Wonderful Words Wednesday

I still need to hear these things.   Everyday.

Can't We Just Talk About Juan Williams Instead?

Scene: Driving to school this morning.  Radio inaudible.

Gremlin:  Mom, can you turn up the radio?

NPR's Madalit Del Barco: "...lights up her glass Hello Kitty pipe filled with primo California weed."

Note: Mom is navigating a rush hour traffic Rotary in a standard shift car.  Can't...safely...reach...radio...

Gremlin:  California Wii?

HRH:  No, she said Hello Kitty pipe.

Gremlin: No! She said California Wii!

HRH: No, she didn't!

MM changing radio station:  HRH, Gremlin is right; she said "Wii"

Oh, thank God.  Nirvana. Smells Like Teen Spirit.

Put On Your Sunday Clothes...

Dear Gremlin,

I would like to make a date with you every day for the rest of your life to sit on the couch and snuggle and watch WALL-E. 

I know that you're a big boy now; you're in Kindergarten for goodness sakes!  Kindergarten! You sit at the kitchen table and do your homework along side your big brother. We talk a lot about letters and numbers and sounds and words.  You and Daddy played War with cards nearly every night this week.  Since you've been back in school all your learning and thinking and doing has just accelerated. 

And I want to tell you a little secret, when you hold my hand with both of yours and tell me you hate school and you want to stay home with me? A big part of me wants to let you. Even after nearly a month, leaving the playground after drop-off all by myself still feels really strange - and kind of lonely.  You're growing up.  It shows in your struggles and in facing your fears by walking in that door and making new friends and going to gym and music and computers (you're not too crazy about art...).

Then, you and Wall-e sing along to "Put on Your Sunday Clothes" with Cornelius and Barnaby...

Close your eyes and see it glisten, Portabee.
Listen, Portabee!

And you're my baby again.

Use Only As Required

As Andy and I stood in Room 319 stalking waiting to speak with HRH's teacher, I had an epiphany; we didn't need to.  Curriculum Night had gone swimmingly.  Mrs. C. seemed great! HRH was happy in his new class, happy with the work he was being given, happy with his position as A Second Grader.  He started his second week of school by exclaiming, "We get homework this week!  I can't wait to see what it is!".  HRH is happy.

When last we spoke, I was in the throes of The Question of whether or not to move HRH's class based on word on the Mommy Telegraph that his assigned teacher was "not a good teacher". What I learned was that she quite simply "wasn't there".  As in, too many subs, kids from her class entering the third grade a little behind, projects that other second grade classes completed never gotten to.  Due to the teacher's absence.

After much deliberation and discussion, I spoke with the principal. I gave him our Kindergarten sob story.  I told him of HRH's in-the-box mentality, his need for continuity, how he thrives on routine.  And the principal moved him to another class.

So when our turn came to speak with Mrs. C., we spent a moment discussing his penmanship (which could be better) and his need to "hold that thought" (rather than having to express every thought he is feeling in real time).  It was a two-minute conversation designed to let her know we were interested, involved, and aware.

But we didn't want to take time away from parents who might really need to talk.

My Son, The Rocket Scientist

Scene:  Manic Mommy and HRH, reading a few chapters of "Mrs. Roopy Is Loopy" together before bed.


MM (reading aloud): "If you want to make your friends laugh, all you have to do is stick your face in their face and say either 'bathroom' or 'underwear.' It works every time."

HRH:  Or Uranus...

MM: (Cough, laugh, sputter)  True...do you know why?

HRH: No...

MM (Brain screaming 'stop and think!' Mouth, damning the torpedoes, moving full speed ahead):  Well, you know that Uranus is a planet but it's also "your anus".  Your anus is your bum.  The place where the poop comes out.

HRH: Knowing smile as The Phrase That Launched a Thousand Potty Jokes plays through his mind...

MM:  Babe, obviously, it's a bathroom word.  You cannot to use it at school. Please don't make me sorry I told you.

HRH (mind still fully engaged in the possibilities):  Okay...but...can I say it to other boys when we're in the bathroom?

MM: N.O.


It is 9:12 am the following morning.  I expect 'the call' by 11:45.  Why do I do this to myself?