School’s In Session

Today marked the first day, of my first child’s, first grade year.   School is old hat for our family, our preschool and kindergarten are thankfully housed in our grade school.  First grade was an easy transition for us.  Not all walked away unscathed.  I saw lots of tears; and not just from the new First Graders.  Mom’s armed with cameras and tissue gathered in hallways, sharing stories of goodbyes.  Some made plans to meet for coffee, to cry into their Starbucks a bit.  Others hurried on to jobs, or siblings. 

I was excited.  Grace, (my daughter) was excited.  We have a great teacher, Mrs. F is an institution at our school.  Loved, respected, gentle and kind.  She has Walking Sticks and a Rat in the classroom.  I’m not looking forward to parent help days, I am not comfortable with rats.  However, these two creatures rank pretty high in my daughters book.  She raced into school, backpack bouncing on her little shoulders, skinny legs going as fast as she could.  Past her also very lovely, Principal, who gave a gentle slow down as she past.  But I saw the smile, the happiness at seeing his school kids so eager to get back to learning.

We shed no tears, my daughter and I.  I took pictures, after all it is a pretty big deal, it is First Grade.  We went over bus schedules and snacks and lunch.  We found her desk, her hook, her cubby.  We hugged and kissed goodbye.  I asked her to be her best, and to have fun.  She asked me to be at the bus stop early, just in case.  I lingered in the hall.  Commiserating with the other Mom’s.  We made plans, we went down the road to Starbucks, we ordered coffee and pastries.  We toasted our little ones and our freedom.  (Mine less then others, I have a 4 year old.) 

Then I came home, home to my four year old and my Mom.  She said Liberty was pretty sad, missed Grace already.  My Mom left, and Liberty and I were left in this quiet empty house.  Both of us looking for our new schedule, our new rhythm.  It’s been nice, just time between the two of us.  I can see myself getting a lot more done.  But Grace has been gone nearly 6 hours and frankly, I feel like I’m missing out on her life.  Pretty pathetic, huh? 

At nine this morning I was almost gleeful to be shipping her off to someone elses care.  Now I feel borderline weepy.  I’m counting down the next hour until the bus drops her off.  Anxious to hear all about her first, whole day of school!  Anxious to go through her backpack, see the notes home, inventory what she ate for lunch and snacks.  I know Liberty has a whole lot planned for her too.  She has layed out toys they can play together, books to color and read, she is ready to have her sister back.

Who ever thought that this transition would be so difficult for a whole family.  I wonder about college, or even second grade.   Or if it will be easier when Liberty starts first grade.  I suppose that is what parenting is.  Lots of pushing from the nest, waiting for your birds to fly, hoping they don’t fall and wanting to tuck them safely under your wing.

Wonderful Day

“How wonderful is it that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.”

 Anne Frank

 

Thursdays are busy for us, really busy.  We pick Grace up from school and rush (speed) to get Liberty to dance classes on time.  While waiting for dance to end for Liberty I get Grace prepared for her class.  Which includes feeding her a snack, changing her clothes in the car, (which requires flexibility) and entertaining her for 45 minutes.  While Grace is in her class I do basically the same thing for Liberty, only in reverse most days.  As soon as Grace gets done we rush (run) back in the car where she changes into her soccer gear. 

I know, I know, typical Soccer Mom.  Her kids’ lives are over scheduled, they have no time to be kids….This is only on Thursdays, we have no other commitments during the school week.  And dance lasts all year, soccer only for three months.  Before I am finished with this very paragraph I will shock you all with yet another bad mommy confession.  Between dance and soccer we go through a fast food restaurant.  I’m cringing too.

I have to feed the children, and there just isn’t any time in between the two for my nutritious home cooked dinners.  I digress, the point of this story isn’t how rushed our schedule is, or that I break not one but two of the “good mommy” rules.  )These rules are made by Mothers who break them all the time, they just do it secretly and then look down on those that are more open with their transgressions.)

While in the line at Burgerville ( I pick a local company that uses fresh, local produce and free range cattle.), Grace noticed a man hunched over one the dumpsters.  “What is that man doing?”  “Has he lost something?” “Is he the garbage guy?”  I believe in telling my kids the truth, and that all people are children of God, and should be treated with love and respect.  Homeless people included.  The thing is we live in a small town, I’ve lived here my whole life and I can’t remember seeing a homeless person.  So I tell the truth, “That man may not have a home, a bed, food.  He is looking for something to eat, and he may not have money to buy himself dinner.”  Grace has a history with the homeless, she has a compassionate heart and has never met a stranger.  She is a wonderful child, my heart swells with love at her willingness to befriend anyone she meets.

The solution in her mind is easy, we should buy that man dinner.  We have the money to buy his dinner, haven’t we?  We do in fact have enough money to buy him dinner, and some gift certificates for other meals.  But is it what he would want?  Would he want a stranger to take pity on his situation, to buy him food based on the assumption that he would be grateful?  I agree to buy him dinner; a hamburger with cheese and bacon, fries and a chocolate milk shake.  (I figure he could use the extra protein and calories.)  But I still haven’t figured out the correct way to approach this stranger. 

As we turn the corner of the restaurant I see him, his bags laying at his feet.  He looks tired.  Old.  His eyes have seen too much.  I can almost not bear to watch him.  My throat is tight.  He is situated near the picnic tables, so I decide to park and unload.  We can be late to soccer, she’s only six, it’s not the Olympics.  But is it safe for me to have my two young children out of the car when I approach this man?  It’s a busy road, certainly if the situation became bad someone would help?

Silly me, all these thoughts and there is Grace running towards the man.  She only sees a hungry, tired man.  She only thinks of helping him.  And he smiles.  The years and sadness fall away from his face.  He has a beautiful smile, and really white teeth.  (I’m a little thrown by the pretty teeth, and jealous.)  His name is Rob.  He is homeless.   It started as a choice, a lifestyle.  But now it’s becoming harder.  He wishes he had made better choices.  His family used to track him down, they haven’t recently.  He came to our area to be closer to where they live, hoping they would find him when they ran their arron’s.  If they asked him to go home with them he would. 

He will eat with us, and asks if it would be okay to say grace.  Of course it is.  Grace volunteers to say it for us, over our meal.  “Thank you God for this food, and thank you for our friends, amen.”  That says it all.  We eat, in silence.  I feel like I should say more, offer more.   But what?  I do offer to call his family.  But he refuses the offer, he cannot ask for their help, they have to offer it.  He has pride.  He believes in God, he never had a substance problem or mental issues.  He just felt that this life was easier, that he didn’t answer to anyone, that he had freedom.   

I give him gift certificates to get more food later.  We say our goodbyes, I promise to keep my eye out for him and to stop and say hi if we see him.  He tells us that people often won’t look at him; homeless people.  It makes him feel less then human.  I fight back tears.  This man is someones child, he is God’s child.  I promise to pray for him.  Grace does also, she asks when we’ll see him again.  I don’t have an answer, because the truth it maybe never.   But I realize we will see many people just like him.  

Grace holds his hand as a gesture of love and to say goodbye.  We have to go, we are already pretty late and I need to make an attempt to show up on time.  So with that we say a quick goodbye.  It feels like I’m parting from the other Mom’s at school after a PTA meeting.  It’s casual, strange.   As we drive away, I wave into the rear view mirror and watch Rob wipe at his face. 

I’ve been thinking about this simple meal.  And then I saw that quote of Anne Franks.    There it was, in that minute my 6 year old helped to change the world.

Pedicures

So beautiful was the sky this morning, it just felt like a special day.  Never mind that it’s a Monday, it isn’t a special day for any specific reason.  But I am superbly good at finding reasons to celebrate.  So today we will celebrate another perfect, Oregon summer morning.  It is mid morning, about 75 degrees, the skies are the most perfect robin egg blue I have ever seen.  The air smells sweet, not the least bit heavy.  The breeze gently pushes and pulls the hair off your face…

“We should celebrate!”, this is what I am saying to my two daughters (4 and 6), “We’re going to get pedicures!”  Neither know what this means, but they are wildly excited.  The two chatter back and forth about our “peddlers”, not once asking what a pedicure is.  I am buzzing with the anticipation of being pampered, of my girls loving this luxury. 

We arrive at our neighborhood nail salon; full with petite Vietnamese woman; chatting to one another in exotic tongue.  Lines of Pedicure chairs like soldiers across two walls, half filled with women on cell phones, engrossed in magazines, gossiping with their friends.   One of the woman leads us to three chairs, side by side; my littlest is totally amazed by this woman’s waterfall of black, satin hair. ( We are not exotic, we are Swedish, blond, blue eyed, not at all exotic.)  “You are sooooo buutiful.” she says, and the woman says to her, “No baby, you are so pretty.” Of course being 4 and the woman not speaking perfect english, my little girl just looks at her like she’s crazy. 

The three girls who arrive to sooth my aching feet and my daughters pink little toes are giggling.  It crosses my mind that they may think I’m crazy, or that they think these two little girls are so cute, or how will they do a pedicure on these two crazy, squirmy little things.  It turns out that all of the above are true.  My six year old is really ticklish and afraid of just about everything new, and my four year old is tiny.  Her feet barely touch the water, let alone go under the water.  But these women, new to the US, new to Oregon (only one of the three has been in the states for more then 2 years, and they are young) give my little girls and myself the best pedicure ever.

My daughters love it; they belly laugh when they scrub their heels, they purr when their feet are massaged, they glow as the women call them baby and shower them with compliments.  I relax.  Enjoy.  Feel good.  This I think could become a tradition, or a family thing that we all do together.  Or at least that my Husband treats his girls to.  

They choose their nail polish colors.  My oldest chooses two colors, and the woman paints every other toe an alternate color.  She paints a flower on the big toenails, and puts a rhinestone on.  It is a masterpiece.  My little one picks a lavender shade, she declares it is what color tinkerbell wears.  The woman paints her little nails, and makes a crown on her toes, and also adds rhinestones.  It is a big deal.  We all sit and wait for our toes to dry. It is really hard for these girls to sit still.  I think that this may not be a good idea after all.  It could be a total waste of time and money.  It could all be ruined, my hopes dashed, a little girls heart broken when her polish is smeared. 

I say silent prayers that they can keep their feet from touching anything, I carry them to the car, without shoes one.  And it works!  Mission complete!  We all have pretty toes, perfect pedis.  My girls are so proud of their new polish, they show everyone who will look.  Their little chests puffed up when a stranger comments on how fancy they are.  And I was able to sneak in a little bit of luxury!  WooHoo.  I think this is cause for celebration!  Ice Cream, anyone?

I’ve Got the Peanut Blues

We have a peanut allergy in our home, we’ve had it for roughly four years.  And for four years we have functioned with very little incident, but the ones we’ve had have been frightening.  It all started when my  now four year old was 18 months old.  I felt quiet sure that since no one on either side of our family has any known food allergies, she would be fine eating a portion of my peanut butter Cliff bar.  Almost immediately she had hives covering most of her body, I sprung to action. I called our Pediatrician who told us to get to the Hospital as quickly as possible and they would call to let them know we were coming.  They instructed us to call 911 at any time we thought she wasn’t breathing. 

I cannot explain the sheer terror, in that moment, watching my otherwise perfectly healthy child suffering so horribly.  I did everything any other Mom would do.  Swept the house for any peanut product I could find, bought a medical alert bracelet, 5 epi-pens, I called ahead to ensure that restaurants could produce non contaminated foods.  I’ve worried about when she starts school.  Our preschool has gone completely peanut free, and no one has missed it.  I should add that I love peanuts, there has never been a peanut that I haven’t enjoyed.  I miss peanuts.

Our public schools will not go peanut free, kids like peanut butter, it’s easy to prepare a pb&j.  I understand that.  But this isn’t an allergy like hay fever, or even a gluten allergy.  It can be life threatening in some cases, and every exposure makes the allergy intensify.  Most people do not know that a person with peanut allergies does not have to ingest peanuts, just having the oil touch them can cause a reaction.  In some cases, severe cases, even air born particles can cause a reaction.

Peanut allergies are growing in our country for whatever reason, it is an unfortunate truth.  And as a society we cower to so many ridiculous requests.  We don’t acknowledge holidays as to not offend, we don’t say the Flag Salute because some people don’t like God.  Little boy can join the Blue Birds, for heavens sake.  But we can’t protect children from something that can cause so much harm, including death.  There is decidedly something wrong with our society.  I have read articles, of incidences of peanut free schools, having children bring peanut butter sandwiches with instructions (given by their parents) to smear it on the student with the allergy. 

Last week my daughter was at Vacation Bible School, and the first day they served trail mix.  Her teacher knew she had an allergy and that the mix included peanuts, so she removed Libby from the room, fed her a separate snack and made sure that the other children washed thoroughly before returning to the classroom.  Three days later, in a room separate from where snack was served, my peanut found a peanut.   It was just lying on the floor, and she picked it up, held it for 30 seconds before her teacher saw it and took it from her.  And withing seconds was needing medical attention.  I am so thankful that her teacher was so careful with my child, that she reacted so quickly.  The Minister was horrified, and vowed that they would never serve peanuts again.  The thing is, it was a pretty harmless snack, and they took precautions, and still accidents happen.  And it usually is just an accidental exposure.

So if your a parent, a school official, any one with any pull over public schools I beg you to consider going peanut free.  Kids who can enjoy peanut products can still enjoy them at their homes.  But have some compassion for us Mom’s who send our little ones into the world, filled with worry over their safe keeping.  Because on top of worrying that they will be safe, that they will have a good day, that they will make friends, we have to worry for their little lives.

Is It That Complicated?

I love reality shows. I know it is something I should be ashamed of.  I know it’s certainly something I shouldn’t blog about.  But in this case I can’t help myself.  For the record, I tape all of my reality shows on my DVR and watch them after my children have gone to bed.  The two I love the most are Tori Spellings and Denise Richards.  I was a huge 90210 fan, it was on when I was a teenager, who didn’t love it.  But I favored Kelli Martin to Tori’s character.  And I can safely say that I have seen absolutely nothing that Denise Richards has been on.  I don’t watch a lot of movies, unless kid movies count.

I think what draws me to these shows is that I can relate to these two women.  They are afterall around my age, mothers, and blond.  They are trying to do the best they can in regards to their children, and in my humble opinion they’re doing a pretty good job. 

What I don’t understand is why the bad rap for Denise?  I know little of her relationship with Mr. Sheen and I don’t care to know more.  The media portrays him as a bit of a nutter and frankly the claims they have made, make me believe it’s true.  But it’s the media that portrays Denise as a bad mother for having her kids on the reality show. 

Why then is it ok for Tori’s kids, Hulk Hogan’s kids, Kamora Lee Simon’s kids…the list is long, really long.  I have watched this whole season of Denise’s show, It’s Complicated.  Much to my husbands dismay, we watch faithfully every Sunday night.  And I like her, a lot.  Minus the part where I feel a little envious because of her long, thick, blond hair, perfect body and often darling wardrobe.  And don’t think I missed the LV luggage on the last episode, it didn’t get passed me.  But I think this is  a woman I would befriend.  Her own friends seem to love her, as does her family and staff.

Denise seems kind, fair, generous.  And given by the size and volume of her laugh I would imagine shes a whole bunch of fun too.  She reminds me of my single, mother girlfriends.  Just trying to make it in this world, to raise her children and even grow herself a little.  She has taken a stance on her divorce that she won’t bad mouth her ex.  We all know that it takes two to make a marriage and usually that many to break a marriage.  We also know that her ex hasn’t held back the insults.  Is that why people don’t like her, or feel her parenting lacks?  Because she hasn’t said the awful, insulting things about him.  She obviously could rattle off a few less then flattering things, but she cares about her daughters enough to realize that love him or hate him, he is their father.

What a tremendous amount of courage and strength it takes to take that sort of stand.  The sort of stand that makes you an amazing mother.  She has sacrificed a lot for her girls, like any other good mother has.  In her case she has sacrificed her career somewhat; putting it on hold; she has sacrificed some pride,  (Although, I think she should be proud of herself) she has turned the other cheek.   All Mom’s sacrifice for their children, our lives change once we give birth, and my feeling is that Denise doesn’t regret that, instead she relishes it. 

Her children are loved, healthy, well adjusted acting little girls.  Denise has help, from her father, who is grounded and funny.  He loves her and his grand daughters so much.  She has a sister who is one of her best friends.  These two little girls appear to be surrounded by people who love and support one another.   Her girls have support, love, attention, guidance, security.  Hmmmm…seems like a pretty great environment to raise children. 

The most recent show ended with a tearful Denise; emotionally exhausted; saying something along the lines of, “I guess it’s maybe not that complicated.”  And I think she’s right, it’s just has to be a lot harder to do all that shes trying to accomplish under the microscope that is entertainment media.

Hot Mama

WOW! Hot Mama doesn’t even begin to describe me, or the day out with my youngest , the four fireman,  and our local grocery store.  I felt good, I looked in the mirror at myself and said, “For a Mom of two you look great!”  I was feeling like surely someone would see me and think that I was one of those Super Mom’s.  She somehow managed to not only get out of her house by 9 a.m.;  she is so stylish and look at her little girl, she’s just darling;  she also has her coupons clipped and organized according to the layout of the store.  This is a girl who has the world on a string…

That’s when I noticed the four, young, sexy, gorgeous fireman smiling in my direction.  My head was going to explode it was getting so big.  See, I knew that I was a Hot Mama.  Then they said, “Your little girl is so cute.” And I thought of course she is, I’m Super Mom, we’re all cute, we have the world on a string…

It was one of those slow motion, nooooooooo moments.  There in the organic produce section of Safeway, as I turned to look adoringly at my little cherub, my eyes couldn’t quiet focus.  I felt faint.  I was HOT.  What was that in her mouth?  What was she swinging around with that string?  What had I just thought about me having it all together?  Having the world on a string….

My beautiful, shining girl was swinging a tampon around and around by the string.  The string was firmly planted in between her perfect little seed pearl teeth, her head swinging motion was like a professional hula hooper.  And we had a large audience.  Large, more then ten patrons and employees.  All laughing her on, helping her to swing the tampon (unwrapped) faster and faster.   Had I just thought that I was the kind of girl people looked at with envy.  Just like that, the string was cut from my world and all I could do was laugh and be proud of my tampon twirling offspring.