).

As excited as I am to buy school supplies (real ones, that will be stored in a desk with his name on it) and begin the 12-year journey through the public school system, I am mourning the friends and familiarity to which we're saying good-bye. Maybe that's the reason parents take these milestones so much harder than their children—because we are not only seeing the moment in time, but the big picture of the changes that are coming, the things that will never be again. We are remembering how much life changes from one phase to the next, instead of eagerly awaiting the start of the next big thing (grade school, high school, driving, graduation, college, marriage, parenthood…). I know that Sam will have so many fun times and new friends and great things to experience in the days ahead, but I also grieve just a little bit for the things we're leaving behind, knowing that, though with good intentions we promise to keep in touch, get together, that our paths are separating for now.

In saying all this, I also need to apologize to my own parents for never really understanding the emotion that accompanied these big events in my life. I couldn't wait for the end of high school, college, etc—if anything, I've short-changed times in my life by putting too much value on the next phase down the road. I remember at my last high school choir concert, the alumni were asked to come on stage to sing the alma mater. My mom, an alum, came up on stage for the first and only time during my high school years. She was emotional, and made even more so by the fact that I wanted her to stand on the other side of me so I could be by my friends and her. I didn't get it. I didn't understand why the event was important to her, because I saw it as my day, my last song. As is typical with kids, my perspective was all about me, and I didn't really appreciate her gesture or her feelings.

I think I'm starting to get it now…