September 20, 2011

Dear JackRabbit–

When you were in kindergarten I could not fathom how you, too, would one day be a gangly little second grader. Those kids seemed huge compared to your little round-faced smallness. And now here you are– one of them.

You are so independent lately. The other night I was too tired to wake you up so that you’d go to the bathroom. Daddy usually does that when he and I come upstairs to bed… and I’ve done a good job of it while Daddy’s been in Japan– but that night I was too tired. I went into my room and laid down and dozed off– only to wake up when I heard your feet hit your floor and pad down the hall to the bathroom all by yourself! I was so proud of you and (bonus!) was very happy to have you snuggle up with me in my bed for the rest of the night.

You’re helping me take care of your school things and the dogs. You’re making great choices about your lunches and clothes. When it’s homework time you don’t complain — you just work to get it done. In the car you buckle yourself in. You’re trying new foods. And new words.

You love space. Anything space related captures you. There’s StarWars, of course– but also astronauts and planets and dwarf planets and the temperature and distance of the sun. You read these things and store them up for the car rides to school when they come out in the form of, “MOMmy! Did you know that….” or as a question (some of which requires me to do some googling…)

This past Sunday afternoon I offered to ride bikes with you. You were very excited and we walked toward the garage– only to be intercepted by your pal Colin. (“Backyard Colin, Mommy, not Colin H-.”) I saw the hesitation in your eyes and sent you off to play with Colin– he wanted to show you his friend and the deer stand his Dad had put together in their backyard. “Mom– I’ll be back in a few minutes and then we can go riding, okay?” I weeded while you walked around the corner with Colin and listened for your chatter. I don’t get you all to myself anymore– you have friends and plans. I realize how lucky I am that you are still excited about coming back to go for a bike ride with me.

It’s really neat to see you growing up. I still don’t know how we got from the hospital– just yesterday or last week– to this point– but I have loved every day of it.

This has been a great year– you had such a good time with Ms. Hughes in first grade; went to that fun rental cabin for Thanksgiving with Momma & Eric (and us, too); became a Tiger Scout; came up with being a “Capital One Viking” for Halloween; visited Disney World with AunT & Maddie & Keegan– and had a week’s worth of fun adventures there and the way to Florida and back; worked out with the big kids at soccer camp; “oh!’ed at the explosions at Science Camp; went up to The Lake for a week; went to waterparks; read all sorts of new books; discovered Phineas & Ferb and Lego StarWars; got baptized; spent a week at Family Camp… really, an awful lot of adventures for a seven year old.

Seven. It’s just so hard to believe.

I love you, sweet baby. I love being your Mommy. I love watching you discover things and figure things out. I love hearing you sound out words (“dis-entry” and “Chor-lee” came out a few weeks ago while you were playing Oregon Trail on my iPhone). I love that you are beginning to think about things in a true inquirer fashion. “MOMmy! Daddy! Is that a good learner question?” I love watching you sort out where the wiggle room is on negotiations with us (that 7:30 bedtime is still a sore spot. “Daddy! Damon goes to bed at 9 o’clock!”)

And I love that I can still convince you that baked egg cups are exactly what young jedis eat.

I wouldn’t change a single hair on your head– except to somehow make time go a little slower. Still– as you say you are “to be continued” and I’m excited to see how what happens next.

I hope tomorrow is a happy 7th birthday. It’s strange to plan this without your Daddy here to help me. I’ll do the things he would do if he were here and not on his business trip to Japan– I’ll cover your floor with balloons and give you lots of kisses at 4:01 p.m. when you are officially 7. And AunT & Keegan will be on hand to sing with your church family and buddies after choir practice. (Miss Claudia’s even making spaghetti especially for you!)

I love you so very, very much,

Mommy

Looking forward to the inevitable crossover episode of “Outrageous Toddlers & Tiaras Parties”…

Robby and I are no strangers to reality TV. We have a handful of guilty pleasures. When Jack has been bathed and kissed and tucked into bed we sneak back downstairs to watch whatever we have queued up on the TiVo. We were pretty sure that it didn’t get much worse in our house than the wretchedly awful Toddlers & Tiaras… until we found the equally train-wreck horrific Outrageous Kid Parties. 

The parents on OKP make the pageant mothers on T&T look like Mother of the Year contenders. And it’s 90% mothers that we’re dealing with– the fathers on both shows, for the most part, are in the background shrugging while they foot the bills.

And they are major bills. $39,000 + bills. Robby and I gaped at the mother who planned a party to celebrate her son’s preschool graduation. There were 300 people invited. Three hundred. We didn’t have that many at our wedding. Or the parents that bought their little kindergarten bound (and yes, that was the reason for celebrating– the major life-time achievement of going to kindergarten with 99% of the rest of American kids) son a rock climbing wall that seemed to be about 40-50 feet high. As if the neighbors hadn’t endured enough during the party they had a rock wall towering over the neighborhood. The mother climbed the wall in a competition with her husband. She was wearing a short skirt. An unfortunately bad choice to add to the mountain of bad choices.

We’re not the world’s best parents. We do our best. We try to learn from the mistakes we make and do better the next day… our guilty pleasure is a sweet reminder that we could do far, far worse.

So what’s the worst thing you watch?

The Big Sticker

In the First Grade World that Jack inhabits for seven hours a day The Big Sticker is a big deal. The good Mrs. H gives it out at the end of each day. It looks like a blue ribbon– the kind that you put on to jelly jars at some quaint country fair– and says “I did my best!” on it. The Chosen One is a minor celebrity for the remaining minutes of the day and gets to do some of the special things on the following day– like be the line leader (also a big deal when you are 6 years old).

When I pick up Jack at the closing bell I am greeted by the kids that see me first with “Mrs. Jack’s Mom! [insert name here] got The Big Sticker today!”

And today it was Jack’s turn.

But the real story was yesterday. Yesterday it was Seatmate M’s turn. You might remember him from earlier blogs. Jack first seatmate in kindergarten was a real… character. Jack immediately fell in with him– and his speech patterns reflected his new friend’s.  Over the course of the year we learned a lot about and from Seatmate M. Jack said his first swear word. (And I said many more under my breath.) I learned, when I was helping out in the class, what a smart boy M was. His mind is sharp and quick. But he was so unused to any praise regarding his intelligence. He looked at me blankly. Flinch almost from kindness. In mid-year he was switched to another room. We were, admittedly, a little relieved that he wouldn’t have the same amount of influence on the Rabbit.

This year he’s back — but doesn’t have the same appeal or power over Jack. In the months without him in the class Jack learned a little himself about Good Choices vs. Bad Choices.

Another new thing for us this year are The Cards. The cards are flipped during the day to reflect each student’s behavior. There is the very good Green, the warning Yellow, and then a steady slide to the dark side of Orange, Red, and Blue. Blue is spoken about in whispers– it involves the principal. At the end of the day they each color in a square of their Behavior Chart that tells what the card was. Jack has been all green with two yellow days. Not bad. Seatmate M, on the other hand has been more colorful. When I’d see him I’d chide him– “Hey M! C’mon! Your chart should be green– show Mrs. H you can make good choices!”

Yesterday Mrs. H pulled me aside to tell me that M had finally (!) had a Green Day. I cheered with her– and she went on to say that she’d taken advantage of that moment to reward him with The Big Sticker. And then she relayed how sweet she thought Jack’s reaction was– “That’s AWESOME, M!” Jack started clapping. The rest of the class started to clap, too. And M got a pretty moment out of all of it.

On the way home I told Jack how proud of him I was for being an encouraging friend. And then we talked about what the word encourage means– and how it’s a good gift to have and share.

Today when I picked up Jack he was bursting with his own news– and puffed out his little chest to show me The Big Sticker stuck there. I hope I never forget the look on his face– how lit up it was with joy and the pure pleasure of having such a Big Thing to tell Mommy about. “Just hold me Mommy! I’m so happy!”

And- more good news, M had another Green Day, too.

September 20, 2010

Dear Jack,

Well. I’m not sure how exactly– but another year has flown by. Tonight we put a five-year-old to bed and tomorrow night it will be a Six Year Old! Wow.

This has been the best year yet, Rabbit– you had such a great time in Kindergarten with Mrs. Reynolds. Daddy and I really loved watching you make school friends and learn SO much. You started soccer where we were astounded at your focus. Coach Dan (Max’s Dad) thinks you’re pretty good. (We do, too.)

When you were littler it was the “language explosions” that we used to marvel at… now it’s the spurts in reading that take you into further and further into books. Lately we have to get your attention when you have a book in front of you– you’re absorbed. We love that. It’s been such a very happy surprise to find that you love to read.

When you are reading this some far-off day I wonder if you’ll remember our little game of reading all the street names on the way to school? That’s how these first few weeks of First Grade have gone… you saying each street sign name and telling me, “Repeat after me, Mommy!” You really like it when we say them as fast as we can. It cracks you up.

Daddy’s happy that you like math, too. You’re good at adding and subtracting in your head and you like to count by twos and threes.

You’ve tried a LOT of new things this year– the big waterslides, golfing, piano… You’re very determined to master things– you spent a long afternoon this summer working on your Wii skateboarding until you could handily beat both me and your Dad. Sometimes we have to admit that it’s stubbornness… but most of the time we can see that it’s determination.

We’re so happy that you’re our boy. It’s so hard to remember our world before you came into it– in every single way you’ve made it better. Even your worst, orneriest, defiant-filled day we are grateful that God let us raise you.

I’m glad that you still like to “snuggle!” and curl up with us in bed in the mornings. Daddy’s glad that you still think he is the strongest, bravest, smartest man he knows. I like that you think I’m beautiful. Hildy and sometimes even Philbin love that you run and play with them.

I wish we could freeze time for a while… it is really, really unfair that you are growing up so fast. But, just like we say every year– you get better and better and bring more and more to us. How could I wish that away?

Tomorrow we’ll take you and your little buddies (Max, Colin, and Gabe) to the bowling alley after school. We’ll have pizza and a giant cookie. You’ll get to wear your new “Lightning McQueen” watch to school. I’ll bring strawberries for the snack. And, when we tuck you in, Daddy and I will say our prayers– which always, always end with “Thank you for our Jack.”

I love you so very much, little Rabbit,

Mommy

Open house

We met Jack’s teacher tonight. His school held an Open House. It’s a small school and I don’t pretend to know all of the other parents– I really only know a few– but the Greenhorns were easy to spot. We were them last year– anxiously walking through the school clutching the hand of our To Be Kindergartener.

This year we were assured in our path through the school. We knew where Room 5 was so there was none of the hesitation of last year on wondering which end of the hallway we should head down. On the way to his classroom we passed the good Mrs. R’s classroom. I caught a glimpse as we walked by– she was surrounded by little people and their parents. I wanted to tell them all that they were in good hands but they’ll figure that out soon on their own.

Down the hall we met the good Mrs. H. Her classroom is neat and tidy. She has bright colored things on the walls. On each little desk (Desk! not table!) there was a prim stack of text books– a Reader, a Mathematics workbook, a Practice book, and a Social Studies book. Robby and I stared at them and tried to take in the idea of our little son with text books. We found his little coat hook and retrieved his free tote filled with papers and school information.

Jack was nervous through all of this. He held our hands. But then he began to relax enough to notice his friends around him. His anxiety began to ebb and there was a shift in his mood to boisterousness. The walk down the hallway to the gym was made without our hands in his– he was too busy greeting his buddies. Josh hailed him from across the room and asked if he could go outside to play. And they did– with Josh’s arm around his shoulders and their heads together in a shared guffaw.

First grade has all sorts of discoveries in store for him.

And us.

Last Day of Kindergarten

Tomorrow afternoon I’ll bring home a first-grader. How did that happen?? I’m quite certain that it was my baby that we walked into school last fall… and now he’s all legs and arms and reading.

This has been a wonderful school year. We’ve been beyond blessed with the good Mrs. R. and her parapro, Mrs. D. I could not imagine any better teachers to have left my sweet boy with… they’ve set a high bar and he’s managed to reach it– with their help.

He’s reading now–everything with words set in front of him. He reads street signs and cereal boxes and the little descriptions on TiVo. He reads to us all the little books and stories we’ve read him for years. He’s careful to put in the proper inflections.

When he was still forming in my belly I had several prayers for him–but one was that he would love to read. That he does is a wonderful gift.

And it’s not just in words… he’s quick with sums. We make up little math problems for him all the time and he rewards us with his forehead scrunched in concentration as he counts out the answer first in his head.

He writes out little sentences and knows about that he lives in a town that is in a state that is in a country that is on a continent that it is on Earth… He parrots back the German he has learned.

And we marvel. We marvel at each piece of new information and new concept.

First grade will have wonders, too– But there is nothing that compares to the very first year… I’m so glad that he has skipped along this long path– that he has held hands with new friends and laughed during the long, straight stretches.

I hope there is always joy in each school year as there has been in this one.

Logic 5.5

Jack and I were on the way to school this morning. I was using the short drive to remind him to be a good listener, to be a good worker at school… the usual school day reminders.

Last week Jack’s weekly progress report noted that he was “very talkative during work time.”

Me: Remember, Jack, not to talk too much during work time, okay? Remember to do your best work and to be a good listener…
Jack: Yes, Mommy.

We drove on a bit.

Jack: Mommy? I think I will be a teacher when I grow up.
Me: Jack! That’s a wonderful thing to be! I think you’d be a very good teacher if you wanted to be one.
Jack: Then I’ll get to talk all the time. Teachers talk a lot.

While I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing he added, “And they go to the bathroom a lot.”

Can’t wait for this week’s progress report…

Lunch Line

Jack lost his lunch this week. Sort of.

The other day he came home from school out of sorts. I’d gone to pick him up and he wasn’t himself. He and a few other boys were running around the classroom. Running. The Good Mrs. R. wasn’t in the room– it was the end of a Tuesday so he was with the music teacher. I don’t care much for her. She’s shrill. And doesn’t have any kind of grasp of classroom control. She just turned her back on the  little boys running (running!) around the tables and chairs in the classroom. I sighed and called Jack’s name. He looked at me and set his jaw then continued as though I wasn’t there.

I knew something wasn’t right but wasn’t sure what it was. Had he had an accident? Had there been some discipline issue? A Time-Out? I waited while he ran with the other boys before taking his hand. We walked out to the car and rode home and talked about other things. It wasn’t the time yet to interrogate.

In the bewitching hours between school and “Daddy’s Home!” and dinner Jack was still not himself. He was too loud, too busy, too too. He whined about being hungry and I told him to wait.

Robby came home, we made dinner, and eased into the evening. And then it all came out– Jack mentioned that he’d had hot lunch today.

Jack is terrified of hot lunch. I’ve gone in everytime “Grilled Cheese Sandwiches and Tomato Soup” appears on the menu to eat with Jack and try to convince him that there are hot lunches that he might really like… But he shudders. When he broke his thermos we made him buy milk at school for a week. It was a very, very long week. And took all of Jack’s bravery to stand in the line with his coins.

Robby asked, “You had a hot lunch? Why didn’t you eat the lunch I packed for you?”
Jack shrugged. But his eyes were filling with tears and his chin was dimpling.
Robby and I exchanged a worried look. “Was something wrong with your lunch?”
Jack swallowed hard, “No. I just got hot lunch.”
Me: “Was it something yummy? Did they have pizza today?”
Jack: “No.”
Robby: “Did somebody take your lunch?”
Jack: “No.”

By now we were confused completely. Jack’s bravado was crumbling rapidly. His voice was thick with swallowed tears. And then it all came tumbling out– at lunchtime he couldn’t find his lunch. He thought we hadn’t packed him one… so he did the best he could and got into the dreaded line. He picked one of the snack packs– peanut butter crackers, string cheese, apple sauce, and milk– and didn’t find his lunch until after they’d returned to the classroom. It was hung behind his backpack, not in front of it.

By the end of his story he was sobbing. Our hearts broke a little picturing him trying to fend for himself. And we were torn– proud that he’d managed to come up with a way to feed himself– but horrified that he hadn’t thought to tell any of the many grown-ups that he needed help.

No one noticed that he went into the hot lunch line for the first time. He was afraid of being in trouble so he did things quietly. The Good Mrs. R. noticed that he wasn’t quite himself in the afternoon but attributed it to the general mood of the classroom (“All 24 little ‘barometers’ are assuring me that there is rain coming…”)

We opened his lunch pail and realized that, indeed, it was untouched. We plied Jack with extra dinner and talked through what he could do if something like that ever happened again.  And told him how proud we were that he was such a big kid as to take care of his own lunch.

It’s another tiny step towards independence… away from us, out into the world. A reminder that we’re doing the job we were charged with at his birth. And an unexpected lesson that we couldn’t possibly have taught.

Also a reminder to have Jack hang up his own lunch box so that he knows where it is.

I am Soccer Mom. Hear me Cheer.

Jack started soccer this week. His first practice was on Friday with his first game on Saturday. We’ve all been excited around here– the Easter Bunny left Jack a soccer ball and soccer socks and we’ve been kicking the ball around after school for the last few weeks. This week I found him little soccer shorts and tiny, cleated soccer shoes. He ended up on a team with his best school friends.

But we were all a little anxious, too. Jack’s never played a team sport before with kids his own age. He was a little nervous about that. We reassured him that he knew a lot of the kids and that he’d meet some new friends, too. Coach is one of his buddy’s Dad– so we were able to remind him that he already knew him, too. Robby and I worried that he’d freeze in the face of all those little, kicking legs or be sassy in his nervousness. We also wondered what being soccer parents meant– did we have to get a mini-van? Would I have to cut my hair into some stylish, sassy do? Would we have to frequent Starbucks? Would I have to develop an obsession with The Real Housewives of Some Terrible Suburb?

We shouldn’t have worried. Jack did fine– he listened to Coach and played well. He had a blast at both his practice and the game. We had to pry his uniform t-shirt off of him yesterday 6 hours after the game. And, it turns out, there were plenty of little vehicles in the parking lot just like our’s. My braids and ski hat weren’t terribly out of place. And my sister brought me a cocoa from some generic coffee place– so all is well.

The whole league is made up of kindergarteners. Jack is one of the smallest which always surprises us because, at home, he seems so big to us. On the field, in his shorts that are too long and long soccer socks, he shrinks and is one of the two littlest on the team. But he makes up for his shorter strides in being quick and scrappy. He’s not afraid of the knots of legs and arms and works his way into the middle.

The three of us are genuinely excited for his next game. It’s going to be fun watching him these next few weeks.

Reading 101

Jack’s class has gone all the way through the alphabet. They know all the sounds that each letter makes. They know how the “glue letters” (vowels) have a special job when the letters form words. They have a growing list of sight words to practice and use.

Today they worked on sounding out words and writing them down. The whole process is a struggle for them. They labor over the formation of each letter. (“Which way does the b go?”) They tap out the individual sounds of the words to try to hear each seperate sound. (“Puh-eh-nnn”)

Jack reads everything he can lately. Street signs, cereal boxes, my book, his book, the warnings on the visor in the car, billboards, the posters in the library…. He’s good at sounding out the words he doesn’t know and has a pretty decent repertoire of sight words. When he reads out loud he tries to put the proper inflection in– and not simply read each syllable and each word in the usual monotone of a new reader. Sometimes, when he gets to the end of the sentence and sees the punctuation he’ll repeat it– “Oh. Wait, Mommy– that’s a question mark! It’s a question!”

While I was helping another group this morning I looked over to see what Jack’s group was up to. He’d finished the audio book and had headed over to the Reading Corner where he chose a book (I Know an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Chick) and flopped down on his belly to read it. He was perfectly happy.

Me, too.