"I Knew He Would Use Pliers!"

I felt a blog post welling up inside me this morning and thought about just how long it has been. So long, that apparently I forgot my log in information, and I don't know how use Blogger anymore.

Too many moments have escaped the written log in past year and more. I watch my kiddos grow up by the month, week, and day, and can't seem to get enough them. Well, except for those moments that have been too frequent at times where the Girl-Child, in all her budding 'tween attitude, makes her little brother the constant subject of her disdain and criticism. She is very good with words and uses them as a source of meanness toward her little brother. While she only does this to her little brother because he is an easy punching bag, I've been working hard with her to stop this. Meanwhile, her little brother is as boy as a boy can get, and when he gets fed up to the point that he can take no more of his sister, he just pops her one. It's imperative that I succeed in putting a stop to this at the first glimmer because it rolls downhill fast. The more annoyed Daughter gets with her little brother, you know-for breathing or just simply existing-her little brother finds even bigger and intentional ways to annoy her even more to get back at her for displaying such disdain towards him. Yes, this is the season we are in. No more poopie diapers, but still a lot of "crap" to deal with.

Usually, though, my heart swells with that indescribable something when I have the gift of time to just enjoy being with my kids with no pressures. When I can take a step back and just really notice them--still young and childish--but growing up so quickly. I was enjoying one of those peaceful kick-back mornings with my kiddos today--at least as peaceful as a morning can be when it includes my Girl-Child having a tooth extracted. She has always been an amazing trooper when it comes to the dentist. There was the event of the previous baby tooth extractions in 2009. There was also the dental surgery of 2008.

The Girl-Child seems to have a recurring issue with baby teeth just not coming out properly before the permanent ones feel like they need to come in. This time the offending loose tooth managed to become wedged between the molar on one side and the new permanent tooth that had erupted at a strange angle adjacent to the molar. I came to the conclusion last Sunday that the only way this tooth was coming out was if her dad took his needle-nose pliers to it or if we took her to the dentist for the job. Since Daughter has no issues with the dentist, and has even been known to LIKE going to the dentist, I made the appointment as soon as possible to get 'er done. Our dentist is actually an hour and half away (that's another story), but her orthodontist is near, and he was able to do this job for us. We were cautioned that he did not have nitrus gas, however. Daughter has never had nitrus gas, so all would be fine unless I was going to need a toke or two to get me through the ordeal.

All the talk of a "tooth extraction" at the dentist office had the Boy-Child intrigued and excited, as seven-and-a-half-year-old boys tend to get. He asked with great enthusiasm and excitement if they were going to use pliers to pull his sister's tooth. None of us knew. The Girl-Child didn't seem to remember exactly what the tool looked like the last time she needed to have a tooth pulled. I asked her if she was nervous about what tool may be used for this procedure, and she nonchalantly said, "No. I mean, I just can't wait to get this thing out of my mouth!" and she went about happily skipping around the house. That's my girl, happy and skipping about at the idea of getting a tooth pulled.

The orthodontist is really laid back and welcomes me, and the Boy-Child, into the exam/treatment room whenever he works on the Girl-Child. The previous dentist who did the previous extractions required me to be in the lobby while they did unknown procedures on my then six-year-old daughter, so it's a good thing my girl likes the dentist and had no issues with me being in the lobby while she had "procedures" done on her teeth. It is also no wonder why the dentists always love her. What dentist wouldn't love a six-year-old who sings and hums happily with a mouthful of bloody gauze after having two teeth pulled? Meanwhile, I would be in the lobby having anxiety attacks, worried about what was being done to my daughter and how she was handling it. The dentist has that effect on me whether I'm in the "torture chair" waiting for my dental cleaning and looking at all those posters of dental diseases and rotten and misaligned teeth, or sitting in the lobby watching videos on proper brushing techniques and looking at close ups of tooth plaque.

Today, I tenuously asked Daughter if she would like me to stay in the room. While I didn't want to suggest or imply that this was going to be horrifying and scarey for her, I also wanted to offer my support (even though it could be horrifying and scarey for ME). She said she'd like me to stay, which meant the Boy-Child would be with us as well. He was really excited to have a front row seat to the dental torture of his big sister. He perched on the edge of the chair closest to her, his face radiant with curiosity, and waited with great anticipation to see what would happen next. I felt like I needed to offer him some popcorn and a soft drink to add to the ambiance of his entertainment. He is such a boy.

The numbing swab came first. That was the part the Girl-Child later said she disliked the most. Really? Big needles, pliers, numb jaw, and she hates the swab the most? Then the needle. The thing was HUGE! The doc always chats with me about politics, gardening, or professional stuff as he knows I'm a licensed health care provider myself. I was thankful that today he chose gardening. My weak stomach was in no position to jaw about politics today. We chatted about heirloom lettuce while Daughter waited patiently for the shot to take its numbing effect, and Son waited impatiently, ready for something to happen that involved more action.

Next thing I knew, the doc turned around with the tooth held in his long dental pliers. Son beamed with excitement and exclaimed loudly, "See! I knew he would use pliers!" Something about his excitement over watching the dental chair torture on his sister felt simultaneously amusing and macabre.

Daughter skipped happily out of the dental chair and out to the car as pleased as she would have been if she'd just eaten an ice cream cone. I gathered my weak stomach and shushed Son who continued to jabber away enthusiastically about the pliers he knew they would use, paid the bill, and met up with my happy girl at the car.

Daughter had asked yesterday if we could go to the library today, and I had told her we could after the dental visit if she felt up to it. She commented on how weird her numb jaw felt, but she was simply not going to miss an opportunity to get books from the library. Like most library trips, the kids each snatched books off the shelves like they were candy. I interrupted Son snatching up and stuffing book after book in the bag and pointed out to him the two large Star Wars anthologies he had missed on the shelf just above his eye level. Son paused, completely enraptured, gazing at the Star Wars books on the shelf. It was like a moment suspended in time. Then he snapped to his sensed, grabbed them both, hugged them close to his chest, and announced that he was now ready to go. He carried them to the counter and laid them down in a most decided fashion, waiting for the male librarian to check them out to him. He became even more pleased, if that could be possible, when the librarian went into the same enraptured trance that Son had fallen into when he first saw them on the shelf. Mr. Librarian thumbed through one of them longingly and started in on some Star Wars dialogue with Son that reminded me a lot of Daughter's Rosetta Stone Spanish studies with the computer. I knew something important was being discussed, but I just couldn't decipher it. Then I realized that Mr. Librarian was enjoying quizzing my seven-and-a-half-year-old Boy-Child with Star Wars trivia. Uh oh. He had met his match. He fired off questions to my Boy trying to stump him. My Boy fired off the answers back at him like a dare. And it was on. The Girl and I stood there bewildered at what was transpiring. Then a question from Mr. Librarian about something to do with the AT-AT. Son paused. Uh oh...was the stumped? Mr. Librarian repeated the question. Pause. Daughter jumped in responding something about "AT&T" and giggled as I clarified with her that the question had nothing to do with phone service. Our giggling brought the Star Wars trance to an end as both Mr. Librarian and Dear Son snapped out of the fifth dimension to shake their heads at us.

The awesome come-what-may summer morning with my kiddos continued to unfold with a trip to Freddy's where ice cream, or whatever my Girl and her awakening jaw could tolerate, was permitted as a reward for her wrangling with the pliers in the dental chair. There were no mean words from the Girl towards the Boy now. Both were in bliss as they decided to share a burger and fries so that they would have room for ice cream afterwards. I savored the time with my sweet ones as our hands bumped together in the onion ring basket. Dear Son snuggled up next to me on the bench and pressed his body into mine while we munched. His love language is physical touch. Dear Daughter sat across from us. She has a bigger "bubble" than her brother. She was just happy because there was ice cream involved.

It was a priceless summer morning--just ambling along together with a tooth pulling, new library books, burgers, fries, and ice cream. These are the sweet times I cherish and wish could last forever (well, not so much about the tooth-pulling). The drive back home was typical. It was silent in the back seat. Little bellies were full of the stuff of American diner food and the kiddos both had their noses in their books. Daughter was reading about Mollie, the American Girl of the 1940's. Son was studying his Star Wars encyclopedias. I admired their sweet faces in the rear view mirror and felt thankful for the sweetness of the day and the company of my kids. Then the silence was broken as Dear Son began to jabber about Star Wars and Jabba the Hutt and something about a spider droid and a brain suspended in some liquid in a jar and how it was red, and on and on until Daughter could stand no more and pleaded with her brother to stop the talk that was making her feel queasy. This sort of thing, NOT having a tooth pulled, is what makes the Girl queasy.

Just a day. A meandering summer day with my Girl and my Boy. Wish I could save days like this up and re-savor them in the future, because I know there will come a day when I will miss it all: taking the day as it comes with my young ones, driving them to appointments, watching them choose their books at the library, listening to them chatter in the back seat about the things they love, and most of all watching them eat ice cream and bumping hands with them in the onion rings basket.

Aspiring Writer

A few weeks ago I heard about the PBS Kids Go Writer's Contest and encouraged Dear Daughter to enter. She is one creative kid and quite talented in her story telling skills. It was only days before the deadline when I first heard of the contest, so Daughter had to get busy. She bounced story ideas off of me and we talked about the structure and qualities of a good story, and she went to work. She spent two entire home school days working on the prose and artwork of this project. I was thoroughly amused at the puns she included. Her story was about a greedy fish named Gilbert, but his friends called him "Gill" for short. He wanted all the cool new gadgets and stuff that all the other fish in his "school" had. I know I'm her mother, and I know she is only six years old, but I thought she was brilliant! Her story also had a great message about friendship being more important than "stuff."

She finished it up and we drove to the local PBS station to drop it off because I feared it would not reach the destination in time for the deadline. We didn't think much about it again.

A couple weeks later at Daughter's homeschool co-op, she was practically accosted at the door by a peer who questioned if Zoe had won a writer's contest. We had not told anyone except Grandma and Grandpa H about her entering this contest, so I figured maybe she had indeed placed. However, we did not get any direct notification about her placing. I turned to the Internet to see if I could find a winner's list, but despite a couple hours of searching, gave up after finding nothing except that the local contest had been judged and first place winners would be sent to the national contest and all who placed would have their stories on exhibit locally for a week. I never could find names, which makes sense as these are all minor children. Since the little girl who mentioned the writing contest was only 5 or 6 herself, I figured she was just probably confused. Still the coincidence of her asking Daughter if she entered a writing contest was curious. Daughter and I even talked after I discovered the contest had indeed been judged, that it was a real bummer that she had worked so hard and had not been recognized.

A few minutes ago Dear Husband emerged from the basement office and handed me a large manila envelope. Inside was the congratulation letter and certificate for Daugther's honorable mention in the local contest. The letter was dated April 15th. At 15 minutes before midnight tonight, it was as good as being April 30th. Apparently we had this congratulation letter for a couple weeks before finding it.

After thinking about it some more, I remembered getting two large identical manila envelopes in the mail a couple weeks ago. Husband had told me to watch for some building plans he was going to be receiving from the county any day. So when I saw his name on the envelope, I assumed he got two envelopes of building plans. I left them on the kitchen island and told Dear Husband about them when he arrived home that evening because he had been anxiously awaiting them. He opened an envelope and looked at the stuff, and that was that.

In the next week or so the pile of mail on the kitchen island ended up in the basement office to be sorted. The fact that this particular envelope had never been opened was discovered for the first time a few minutes ago. And lo, the mystery was solved. While Dear Daughter didn't place first, second, or even third, I'm still really proud of her receiving honorable mention. She doesn't get to compete in the nationals, but only first place winners in each category do. She won't get a shot at the laptop, digital camera, or MP3 player, but she received a certificate of recognition and her story will have a week long display in the winner's exhibit in a local art gallery along with being recognized at the writer's banquet this fall after the national competition.

...and I learned to look at the mail more closely!

A New Era

I think we've entered a new era. I haven't figured out the mystery of how Time can pass so quickly and leave you feeling like you fell into a back hole...dazed and confused, spinning wildly out of control, and strung out like spaghetti noodles.

I have a love-hate relationship with FaceBook. I'm not going to go too far down that path, but just far enough to say that as I've reconnected with high school classmates that I haven't seen for 20 years, I'm struck by how...middle aged...they generally look. And you know what that means.... I obviously look middle aged as well.

As all of you already know, I have two children. Two. I clearly can't handle more than two; they kick my butt everyday. My girl-child is 6 1/2 years old. I frequently notice lately that she teeters between two worlds. In one, she is still a little girl, crying way too easily when she cannot get her winter coat to zip or when she bangs her head or stubs her toe. In this world, she still wants me to do so many things for her...tie her shoes (even though she knows how to do it herself now), hug her and kiss her when she falls down, read her bedtime stories (even though these "stories" are chapter books--currently the fifth in the Little House on the Prairie series). In the other world, she thinks she's already 13. She inquires when she will be old enough to have her own cell phone (when you are 30, Dear Child!), wants to dress fashionably, hang with her "friends," and skip off to class without giving me a hug and kiss good-bye when I take her to her homeschool c0-op.

I know that little-girl-world is going to continue to fade at breakneck speed and give way to a big-girl-world. Today, as I watched her silently from a distance, I saw the last 6 1/2 years pass in my mind's eye, and I dared not let myself consider how fast the next 6 1/2 will also go.

My boy-child is four years old now. We hold him and cuddle him sometimes like he is still a baby. I don't know how much longer we will get away with this; we know this is the last baby we will have, so I guess we are making it last. Yet I can't deny the fact that my "baby," who just turned four years old, is now writing the entire alphabet and numbers to 10. He still wants to be held sometimes even though he is nearly as big as a five year old, but his pleas to "hold ya!" are fading and becoming less and less frequent.

Watching my babies grow up so fast creates a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Yet, in all my "middle aged" glory, I am growing tired. As much as I grieve the loss of Time to that black hole, I have moments now when I feel ready for my little ones to grow more independent. Guilt crowds my conscious as I admit that I'm ready for them to both be able to put on their own shoes and zip their own coats, dress themselves, brush their own teeth. And yet, even as I say the words, my heart aches with the knowledge that once we finally pass all those milestones (daughter has passed all of these particular ones already) they will be gone forever...like Time sucked into that block hole. Gone.

I'm ready for my kids to handle more complex chores around the house, loading and unloading the dishwasher, vacuuming the floor, heck...I'd settle for them picking up after themselves without me reminding them to! The other day I actually looked at my precious little boy child and told him how glad I am that he is my baby, and how exciting it is that one day he will be big enough to mow the lawn by himself.

I guess my girl child is not the only one with a foot in two different worlds.

Is Mommy "Special"?

"Daddy," said Dear Son last night, "is Mommy 'special'?"

Dear Husband snickered a good bit before he replied that yes indeed, Mommy is 'special.'

Last night we went with the kids and my parents to a Japanese steakhouse to celebrate my birthday. Dear Daughter likes to go "order a volcano." There's really no ordering involved; it's just part of the hibachi grilling show at your table. But let her think what she wants. She refused to use the chopsticks with the rubber band and had to hold them the "real" way. She did a better job than I did with them. Dear Son mainly just liked the noodles! He actually did pretty well eating them with chopsticks. It was nice to get my dad out of the house as he's been ill since before Christmas.

This is always a fun and busy time of year right after the holidays. My birthday comes, followed not quite a week later by our anniversary (it's going to be Lucky 13 this year!), followed less than two weeks later by Dear Husband's birthday. After all that neither one of us cares too much about Valentine's Day a few days later. Not that I remember ever caring about Valentine's Day that much before we met or got married. You may remember that I've posted my opinion on that one before: It's a "stoopid" holiday. But as "stoopid" holidays go (Halloween comes to mind), Dear Daughter loves it. That means we have to recognize it at our house.

My creative juices are rather dry lately by the time I pour all I've got in to managing the kids' schooling and my career. We are currently reading the biographies of Louis Braille and Beethoven, and we are halfway through The Long Winter. It's the fourth or fifth book of the Little House on the Prairie series. We began the series last fall, and Daughter will be sad when we complete it.

I'm also busy teaching Daughter piano and guitar. Since I never learned how to play guitar myself, we are learning together. Of course, the piano part is a no-brainer. I'm sure if we continue on the homeschooling path, Daughter will be enrolling in the local homeschool orchestra in another year and a half when she reaches the minimum age of eight. She wants to play the harp. LOL! Whatevah! We actually saw someone downtown the other day wheeling their harp, in a black case on some sort of dolly, across the street. I pointed out to Dear Duaghter that this would be her fate if she chooses the harp. As a pianist all my life, I often asked myself why didn't I learn the piccolo? Especially after moving my heavy acoustic piano across the country and back and more times between than I can count!

We are pretty well on track with our homeschool goals for the year, but it has taken discipline and creativy and, of course, time--lots of time. In addition to piano and guitar lessons, Daughter is reading Amelia Bedelia books easily now and doing triple digit addition. She can tell you about the Declaration of Independence and the Revolutionary War and the journey of Christopher Columbus. She's learning to recognize the works of Beethoven and develop respect for a musician who was deaf when he wrote some of his symphonies. She can label the instruments in an orchestra and where they are seated in a typical orchestral seating arrangement. She can explain how sound waves work and what happens between the time they enter our ears and get processed by the brain. She has learned how to draw with chalk and blend colors and become a part in a dramatic play or interpretation. She's learning how to look up scriptures in her own Bible and can even read them herself in the new Bible she got for Christmas.

And Dear Son is writing letters and numbers now. While he doesn't spell yet, he places letters together and asks me or his big sister what they spell. He loves to "do school" and play games on the computer and draw robots and Iron Man.

While I've had trouble lately finding much time to blog, or read blogs that I used to follow more regularly, I most certainly can see the evidence of what I've been doing instead, and I believe it's been time well spent.

Blissfully...Fallen...In...!

Where have I been? I think I've come as close as blissfully possible to "falling in." The holidays seem to have come and gone even faster than any previous year, and they wrapped up with a blast of arctic air and snow that has continued to trickle down for at least a week. I think we reached below -5 once or twice for overall temps and we've had days with highs in the single digits. I know Dear Aunt Pat won't have any sympathy because it's much colder and snowier where she's at, but for us it's cold. The subzero temps combined with 35 mph wind gusts last week took me down memory lane to a time about 30 years ago and a place in rural Iowa where I grew up. I remember the wind blowing so hard and so cold one particular day that I literally got stuck in the gate my dad built between the house and the garage. I was pinned tightly and could not go in or out, and someone else had to free me. The wind blasted like icy knives that day. I was going to check on our pregnant Spaniel who was nested in a bale of hay in the backyard in her dog house. She was to give birth any day. In farm country we didn't keep pets in the house, but that day my parents took pity on Sparky when she came out of her house with the arctic wind whipping snow around in the air, and a puppy fell out of her into a snow bank. Sparky was moved the basement to finish her delivery with a heat lamp. It was a real farm house style basement--more like a cellar, and not at all like the nice walkout basement we have in our house today. It was still very cold down there, but with the heat lamp on her, she and the puppy born in the snow drift were fine along with the other six puppies that came later.

As cold as it's been here for the past week, it's hard to remember (or believe) that on Thanksgiving we were having spring-like temps near 70 degrees and we spent the day cleaning the garage and doing yard work. We got the Christmas tree that weekend, and Dear Son enjoyed helping decorate it this year more than any other year before. He especially liked the glass ball ornaments. Both the kids love the glass ball ornaments. I never have understood what they find so neat about them. We never even owned any until a couple years ago when Dear Daughter insisted we get some because we just couldn't decorate a Christmas tree without them!

Dear Daughter was playing dress up before decorating the tree, and that's why she is dressed in a strappy sun dress. If it was as cold then as it has been lately, she wouldn't have lasted a minute in the downstairs family room in that dress before freezing her buns off.

I wanted a candid shot of the both kids decorating the tree, but they saw me with the camera and would not let up until I took a picture of their cheesy grin contest.

A few days later the weather turned cold. Not as cold as it's been lately, but nonetheless cold. I can't remember if we had highs in the teens or low twenties the day we decided to stay inside all day and bake Christmas cookies. The kids decided they wanted to stay in their fleece pj's all day long, so that's what they did. This is just one of many examples of why I love homeschooling so much. We can have days where we stay in our pj's all day and turn fun things like baking cookies into a learning experience. This activity counted as Math because we practiced measuring ingredients, Home Ec. because I taught Daughter how to read a recipe, Social Skills because I required the kids to take turns and share as they cut and decorated, and Art because we played with food coloring and mixed primary colors to make new colors.

You can see in the backyard that we didn't have snow yet. Nonetheless it was one of our coldest days of the season until recently.

The dogs were thankful for their parkas that day when they were forced to go outside to do their business. Well, to be honest, I'm not sure that Baby appreciated her parka so much, but at least it helped her control her shivering enough that she could pee.

Our dogs have it much better than my dogs did growing up. Not only do they not have to sleep outside in their own straw filled dog house in the bitter cold, but they actually get to share our bed. Baby likes to sleep UNDER the blankets at my feet (helps keep my feet warm, so I'm not complaining) and Cooper likes to share my pillow. When they are not in our bed with us, they are beached in front of the wood stove. Yeah, they've got it good. So good that when temps don't go any higher than 20 degrees and we still push them out the door to go potty, Baby stops on the step and begins shivering violently (I think she just does it for dramatic effect) and looks back at me with an expression on her face that most certainly says, "Oh HELL, no! You gotta be kidding me!"

Dear Son's birthday snuck up on us quickly. Great Uncle Ron and Great Aunt Pat made it out between their own Iowa blizzards to help us celebrate Son turning four years old. You'll notice the Transformers theme going on. Son loves him some "robots." Bumblebee is his favorite, and he has been coveting a "Bumblebee blaster" for the past six months. He waited for his birthday with high hopes that he would receive this for a gift. When he got it, I don't think he let it out of his sight for over a week. He slept with it and ate with it by his side constantly. We couldn't even drive anywhere in the family mobile without him bringing it along.

We took a trip to Silver Dollar City with Great Aunt Pat and Great Uncle Ron to see the Christmas lights for Son's birthday. We thought it was cold that evening, but I think it would actually feel balmy to us right now. Unfortunately, Grandpa and Grandma didn't get to come with us. Grandpa got to come to Son's party, but not the Silver Dollar City trip the next day. He became so ill by Christmas that he wound up in the hospital for three nights. A month later he is still trying to recover from what originally was Shingles and then turned into pneumonia in both lungs and blood clots in both lungs and in one leg. This was a real bummer for all of us on Christmas as our tradition is for Grandpa and Grandma to spend the day at our house enjoying the kids opening their presents and playing with their new toys with them and playing games and doing puzzles together the whole day.

After Christmas, the arctic blast and snow moved in, and we've lived in a deep freeze for more than a week straight.
























Right before the snow came, Daughter and I went ice skating. It was her first time, and for me it was the first time in 20 years--so it may as well have been my first time as well. We had lots of fun. Daughter fell a lot. I made it without falling a single time, which is good, because if I had fallen I don't think I would have ever been able to get back up. After an hour and half on the ice it began coming back to me and Daughter was able to let go of the wall almost completely. While I never spent a lot of time on ice skates, I used to be an avid inline skater, skating all over town in a certain small college town in Idaho. I would skate from one end of town to the other, across roads and traffic and all. You probably would not have known it the other day if you were watching me on the ice, though.

Then the snow came, along with the super cold temps. Work slowed down for me, and I appreciated this because I blissfully enjoyed several days of not even leaving the house. We just kept piling the wood in the stove and snuggling up in our warm pj's and blankets. We have enjoyed playing games with the kids and building with the Zoobs that Uncle Jowell and Aunt Lisa sent Dear Son for Christmas. So far I've built a Zoob-a-saur and a bicycle (with real moving wheels!).

I didn't make a gingerbread house with the kids for Christmas this year, so we made one after the New Year while it snowed outside. It was a great indoor activity, and of course the kids loved it.
And so, as I said at the beginning of this post, I have blissfully fallen in. I love winter and cold and snow so long as I don't have to go anywhere. I don't even mind shoveling snow; one day I shoveled the entire 250 foot driveway so we could see to get the cars out. I could stay holed up for months, I think, on the side of some snowy mountain with a fire roaring and fuzzy pjs and blankets, and it would be as good as Heaven.

After several days of indoor cozy activities however, I did have to go back to work. That particular day that I went back, the roads were covered with snow and the wind was howling, and it was about 5 degrees outside. As I drove the kids to Grandma's house for the day, Dear Daughter exclaimed from the middle row of the family-mobile, "Mommy! Zachy and I just saw a Puffin!" She was so excited that I almost didn't have the heart to tell her that since Puffins are Arctic birds, they don't live here in the Midwest. However, before I said anything, I considered how cold it's been, and I decided that we just might have some Puffins living among us after all.

If it's cold and snowy where you are, cozy up to the fire, pour yourself another mug of hot chocolate, and enjoy!

Worse Than Pulling Teeth

She climbed up into that tall chair that sits in the window. The one that allows all the passers by to watch while they are, well, passing by. She looked excited and perhaps a wee bit nervous. I confess that I was nervous as well. "You're in the hot seat now!" I told her. She picked out a shiny blue pair. Blue has become her favorite color recently. She waited patiently for the associate to come back and seal the deal. It was a busy place to be today, a few days after Christmas with all the area schools out. Kids and teens of all ages ran rampant outside the window from where Dear Daughter was perched in her tall chair.

The associate came back and made sure I had signed all the waivers agreeing to indemnify them of every possible thing that could go wrong with what they were about to do to my daughter. Then the associate loaded her gun with the shiny blue pair Dear Daughter had picked out. My heart beat a bit faster, and I turned my head. I couldn't watch. I just wanted it to be over. I heard a loud exclamation of "Ouch!" I peeked back over my shoulder to assess the damage. My little girl still sat on that tall chair. Her chin was quivering just the littlest bit and she fought back a tear. I resisted the urge to pull her out of the chair and hold her close and insist she forget all about this nonsense and call it quits. But she had told me before that this is what she wanted and that she could handle it. I told her I was proud of her and grabbed her hand as the associate loaded her gun again. "It's almost over!" I reassured Daughter. She caught her breath and looked apprehensive like she wasn't so sure anymore that this is what she wanted. Then it was over. Daughter looked sober for a few moments. I tried to lighten things up for her with exclamations of how proud of her I was and how brave and beautiful she was. She smiled, weakly at first. And then she beamed the rest of the day.

My six year old baby now has pierced ears.

My baby who is so brave at the dentist's office. They told me they look forward to her visits because she is so sweet and good mannered. She doesn't cry or protest when they do their dentist stuff in her mouth. Not even when she had to have those two teeth pulled. My baby who told me nonchalantly in her smiling sing-songy voice that day about what it felt like to have teeth pulled, and the bloody gauze hung out of her mouth as she talked. It "tugged" and felt "crunchy" she told me as I cringed and felt a little woozy myself.

I asked her tonight if getting her ears pierced hurt worse than having teeth pulled. "Oh yes!" she exclaimed without hesitating. I asked her if she had to choose one or the other, would she rather have her ears pierced again or have teeth pulled. "Oh, have teeth pulled!" she said again without hesitating.

Seriously.

The whole ear piercing ordeal struck me as a bit barbaric--forcing an earring until it punches through the entire earlobe. What a strange custom. Thank God our culture doesn't encourage females to wear those coils around our necks to stretch them out. No, at least in our culture we are only fixated on punching holes in our bodies.

Dear Husband pointed out that at least we can probably rest easy that Dear Daughter won't be wanting to pierce anything else on her body. If she even so much as hints at piercing something else on her body someday when she turns into a teenager, I'll be reminding her of how much this ear piercing thing hurt. I'll point out that it was so excruciatingly painful that she would rather have teeth pulled than go through it again. Surely that will work.

I alternated today between thoughts of "Thank God she's only six!" and "Oh My God! She's already six!"

Does SOMEtime Have to Come So Soon?

Dear Daughter is a very proficient reader for a not-yet-six-and-one-half-year-old. She discovered my Garfield comic book collection in the storage room a few weeks back and has developed the same passion for them that I had as a kid. Only I was a quite a bit older than she is currently when I began collecting and reading them.

We've had the same bedtime routine for nearly six and one half years: PJ's on followed by teeth brushing and about an hour of reading followed by several minutes of snuggling together in the dark and debriefing our day, or what we've just read, or whatever is on the girl child's mind. In the past couple weeks a new dimension has been added onto the routine. Dear Daughter now gets an additional 30 minutes of time by herself to read her Garfield comic books after I leave her room as long as she turns her light out when told (she knows how to tell time by herself now), and stayed in bed the night before instead of sneaking around the house.

Tonight I pointed out to Dear Daughter that it's kinda silly for us to turn out the lights and snuggle in the dark only to have her switch the light right back on to read some more by herself after I leave her room. The lights out for snuggle time routine began six years ago as a means of helping her wind down and go to sleep. Tonight I suggested we just leave the light on as we snuggle a few minutes and ponder the meaning of life, and then I would leave and let her read her comic books until the specified "lights out" time. By definition, this arrangement implied less time to cuddle up together. Dear Daughter loves cuddle up time. I expected her to protest my suggestion. I probably secretly wanted her to protest a little. She didn't.

"Well..." she began thoughtfully with a little grin. "I guess I have to grow up SOMEtime! So I think that would work, Mommy! That way you could go get started on your night-time work and I can get to reading my Garfield books!" I watched her face as she spoke, and feelings of bittersweet pride stuck in my throat. I knew I wouldn't be able to stop the tears, so I just let them trickle in warm paths down my cheeks. I was remembering when, at almost two years of age, she finally allowed me to place her in her crib awake instead of rocking her to sleep first. I was pregnant for the second time, and I could no longer lift my big rear out of the chair along with her 30 pound body without causing her to wake up. In fact, tonight was very much like that night just over four years ago. While my rear is not quite as big as it was then when I was pregnant, the same lump choked me in my throat as did four years ago when Dear Daughter allowed me to put her in her crib awake, and with a tearful, pitiful voice assured us both with her words, "Mommy be back!" I barely got out the door that night before the tears flowed, and tonight I didn't even try. I just let them slip down my cheeks as I held her close with the lamp still on.

"Yes," I said in a pitiful voice. "I guess you have to grow up SOMEtime...." I heard her pitiful little not-quite-two-years-old voice echoing in my memory..."Mommy be back!" Yes, my baby girl, I will always "come back," no matter how the fabric of life changes you or our relationship. But that doesn't stop the ache that comes with the knowledge that a milestone has once again been passed, and once again things will never be the same. I would have held you a little longer last night if only I would have known.

Because It Makes Me Feel Better

I've been wanting to post for quite some time now, but the stuff of Life has raised barrier after barrier against my time and mental state. At times I feel like my children's lives are slipping by right before my eyes. The weather is threatening to change, and has had its moments of cooler temps. So much so that a pair of jeans has occasionally snuck back into the kids' wardrobes. First it was Dear Daughter who exited her bedroom one morning fully clothed and ready for the day. ...Except that the jeans she had pulled out of her drawer and onto her body were no less than three inches too short for her now. That very pair was actually a bit long on her early last spring.

The next week it was Dear Son who decided sport a pair of jeans. His ankles we exposed beneath the hemlines, making him look like his nickname should be "Stretch."

I looked upon them with that irritating ache in my heart and that queasy feeling in the pit of my gut. I couldn't deny the fact that it happened again: my children changed and grew and transformed yet again as if right before my eyes. And where was I when it was happening? Such big changes. Too big not to notice until the next season begins to arrive. I considered throwing all the jeans in their wardrobes away, allowing me to perhaps stay in my state of denial. They could just wear shorts all winter, couldn't they? At least I wouldn't notice their legs growing longer by the day as their hemlines crept up their ankles.

Dear Daughter loves to tell people she is six years old now. It's really not hard to tell by the gaping hole in the front of her mouth where the last lost tooth used to reside. And Dear Son. I still delude myself that he is a baby. His curly head still has that sweet baby smell. Dear Daughter lost that baby smell some time ago. Now her head just smells like hair. Ick. I don't know what happens that turns a sweet smelling baby head into stinky scalp, but I suppose whatever it is, it's a milestone marking the end of an era forever. I squeeze my little boy every day, burying my nose in his precious yellow ringlets and breathing deeply that sweet little boy smell--dreading the day that it no longer smells so baby sweet. I plead with God, please don't let this baby grow up the way You let my first baby grow up! But I know better. And so I deny it by calling them my "babies" anyway.

Dear Son asked me one day why I call them my "babies" because they are not actually babies anymore. I told him it's because it makes me feel better.

No Hocky Puck Necessary

My firstborn, who just turned six years old, finally lost a tooth the "normal" way! As I described in my last post, we were hopeful to be able to lose it this route and not via "dental assistance" like the two bottom ones required. Daughter is just too timid and doesn't like to wiggle on those teeth aggressively. I've been nagging on her for weeks to keep working on it, per the dentist's caution that we had limited time to achieve this task before he'd have to intervene. Dear Husband and I have taken turns wiggling on it for her the past couple weeks.

This morning I noticed it was sticking out of her mouth at nearly a 90 degree angle. It was pretty ugly. But I was distracted first by my trip to urgent care to address the fact that I came home from work last night feeling like death, and woke up this morning disappointed that I was still alive. The doc at urgent care said I was the third case of this throat funk she'd seen this morning. And it was only 9:00 am. I guess I'm not original or anything this time. I was too sick to even drive myself, so I had to recruit the husband. Of course, that meant we also had to cart along the wee ones. I sent them to get some groceries while I sat in the urgent care office. No way I was taking my kids in there or they'd get sick for sure.

It was on the way home that I noticed Dear Daughter was looking like quite the snaggle tooth. As soon as I got that first round of antibiotics in me, I scrubbed up and manhandled her tooth for a few seconds. It began to move around the socket, but wasn't coming out. It was making my skin crawl, so I stopped and asked Dear Husband to finish her off. That's when Daughter took a step back from me and spit the tooth out on the tile floor. It rattled across the kitchen before it registered in my brain what just happened. I looked at the tooth on the floor, I looked at my stunned daughter, I looked at Dear Husband, and then I shrieked that Daughter just spit her tooth out! Dear Husband said proudly that she is just like a hockey player. Daughter was pleased as punch.

We can only celebrate for a day before we have to start working on the other front tooth. Dentist said they both have to be out by her appointment in September or he's going to yank them.

It's the first tooth Dear Daughter has lost the "normal" way, and it was bittersweet. With each baby tooth lost, it feels like another bit of her babyhood is lost. It's been less than six years since we celebrated the excitement of her getting her very first teeth, and now we're already celebrating her losing them. *sigh*

Time Warp

We made it. It was over nearly a week ago, and I'm just now posting about it, so that should be an indicator of how much it wiped me out! Wild parties have taken on an entirely different meaning since kids came along!

I still call her my "baby" even though she is now officially six years old. She's such a ham that it's nearly impossible to get a candid shot of her. This one is as close as I've gotten.

...and I almost snuck this one in without her knowing. Almost.

The week ended last week with the annual birthday visit from G Uncle Ron and G Aunt Pat and the third annual fishing trip. Followed by a family birthday party. Followed by the day Dear Daughter has been dreaming of for more than half a year: her first birthday party with girlfriends.

She hammed it up with her new Talent Show tent and microphone and competed with her little brother for the best talent in the house. He gave up and took her on in true Bumblebee fashion.








Last year Dear Son was enamored with Darth Vader. This year it is Bumblebee, followed closely by Optimus Prime. As I've said before, he is about as much boy as Dear Daughter is girl.

When the weekend was over, six little girls came to celebrate some more at Dear Daughter's first girlfriend party. Here she is competing with some friends in a round of "Freeze Dancing."

No wonder I ended last week in a complete stupor. Maybe the sore throat I'm battling added to that stupor. And the latest legal battle I'm fighting still with a lady who I'm pretty sure answers to the name of Satan.

So I guess that's a wrap on another year. I'm pretty sure Daughter grew about four inches and added nearly 10 pounds since her last birthday. Her long pants from last fall are now all too short and I plopped her on the scale out of curiosity. No wonder I can barely lift her anymore.

Poor thing is also trying to loose another tooth, but she just can't seem to loose them normally. The clock is ticking, and the dentist says if the two top front teeth don't come out before our visit in six weeks, he's going to yank them himself. Seems the permanent teeth are pushing in, but they are not pushing the baby ones out. One of the two has shifted in position quite a lot and has a funky color now. The dentist explained this is due to the permanent tooth trying to come in and the gum bleeding into the hollow of the tooth. Nothing to be alarmed about, he assured me. But nothing too pretty, either. Fortunately the discoloration has not gotten worse. Yet. I think I have enough stuff on my mind without the constant reminding I have to do to get Daughter to wiggle on that tooth. I figured we'd work on one at a time, but time is running out. The good news is that these teeth are coming in straight as far as we can tell on the x-rays. One of them was rotated 90 degrees a year and a half ago when we discovered the extra tooth that had to be surgically removed. I'm thrilled to hear that it straightened out and will come in just fine so long as Daughter can get those baby teeth out of the way!

For those of you with little children, I urge you to start taking them to the dentist as soon as their baby teeth start coming in. I'm always amazed when I hear parents say they never took their kids to the dentist until they were four years old or older. There's a lot that can be managed with preventative care when kids are seen by a dentist early.

I know my blog posts have been pretty pitiful and completely lacking creativity for quite some time now. The incessant drama of my life this past year has just absolutely sucked it out of me. It all began on Dear Daughter's birthday a year ago. It's not quite over yet, but I'm optimistic that I'm close, and that I'll soon be able to reclaim my life and in time, recognize myself again.

Daughter's Dance Recital

FINALLY! The planets and stars all aligned tonight so I could manage to post a couple pics from Dear Daughter's dance recital. I didn't get any action shots as flash photography was not allowed. You know, so that you will buy the portraits and DVD's that the professionals are selling. Whatever.

It was a looooong recital and Dear Son got antsy before the intermission and began begging to "go home." He was only interested in what was going on on stage at intermittent intervals. The most memorable of these intervals was during one woman's solo classic ballet performance. She had on a very classic tutu and danced to a very classic piece of ballet music. Until this point, all the performances were groups and not individuals, and many performances had been modern or jazz in style. Dear Son caught on right away that there was only one performer on stage this time. As the spotlight centered on the ballerina and a hush settled over the crowd, Dear Son's voice piped up loudly in the otherwise silent auditorium. "Why is there only ONE?!" he demanded rather loudly. His Daddy and I shushed him sternly. He doesn't "shush," mind you, unless you provide him with an answer that he finds satisfactory. I whispered in his ear that there is only SUPPOSED to be "one" in this performance, and then I braced myself for his LOUD protest to continue to ring out over the silent auditorium. I was totally relieved that he was actually placated with this explanation. About two minutes passed before he piped up loudly again, "But why is she HAPPY by herself?" Indeed, she had a large smile across her face for the entire performance. Dear Son apparently thought it odd that a person could be happy unless joined together with others. His Daddy and I shushed him again and I quickly tried to offer him an explanation that would appease him before he continued his loud protest. It didn't work that time, and we had to continue to try new explanations in between shushes until he was satisfied.

As for Dear Daughter, she performed "Under the Sea" as a tap piece with her class, and "Once Upon a December" as a ballet piece with her class. She certainly doesn't mind being on stage, and she was pumped up on adrenaline the entire evening.

Milestones and Random Jibberish

I dared not speak up until now for fear I'd jinx it, but Dear Son has now (finally!) successfully gone an entire month with only one or two poopy pants accidents. He had regressed back to peeing in his pants once he got the pooping in the potty thing down, but he has proven himself enough for me to now trust him wearing his superhero underpants all the time except overnight and on long outings. Who'd have thought that my second born would be three years and three months old when he finally reached this milestone after my firstborn had it down by 20 months? I've heard it's a "boy thing," so that's our excuse.

And Dear Daughter reached her own milestone today, which would be riding her bicycle without training wheels. She can make it all the way down our 250 foot driveway and back on her first day wihtout training wheels. If I can figure out how, I'll post a video. This milestone evokes a combination of pride and bittersweetness inside me. I don't remember if I was five years old like my daughter when I first rode a bicycle without training wheels, but I remember the day it first happened for me. I blogged about it a couple years ago.

I may have pics from Dear Daughter's dance recital last Saturday once I get them copied off Dear Mom's camera. We thought our camera was not working (which we discovered just before the show) and so we did not get any pictures on it. Fortunately we got some on my mom's camera. Now that the recital is over, our camera is working again. Go figure.

At five years of age, Dear Daughter has completed two years of ballet and tap dance lessons, a year of piano lessons, learned to ride a two wheeled bicycle, and completed the first grade in every area except Language Arts--in which she is working at second grade level. It's a bit overwhelming for me to remember that just 6 years ago she had not even yet exited my womb and entered this world!

I'm way behind on things like blogging, which is why my posts are so random and scattered and few and far in between these days. I've intended to post about Grandpa and Grandma M's visit from Oregon for a week or more now, but I've wanted to include some pictures with a post. The problem is, I do all my work from my laptop and most often from the upstairs level of our home even though the office is in the lower level of our home. The pictures are housed on the downstairs desktop and accessed via wireless network on my laptop. Whenever I consider getting the post done, it is usually late at night when I'm finishing some work in bed with my laptop. If I decide I can keep my eyes open long enough to do the post, I realize I still can't because the downstairs desktop is turned off. This means I cannot access the pictures. While I may have enough energy to do the post at that wee hour, I don't have the energy to walk to the furthermost room of the house on an entire different floor to turn on the desktop. I've even spent a couple hours here and there in the downstairs office a few times in the past week or two and not managed to remember to turn on the desktop and nab the pics while I'm down there. So, in the amount of time it took me to explain this, I could have gone downstairs to turn on the desktop to the get pics, but it wouldn't really matter because once again I do not have time right now to do the post. It's also getting late and I need to get the kids to bed.By the time I complete that task, I will either forget about the blog post again or I will have too many other things to cram in before I can go to sleep myself tonight, and blog posting will just not be a priority anymore.

I wonder what it's like to be bored?

More Dental Drama

My oldest baby lost her first tooth last Monday, and it didn't happen the way I always assumed it would. She did not wiggle the little tooth out herself and squeal with delight at the idea of the Tooth Fairy coming. Instead, at her routine dental exam, the dentist decided that these two lower front teeth were not likely to work themselves out on their own. I posted a few months ago about Dear Daughter having a second set of permanent teeth coming in behind the two baby ones up front. At that time, the dentist office thought they would loosen up and fall out on their own, but that was nearly four months ago.

As I sat in the waiting room for what I thought would only be a routine exam and cleaning on Dear Daughter's teeth, the dental assistant came out to tell me the dentist's opinion and to suggest just removing them while Daughter was still in the chair. I was afraid this is how it would go, but I was surprised that they wanted to take care of it right now. It made sense, and it made things more convenient. Daughter was already in the chair. Why come back in a week or two when we could do it now? "How is she doing?" I asked the assistant. She replied with confidence that she was doing just fine and that she always does just fine with them. She was clearly proud of my girl. The assistant went back in to assist with the procedure of extracting my firstborn baby's teeth. I waited in the lobby and apparently experienced more anxiety than my daughter did over the whole ordeal.

Fifteen minutes later the assistant returned to me to tell me it was done and that my daughter was doing great and how proud of her she is...and she went on and on about how great my little girl is and how sweet she is and how she didn't even flinch or cry or complain or resist or anything and, and, and.... I was escorted to my daughter's side. I entered the room behind Dear Daughter, still sitting in the exam chair. All I saw was the back of her head. When I spoke to her, she turned and grinned at me with a wad of bloody gauze wedged in the front of her lower gum and said allk happy and nonchalantly, "Hi Mommy!" she was all happy go lucky and excited over the little trinkets she was given in her dental care bag to take home. She was completely unconcerned about the fact that she just had two teeth ripped out of her mouth and she was chomping on bloody gauze. The assistant again went on and on about what a sweet girl she is what a great job we're doing with her as her parents and she just beamed at my daughter. I was proud of my girl, to say the least.

Another change in the gauze wad and a moment at the reception desk to drop a chunk of change (we do not have dental insurance and apparently extractions are rather expensive), and we were in the car and on our way to Dairy Queen. I promised my girl a treat to "take the edge off." In the car I asked her if the shot in her gums hurt a little. She responded cheerily with a muffled voice through the bloody gauze wad, "It hurt more than just a LITTLE!" I looked at her in the rear view mirror. She was grinning happily and proud of herself as she added, "and I didn't flinch or yell or even shed a single tear!" I then asked if she felt anything when they pulled the teeth out, like a little tug or something. She said nonchalantly, "No... (pause) ...but I DID feel and hear like a CRUNCHING sound when they yanked it out...." I winced, and my stomach turned a bit. I was glad I was facing forward and Daugther could only see the back of my head. I looked again at her face in the rear view mirror. She was smiling happily through the bloody gauze wad and humming a little happy tune as we pulled into Dairy Queen.

As we got out of the car I asked her if her mouth was numb and if it bothered her. I checked the damage in her mouth and saw two gaping bloody holes in the gums in front of the two perment teeth that are pushing through. They had stopped bleeding, so I told Daughter she didn't need to chomp on the gauze anymore. Daughter responded that the numbness didn't bother her. I reminded her that that was the worst part for her when she had to go through her dental surgery a year ago. She said casually, "Yeah...but I'm older now, and I can handle things like this now!"

And so my firstborn baby has now lost TWO teeth and she's barely 5 1/2 years old. It's not how I imagined approaching this milestone in her life. Regardless, I'm all weepy at the thought that my little girl is old enough to be losing the very same teeth that I was weepy about her getting in the first place just five short years ago.

This parenting thing sure is an emotional journey!

Xanax, Please!

As you can see, I've been updating stuff around here. It's still not the way I really want it to be, but I'm kinda stoopid when it comes to web design and html. I have to say, though, that I began this blog four years ago, and four years ago Blogger was NOT as user friendly as it is today. Therefore, back when I started this gig, I didn't too bad to figure out some of the stuff I figured out. After all that figuring out I did back then, I was afraid to change anything and mess it all up, and so I never updated. I got brave the other night, am I'm glad I did. Now Blogger gives you all these easy to use tools that didn't exist four years ago. You used to have to manually make all those changes in your html template.

In other news, my Dear Daughter has apparently reached a new rite of passage, and one that I am truly not ready for yet. As I helped her finish brushing her teeth the other night, I discovered that she has a permanent tooth pushing through her gums right behind the baby tooth on the lower front. I freaked out a bit, and this did not seem right to me. You will remember that not quite a year ago we had the shock of discovering that Daughter was hiding an extra tooth in her upper jaw that would have to be surgically removed. It was a tad traumatic for me, and the attached price tag was not an easy thing to accept either, so perhaps my freak out was justified. Let me further justify by stating that Dear Husband has a colleague whose daughter (a couple years older than my Dear Daughter) recently had NINE teeth pulled for what would seem to be the same issue. My friend, who is a pediatric dentist, thought my freak out was over the top. Despite his reassurance that this is no cause for alarm, I still contacted Daughter's dental clinic immediately the next morning, and the receptionist calmly asked me if my daughter's tooth--the on in front of the permanent one coming in--was loose. "Well, I don't know...." I responded rather stoopidly. It hadn't occured to me to check. She waited patiently for me to clear away the Life cereal my daughter was eating and wiggle her front teeth. "Why yes, it does appear a little loose." I responded to her feeling a little silly as I anticipated where this was going. The receptionist giggled a bit and informed me that she expected the tooth fairy was coming soon. I argued that my daughter is barely five years old, and she reassured me there is a pretty wide window for what's normal in the way of loosing primary teeth.

Okay then. Works for me. I don't need more dental worries or dental bills right now. Meanwhile, however, that front tooth hasn't fallen out yet and is barely noticably loose when you try to wiggle the thing, and that permenet tooth is coming in rapidly. I fear she will look a little freaky if that tooth doesn't find its way out of her mouth sooner than later. At the same time, I am really NOT ready for my firstborn to begin losing her little girl teeth. Next thing you know I'll be buying her a traning bra. Lord, help me!

Froggies and Other Stuff

In case I've left ANY room for questioning on this matter, let me clarify: HE'S ALLLLLLLLLLLLL BOY!!!!!

This is the "froddy" (froggy) Dear Son recently adopted. I think it's actually a toad, but he doesn't know the difference. Besides, it's more fun to say "froddy" than it is to say "toady."

Could he be any more delighted with himself? I was most impressed when, after fondling, dropping, fondling, dropping again, he finally announced that he was going to "Put the froddy in the drass" (Put the froggy in the grass). You may remember that this was the routine in my previous post about Dear Son's love affair with fuzzy caterpillars. This meant he was showing compassion towards the poor thing (nevermind the incessant fondling and dropping), and wanted to return him to his family. Every day since, Dear Son has begged--beeeegggggggged--to go outside and find a "froddy" pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze!

Dear Husband had some luck finding the little baby froggies in our wood pile.

We had a field trip to the zoo recently with our homeschool co-op. When we reached the reptile house and Dear Son saw the various turtles behind their glass enclosures, he was beside himself begging to "touch him." This was due to the fact that a few weeks ago we found a turtle in the yard and it became Dear Son's best companion for the entire morning.

Did I mention that he is ALL BOY?!!??!?!

So far, no snakes. And so far, no "froddies" discovered in the clothes dryer.

Posting has been slow, I realize. Things are a bit busy around here. We are buzzing with homeschooling. I was undecided how structured to get with Dear Daughter on this yet. She just turned five after all. She would have been in Kindergarten per state standards except she missed the age cut off by three days. We've only homeschooled rather loosely so far as I wanted her to be a kid and not be concerned with stuff like school until she had to. And yet I've discovered that she does better with the structure. She is more than capable of a regular school schedule. She does well when pushed a bit towards her potential, and she loves to learn. I had decided at the beginning of the school year that I would review Kindergarten with her and not rush into first grade. That just wasn't working, however. She remembered everything from last year and was whizzing through a week of school in a single day. So I gave in and bumped her into the first grade curriculum I had waiting for her. The only area she is not quite in first grade level yet is math, and she is only a few weeks away from completing Kindergarten math.

For those family members who are interested, here are the things Zoe is doing academically:
She is learning how to count money and do simple subtraction. She is writing complete sentences and reading complete books (such as Dr. Seuess classics). She is learning about weather in science, and can explain the progression of how rain ends up as water that pipes into homes in the city.

She turns anything she can into an art project. We keep an entire chest of drawers in the kitchen filled with art supplies so that she can help herself anytime she wants and sit at the kitchen table for her creations. We also have an art station in the downstairs office where she can plop down and create to her heart's content.

She has begun piano lessons and is a natural at keeping a steady rhythm.

And she is beginning her second year of ballet and tap lessons.

She has "wowed" he teachers at co-op that have all approached me to inform me that she is way beyond the lessons they have prepared and the abilities of her peers in her class. I assure them that I already know this, and that perhaps they can just do their best to challenge her. I get her the other days of the week and can teach to her level. I mainly wanted her to have the experience of learning with other kids her age and developing socially in a setting like that. She would be absolutely BORED in public school. After all, they want her to be enrolled in pre-school this year and made it clear that they would not consider any other alternative.

I'm not sure what the future holds, but I'm pretty sure that my daughter will never be able to make good use of public education (no big surprise there). This will make things quite interesting for the forseeable future.

In addition to the homeschool routine, I am continuing to manage my part time career. I have not quite phased all out of the teen group home, but this is on the horizon as I build a practice at my new clinic. Currently, I am researching and preparing for an adult Bipolar psychoeducation and process group that I will launch next week. I am also coveting that doctorate degree I've not been able to pursue. I haven't yearned for it in the past as much as I've begun to yearn for it recently. I don't see myself being able to pursue it until the kids are at least near highschool as long as we are homeschooling. They require too much time and attention, and besides, they are my first responsibility and top priority. If they weren't, I'd have had that doctorate in the bag already. If I ever reach a point that I can pursue it, the deciding factor will be how much the degree will cost versus whether or not I will be too old for it to pay off.

I surived a week of single motherhood while Dear Husband was gone to Las Vegas last week. It was work, not pleasure (for both of us). I make a horrible single mom and have deep respect and empathy for moms that are full time single moms, perhaps while their husbands serve in the military. My own mom did this while my dad served in the Navy, and for the life of me I cannot imagine how she (or anyone) does this!

So thereyago--an update and a brain dump all in one. Efficiency has become ever so important in my life these days!

The Point of No Return

Five years ago I had already begun to dread the day my firstborn would enter the gates of Kindergarten. She has now arrived.

Here are my darlings on their first day. They are beginning a once per week day of home school co-op. I was going to teach one of the four hours in my daughter's room, but plans changed. I handed her over that morning to the hands of complete strangers. I expected her to love the classroom experience, and she did. I also expected her to be the youngest in her class, at having just turned five years old a month ago. She is one of only two girls in her class, and the other little girl is actually three weeks younger than her. Both of them are apparently at the top of the class in their abilities. My hope is that they become kindred spirits, as Dear Daughter badly needs a little girlfriend. I'm just thankful that there is another girl in her class, as the main reason I got us into this co-op scene was for Daughter to build some friendships. I was disappointed to see four boys on the roster and only one girl besides my daughter.

I get to spend the entire co-op day in the 2/3 year old room. This is honestly NOT my cup of tea. I would MUCH MUCH rather teach college psychology. However, I don't have the time to plan lessons even for a high school level course at this stage of the game in my own life.

Dear Son did fine on his first day, but I'm sure this is largely because I was there with him the whole time. As soon as I got the kids home from school that day and got Dear Son down for his nap, I had to head to work. Dear Husband later told me that our son went to his backpack at least once that evening and announced, "I wanna go to co-op again!"

So far, so good. All except for the part about how my oldest baby has now crossed the threshold. *sigh*

The End of a Season

I backed the lawnmower out of the garage yesterday with a tad less enthusiasm than in the recent months. The sun was warm on my skin, but not as hot as in previous weeks. This time it didn't feel like my skin was going to melt off my body. The two hours of mowing before me felt a tad more like drudgery and tad less like the escape it felt early in the season.

The sun had a different angle to its glare. It hung a bit lower in the sky and seemed itself a bit tired of the long hot summer days. There was a hint of fall in the air. I'm almost afraid to believe the dog days are gone for the year as the weather has a way of surprising around here. As soon as I believe, we'll have triple digits into October.

For now, I try to enjoy a day at a time with temps only in the 80's and the air conditioner getting an extended, and much deserved, break.

We've packed a lot into this summer. A few weeks ago Dear Daughter said, "Mommy, how come we're getting to do so much fun stuff these days?" and that made me happy to hear, as I wanted the kids to have fun and remember the days of freedom we had that I know won't always be there as they grow up and into more and more responsibility.

We discovered the fountain at the downtown city park. It's been there for a few years now; we just haven't been there to check it out. We live a considerable drive from the downtown area. While I worked downtown during the construction of this particular park, I don't anymore. And so I had lost track of the development. The city fountain was established with the intention of serving as a wading area and a place for the kids to cool off in the heat of the summer. It also serves as an outdoor amphitheater with permenent seating and the fountain area itself doubling as a stage when the water is turned off. The kids were instantly in love with the experience!

If you get there at the right time of the day, the fountain will boogie with the music every ten minutes for a two hour stretch. If you don't catch the beginning beat of the music, which serves to alert that the fountains are about to geyser, you'll still know it's time when you see all the kids flocking to the water spouts! They never seem to miss those first beats that pound out the warning of what's about to come.

We also braved the movies this summer. Or I should say, I braved the movies--WITHOUT Dear Husband, but WITH both kids in tow. A local theater does a free summer series each week. Dear Daughter had been pleading for awhile to go to the movie theater. We saw the VeggieTales Pirates movie. The theater was as I expected: a madhouse packed with whining and crying kids and mothers that all seemed quite weary despite it only being ten o'clock in the morning.

We made it plenty early, yet by the time we got our popcorn (Daughter insisted) the theater was already filling up and we had to climb over several people already seated to get to the empty seats in the middle of the row. Dear Daughter was in Heaven. She nestled into her seat with her bag of popcorn clutched in her hands and crunched and grinned her way through the entire movie. She was mesmerized by the massive screen and the sights and smells of the whole experience. Dear Son enjoyed the first fifteen minutes or so before he began saying, "I wanna go home!" It was just as I predicted. I chose this particular movie as I thought it held the greatest odds of holding his attention all the way through. He's a big Larry the Cucumber fan. We managed to make it through the entire thing. It was an experience I could have done without, but it brought so much joy to my Dear Daughter, that it was worth it.

We also discovered the new indoor inflatable fun park this summer. Dear Daughter was in Heaven again. She ran excitedly from jumpers to slides to climbers. This place was also a madhouse crawling with kids. Dear Son didn't know what to do in this environment, and it was an interesting experience to see Dear Daughter being quite independent and running here and there when it seems not all that long ago she clung to me as closely as her little brother still does.

We also made it to the "big pool" a couple times this season. They installed a new child-sized water slide, perfect for Dear Daughter's age. We went for the last time of the season last night. The evening swim times costs less and is less busy than the daytime hours. I wasn't sure Dear Daughter would enjoy herself all that much as the air has already begun to cool, especially late in the evening. I thought she would be too cold.

I staked out a lounge chair where I could watch her with an eagle's eye. She talked me into the water once, but it was too cold for me, and I don't really enjoy swimming all that much anyway. Getting in the water with her means that I follow her in circles as she walks laps around the two-foot depth area and splashes in the fountains and down the slide. So I decided to see how she did with me watching from the sidelines. I also watched the young lifeguards flirting with each other and thought how much I wouldn't trust them to notice whether my daughter was drowning or not. From the looks of things, they were too busy thinking about all the fornication they would be doing later when the pool closed than about saving lives.

And then I thought of my kiddo who took her life this summer. She had just become a lifeguard for the first time this summer and she loved her new job. It's been a month and a half now since she left the earth. I wondered again why she did what she did, and our various encounters over the weeks and months before she left flashed through my memory. I let my mind wander through those weary thoughts of what signs she gave, if any, that she would eventually take her life. A colleague once pointed out to me that hindsight is much like watching a movie for the second time. You already know what happens, so you also know to look for those things that you had no idea about the first time around.

I was glad to have my thoughts interrupted by the woman in her fifties who sat in a lounge chair on the other side of the pool from me and watched my daughter with delight. I knew what she was thinking, because I was thinking it too, as I watched my little girl splash and play and then dance to the music thumping over the speakers. She lifted her arms about her head and wiggled and then turned and stuck her rear out and wiggled it too. She didn't even seem to notice that anyone was watching her. I couldn't wipe the smile from my face or stop the bittersweet feelings as I watched her every move as she splashed and played. I thought how beautiful she is. How innocent. How happy. I studied her little cheeks, which still hold a touch of baby in their roundness. I thought of how she will be officially starting Kindergarten in our homeschool co-op group despite the fact that I've already schooled her through Kindergarten and she is academically ready for first grade. She'll still be the youngest in her Kindergarten class.

Despite her readiness to formally start Kindergarten, I'm not ready for it. It's a milestone that holds so much in its meaning. I'm not yet ready for her to know the real world, and I don't think I ever will be. I don't ever want her to know the pain of being teased or rejected by a peer. I don't want her to grow up self-conscious about her body and striving to have the impossible figure and physical appearance that the media of our culture forces on girls and women. I don't want her to learn how cruel our world can be. I want to protect her from everything bad and evil and from the kinds of things that ultimately drove my just-turned-sixteen-year-old client to take her own life. While I know I can do many things to protect my little girl and prepare her--things like instilling in her a deep knowledge of her value and worth in the eyes of her Creator, and that her Mommy and Daddy love her no matter what, and what it means to be a good friend and to respect authority, and to love Jesus more than anything else, and many other such things--I still know that I can't save her from all the pain of this world.

She's going to grow up. She IS growing up. And there's not a darn thing I can to do stop it.

When it was time for her to get out of the pool, the sun was nearly set. She was chilled as I wrapped her in her towel and then in my arms. I hugged her close and dried her off as she chattered about how much fun the "big pool" is and why were they picking up all the chairs and when would the pool be open again. I helped her pull on her terry cover-up, and I pulled her into my lap and squeezed her tighter, willing the world to just stop as I whispered in her ear how much I love her, and that she is my dream come true. And when I realized that the world hadn't stopped, and the sky was still growing darker as the sun set, we climbed in the family mobile and watched the moon rise orange in the sky and marveled at its beauty as we drove home in awed silence.

On Friday evening, we dismantled Dear Son's crib. It was time. He's been asking for a big boy bed for awhile, and even though he's been ready, I haven't. Taking down the crib symbolizes yet another milestone in his own growth and growing independence. While it's foolish to even imagine that I can control the passage of time by dragging my feet on issues like taking down the crib, I still find myself grasping like this. Dear Son was excited, and he did a little boogie around the room as we assembled the pieces that were to be his "big boy bed." The first night he lasted in his big boy bed until 4:35 am before he found his way in the dark to our bedroom and climbed into bed with us, wedging his wiggly little body between us. He hasn't spent an entire night in his new big boy bed yet.

For now, I feel that's okay as I succomb to the lie of the illusion that physically holding him close will somehow be enough to stop the passage of time.