Gift of the Magi (at least two of them)

The littlest kids at our church have their own choir. It’s one of the (many) reasons that we are grateful to have found our church. Jack really likes going to choir each week. The teacher is a saint. She has a vast repetoire of fun music games and silly rhymes.

Twice a year our tiny ones sing with the bigger kids– an early Christmas Eve service that is for families and put on by the children and a Mother’s Day musical.

Last year the Christmas Eve play had our friend Anthony as a miniature John Wesley. He killed when he extolled us to, “Sing loudly!”

Tonight’s choir rehearsal was the first time that all of the little ones were in costume and practicing with the older kids. (By “older” I mean 1st and 2nd graders… the really big kids– the 3rd through 6th graders will join in later.) They’re working on a fun little number that is a take off of one we sing at family camp. The older kids have bells and other hand-held instruments that make funny noises. The little kids are entranced. They glimpse their futures in those instruments.

For now, however, they’ll be the nativity figures. Jack’s dear friend Audrey is Mary. She makes a great Mary. She has large dark eyes and dark hair. She’s as tender with the baby doll that stands in for Jesus as she is with her little sister. When Audrey holds the doll you forget that it’s just a doll. (The doll, by the way, is a full-size baby doll… so it’s really cute when Audrey has it in her arms because it gives the impression that Mary is shrinking.)

Jack’s friend Max is playing Joseph. Max is very dignified for a 6 year old. He has a soberness about him at times that makes him a great father-figure. Max is also very, very particular about his appearance. He is very aware of his clothing and wears it with as much gravity as a teenage girl. It’ll be neat to see him in 15 years. He’s a good looking boy already.

Jack’s one of the three kings. He’s very excited about this turn of events. He agonized the first day wondering which king he was… He’s picked up along the way the attributed names of the magi. He’s decided that he must be Caspar. His costume– all the costumes, actually– is/are great. And he carries a gift. (Though why they gave the glass jar to my little man I’ll never know!)

The rest of the choir are little brown-clad shepherds. The entire group is ridiculously cute. And they might put their own spin on the familiar story. Tonight, for example, there was no Joseph and only two kings. (Which has the poor, saintly director nervous about the actual performance week… it would be awful to be down a Mary or short a king…) One of the kings (We’ll call him Jack “Zack”) kept chatting with Mary… He seemed rather oblivious to the fact that Mary was trying to juggle a baby at the time. Meanwhile one of the other kings has a vibratto that he works like he’s in the Holiday Inn lounge off route 30. It’s a little disconcerting to hear such a voice come out of a kindergartener. (We figured out tonight where he came from… He’s a “ringer.” He took voice lessons this summer and needed a group. I met his Dad tonight. Me and one of the other Dads tag teamed him about the great offerings of our church…) And the shepherds got in on the act with a little giggling that turned into guffaws.

What will Christmas Eve be like??

All I know is that, tonight, sitting in the second pew and watching my little king, I was very happy. He was having such a good time and sang so nicely when it was the kings part on “We Three Kings of Orient Are.” (A song, by the way, which is one of the very few that I could ever play on the piano. I learned it because my parents liked it. And I liked the moodiness of the melody.)

Thankstaking

I’m pretty sure that this is the best Thanksgiving yet. And it’s mostly because of Jack.

On Wednesday we kicked off the festivities 24 hours early with the Thanksgiving party at Jack’s school. The two kindergarten classes gathered in the gymnasium for a round-robin of Pilgrim/Indian themed activities. Two of the third graders from down the hall made a guest appearance as “real, live Pilgrim children.” The good Mrs. R and Mrs. S, the other kindergarten teacher, divided their two classes into several small groups and sent them to different tables manned by Mommies. At one station the kids ground corn with the “real, live Pilgrim children” (Yes… I have already noted that but it was funny then and it still strikes me as funny, now. Maybe you need the mental picture: Two third graders in ill-fitting Pilgrim costumes (all black and white, of course) with somewhat witchy looking Pilgrim hats with buckles. The costumes look like they could double if the third graders wanted to stage the Crucible, too… Which thought also fills me with glee. Because that’s funny, too.); at another table they made macaroni necklaces (I’m pretty sure that was supposed to have something to do with the Indians… but I’m not sure. Maube they were purchasing Manhatten?) The snack table was a hoot– tiny cornucopias made with Bugles and wee little gummy fruits. They also made turkey headdresses, colored pictures of Thanksgiving scenes, made “Blessing” snacks for the next day, and little hand-print turkey placemats.

It was a fun day. Jack had a blast with his schoolmates. I had fun with the other Mommies. They ended their day with “Thanksgiving Songs” which had lots to do with fat turkeys running from farmers.

What really got to me though was the Thanksgiving booklet that Jack brought home. It was a series of pages stapled together with simple sentences on each page about Thanksgiving and little works of art. It was also proof as to what Jack has learned, at school, about Thanksgiving and pilgrims and Indians and corn. He chattered all about his new-found knowledge to his Daddy and I. There’s plenty of time to correct his assumptions about dour Pilgrims and early harvest celebration traditions. Right now his grasp of the first Americans working with the Pilgrims is nice.

The next bright spot came with our annual phone call from our Friend Chris who calls us as a turkey. “Eat me!” ChrisTurkey exclaims and it sends us laughing every year.

The rest of the holiday has been, well, gravy. We drove up north (reading, on the way, Tony Horwitz’s  A Voyage Long and Strange) for our annual weekend with our Friends Dorrit and David and Robby’s parents. This year there are 6 adults, one Jack, and three little dogs. It makes for a merry cottage. Outside it has been overcast and gray and rainy. Inside there is a crackling fire, the clicks of knitting needles and the occasional skirmish between the pups over Robby’s lap. On the table there was an indescribably moist turkey with two different dressings (but only one that matters– the kind that I love with chestnuts), riced potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauces, peas, and David’s good red wine.

And today, the Day After the Turkey there was leftovers and tea. An afternoon of watching MadMen on my computer while I knit a hat. Breaks with Hello magazines. A crisp walk with all three dogs through the path that, in summer, is closed off with mosquitoes and garden snakes (shudder).

We feasted tonight on cheeses and sausison, baguettes and olives washed down with David’s good red wine. And a Dutch Oven torte. Oy. We’ll roll off to bed fat and happy.

I wasn’t looking forward to Thanksgiving this year. I didn’t feel as thankful as I should. For all my thousands of blessings I am still aching for the baby lost in August and, now, the death of our friend’s father this week. But last night, when the windows were fogged up with all the good cooking and the cottage was full with overlapping conversations, and my small son went tearing through the room with a super-hero red cape yelling, “IT’s THANKSGIVING TIME!” how could I not be content?

 

The thermos Jack built

Jack had a bad afternoon. Me, too. It started when I picked him up from school– his teacher wanted to ask me about helping on a different day so we were coordinating schedules. Jack was impatient. When I rejoined him he said, “Look Mommy!” and proceeded to raise his little, padded Lightening-McQueen lunch-bag to shoulder level then slammed it down to the floor. His thermos, in the bottom pocket made a dull thud. “Jack! Why did you do that? You might have just broke your thermos!”

In the car I unzipped the bag to find that yes, indeedy (as Auntie Ericka would say), the flip-top of the thermos had snapped off completely. The remaining milk was leaking out. I showed it to Jack. He burst into tears and said, “But you can fix it Mommy!”

I couldn’t. He snapped off the little tooth that holds down the lid. Without it the thermos is rendered useless for school. I explained this to Jack. Who, sobbing, begged me to fix it. “I can’t, honey. It’s broken. You’ll have to buy milk at school tomorrow.”

The sobbing became hiccoughing gulps of sobs. “No Mommy! I don’t like hot lunch!” (To Jack there is no difference between the milk and hot lunch lines. He fears them both equally.)

By the time we got home Jack was near hysterical and I was at wits end. We went inside where we sat on the floor with the thermos trying to figure out how to make it work. “Dad-dy will fix it!,” he said angrily. I answered, not very kindly, “Okay. Let’s call Daddy and tell him what happened.”

I dialed the number while Jack squirmed and struggled with the thought that maybe Daddy might be mad. Robby was put on speaker phone so that Jack and I could explain the situation. There was a long pause. My little son’s face still had hope that maybe Daddy would be able to fix what Mommy could not. He gulped in air and tried to keep from crying. Robby sighed and said that he was disappointed Jack would throw down his lunch box.

Jack started crying again and wriggling. “Go to the bathroom– I’ll talk to Daddy,” I said. He did but threw up from all the crying.

I cleaned up Jack and tried to fix the thermos again. No luck. And then Jack struck: “I don’t want you Mommy! I just want Daddy! Daddy will fix it!”

I know it shouldn’t but it still hurts to think of my little man yelling that at me. We called Daddy again who reminded Jack that it wouldn’t be a good thing if Mommy went away– that that’s not what Jack really wanted, etc. Jacky apologized and we started over again. (Thankfully, at five, his anger at either Daddy or Mommy is something that burns out as quickly as it appears… and it’s still a rare enough occurence that it merits mention in a blog.)

Round two was a long volley about another thermos. Jack thought we should go buy another one. I explained that we can’t buy another one right now. He’s just starting to get the concept of money so this was a difficult idea for him to grasp. Among his theories of how we might get the money:

“We can go buy some dollars”
“There’s a store in California that sells coins” (?!?)
“Daddy will have money”
and, my favorite, “We can go to Grampa and Grandma’s house. They have money.”

I told him that he would have to buy a new thermos if he wanted one. So we emptied out his little piggy banks (actually they are a monkey tin and a ceramic Noah’s Ark) and counted out the coins together. He has, to his name, in cash a grand total of $13.50. Not bad for a kid that has collected our pocket change occasionally.

I can’t remember how much we paid for his thermos so I told him he might have to have more money. We talked about earning money. I explained that Daddy goes to work for all the hours a day that he is away from us so that he can earn money. Jack made his bed and picked up all of Hildy’s puppy toes (she strews them all over the room) for fifty cents.

It was a long afternoon. Tomorrow might be, too. I won’t go to the store until tomorrow afternoon… so Jack will have to buy his milk in the lunch line tomorrow. Which is a good lesson but it’s going to be hard on both of us. He’ll have to conquer his fear of the line and I’ll have to suppress the urge to swoop in and make it all better.

“Will you eat lunch with me tomorrow, Mommy?”
“No baby, not this time. You’ll have to buy your milk without me.” (Though, trust me sweetest boy, I’d bring in a fresh cow for you if I could somehow pay the consequence for you.)
“Will there be white milk?”
“Yes Jack, there will be white milk.”

And, hopefully, there will still be a Lightening McQueen thermos out there. Sigh.

 

17 Days of Being Grateful

Some of my facebook pals have been using November to post Things I Am Grateful For in their status. It’s a good idea. So I’ll try to think of 17 for the first 17 days of this month:

I Am Grateful For:

1. my husband. I’m glad I am not alone in life. I am glad that there are warm legs to warm my cold toes against in our bed. I’m glad that there is someone to raise Jack with.

2. my son. I am so glad that I get to be a mother. Apparently I’m not so good at the gestating a baby so I’m glad that Jack’s time in my belly was relatively normal.

3. Our furry little children Philbin (aka The Little Black Dog) and Hildy Guard Dog. As infuriating as the two of them can be when they do not want to play nicely together… or when Hildy decides that pooing inside the house is preferable to going outside… and as expensive as Hildy’s first shots have been… well. I’m glad that they are part of our lives.

4. our parents– my father, my mother, Rob’s parents, and Eric. They’re all good people who love us and take good care of us.

5.my sister and her girls. Jack loves few people like he loves his cousins.

6. Robby’s job. It leaves him sapped out on some days and some of his coworkers drive him batty… but we’re very grateful that he is gainfully employed.

7. our home. It’s an old house so there is a lot of things about it that frustrate us on a daily basis. But then, to compensate, there are the arched doorways and lovely, lovely dark wood throughout, and the windows that make me happy.

8. books and the ablility to read them. Watching Jack learn to read has made me so grateful that I can read and that I enjoy it so. I can’t imagine life without a book within reach. I like my tall bookshelves full of a mishmash of book genres. I love the glass window doors that protect the two “good shelf” books.

9. our health. We’re so lucky to be in working order.

10. our friends. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I take a cue from Bing and Rosemary and count my blessings. Usually that comes in the form of our friends. Oldest friends and newest friends and far-flung friends and old-school friends and church-family friends and our parents’ friends and work friends and and and and and. We’re lucky. I wish that our best friends lived closer and that we saw the far-flung friends more often… but at least we get to know them and love them.

11. orange juice and chocolate. My favorite comfort foods are fresh-squeezed orange juice and really, really good chocolate. Lumpy mashed potatoes and gravy. Glass-bottled Coke. Good cheese. Cold Calder’s milk. Scones with clotted cream and jam. Jam tarts. My mother’s Texas Sheet Cake. My sister’s Scripture Cookies. My pot roast. Mrs. Nordmeyer’s soup. Horseshoes with Cheese Whiz. Biscuits and gravy and grits. Eggs in the Snow. Brussel Sprouts. Bacon. A proper sponge cake. Mallomars. Mommy’s Smokey Corn Chowder or Bean soup.

12. Tea. Properly made and perfectly hot tea. Or perfectly iced. A day without tea is a sad, sad day.

13. sewing and knitting. I like to make things. I like the quietness that comes about me when I can sew a long seam by hand and the soothing rhythm of knitting.

14. Lush. There are few things more decadent in my life than soaking in a Lush-y tub full of some yummy thing. Add in a Hello magazine, glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a box of Mallomars and you’ve made for a darn fine evening.

15. our church. I’m really grateful for our church. We have great pastors and a wonderful music program. The church family is a good mix of old and new members, new people, old and young, and it’s getting more racially diverse with each generation. I like it there. We feel well-fed when we leave.

16. Jack’s school. After all the agony of the past year trying to choose just the right place for Jack to learn– we lucked into a great school. We’re so happy with his teacher. We couldn’t have imagined what a good fit that she would be for Jack. We should have– we’ve prayed and prayed about it– but it was beyond our hoping.

17. that it’s almost Christmas. I love Christmas. I love the trees and lights and cookies and music. I like the goodwill among men. And I love wrapping presents. So it’s all good.

Parent-Teacher Conference

Our milestones with Jack now are spreading out a bit further and further from the last. We can cross our first official K-12 parent-teacher conference off the list.

We were nervous. We devoted a big chunk of our prayers last night to it. We were still nervous as we stood outside of the classroom waiting our turn. We looked at the little art projects that the kids have been working on and tried to figure out who in the blazes Koby is. I volunteer in that classroom once a week and I still don’t know who that kid is.

When the good Mrs. R called us in we took our places in the too-small chairs at the little table where Mrs. R had Jack’s portfolio. She greeted us warmly and started telling us that our Jack is “fun to teach to” because he loves learning… I felt Robby relax a little, too, next to me.

From there it all went well. Jack’s doing great academically. He’s got his letters and numbers down backwards and forwards. He’s picking up the sight words readily. He’s doing well in math and shapes and the other tests.

His biggest challenge to date is his fine motor skills– Mrs. R reassures us that he’s made lots of progress since the beginning of the year– and he’ll continue to improve but that he needs to work on it.

We went over his computer work and his drawings and talked about the class. Robby and I remembered to breathe again and laughed at the huge grins on each other’s face. Out in the hallway again we greeted the next Mom & Dad– a couple we know from our church– and then, when we were alone– high-fived each other in our glee.

It’s tough sending Jack out into the world. Out in the world Jack gets judged. I can’t protect him from that. We’re doing our best to raise him as the kind of person we want to know as an adult– the kind of person that will make a good husband. A good father. A good friend. A good son. And in our little bubble that’s simple. We can (somewhat) control the influences and the input. But in the world he’s bumping up against other things– some of them good, some of them bad. All these things are shaping him– us, school, church– it’s scary not to have complete control.

Still. On days like today the fear is manageable. In all the worries whether he’s too young to be at school or if he’s choosing good friends or if he’s behaving nicely it’s good to have a break like today. It’s good to know that there are other people out there that love our darling boy, too.

It’s good to get a good parent report.

Tuesday follies

Another Tuesday with the good Mrs. R and the little inhabitants of Room 3. Today’s “Centers” had me manning the worksheet table where they labored over the letter H and a fun game of matching sounds that different pictures begin with.

The children were squirrely today. There’s probably some reason behind that– but the energy was completely different than it usually is in the normally ordered and quiet room. Some of the little pictures were tough to interpret– I couldn’t always come up with the right word. By the time I got to the third or fourth group of kids I figured out that it was yarn– not knitting and yolk– not egg that we were looking for to match with each other.

Meanwhile Malakai and Jacob were working on their two-man comedy routine that probably kills at the Kindergarten Lunch Table but not so much with the Helper Mommy. Kennedi and Marshaun had an escalating battle that started with Marshaun allegedly accidentally pinching Kennedi’s finger and then, instead of an apology Kennedi only got a “You’s a crybaby!” Nice. Trying to put out that fire– get Kennedi to stop crying and get Marshaun to learn to be a gentleman and be kind– was interrupted by Emma trying to figure out the matching sound for the word goat. (I thought gate was tricky, too. It looked like a fence. The hinges weren’t obvious.) Jack was in fine form today– wanting to hold my hand while he did his Hs with the other hand.

Praise one child and you set off a chain reaction with the other 5 sitting at the same table– “What about my coloring Mrs. Jack’s Mom?” “Look at my page!” “Do you like mine?” “I haven’t done it yet!” “Is mine pretty, too?” I try to say something encouraging to each of the kids. I try not to blanket them all with the same praise– because that would be empty. I try to find something that each is doing well or uniquely. After a few weeks of being with them it’s starting to become apparent that some of them aren’t as used to hearing kind words from adults. I’m glad that the joy in finding something to praise edges out the horror I feel that a five-year-old can be so unfamiliar with encouragement.

I’m glad I can help out. I’m even more glad that Jack is in the hands of the good Mrs. R and the other very qualified people.

Jack and Frost

Our little teaching moment came today in the morning frost.

The windshield was all frosted over when we got in the car to go to school. Jack was confused, “Is it snow, Mommy?” I explained that it was like snow– because it’s cold and icy– but that it’s frost. All the way to school we talked about dew and wet morning grass and how, when it gets cold enough the dew gets icy and that’s frost.

Jack nodded and I think he understood a little of it.

Then– on the way into the school building we walked through the thick leaves. (I’m bad at leaf shapes but I think it is oak leaves that we wade through every day. They are deep enough that they nearly come to Jack’s knees when he shuffles.) I realized that the frost had melted off the leaves where the sun shone– but in the shadows they still glistened and sparkled.

“Jack! Look!”

I showed him a shimmering, silvery leaf. It was beautiful. All the delicate veins were visible. Jack marveled at it then gingerly reached out to touch it with his finger. The spot he touched instantly melted, of course, and his mouth was a perfect little o! in understanding.

I’m glad there is still a lot for him to figure out. For us to figure out.

With the press of a button

I had to run some hard copy images to the printer’s today for work. There were two images for the newsletter that I didn’t have digital scans of– so I swung by the office, picked them up, and then headed over to the printshop. I was irritated because I got the message right after I’d picked Jack up from school so it wouldn’t be a quick in-and-out errand but now I’d have the car seat buckles to contend with and a somewhat cranky Jack who only wanted to go home and eat something. 

I used to take Jack to the printshop all the time when he was smaller… They have an Easy Button. It was a gimmick they got from their Office Dept (or was it Staples? or Office Max?) supplier. You press it and it says, “That was easy!” It used to keep Jack busy while I met with the designers to go over layout issues/learn InDesign. One of the designers is a mom with boys. She and I could carry on lengthy conversations while over and over in the background there was a constant refrain of “That was easy! That was easy! That was easy! That was easy!” We could tune it out. The other designer is a man. I don’t think he’s married or has children. But he seemed unbothered by it, too.

Anyhoo. Today the side entrance that goes directly to the designers was locked so we went through the front office. The receptionist there is super friendly and she let us go the backway through the actual print shop where all the machines are clattering and whirring. Jack loved it.

“It smells like an office!” he declared.
I love that smell– ink and paper and solvents. It reminds me of my Dad.

It was a great little field trip. The man-designer was there and showed Jack around the designer end of things. Jack admired all the big computer screens and the red-lit room and the really big copy machine… But all of it was eclipsed by the sight of his old toy– the Easy Button.

He pressed it for old times sake.

Making Jack happy was easy. I’m glad that it worked out that he went with me.

 

A few cool Gs

I get to help out in Jack’s class once a week. The good Mrs. R sets up “centers” for the kids to rotate through in small groups. I help man one of the stations. It’s a nice opportunity for me to see what Jack’s school world is like. And I’m getting to know his little classmates and their personalities.

Jack loves having me come in. And the kids get a kick out of there being “two Mrs. Rs!”

Today Mrs. R had four stations– one with her working with letter sounds and sight words; one at the “listening” table– the kids put on giant headphones and follow along with a story; a worksheet featuring the letter Nn; and a fun activity with letters. I got the last two groups today. The worksheet kids were nearest to my activity group so I kept an eye on them, too.

The activity was a great idea– Mrs. R made solid colored charts that had 6 letters of the alphabet across the top and vertical columns under each letter. Then there were color-coded cards (the purple chart uses the purple cards) featuring  the 6 letters printed in various fonts. She’s trying to get the kids to understand that the same letter sometimes has a different look depending on the handwriting style, or book, or magazine, etc.

The kids enjoyed it (except for two… one who was just being irritatingly negative today and the other who doesn’t like to do anything) and they liked it when a letter was tricky. Me, too. We had a lot of fun at our table. A double-story letter g (the one that looks like a twisted figure 8…) threw them for a loop. That g became “Tigger Gs” (because the “t-i-double g- er!” is something they know. I told them the bubbley bottom of the g was what made Tigger bounce. They liked that.

The lower case letter a that has a little roof became “a lower case a wearing a hoodie,” a loopy y was a “y with a ponytail” (pigtailed Autumn like that), and bs and ds can “belly bump” if they are facing their correct ways. We had a blast at our center.

But the best part of the day was helping sweet Malakai figure out how to write his Nns. Poor Malakai was near tears with his frustration at trying to write out his capital Ns. I promised him it wouldn’t always be this hard and worked with him to get a really good N and then a string of ns. He was so happy with himself– it was great to see him go from tears to laughing.

I’m already looking forward to next week.

A tale of two moms

One of the other school moms rubs me the wrong way. She’s pregnant and she complains about that. I try not to be oversensitive about not being pregnant– I really do– but it’s hard when you run into someone with a big, round belly full of baby who grouses about it.

Her family is blended. (That phrase makes me think of a giant blender and a bunch of humans on puree.) She has a son that she talks glowingly of– he is perfect, she is quick to tell us. The other son is her new husband’s offspring. When she speaks of him her face turns ugly. She takes on the expression of someone who finds a dead rat on her pillow. (Or so I imagine.) She thinks he’s too fat (he’s not. Not at all). She complains about him constantly.

The first time I met her she shared entirely too much with us about the cost of her home, the perfection of one son/the degradation of the other, and her pregnancy annoyances. At the time I was working rather quietly at the other end of the work table. I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt– she didn’t know that we’d had a miscarriage so she didn’t know how utterly insensitive she was being by moaning about being pregnant. But when she started talking about the two boys in her family I was completely appalled. I clamped my mouth shut and concentrated on the work in front of me and wondered how she could say such things to three strangers.

She likes being pregnant. She likes everyone asking her about her. She’s enjoying the drama of it all… She doesn’t ask for our help but announces that we can help her. “I can’t do that– I’m pregnant (pause to run her hands over her belly). You can do that part.”

To balance this out I’ll mention another School Mom that I’ve met that I like a lot. She’s friendly and warm and cheerful. She’s pregnant, too– and, as it happens, we would have shared a due date (give or take a day) if I were still pregnant. I told her about the miscarriage a few weeks ago because she asked if we’d planned to have anymore children– so, after an awkward moment I explained what had happened. She was kind and encouraging. And, in a weirdly compassionate way, she’s shared her pregnancy with me– crossing a crowded room the other day to show me pictures of her recent ultra-sound (it’s a girl!).

The difference between the two women (assuming that I could ignore the atrocious way that the obnoxious mother talks about her sons, the closing cost of her house, and her obsession with weight) is that one took the time to ask about the people around her and the other only talks about herself.

And it might have to do with contentment. The mom I like seems very happy with her albeit harried life. She speaks kindly about her husband and children and pets– they aren’t perfect and sometimes she’s at her wit’s end– but she loves being their wife/mother. The other mom spends a lot of time telling us how great her life is but there’s no joy in her voice. Just tension. A wild frenzied method of continuously talking so we don’t ask questions in the gaps of her monologue.

I pity the poor son that is already shunted aside when this next baby is born.