Farewell, Summer of Wonders

My little duo started pre-K today.

With the older kids starting their third week of school (yes, you read that right!), and the twins off at preschool, I suppose I can bid farewell to our long, wonderful summer.

On June 11, three weeks into our summer break, I started a blog post called "Summer of Wonders." 

I wrote one line, saved it as a draft, and didn't touch it again. It was a really hectic summer. 

I was so looking forward to the summer of 2012, for many reasons. It didn't disappoint.

And now, sadly, it's gone.

For the first time in my entire twelve-year parenting career, I had none of the following to deal with over the summer:

I wasn't pregnant.

I wasn't nursing.

I wasn't chasing a toddler (or two) around a pool (or a lake).

I didn't have to change any diapers.

I didn't have to get anyone dressed. I could just say, "Kids! Go get on your [swimsuits] [shoes] [clothes for the day] [PJs]."

I wasn't moving (hallelujah!)…or preparing for a move…or unpacking from a move…while trying to do any of the above tasks at the same time.

Thanks to my oldest daughter who now babysits, I didn't have to haul five children to the grocery store every time I needed to go. (This isn't to say this didn't happen a few times. But it didn't happen nearly as often as it has in the past.)

Because we now have a neighborhood pool, I didn't feel inclined to pack the entire kitchen for a long afternoon at a pool miles away from our home. This summer, I may have taken a bag of crackers. Once.

I should also mention that I had a husband around for three Saturdays each month.

In short, I was dreaming of this summer for months--perhaps years--before it ever began.

I had visions of lazy summer afternoons by the pool, along with lots of backyard picnics, lemonade stands, rope swing competitions, and roaming neighborhood kids. 

Instead, we had night after night of tball, along with speech therapy (Nathan) and music lessons (four per week) and swim team (every morning) and a couple of summer camps thrown in the mix. There was plenty of sibling fighting and lots and lots of chores to be done.

Such is life in a large family.

However, there were still lazy afternoons or evenings by the pool, a few days at an amusement park, playdates with friends, and lots of family movie nights. 

For the first time, my hands were freer than they had ever been. I found myself relishing that fact, again and again. I felt grateful for the experience of the previous summers, but I fully embraced this new season of parenting we are entering.

It was a near-perfect summer. (Note to self: Please don't sign your boys up for tball again.)

Now we are in the thick of homework, morning practice, afternoon chauffeuring, crock pot dinners, and earlier bedtimes. WIth five schools on the docket for this year, I know we'll be stretched thin, but I appreciate the order and routine of the school year.

Even so, I look forward to next May and the promise of another summer of wonders.

He's Seven!

Nathan turned seven almost a month ago.

He and I had an early morning run to Krispy Kreme to get some birthday donuts.

Later on, it was time for gifts.

The picture below shows possibly one of the best toys we have ever purchased. Period. (I discovered it by googling "best toys for seven-year-old boy.") Brian spent a short while helping to set it up and showing Nathan how to use the toy, and Nathan has spent hours playing with it ever since.  

Since he didn't have a "friend party" this year, he wanted to go to a local go-kart place instead. The kids had a ball and have been asking to go back ever since. 

Madeline insisted on helping to make Nathan's special birthday dinner that evening. She really liked peeling the cucumber.

   

Here is the birthday boy, with the best toy EVER. He didn't ask for the iPad one single time for two straight days. Now that's significant, ladies and gentleman.

After dinner, the kids blasted through a piñata. (Note to self: One of these years I am going to take the time to make one.)

Another birthday comes to a close with cake and ice cream. 

  

I can't quite believe this kid is seven. He is funny, observant, stubborn to a fault, pesky, silly, sensitive, happy, and pretty darn smart. He loves to pester his siblings and argue with Mom, and he spends a lot of time in trouble, but he also gives the best hugs…and asks the darndest questions…and can lasso me with his toothy grin and blue eyes.... We love him to pieces, and we're oh-so glad he's our boy.

Memories of Seventh Grade

My lovely oldest daughter starts seventh grade on Wednesday. Seventh grade!

This will be her third new school in a row. Her two close friends are both on a different class rotation. Once again, she is starting anew.

Over the last few weeks, I have realized that I am almost as nervous about this transition as I have been about the other transitions (to kindergarten, to a new district) that my kids have faced.

I am nervous because over the last few weeks, I have vividly recalled my seventh grade experience. I have not shared my experience with Emma yet, nor do I intend to…until perhaps she is a sophomore.

My seventh grade year was the "armpit" of all of my years in school. Physically, I was pale and ultra skinny and oh-so awkward. My two front teeth, pre-braces, had a big gap in between them, and both sported dark yellow stains. Each morning, I carefully curled my bangs into bizarre positions and then shellacked them to my head with about thirty sprays of Rave Level 3 (mega hold!) hairspray. I still wore glasses full time, and my wardrobe was practical and limited. 

In seventh grade, I fought with my best friend on an almost daily basis. I wrote bitter diatribes about this friend in my journal at least every week. At one point, a leader of our church youth group had us both come to her home so we could work out our problems. I don't recall making much progress…until we suddenly just grew up…a year or two later. (I am happy to report that today, this friend remains one of my dearest, and although we live thousands of miles apart, we still maintain contact. She's a friend for life…without the drama of age thirteen.)

Back then, bullying wasn't discussed as much as it seems to be today. And boy, I was bullied. The first and foremost bully was Sarena, the tall, stocky, acne-faced redhead, an eighth grader who seemed much older than that, who sat at the front of the bus and stared down anyone who dared to glance her way. I glanced at her once, as I sat alone on the bus, and I cowered under her gaze, and from thenceforth I became her target. She would stare and glare--boy would she stare and glare!--at me during every bus ride. Sometimes she would comment on my appearance. The other kids always laughed (in retrospect, I am sure they laughed because they didn't want to become her next target).

To make bus matters worse, I was the only rider on the bus who lived at the end of a 1.5 mile dirt road. My road was at the beginning of the afternoon route, so the bus was still chock full when it was time to drop me off. The ride down the road added about fifteen minutes to the bus ride. Every afternoon, someone would say loudly, "Is she here?" When the question was answered in the affirmative, I would hear moans and complaints all around. I didn't exactly feel welcome there, and it was a tough, tough way to start and end each school day.

The whole thing culminated in the stealing of my lunch one morning on the bus. The brown paper bag was tossed around from kid to kid, until it finally landed with Sarena, who triumphantly carried it into school. Before first period started that day, I called my mom from the school's pay phone, bawling my eyes out. By the time I went to bed that night, my mom had finally, mercifully, worked out for a high school girl to drop me off at school each morning. 

Beyond the horrid bus experience, though, I just felt odd and awkward and ugly all day long. I walked down the hallways, and all of the cute, popular, sporty girls huddled together by their lockers. I was sure they were all looking at me and whispering. I had a few crushes on boys who didn't even know my name. No one asked me to "go"with them--although I would have said "no" even if they had asked. I constantly stuck my foot in my mouth, and I never felt like I fit in. Even though I had moved to the school district in fifth grade, I still felt like the new girl. I was sensitive to every perceived slight and criticism. 

Of course, I look back on the whole experience and have gained the perspective of a whole lot of years since then. I later realized that Sarena, The Bully, lived in a two-room shack with just her father, and that her life back then was probably miserable and that her future--which included dropping out of high school--would most likely be without much opportunity. (I so hope I am wrong.) Realizing all of this helped me to forgive her. 

Today, I recognize all of the good friends I did have back then. By the time I was in eighth grade (a year that I loved!), I had a whole flock of good friends, who remained so all through high school. 

Today, I look back at that year and just shake my head. Of course I was awkward…as many seventh graders are!…but thank goodness we don't "peak" in seventh grade. Of course no one was staring at me in the hall. They were each too busy feeling self-conscious themselves. And if one or two people did point a finger and laugh, well, then, it was just to deflect the attention away from their own insecurities.

I look back and wish I could have told that girl to chin up, to smile, and to be confident in herself. I wish I could remind her that her body language speaks volumes to potential friends and to everyone around her. I wish I could pull her aside and tell her that, frankly, none of the ick and ugliness that is middle school will matter in the rest of her life. I wish I could have told her to wear less hairspray and to grow those bangs out. I wish I could have told her to just be herself, to smile at everyone, and not to be afraid.

But instead, I worried about everything to do with myself.  It was middle school. I don't know of many people who look back at their seventh grade year and feel great about their experience. But I survived, and I think I even learned some important lessons from it. 

So as I send off my sweet, quiet girl to the turbulent world of middle school, I will pray endlessly and also will reassure myself with these important truths:

She is confident. Quiet, yes, but she knows who she is.

She has started anew before, both times with great success.

She is smart and talented, and most of the people around her admire her for this.

She seeks out good friends, preferring to have just a handful of true friends than a gaggle of superficial ones.

She is kind, optimistic, and good. 

And thankfully, she has no bizarre bangs and no cans of Rave hairspray.

Summertime Pictures, Part 3

More summer pictures.

Below, Brian waits…and waits…for his iPhone to load while we wait…and wait…for the 4th of July fireworks show to begin, on the hottest and most humid day in history. (Well, not really, but it felt that way.) Brian will be happy to replace his old, slow iPhone soon, since his more recent iPhone was lost in a cab in Rio.

Madeline waits for fireworks and dances happily to the really loud heavy metal band who played endless renditions of old 80s songs and sang all the lyrics with a distinctive country twang. 

Clara's expression tells how the rest of us felt.

A peacock politely posed for me at the zoo.

Madeline feeds an eager giraffe a cracker while her cousin Danny looks on. Thank goodness for hand sanitizer.

Clara feeds the goats at the zoo.

Madeline shows off her mouse ears after her theater camp performance. 

Below, really poor quality pictures--taken in a dark theater--of a couple of the kids in their theater camp performance. It was a weeklong day camp and was a great experience for Clara…and maybe Emma. The twins had a shorter morning-only camp and had a good time. Nathan, however, was in the all-day camp. Let's just say that theater is not his thing. 

Madeline, who wants everything she sees in any store she goes in, insisted that she had to have the mermaid doll she got for a friend's birthday party. For days and days on end, she begged and pleaded for this toy. My answer was always, "No."

Until she wore me out, and I came up with a solution.

The chart below, with twenty stickers on it, represents the twenty "big girl jobs" that she had to do to earn her toy. After the first job was complete, and she was worn out, Madeline received her first sticker. She looked at the empty spaces on the chart, representing the jobs yet to be done, and she threw an absolute fit over the whole idea.

I held firm. For two weeks, the chart was taped--empty minus one spot--to the wall.

Finally, she decided to acquiesce.

Three weeks later, she earned all of her stickers.

Here she is with her hard-earned toy:

Swimming Mermaids and a Beheaded Princess

Lately I have been finding sights such as the one below in Madeline's room:

I always wonder at the logic of my little kids.

Below, Madeline shows off her princess that she painted at the local pottery place.

 Several days later, I picked it up after it was glazed and fired in the kiln.

When I handed the finished princess to Madeline, I already knew that my passionate little girl would probably break it…and that she would subsequently melt into a prolonged rage of crying and frustration.

In an effort to ward off any such reaction, I made her repeat something like the following: "Mommy, I know that my princess is not a toy. I will be gentle with my princess, and if it breaks, I know that I am not going to get another one."

Madeline smiled and repeated the phrase, word for word, in complete understanding.

An hour later, I went downstairs and found the following hidden under the futon:

Above, a princess head and some bits of masking tape. Below, evidence of the attempted repair.

The beheaded princess awaits discovery. 

Brought out into the light:

Apparently our little chat had been successful, since Madeline never emitted a peep about the princess's beheading. That she attempted to tape the head back on brought me to laughing tears. Fortunately, a little super glue fixed the poor princess, and she now rests on the twins' bookcase.