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?

Back to School Reminders - Part 1: Mornings

Dear Boys,

I know it's been a long summer (God knows it's been a long summer) and during that time, some rules have been allowed to slip.  In the interest of smoothly transitioning to the new fall schedule, I felt it would be in everyone's best interest to post a few reminders.

• Each day, you will be required to wake up.  I know you are fully capable of waking up in the predawn hours of summer so it only stands to reason you can also emerge from your bedrooms at a time suitable to complete all morning tasks and still arrive at school on time.

• Speaking of tasks, each morning you will be required to change out of your pajamas and place school-appropriate clothing on your body.  If mom is on top of her game, those clothes will be placed on top of your bureaus.  They include but may not be limited to:

• Pants/Shorts
• Shirt
• Clean underwear (yes, every day)
• Clean socks (see above)

The act of dressing should take place in your rooms. Upstairs. The living room is not an appropriate place to change or casually hang out naked.

• Your parents are legally obligated to provide a breakfast of somewhat healthy, energy-producing, brain-feeding foods.  You are legally obligated to accept one of the two to three breakfast items offered daily.  You may have noticed that your personal preferences lean toward a pretty starch-heavy list.  For the love of God, from time to time, please eat a banana/apple/yogurt!

• Brush your teeth.  You are both old enough to lose teeth.  The replacements are the last set God will ever give you.  Take care of them.  "I brushed them really well last night" is not an acceptable answer.  Also?  Have you smelled your own morning breath?  Seriously.  And Mom can tell the difference between ACT Fluoride Rinse and actual brushed-teeth smell.

• Your hair will be gelled into place for the foreseeable future.  Mom has an irrational fear of lice and her only louse remediation plan involves shaving everyone's head and burning the house down.  Don't make me do it.

• We leave for school at 8:15.  To clarify, at 8:15 am, you are required to get off the couch/floor/table, pick up your backpack from its designated spot in the dining room, walk out the front door, and get into the car.  It's really that simple.

Boys, thank you for your attention and anticipated cooperation.  Once we've had a chance to internalize this list, you can look forward to the next in the continuing series:

II. School Arrival Etiquette (subtitled: stop climbing on your classmates)

III. Post-School Activities (subtitled: it's your homework, I've already completed grammar school)

IV. Baths and Bed (how not to flood the bathroom)

I'm so very proud of both of you and looking forward to a nice, long, fun, school year!

Love you,

Mommy

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

Two and a half years ago, I wrote about the angst and anxiety associated with deciding where to send HRH for kindergarten.  We made our decision and felt good about it.  Let's go buy some uniforms, it's off to Catholic school we go!

Two years ago, I met several mothers at Little League who warned me repeatedly about the Kindergarten teacher to whom HRH had been assigned.  We chose to take these cautions with a grain of salt and form our own opinions. 

A little less than two years ago, I wrote in excruciating detail about moving HRH out of St Somewhere's following a harrowing several months where every warning I'd received and then some came back to bite me in the ass.

First grade was ideal!

Last month, we received Gremlin's teacher assignment.  We got my first choice!

School starts nine days from now.  There are four second grade teachers.  According to the Mommy Telegraph, two are good.  One is new.  And one is She-who-must-not-be-named. Yesterday, we returned to our annual pilgrimage to Storyland to receive our class assignment: Mrs. Anyone-But-Her.  Here we go again.

I read back through my old posts on the topic and find a common theme; Kindergarten is such a watershed year.  It's important to have the right teacher. This is his first year in a new school, it's so important to start off on the right foot.  And now?  Second grade is so early on.  He loves school.  What if this teacher is as bad as everyone says?

I get it.  He won't always have the best teacher.  I didn't.  I survived. I'm not going to spoon feed him through college but isn't part of my job to make sure he does get what's best for him? 

This time, I am listening to the warnings.  I'm asking specific questions; what do you mean she's "not a good teacher?"  Can you be a bit more specific? Did your child have her or was it just someone you'd talked to?   I talked to good friend of mine who happens to teach.  I've got emails out to other teacher-friends.  I also emailed HRH's 1st grade teacher asking if she thought this assignment was "a good fit" - and yes, I included my cell and home numbers so she can call me below the radar. 

I've gotten Andy's agreement if not his blessing.  I'm in my Discovery Phase today and tomorrow.  Then it's decision time.  And all this is assuming that I'll get my own way and the principal will honor my request for a change.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat...

Let Me Hear Your War Cry!

What?  This stuff doesn't happen at your house??

Last week, I am awakened from blissful slumber in the middle of the night by the sound of my husband doing his best Braveheart immitation.  (I actually likened it to that scene in Return of the King when Aragorn says, "For Frodo,"  then runs headlong into a phalanx of Orcs at the Black Gate.  But I digresss....)

I go from sound asleep to still asleep but on my feet, running, and yelling "What? What?!" while following my husband, in full battle cry exiting our bedroom.  Here is his sequence of events:

0.0 microseconds - Andy awakens to the sound of HRH screaming. 

0.1 - Mind immediately processes "HRH is having a nightmare."

0.2  - Localizing sound...HRH is sleeping in Gremlin's room...sound not coming from Gremlin's room!

0.3 - Clearly, HRH is being dragged from the house by a kidnapper and is screaming in terror!

0.325 - Every microliter of adreneline empties into bloodstream.

0.4 - Eject from bed, issuing war cry to alert kidnapper to his approach with intent of kidnapper dropping HRH.

0.5 - Formulate plan while running down hall: Will bodily throw kidnapper down flight of stairs then land on top of him and proceed to pummel him until dead.


1.0 - Arrive at top of stairs where HRH is standing at the safety gate, alone, still asleep, and screaming.

1.5 - Processing...Child is not being kidnapped.  Child is sleepwalking, came up against the safety gate and could not compute.

2.0 - Hugging child. Adrenaline still flowing like oil into the Gulf.

2.5 - Second, totally confused child emerges from bedroom to find out what all the screaming is about.

3.0 - Still piecing it all together, Mommy ushers everyone toward our bedroom to calm everyone down, try to return to sleep mode.


3.5 - Best guess is Daddy will be prepared to sleep by Thursday.

Never Question the Nickname

Scene: Driving home from an impromptu day trip to the Cape.  A day which featured orange soda and fried clams at Spanky's Clam Shack, hitting two buckets of balls at the driving range, hundreds(ish) of dollars spent at the arcade, and frappes at Four Seas Ice Cream.

From the backseat, we hear HRH:  I don't remember too much appreciation these last few days... 


You and me both, buddy.

Puberty?

Scene:  MM cleaning up last of dinner dishes. 
HRH enters kitchen, left arm raised overhead as if waiting for the teacher to call on him for the answer.

HRH:  I think I have my first armpit hair.

MM:  Oh?  (peers closely).  I don't see one buddy.

HRH:  Oh, maybe I'm just sweaty then.

Always Say "Thank you".

Dear Mrs. M.,

As the school year draws to a close, I wanted to thank you so much for everything you’ve done this year. As we've discussed, the transition from preschool to kindergarten was a particularly rocky one for HRH (perhaps more so for his mommy). We had originally looked to St. Somewhere’s due to a misguided belief that the public schools in Manickville could not meet the needs of our son. We could not have been more wrong. In every area where St Somewhere’s failed, New School has flourished! I’m so happy to have found a community of caring, respectful, involved parents and a school ready and willing to accept my help, my opinions, and my neuroses.

Most especially, I am thankful for you. I so appreciate your hands-on, “treat them as individuals” approach to your class. From day one, you have greeted each child, looked into his eyes, and called him by name. It was obvious you wanted to get to know our children in order to teach to their needs and you have more than met that goal.

HRH enjoys school. He is genuinely happy to go every day, just as he was in preschool. One of my greatest fears was that his time at St Somewhere’s would destroy that enthusiasm. I can’t thank you enough for resurrecting it and for fostering it.

As we look to second grade – and kindergarten for Gremlin, I am optimistic. I am confident that, as with this year, my boys will be given teachers who will best meet their needs, who will show them that learning can be fun, and who will provide them with the gentle guidance you have this year.

With warmest regards,

Christine Manic

Happy Mother's Day from the Manic Boys

 Happy Mother's Day to all my wonderful mommy friends and those who do the work of mommies. 


From Gremlin:

My Mommy's:

Name is: CHRISTINE

Favorite thing to do is: KEEP THE FAMILY SAFE (I love this one because it proves he does actually hear me)

Favorite clothes are: HER BEACH CLOTHES (where beach clothes = t-shirt and capris)

Favorite Food is: COUS COUS (Dude, it's ready in FIVE minutes.  What's not to love?)

Favorite place to go is: ON VACATION (ding, ding, ding!  We have a winner!)

Favorite color is: GREEN

Likes if when I: HUG AND KISS HER (Yes, yes she does.  Very much)



From HRH:

Nearly Wordless Wednesday

"Mom, I was trying to find my bathing suit and I left my bottom drawer open."

Team Why Mommy's Virtual Science Fair

Three things kind of converged in the last few weeks in a way that confirm my belief that we're all in this together.  My polygamist, gay, boyfriend, Jason is taking part in the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure 60 Mile Walk.  He's doing it in memory of his mother and in honor of his brother, who was 11 when their mom died.

The second thing is that I was called back in after a yearly mammogram for a second look at what appears to be a calcification.  I have an appointment with a surgeon next week and look to be headed toward a biopsy.  I'm treating this the same way I've treated an abnormal pap result; I'm "concerned" lower case, not "CONCERNED" all caps.  My mom and my husband inform me they're doing the worrying for me.  I have very good people in my life.

The third is that I received an email from my dear friend, Jean, of Stimeyland.  I will always be grateful to blogging and to the universe for putting a person such as Jean in my path,  She is a good person.  She is smart, funny, caring, enthusiastic, energetic, self-effacing, and did I say wickedly funny?  She is the person you want in your corner.  She's got your back.

To wit: the email explained that a mutual blogging friend, Susan at Toddler Planet was going in for another round of surgery to address, heal, and kick cancer's ass.  Apparently, cancer didn't know who it was dealing with the first time.  Susan is yet another truly good person.  I had the pleasure of meeting her at BlogHer last year in Chicago.  Susan is an astrophysicist and a mommy.  And has cancer.

Jean came up with the brilliant idea of a Virtual Science Fair to show our support for Susan but not for her (rat bastard) cancer.   So here I am, doing what I can on all three fronts of my our battle:

1. I send money, support, and love to Jason.
2. I make appointments and follow-up, and stay positive about my own health
3. I submit my sons' and my science project.  (I hope we get an Honorable Mention)

Absorption Experiment:  

After cutting stems, place white carnations in a cup of water and add food coloring. What will happen?

Mom: What do you think will happen to the flowers?
HRH: The flower part will turn the color of the food coloring.
Gremlin: I don't know.

Mom: How do you think it happens?
HRH: The water will come into the bottom and be sucked up into the flower and by my calculations, you will be able to see that color.


Mom: How long do you think it will take?
HRH: Maybe about a half an hour to three quarters of an hour
Gremlin: Don't know!

Mom: Do you think it will make any difference if the stems are longer or shorter?
HRH: Maybe if the stems are longer, it will take longer to absorb.
Gremlin: You're a fast writer.

Mom: Do you think it will make any difference which colors we use?
HRH: Oh!  My food coloring dropped.
Gremlin: Mom, when can we start?
HRH: Mom, when can we start?

Natives getting restless. Time to move on to the doing:

Start time: 2:59 pm

Beware the dangers of food coloring.

4:17 pm - Change occurring in tips of petals!!

 

9:30 am (18 hrs, 31 minutes)

To Susan, I offer you this lovely bouquet of cheap-ass, $1.00 carnations now filled with all the colors of the rainbow.  I also send strength, healing, prayers, love, and good wishes. We've got your back.

Head over to Stimeyland to check out all the fabulous science-y expressions of love for Susan!

They Grow Up So...Fast?

Scene:  Manic Mommy spies 6-year-old neighbor out front window, clearly trolling for a playmate.

MM to Wii-playing 7-year-old:  You know, HRH,  Annabelle would probably love it if you went out with her.

HRH (out the side of his mouth):  You mean like on a date?

This from the kid that thinks a giant rabbit broke into our house last night and left candy.

Happy Easter, my peeps!

Wordless Thursday

"To:  Dr. Seuss"

"If you find this letter blowing, let it keep on going."

What to Really Expect - What's Your Point?

Ever hear of foreshadowing? Me too.


It's February vacation and we're headed to my sister's house to let them (destroy her house for a change) play with their cousins. After I finally get the boys dressed and ready, I head upstairs to retrieve my watch. It is from here that I hear the blood curdling screams of my first born.

Like all mammals, I know the differences in my sons' cries. This one was not irate (Gremlin took something belonging to me!) nor was it over-reactive (There is a spider in the basement!!), this scream said, This is my own blood!!!

We meet at the door to my bedroom where HRH is cradling his right hand in his left as blood drips from the puncture wound on the back of his wrist. Gremlin is following surily behind. I grab a towel and apply direct pressure while trying to simultaneously calm him and find out what the hell happened.

Turns out that in the 3.2 minutes I was upstairs, the boys got into a game of poking with sharpened pencils. After repeated "light" pokes to Gremlin's face, he'd had enough and reciprocated by stabbing HRH in the hand with a pencil. I wish there was an "incredulous" font. Are you kidding me?

I steer HRH into the bathroom so we can clean/inspect/band-aid. I instruct Gremlin to go downstairs to retrieve the pencil so I can see if the tip is broken off.

The tiny puncture is slightly black-ish but I can't tell if there's graphite in there or just he's just marked. Also the vein in his wrist is bulging but it doesn't look like it was pricked. Gremlin arrives with the pencil but as I turn to this forensic evidence, he proceeds to poke the bathroom doorjamb with it, rendering the point uncheckable.

When in doubt, call the pedi. I manage to calm HRH's screams and cover the wound with a Scooby Doo band-aid and make yet another call to our doctor. He agrees that maybe he should take a look and off we go, with a quick call to my sister, letting her know about the unplanned pit stop.

Diagnosis: It doesn't look like the pencil tip broke off in his arm and the positioning most likely rules out any bits from traveling to his brain. But essentially, HRH will have a life-long, tiny black dot tattoo.

The boys were also subjected to a lengthy dissertation on the dangers of graphite poisoning (yes, I made up that term), potential enucleation, and general acts of stupidity and violence.

Then we went and played at Auntie's house.

It's a Sing-Along!

We interrupt regularly scheduled blogging for a musical interlude:

Anatomy of a Guy Friendship

Last week, after school, HRH caught sight of some kids playing ball and decided to join them. I was pleased as HRH has recently given up most forms of outdoor play, preferring Legos, TV, Wii, Homework, pretty much anything to outdoor exercise. I was also pleased because he insinuated himself into a group in which he knew no one and just waited his turn until it became clear he was indeed included.

The game proceeded for the better part of an hour while I chatted pleasantly with some other mommies over by the play structure. Suddenly, a loud scream rent the air and we all turned to see the victim. It was HRH, running toward me, crying, clutching his crotch! Oh...crap.

As we sat, me cradling HRH, him cradling his package, we managed to piece together what had transpired:

Another boy had been 'fake punching' HRH to make him flinch, then calling him a scardy cat (aside: strange word to spell, funnier that kids still use it). HRH in turn pulled a fist up to the the bully's face and told him he'd "show him scared". I'm actually perfectly okay with HRH's actions and truthfully quite proud of him for standing up for himself in the face of an older (2nd grade) kid. Unfortunately, the kid wasn't as impressed and instead kicked HRH squarely between the legs!

We were able to identify which child and his appropriately horrified mother dragged him away for some serious talking-to. After everyone had calmed down, the mother brought her little hooligan son to HRH to offer an apology. The boy seemed genuinely contrite and HRH accepted graciously.

Since that day, he and HRH have been seeking each other out to play; ball, tag, whatever. His name is Gabe.

And I'm pretty sure he's going to be an usher at HRH's wedding.

Kind of a Drive-By but Had to Share

First grade work: Choose a word from the word list, use it in a sentence, and draw an accompanying picture.

The beret kills me. And "good art work"?

One Day with HRH

Scene 1: Target, near the toy aisle

Unknown child: Yuck. I don't like Star Wars!

HRH (frantically whipping his head around to spot the blasphemer): Oh, it's a girl.


Scene 2: Our house. MM in kitchen. HRH in basement watching Return of the Jedi, playing Marble Mania.

MM: Hey buddy, come on up. It's time to go get Gremlin at school.

HRH: Well, it was good while it lasted...


Scene 3: The car on the way home from fancy dinner out with Mom at Friendly's

HRH: Gremlin, I win! I just farted and we were playing 'whoever farts first wins'.

Gremlin: Whoever makes a fart noise first wins!

HRH and Gremlin (in unison): Pfffft

Clockwork Gremlin

Scene:
HRH: Snuggled up to Mommy in the pre-dawn darkness. Ready to chat.

Manic Mommy: Shoved to the middle of the bed, head sandwiched between two pillows like she's strapped to a back board.

The Daddy: On his side, facing away, playing possum.

HRH: Mom?

MM: Hmmmm?

HRH: Sometimes, I go into Gremlin's room in the morning and try to wake him up by pulling his eyelids open.

MM: And does that wake him up?

HRH: No, he just closes them back to sleep.

MM: How 'bout you don't do that anymore, mmkay?


Think I'm gonna let it slide next time I catch Gremlin messing with HRH.

It's Going So Well!

Right now, the boys are happily tired, enjoying a reasonably healthy after-school snack of tortilla chips with salsa (HRH) and hummus (Gremlin) while watching Tom and Jerry. We just got home after spending over an hour in the school playground after school where the boys played baseball, tag, and climbed all over the structure. There were no tears and no yelling. And here's the best part; it's been like this most days for nearly a month!

HRH has adjusted so beautifully to public school first grade! He's one of just 18 kids in his class. His teacher is friendly, open, and informative. Each morning, she personally greets each member of her class by name with a smile and eye contact before ushering them into the building. Each afternoon, she ensures a grown up is truly present before allowing the children to run. In between, it seems that she keeps them engaged and entertained as she goes about their lessons. At the end of our first week of school, a simple little note came home letting the parents know that the kids were adjusting well and finding their way. You know what a whore I am for information and communication.

Getting information from HRH continues to be like drawing blood from a stone, but thanks to some good advice and a lot of pestering on my part, I know who sits at his table, that he plays Star Wars at recess with Aidan and Sean, and that a different teacher pulled him out of class on Day 2 to assess his reading skills.

Gremlin has adjusted remarkably well to five-day preschool. He is in a class with just eight kids, four of whom were with him last year. The teacher (whom I did not know previously) is friendly and warm - and finds my child delightful. In just the few weeks since the start of school, we're spending more time talking about letters and numbers. He's writing his name on everything and eager to do "homework" alongside his big brother.

Mornings continue to be chaotic but there is never a complaint about actually going to school. It's more the mundane tasks (brushing their teeth, brushing their hair, changing their clothes) that continue to create the usual dissent.

I'll take it any day. As Andy recently said, I've never been so happy to be wrong.