Let me share with you one of my proudest moments as a mother…

My little ones have been in school for just shy of two weeks now.  Yesterday the boys brought home their first “Thursday folder” of the year.  The “Thursday folder” contains all of the school newsletters, flyers and miscellaneous work they have done in the classroom.

In this fabulous folder I found a (insert sarcasm here) lovely math assessment done by my sweet, innocent fourth grader.

Ahem. Let me share his work with you:

Burning planes and all...

QUESTION: Write a story that represents 8X6:

HIS ANSWER: There were 10 planes with 6 kids in each. 2 planes got shot down and the kids died. How many kids are alive?

And if that weren’t enough to drive the death point home, he then proceeded to draw out a charming  graphic representation of planes going down in flames and dying children.

Teacher’s response?

*Please use topics that are less graphic and more school appropriate.

Gee, you think?!!!

Clearly my child needs to go back to Sunday School, and confession and perhaps maybe even therapy.

Color me mortified. I’m never stepping foot into that classroom again.

So, is using death to solve math problems just a boy thing?  Anyone know? Will he be torturing animals next?

As an aside, he got an A.

First day of school for the kiddos today! Yes, I shattered their dreams, woke their little butts up and put them on a school bus.  WOO HOO!!!

Not that I am that excited about it or anything.

Actually, this year is the first year that I was right there with them savoring those last moments of Summer. Relishing the last day of freedom…

Back to school has always been one of the happiest times of my life. Not because I was a good student, but because in my mind Fall represented “reinvention.” A fresh start. A clean slate. A chance to do and be whatever I wanted.

So, in honor of my tremendous geeky love for “Skool Dayz,”  I now present to you and opportunity to mock me forever.  You’re welcome.

Prom circa 1989.  Aqua Net is fabulous, isn’t it?

Hanging in the hallway with my girl posse!

I was on the Pom squad for two weeks and, of course, someone
just HAD to document it. Grumble, grumble, grumble…

My lovely and fabulous buddy Lori Rypka is one of the guest posters granting me a week of non-bloggy-ness while I vacation.  Yeah, I owe her!

What’s that sound?

Wait for it …. Wait for it … (nothingness). There it is, the elusive
silence I’ve been hearing so much about. I’m about to have the mythical
experience of silence in my house soon.

I began staying home with my daughter when she was 18 months old, and
have since had a son. I have been home taking care of kids for six
years, and have logged a collective 2,753 trips to Target, changed 8,412
diapers, given 3,529 baths, used 27,087 wipes to clean up butts and
messes, and logged 73.2 hours of sleep in that time. This fall, my
little man starts a pre-school program.

I am the first to wish that my kids don’t grow up. I had a contract with
my daughter to not grow up, but she has since changed the rules, but has
conceded to build her inventor’s lab in our backyard so that we can see
each other every day. She said we can have coffee together, and that I
can come over for sleepovers every night. My son has agreed that he
won’t grow up after he turns 4. (Ironic statement about the gender, eh?)

However, the thought of three hours a day, three days a week when both
children are in a safe, caring environment makes me think the
possibilities are endless. I can get my work done uninterrupted! I can
clean the floor and have it stay clean for TWO WHOLE HOURS. I can go to
the grocery store without a little friend asking for some sugary cereal,
then melting down when I don’t buy it! Bliss!

More importantly, of course, I’m just tickled pink that they will learn
new and exciting lessons, meet new people, see old friends that have
missed over the summer, and have new experiences. It’s worth the morning
chaos to get out the door. And of course the few moments of quiet are
just an added bennie.

This subject vexes me.

VEXES ME.

Every year I go school supply shopping and every year my frustration level rises.  So I am putting this question out to the Universe: WHY DON’T THEY MAKE MORE SCHOOL SUPPLIES TAILORED TO BOYS?

You can find even the most standard of all standard things (like, a hand cranking pencil sharpener) in a girl pattern or color.  But not boys. Oh. No.

Girls have a plethora of folders, binders, pencil cases, composition books, lunch boxes and the like available in every possible color, pattern, combination and style.  You can be a rocker, a pink princess, a horse enthusiast, even a coordinating little prepster.  Boys have none of that.

Every once in awhile you come across something.  BUT IT IS RARE.  My boys are 9 & 11.  Trust me, they don’t want “Cars” folders.  They are a little past Mater and Lightning McQueen.  They need something that is a little rock star, a little skater boy or hell, even something plaid would suffice.

JUST GIVE ME SOMETHING.  ANYTHING.

The following blog post is brought to you by  “Fruit Fresh.”

Raise your hands if you know what the hell I am talking about.  Anyone?  If you are clueless then allow me to fill you in: “Ball® Fruit-Fresh® Produce Protector prevents browning of fresh-cut produce for up to 8 hours.”

Yeah.

My sister Belinda uses it when she cans her fruit or makes jam or some such nonsense like that.  She asked me to pick some up for her the other day.  I didn’t even know where to look for the concoction.  Do you get it at a grocery store or a garden center?  Can you pick one up at CVS? Sears? No clue.

Belinda and I are very, very, V E R Y different when it comes to culinary skills and talents. My sister has her own garden where she grows fresh mint to garnish your tea with. She cans peaches. (After she has gone to the orchard and picked them herself.) She whips up complex pies (from scratch, of course) in ten minutes flat just to invite someone over for coffee. (Naturally.)  She bakes. She sautees. She marinades. 

She sucks.

I, on the other hand, well, I …. do none of those things.  NONE.  If you come to my house and expect fresh mint I will show you the door. If you are looking for home made preservatives you had better look somewhere else.  I can bake pies, but just know that said pies were purchased at a bakery where a team of highly qualified experts created them. Don’t dismay, however because I am very adept at “adding water” to anything in order to create a half decent meal.  That is MY SPECIALTY – just adding water.

How is it that we came from the same womb?

Don’t worry, our mother doesn’t know either.

Still, we get along.  I make fun of her mad homemaking skillz and she inquires as to whether my children are still alive or are eating at a friend’s house.

Our relationship just works that way.

Swimming, my friends.

Take it from my little men… summer is all about swimming.

Pictures courtesy of Edward Winter Photography, aka, my baby brother.

My children are not babies anymore.  They are not toddlers.  They are not first graders.

Oh no, we are so past that.

To say that they are “growing” is such a cliche.  Yet, that is the only word that I can grasp right now to describe this incredible stage of development they are in.

Their needs are changing.  They don’t need me in that way anymore.

They don’t need me in the room to protect them from choking hazards. They don’t need me to pour them a drink or make them a snack. They can even get dressed by themselves and make their own beds. (That being said, brushing their teeth is still a stretch.  With males it is best to visually verify that this task has been accomplished or ewww… )

What they seem to need now is a little room and a little space to discover.  They need me to interact with them and appreciate them and help them to sort their emotions and reasoning out.  They need me to spend time talking and dreaming with them. They need me to admire their Lego model and investigate their hypothesis.  They need me to listen to them read their Goosebumps books and sing along to their favorite Big Time Rush and Selena Gomez songs.  They need me to corroborate that yes, in fact, Phineas and Ferb is one of the best shows ever made for television viewing.

In doing all of these things I am able to witness their evolution.

Like all stages in their lives so far, there are incredible moments that take my breath away.  More subtle than the “oh-my-gosh-did-you-see-him-walk!?” phase.  These moments are windows into their future selves.  The hint of sarcastic humor. The clear indication of a future passion. I am addicted to these moments.

Yes, it is true that my kids don’t need me in that way anymore.  Surprisingly, I don’t even care. Whatever way they need me is fine by me.