This Post is Not About School Starting - It's about Halloween!

I have a lot I want to say about school starting next week.  My Bean is about to start Kindergarten.  My Little One is going to be in 5 morning/week preschool.

This makes me want to cry and/or throw up.

So, let's not talk about that today.  Maybe next week.  Maybe in 13 years when the Bean is leaving for college and going to Kindergarten seems easy by comparison.  Maybe never.

Instead, I want to talk about Halloween.  Yep...I said it.  Halloween, and it's not even September yet.   Remember, when you were a kid and spent months, months, leading up to October plotting and planning your perfect Halloween costume?  Well, I'm now on the receiving end of that plotting and planning.  I have always told my boys that I will endeavor to make whatever costume is the one that inspires them each year.  Last year, the Little One was dead set on being a snowman.  So, I made him a snowman costume.  In Florida.  Where it was 83 degrees at 8:00pm.  He had sweat running down the sides of his face and the inside of his costume was soaked, but he was so happy.  Everyone in the neighborhood loved his costume.  Of course they did!  Why wouldn't they?  How often do you see a snowman in Florida!? 

Because I do try to sew or otherwise craft together their costumes, I give them an October 1 deadline to have their choices in.  No mind-changing after that point, because Mommy needs time to make these crazy things you dream up into reality!

This year, I expected to be buying costumes.  No Spiderman, IronMan, Batman, Transformers costume I create is going to be as cool as the one Costco's got on the rack in the center aisle of the store (that we have to walk past every single time).   Price-wise...well, I can't compete there either.   Homemade is not always cheaper, or better.  The year they wanted to be firemen, I bought the Costco costumes.  $20 apiece, and they look like the real thing.  They still wear those things to play dress up, though the pants are more like shorts now.   Money well spent.

So, here I am, expecting the superhero requests to come rolling in.   So, I ask, "what do you guys think about Halloween this year?  Do you know what you'd like to be?"

YES!

The Little One would like to be a...hot dog.

The Bean would like to be a...box of Nilla Wafers.

Are you kidding me?!  Where do they dream this stuff up??  Maybe they were hungry and it's like when I go grocery shopping hungry.  I come home with all sorts of weird stuff and strange ideas for what's for dinner.

Meanwhile, I'll see you in the aisles of Jo-Ann's.  I've got to find some bun-colored fleece to stuff for a hot dog bun.  And a big box and lots of yellow paint...

Winter is Fun!

So, we've moved.  To Michigan.  From Florida. Just in time for the snowiest, coldest winter Michigan has seen in something like 40 years.

<insert joke here>

Really, though, we've been having a lot of fun.  With the exception of the absurdly low wind chills this week - it was -40 yesterday morning, and, as my husband put it, "this is an abomination."  The Bean and Little One are truly getting to experience snow for the first time and they love it.  We're lucky enough to have a big enough hill across the street from our house for sledding, and we're teaching the boys how to pack a proper snowball.  Their technique is pretty good already - Mommy!  Make me a snowball!  Daddy!  Stand still so I can throw this at you!

We've been talking about taking them to one of the local ski hills so we can get them on skis for the first time.  My husband is an avid skier and has been since he was 13.  (He would want me to be clear that he learned to ski on actual real mountains, and under normal circumstances, would only really ski on actual real mountains.  He wouldn't even consider putting on his skis for the local landfill-turned-ski hills we have in Michigan if we didn't have kids who want to learn!).   I learned to snowboard the first year we were dating and have gotten passably good at it, when I'm not falling off the lift as I fail to dismount gracefully.  Every time.  Then, we had kids and moved to Florida,  and the board and skis went into the closet.

Today, while moving some things around the storage room in our basement, I found the bag with our gear and hauled it out.

"Boys!  Come check it out!  This is my snowboard!  Pretty cool, huh?"

They come over and inspect my snowboard, my husband's skis, and our boots.  The Bean looks me up and down and says, eyebrows raised, "You can ride on that, Mommy?"

Yeesh - so skeptical.  Have a little faith in your mother.  I used to be cool before I had kids, you know!   "Yes, I can ride on that.  And Daddy is a very very good skier.  Would you guys like to learn?"
Both of them answer, "Yes!"  Then, the Bean remembers he's wearing a t-shirt he got for Christmas with a snowboarder on the front, flying through the air, X-Games style.  His eyes light up, "Mommy? Can you do this?" He points at his shirt.  Uh oh...too much faith in Mommy now!

"Uh...no.  Not quite exactly like that."
"Why not?  Can Daddy fly through the air on his skis like this?"  He's clearly still hoping one of his parents is as cool as he thought.
"I'm not sure.  Maybe you should ask him when he gets home."
The Little One chimes in, "If Daddy hits a rock on his skis he could fly through the air!"  Ah, the Little One!  I'm sure he didn't mean Goofy-style, but that's the image I have in my head now, with the trademark yaaaahooohoooohoooo echoing in the background.

I really can't wait to take these two out for the first time!  They probably won't see Daddy flying through the air, but they'll surely see Mommy falling on her rear, sliding down the hill on her back, head first.

Because Grandma is Short

A few nights ago, as I was rocking the Little One before bedtime, he grabs my hand in the dark and starts touching each of my fingers in turn.  After a few minutes, he identifies each one as a member of our family.

I'm laughing a little as he's naming each of my fingers.  I wasn't surprised until he got to my thumb, the one he named last.  I asked him why Grandma was my thumb, and he said, "Because she is short."  I laughed until tears rolled down my face.  I'm pretty impressed that he made these correlations, I mean, with the exception of Grandma somehow being shorter than the boys, the proportions are accurate.

Then I find out that, while babysitting the Bean, Grandma was informed that if she had an iPad, it would only have games on it like his does, (not "everything" like Mommy's) because she's short like him.

Grandma isn't very tall, but she's definitely taller than the boys, at least for a little while longer.  The pediatrician tells me that I shouldn't be surprised if they reach between 6' 4" and 6' 6" before they are done growing.  I guess that means my husband and I will become the ring finger and pinky, respectively, and the boys will be the index and middle.  

Grandma is still the thumb, though…  

Boo!

This is not a Halloween post.  Although, now that I think about it, the following may have been inspired by all the Halloween stories, projects, and decorating going on in our house.

Early this morning - 4am, to be exact - the Bean comes into my room and wakes me up.

"Mommy? I had a bad dream."
"Ok, sweetheart.  Let me get up.  Do you need to go potty, while you're awake?"
"Yes, I'll go in your bathroom."

He trips off into the bathroom as I drag my groggy body out of bed and try to get upright.  After he's finished, I go in.  I hear him click on the light in the main part of the bathroom and I wince, because I know I'm going to be blinded the minute I open the door between us.

As I'm staggering out of the bathroom, eyes half shut and reaching for the light switch, I call out into my bedroom, "I'm coming, love.  Let's get you back to bed."

At that point, from my right, where the bathtub is, he jumps up and yells, "BOO!"

I swear I thought I was having a heart attack.  I yelped, jumped, and then burst into tears.  All in the same three seconds.

"That was NOT NICE!  Get your stuffed animals and get back to your room!"  I did take him back to bed, and tuck him in and kiss him.  I'm not a complete ogre.

Later in the morning, I talked to my husband on the phone and told him what happened.  After he finished laughing, long and hard, he gently pointed out that I may have overreacted a bit.  "I'm sure he thought he was being funny, and I can just picture his little face after you yelled at him."

Now, I'm feeling horrible and guilty as hell.  My husband's right!  He thought he was doing something funny and cute and I shouted at him like a horrible, well, ogre.

I go down to his bedroom, where I can hear him playing quietly with his brother, pretending they aren't getting up too early.  I walk in, sit down on the floor, and pull him into my lap.

"Sweetheart, do you remember what happened during the night?  When you said, 'BOO!' and scared me?"

He giggled a little.  "Yes, Mommy."

"Well, I'm sorry I shouted at you.  You really scared me and I wasn't quite awake yet and I know you were just trying to be funny."  I kissed him and he snuggled into my arms for a hug.  So sweet.

Then...

"Mommy, I really scared you!  You thought I was in your room, but I wasn't!  I was hiding, and I made you jump and yell, because I scared you!!" And he's rolling on the floor laughing so hard he's snorting.

...

I called my husband back to tell him that his son was not, in fact, scarred by my overreaction.  That it just made it even funnier in his mind.  I was laughing, mind you, because this not the first time I've looked ridiculous to my children, and I'm positive it won't be the last.  They are pretty funny kids!

But next time he wakes me up in the middle of the night, I'll be ready for him.

If This Plane Lands in the Water...

Last weekend, my brother-in-law got married.  My boys were in the wedding (cutest ring-bearers in the history of the job, really), and my husband was the Best Man.  My job, besides doing one of the readings at the wedding ceremony, was to handle the ring-bearers and make sure they made it down the aisle, then sat quietly through Mass.  They did both admirably well, and my husband and I both heaved a sigh of relief when we made it to the end without any outbursts from our children.

The wedding was in Michigan.  My husband was already there (we're moving there soon, and he's been commuting from Florida for several months now), so I flew with the Bean and the Little One on last Wednesday evening.  They were amazing.  Charming, funny, talkative, cooperative...I could not have asked for a better experience.

We were on a large plane that was mostly empty.  There were maybe 30 people in the main cabin, which meant the boys could play with their tray tables and squirm in their seats without bothering anyone.  As we were preparing for takeoff, the lead flight attendant asks everyone to "please direct your attention to the overhead screens for a brief safety presentation."  Ordinarily, I ignore this.  I've flown enough times to know that in the event of an unexpected loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling, and that oxygen will be flowing, even if the bag doesn't inflate.  I also know that my seat cushion makes a handy flotation device in the event of a water landing.

Ordinarily, I said.  This was not an ordinary flight.  This was the first flight my kids noticed the video screen and paid attention.  My "mom antennae" were working overtime and I was already bracing myself for the questions.  The Little One didn't seem to care much.  He was examining the Sky Mall magazine, maybe working on his Christmas list.  I'm not sure.  I'm just glad he wasn't paying attention. The Bean was a different story altogether.

"Mommy? Do we have to wear a life vest to ride on a plane?  I thought those were for boats.  And why are those people on the TV wearing those funny masks on their faces?  Do we have to do that, too?  

Truth versus Anxiety-Free Trip...  Sorry, Truth.  There's no winning this one.  I completely dodged the question.  "Well, sweetheart, I've been on a lot of planes, and I've never had to use those things."  And then I gave him a bag of fruit snacks and told him to look at the all the things going on outside his window.

I turn to the Little One to answer his questions about products available for purchase from Sky Mall, and in the twenty seconds I wasn't looking at the Bean, he went rifling through the seat back pocket in front of him.  Of the thirteen things in there, what does he find to peruse?  The Safety Information Card.  Yay!

"Mommy?  Look at this.  Why is this a picture of an airplane parked in the water?  This is not a seaplane.  It cannot land on the water, Mommy. And why do they need boats?"  He wasn't upset, just confused about why the artist chose to show an airplane in the water with giant inflatable life rafts all around it.  As I stuttered and tried to think of a better answer than my previous one, he continued.  "Mommy!  Are you looking at this?  If this plane lands in the water, the people on it are not going to be able to get where they are going and they are not going to be happy."

The only thing going through my head was, If this plane lands in the water, we have bigger problems than how were going to get to our final destination!   I didn't say that.

Instead, I said, "Wow.  It's getting loud in here.  I think we're about to take off.  Want some more fruit snacks?"

Laugh at me, scold me for not telling him the truth, whatever... I'm just thrilled to say we made it through the two and half hour flight that landed 30 minutes ahead of schedule (which was still an hour beyond their normal bedtime) and both of my children were happy.  

When my husband picked us up at baggage claim, the boys hurled themselves off the escalator and into his arms, screaming, "DADDY!!!!" to a chorus of "awwwww"s coming from everyone around. 

The Bean announced later that night, "We rode a shuttle bus, an airplane, and a monorail train, Daddy picked us up at the airport, and now we're going to Grandma and Grandpa's house.  This is the best day of my life!"

Mission complete.

First Day of School

Wow...has it really been a month since I last wrote a post?  All I can say is that it has been one extremely busy month and I've been fully engaged with my children and my family.  I'll write more about our fun summer vacation and other adventures soon.  Today, I want to write about...today.

Today was the first day of school!

The Bean is starting what's called VPK here in Florida - Voluntary Pre-Kindergarten.  He's still four.  Not going to Kindergarten until next year, and thank heavens for that.  I'm so not ready!  The Little One is starting his new school year too - up to three mornings each week from last year's two - in a new school.  New teachers and classrooms for them (and me!).

The boys have been going to preschool two mornings each week for the last two years and we've all loved it.  It's been nice for me to have a little unencumbered time to do...well anything that's easier to do without two little guys tagging along.  They've learned social skills, how to be separate people (from me and each other), that it's okay to trust their teachers to take care of them when Mom and Dad aren't there, and innumerable other things that will help them fulfill all the potential my husband and I see in them every day.

This year is different.  The Bean will be going to school five mornings each week.  Wow...five.  I'm really hung up on that.  This might as well be Kindergarten!  I'm suddenly facing my little boy growing up and I'm finding myself very unprepared for the onslaught of emotion.  I hear things like, "He's ready for it!"  "Don't worry, you'll both end up loving it!"  "Think of all the free time you're going to have!" And I know all these things to be true, but I'm just not ready yet to give up my time with the Bean.  But we're doing it, because it's the best thing for our son.  And we'll do it with a smile and excitement, because he needs to see our enthusiasm to grow his own.

And if, tomorrow morning, the Bean cries and clings to me like he did this morning, I'll once again kiss him goodbye, smile while I promise to be back before lunchtime, and walk out of his classroom door like everything is fine, even though I'm dying inside listening to him pleading with me to stay with him.  There were two moms in my head warring this morning between "Keep walking, it's the best thing you can do for him right now!" and "Have you lost your mind - how could you leave your terrified little boy?!"

When I picked him up today, my little Bean was happy - not because he was leaving school, but because he had a great day!  He told me about his day, the cool playground, explained the green paint on his shirt (finger painting leaves!) and how his teacher helped him feel better when he was sad after I left this morning.  I was bursting with pride and pleasure in him, and gratitude for his teacher, who did what she promised me she would do.  When he wouldn't let go of me this morning, she looked me right in the eye and said, "Will you let me take him from you, and trust me to love him and help him handle this?"  What a blessing good teachers are!

What does the Little One think of school, you ask?  He loves it.  LOVES it.  He was upset that this morning wasn't "real" school for him - it was his classroom "sneak peek," when the children get to come with their parents and explore the classroom and meet their teachers with the safety net of Mom or Dad there.  We walked into the room, he let go of my hand and immediately set out to touch and play with every single thing in his "giant new class" (his words!).  An hour was not nearly long enough to satisfy him, and he certainly didn't want me getting in his way.  On FaceTime tonight with Daddy, he spent five minutes telling a convoluted story about what the plastic donkey was doing in Barbie's Dreamhouse*.  Wednesday will be his first full morning, and as far as he's concerned, it can't come fast enough.  The Bean told me, tearfully, this morning that he wanted to stay home with me forever and never go to school.  The Little One asked when he'd be big enough to ride the school bus.

I'm truly looking forward to what the year will bring, and there is real joy in picking my boys up at the end of their school day.  The big smiles as they dash out the door to hug me, chattering away about projects, games and friends.  They both love going to school and really thrive in that environment, and it's truly a miracle to get to see them grow into themselves throughout each year.  The two mornings each week when it will be just me and the Little One are going to be wonderful, too!  He told me today that he'd like to go to Starbucks with me (ha!) and play with all his brother's Legos (double-ha!).

So - if you're the parent who loves watching their children thrive and grow in school, but who isn't also waiting for the last day of summer vacation with bated breath, or isn't ready for five-mornings-a-week preschool, all-day Kindergarten, or facing the reality of time flying by faster than you can wrap your fingers around it, it's okay.  I'm right there, too. 

ps.
*In case you were wondering what the donkey was doing in the Dreamhouse: Riding the elevator up and down and up and down, and getting dressed to go play in the sand park before heading to the playground, which was bad because he got sand on the slides, and then there was something about using tweezers to possibly break a rope.  I clearly lost a bit of the story there. The Little One definitely has the makings of an Irish storyteller!

What time is it?

As the Bean gets older, I'm starting to explain to him what the numbers on the clock in his room mean.  It's an analog clock that makes an actual tick-tock noise.  We've identified the big hand, little hand, and he recognizes most of the numbers, most of the time.

Lately, he hasn't been wanting to actually sleep during his nap time.  Even when he doesn't sleep, though, he has a "rest," which means that he can do quiet activities (reading, puzzles) in his bed.  No toys, though, and he has to stay in bed.

Two days ago, I put him and the Little One down for their naps.  Ten minutes later, the Bean comes out of his room and asks if his rest is over.  I send him back to bed with a kiss and a "are you kidding me?" Ten minutes after that, he calls me to help him after he's gone to the bathroom.

Once again, I get him settled in his bed and I show him the clock on his wall.  "You can go to sleep or not, but if you don't, you can't get up until 3:00."  I point out the 3 on the clock and describe that 3:00 looks like a letter "L" - big hand pointing straight up, little hand pointing straight to the side, on the number 3.

"Okay, Mommy!  I know."  I leave him with his stack of books and Highlights High Five magazines.

Thirty minutes later, at 2:01pm, the Bean comes strolling into my sewing room, smiling.

"Hi, Mommy!  It's 3:00!  The hands on my clock are pointing like a letter "L" just like you said."
He's clearly excited and I'm thinking that maybe he's confused the 2 and the 3.  I follow him to his room where he points at the clock and says, "See, look!"

...  ...  ... this is what I found:

I have no words.  I just stare at my son, open-mouthed.  Part of me wants to cheer his ingenuity and critical thinking.  I mean, how great is it that my four year old, who is only just starting to understand clocks, figured this out?!  He climbed on train table to reach this.  Changed the time, and then tried to hang it back up so I wouldn't notice what he'd done.  

I pointed out that changing the time in his room doesn't change the time in the rest of the house.  I asked him to go back to bed and walked out of the room, down the hall to my bedroom, closed to the door, and laughed hysterically.  I'm so proud, so very very proud of this little boy. 

Also, I could hear my dad's voice in my head during this episode, laughing.  He used to joke that every room in our house must be in a different time zone because none of the clocks ever showed the same thing...