Braindrain

A random post featuring some of the things swirling around in my head.

My children are so cute I want to freeze them.  A twelve year old boy, a ten year old girl and two six-year-olds on the cusp of turning seven is just the absolute perfect combination for me right now.  Personalities are fully formed but no one is taller than me yet.  (Although Jake is just a few weeks and maybe a Grandslam Breakfast away from looking down upon me.  Luckily I will outweigh him for decades!)

I enjoy my kids so much more than I did just a few years ago.  They can read!  They can tie!  They can wipe!  They are smart, funny and delightful.  Sam thanks me after every meal in Spanish.  Gracias, Mami for the delicious frozen waffle.  I am charmed on a daily basis.

I'm so glad when Daddy comes home.  Brad flies in tonight after a week in Philly and NJ.  He drove by our old house and took photos.  He visited some old friends.  He even had a quick trim by his beloved Donna at Personal Style.  (A fact which made me sooo envious, I actually dreamed I was back at the David Witchell salon in Newtown!  Oh, good hair days, why do you torment and elude me?)

I was tempted to fly back with him and tour our old stomping grounds together.  But, the truth is, I am just not ready.  I still miss it there a lot.  As much as I love the sunshine and having a pool right out the back door, I left a big piece of my heart on the Eastern seaboard.  I need a little more time to get over it.

I love having Brad in town.  I love having him work from home.  We've switched roles a little.  Now I'm the one who is gone all day and he's the one waiting for the cable guy.  He loads the laundry and turns off the CrockPot.  We go out to lunch and remember what life was like those first eight years we had together when it was just the two of us.  We've still got it.

We are family.  I got all my sisters with me!  Last month, Marta and Benji came to town for two glorious weeks.  It was simply the best.  I dragged her along on all our crazy adventures and she was, as always, a great sport.  How fun to watch my baby sister as a mother.  I learned from her everyday!

I was so sad to see Min go...but now, guess what?!  Two more sisters are driving down sans hubbies and bringing along their (yes, count 'em) SEVEN little girls for some fun-in-the-sun next week!  Eighteen extra ovaries, people.  Don't you wish you could be a fly on the wall!?  I cannot wait.

And some things you just can't blog about...  The biggest change going in my life right now is my church assignment.  Getting a new calling is kind of like being a new mom.  At first, everyone says nice things and hugs you and tells you what a great job you will do...and then THEY LEAVE YOU ALONE WITH THE BABY.  And you just have to do it.

I'm still at the stage where I don't know what I don't know.  I'm trying to study up real quick.  I am loving the excuse to make lots of new friends, to do lots of one-on-one visiting.  It's a very old-fashioned, non-digital kind of job which I find energizing and enjoyable.  I'm doing a lot of listening and I'm learning a lot, but it's not stuff I want to post about.  Just trust me, after a short time rubbing shoulders with these women, I will be a better person.

Ninja Stars and Valentines

 

Yes, there is a sixth-grade boy in the house.

That means Nerf bullets on the stairs and airsoft gun pellets in the vacuum cleaner bag.  Ritz crackers ingested an entire sleeve at a time.  Mythbusters on TV.

A lifetime ago, I was a sixth grade teacher.  I remember being absolutely horrified about the lack of hygiene so apparent in 12 year old boys.  Helping a post-recess student with improper fractions, I would think, Does this kid ever shower?  Change his socks? Use toothpaste? 

My self-righteous little heart would wonder, Where on earth was his mother?

And, of course, now I know.  At that very moment, his mother was probably at Target buying Right Guard, Odor Eaters and Colgate in bulk and placing them strategically throughout the house.  His mother was bleaching socks and tee-shirts as fast as her little spin cycle could churn.  His mother was sacrificing new living room furniture to pay for braces.  She was fishing an orthodontic appliance out of the trash.

Now I have learned that boys this age are just pre-programmed to look like they're homeless.  For every ratty, raggy tee and grimy hoodie, there are three crisp, striped Rugby shirts in the closet.  With the tags still on.

I would like to travel back 15 years and tell the smug, childless me that actually those sixth-grade mothers weren't too poor or lazy to buy their boys new shoes.  In fact, they probably did spring for brand-new Nikes to replace the still-pretty-new Adidas which had been "custom air conditioned" during Social Studies.  And probably two days after the new shoes were purchased, one accidentally "fell out of the car" on the way home from a ski trip.

Because, once again, mothering is humbling the heck outta me.  One stinky sock at a time.

P.S.  Anyone seen a black Nike Reax?  Size 5 1/2?

Jakeover

6th Grade Crazy Hair Day...but, really, isn't every day a crazy one when you're in sixth grade?

The adolescent and I have been doing a little Jakeover in his new bedroom.

Apparently, he has not been loving my decorating techniques lo these many years. Apparently, the preppy Nantucket cottage look is not jiving with his inner rockstar/sk8erboi. So madras plaid and denim are out. Black, silver and leather are in. Yes, there are fake fur throw pillows, which have been a major source of envy among younger sibs. (Pictures coming, once we hang the black-out curtains!)

Jake has grown a lot over the past couple months. I think I tower over him by a measly inch, maybe two. When I talk to him now, I am looking straight into those baby blues. Of course, this does not mean we see eye-to-eye on much.

Bedtimes, computer time, chore time, homework time, mealtime, dental hygiene time. All continue to be a struggle of wills. Life with Jake has never been boring.

My mom and I laugh about the day Jake learned to roll over. The absolute moment he discovered that he could actually muscle his way over that bulky left shoulder and GET AWAY, he started to roll like a demon tumbleweed from one room to another. There was no stopping him. I've been chasing after him ever since. He keeps me humble and very tired.

I am proud of the way Jake has handled the big changes life has brought him lately. Not only does he have a new school and new neighborhood, Mother Nature's starting in on a more personal sort of Jakeover.

Loathe to blog about it. After all, what kind of tween-hating mom posts about curly blonde leg hair or tiny little forehead breakouts? Certainly not me! (Even though both make him look quite manly and, if I were a sixth-grade girl and not his mother, I would totally have a major crush.)

I think adolescence is just as thrilling to watch as a baby discovering how to roll over for the first time.

But twice as frightening.

Just Trying to Swim to the Surface

For some reason, I really thought a cross-country move would be restful. A day at the beach. Not the moving part, of course, but the arriving and settling in.

I figured for the first year, I'd just be buried in packing peanuts and painting projects. I was actually kind of worried that I'd be bored and lonely.

Already, though, I feel like I am right back in the deep end. Today I started with a new responsibility at church and a big commitment at the kids' school. Soccer is three times a week, art class every Wednesday, piano lessons, orthodontist appointments, activity days, Scouts and...don't forget!...the laundry pile isn't going anywhere but up.

I guess at this stage of life, there isn't much time for lying in the sand. It's all about keeping my head above water.

Life with a Tweenage Daughter

Em just finished my all-time favorite tween romance. Fifteen by Beverly Cleary. Since Salina Gomez got her all pumped about Ramona and Beezus again, she has been devouring all the Cleary books in the house.

I confess, when she reached for my old dog-eared copy, I discouraged her a little. "That's kind of a teenage book, Emmie. About a girl who wants a boyfriend." Well, duh, Mom. She was all over it. A few nights I even tiptoed in to read a chapter with her and it was pure pleasure.

Can I just say Beverly Cleary ROCKS?! I mean, this book was originally published in 1956. It was old-school when my mother read it. The dad smokes a pipe, for Pete's sake. The best friend wears a girdle. No one is texting or online. But the writing focuses on emotions and relationships that are timeless.

When she got to the last page, that climactic moment when Stan finally gives Jane his ID bracelet and a chaste 1956 kiss, Emmie's eyes were shiny.

My little girl is growing up. She is babysitting (a little) and on the phone with old and new friends (a lot). Her moods have always been less predictable than her brothers', but now that she's almost in the double-digits, I find I have to tiptoe even more carefully. Just yesterday, I was teasing her (a little too publicly, I guess) about something we'd always laughed about. But this time, she burst into tears. Yikes.

And that was just the school nurse on the phone, calling to say Em is in her office with a headache. She forgot her glasses. Again.

Time to go. Life with tweenagers is not all a Beverly Cleary romance, if you know what I mean.

A Few Recommendations

Number One:

If you, like me, are moving old furniture into a new space, run and get this book at the library...
It's an oldie, but a goodie. Lauri Ward teaches design principles that work with any furniture, in any room. Because the people at Pottery Barn don't want us to know this, but we really don't need ALL new stuff to make our homes comfortable and attractive. I have been rereading this week and learning a lot.

Number Two:

If you, like me, will be sending children back-to-school shortly, don't forget to celebrate Children's Day first! (If you aren't familiar with Children's Day, I detail it in this old post. By the way, who are those adorable little tykes? What happened to them and their high-energy young mother?)

Number Three:

If you, like me, love to be inspired by real-life moms, go check out my real-life friend, Rochelle, here. Watch the clip. Anyone with a special needs child or just a burning desire to see a darling redhead will be more than satisfied. Go Ro!

My Life, Numerically Speaking

Number of autographs on Luke's blue cast--37

Days until I retire from Seminary teaching--11

Consecutive days I have skipped exercise this month--13

Number of nights spaghetti has been served for dinner in May--3

Number of children who gag when served spaghetti--1

School days remaining--22

Number of cavities filled in my mouth yesterday--3 (but it felt like a lot more)

Concerts/field days/class picnics/parties to attend--16

Pounds of our stuff the movers will pack, box and truck cross-country--16,499

Ball games remaining this season--10

Days til we move--33

Books I need to return to the library--9

Normally, I hate numbers. But it was oddly comforting to total things up mathematically tonight. I guess because numbers are just so final and unemotional and don't gag when you serve spaghetti.

Crazy Quilt

Springtime is full of crazy quilt days. Haphazard, random, mismatched and asymmetrical. Nonproductive tiny scraps of time before the bus comes or between Scouts and piano lessons. Seemingly endless stretches like the bouncy thirty minutes spent in the back of the field trip bus or the teeth-chattering hours under a useless blanket at the baseball diamond. There are no solid square blocks in which to accomplish anything from beginning to end.

Laundry baskets carried downstairs on Good Intention Monday are still blocking traffic in the mudroom. (Oh thank heavens the house sold quickly!) And I'm not really sure if their contents are clean or dirty at this point. Life is served on paper plates and I'm running out of healthy dinners to serve on-the-go. Please, don't ask to see the inside of my car.

Luckily, I've made it through a few of these dizzy seasons before. I know that once the field days and spring concerts and softball tournaments are over, life settles into a slower and gentler summer routine. (Will it this year? I hope so. As gentle as moving six people 2,300 miles can be, anyway.)

I'm just hoping that once these insane days are all sewn up, I'll be able to stand back a little bit, take a deep breath and see the crazy beauty created by so many random scraps.

Big Leagues

Today was Opening Day for baseball and softball.

All four are playing this season.

Li'l Sluggers: Then and Now

Thankfully, the twinks can play on the same team. So we only have three fields, three games and three practice schedules to juggle. Four would be suicide.

Am looking forward to a killer farmer's tan and a lot of hot dogs.

Age Appropriate Reading

Whether it's the rash case of eye-rolling, distinct wardrobe preferences or the fact that entire bags of Doritos are disappearing at alarming rates around our house, I can tell I've got a tween on my hands.

Part of me is absolutely thrilled that Jake is right on schedule with his new 'tude. (Any development is good development, right?) The rest of me, however, is terrified at the thought of any hormones (aside from my own, of course) running amok in our household.

So, I've been doing some research. That's what I call it when I am stretched out on my bed with a parenting book. Mom Research is a vital part of my job. And so what if I do it in my pj's with a couple of Mint Milanos nearby?

Here's what I've been reading:

A friend recommended this book to me years ago and I've read it several times. Each time I read with a whole new set of eyes and experiences and I devour each and every page. Dr. Latham perfectly combines scientific research with scriptural examples. He is completely positive and totally realistic.
Another friend recommended this one and I've loved it. Rosemond is no-nonsense, old-fashioned and empowering. His take: Teenagers probably won't like you sometimes. But did you like your parents when you were a teen? It makes me feel better.

Got teens? Grab these books, put on your pj's and start your research.

And don't forget the Mint Milanos!

Living Inside a Snowglobe

This is what it looks like outside my house right now...

And this is what it looks like inside my house right now...

We are living in a snowglobe. A noisy, messy, too-many-snow-cancelled-school-days kind of snowglobe. All shook up.

(By the way, those aren't snowflakes. They are patch marks. Brad started his fix-it-up kick and left polka dots all over the house. Then he left town. The effect of so many polka dots on the mocha family room walls is unsettling. My feng shui is definitely off.)

Yesterday, talking to Emmie via cell phone about the upcoming storm, my mom wondered how our little family would survive. She knew Brad was gone and asked Emily what we would do if we lost power or some other emergency.

Em's answer was matter-of-fact. "Well, we DO have Jake."

And it is remarkable how safe an eleven year old boy can make me feel. Jake built, lit and tended this fire all afternoon. He is quite manly is his woodpile duties and very strict if Sam and Luke get too close to the flame.

Emily and her best friend spent the afternoon building an obstacle course in the basement. It involved every single toy we own and a lot of yelling "not to come down yet!"

For some reason, clean-up isn't nearly as exciting.

Before leaving town, Brad made a SnowDad on the back patio so I wouldn't miss him so much. I enjoy looking at SnowDad through the kitchen window.

But, I think, if we lose power tonight, I just might go knock him over.

Truly Amazing

I love that the twinks are learning to read.

Years ago, when I was a reading teacher, I worked with kids who struggled. I went to all kinds of training conferences and read loads of books on the subject and came away feeling truly amazed that anyone, anywhere EVER learned to read.

Phonemic awareness, one-to-one matching, concepts of print. So much had to be in place before the average kindergartener or first-grader could even begin to decode Cat in the Hat or Mrs. Wishy-Washy.

Of course, this was during my baby hungry years. So when I wasn't studying up on Reading Recovery strategies, I was poring over Conception and You and Getting Pregnant Naturally. I learned words like motility, injectables and basal body temperature. I came away feeling truly amazed that anyone, anywhere EVER had a baby.

Babies are a miracle. Reading is too. Having four kids who can find meaning from letters on a page is a wonder I do not take for granted.

I told Brad long before our kids came along that I was confident I could teach all of our kids to read before they started kindergarten. I had lots of experience and tricks up my sleeve.

Of course, that was before potty-training destroyed my self-esteem.

So, I got smart. I let the teachers do the teaching and I do the fun stuff. Trips to the library and bedtime stories and reading Wizard of Oz one chapter at a time. It's a whole lot better that way.

Anyway. I love my kids. I love to read. I love having kids who love to read. It may not seem like a huge accomplishment to anyone else. But, for me, it's truly amazing.

A Few Parenting Truths I've Discovered This Week

1. The best way to get kids to play with something is tell them to clean it up.
2. If you only serve whole wheat bread and then buy Wonder White in a moment of nutritional weakness, your kids will eat it by the glorious fistful and think you are the best thing since...well, sliced bread.
3. The best way to get kids to listen to something is whisper it to your husband.
4. Gambit is a much more enjoyable than Candyland.
5. Black Sharpie pens have magical power. They can draw on dining room walls. All by themselves.

New Shoes, Clean Teeth and a Tiger Named Bwad

Bwad is the newest member of our family. Named after our venerable patriarch, but with kindergarten pronunciation, Bwad sleeps in a Kleenex box and likes being stroked between the ears. He is my kind of pet and we've taken him everywhere today.

Even with a stuffed tiger tagalong, my day has been productive. I took the twinks shoe shopping and to the dentist. Both activities make me feel like a responsible parent. The Stride Rite man congratulated me on my strapping boys and the dentist (for once!) pronounced everyone cavity-free.

I headed back to the store for Snowmageddon Part II. This one's supposed to be a doozy. I loaded up on all the essentials. This time, I got wise, and bought the disposable hot chocolate cups WITH LIDS. I'm hoping this will drastically improve something. Snow days are a whole lotta fun, but can wreak havoc upon my clean kitchen.

Bracing for this second storm (we're supposed to get 12-20 inches!) reminds me of the day before surgery. I've done everything I can do get ready, I'm hoping for the best and prepared for the worst. We won't know til it's over, I guess.

The More Things Change

Two and half years ago, I posted the following entry entitled, "You Might Be Raising Boys If..."

(Weren't they teeny?!)

You might be raising boys if...

1. You own a remote control tarantula.
2. You sort your laundry into the following categories:
   denim, khaki, camouflage and Spiderman.
3. Your blue bathroom always smells a little funky.
4. You know the exquisite agony of stepping on Star Wars Legos with your bare feet.
5. You go through a jumbo jar of peanut butter and four gallons of milk every week.
6. You can tell the difference between Percy, Thomas and James.
7. Flatulence is the highest form of humor in your home.
8. You are voluntarily going to spend 5 days at Cub Scout Day Camp.
   

Today I have to add:

You might be raising boys if...

you have a rubber snake in your powder room, mud in your laundry room, Froot Loops in your pantry and BB's in your vacuum cleaner bag.

God bless little boys and the mothers who keep 'em.

The Seventh Day

Last Monday night, Sam was giving the Family Night lesson. He had chosen to teach about The Creation and was delivering a stellar oration, complete with visual aids.

"First, Jesus separated light and darkness. He called them day and night. Next, He made the land and the oceans." And so on. Sam knew it all. I felt so proud. I sat back, feeling humbly superior, having raised such a knowledgeable child.

Finally, Sam got to the seventh day. He was stumped. He looked at Luke. He looked at me. He looked at his picture. The earth was complete with plants, animals, handsome Adam and beautiful Eve. What was left?

I pulled him close and whispered helpfully in his ear. Sam's face lit up. Of course! He knew what came next. He stood up straight and held his picture high.

Clearing his throat, he spoke in that very distinctive Sammy voice. "And last came the seventh day. And on the seventh day, HE GOT ARRESTED."
-------------------------------------------------------

I know Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest, but in some ways, it is the hardest part of my week. All that public parenting. All those expectations --freshly ironed white shirts, homemade rolls for dinner, long afternoon naps. (Translate into semi-rumpled Rugbys, applesauce oatmeal muffins and blogging on an unmade bed, then you'll have an accurate picture of my Sabbath today.)

Mormon moms do a lot to make Sundays special and a lot of the time we do it alone. Sometimes it's because our husbands don't want to come to church with us. Sometimes it's because they have to go early and stay late for meetings. Sometimes they are sitting on the stand at church while we wrestle the children on the benches and give them a Sabbath-appropriate version of the stink eye.

Today Brad has been gone all day, working with an inner-city congregation. He left at 8:00 am with his lunch packed into a cooler. He probably won't be home until it's time for dinner. I hope he likes applesauce muffins.

His Spanish scriptures got dusted off this morning and he's hoping his conversational vocab isn't too rusty. I am proud of him. He is a dedicated guy. I'm grateful. But it's still hard being the one left behind.

All I know is that it's all worth it. The goldfish crackers ground into the speckly meetinghouse carpet. The Mary-Janes and Oxfords that seem to shrink overnight. The rooster-tail cowlick that just won't stay down on Sunday morning.

I know it's worth it because my kids have a whole buncha grown-ups who pray for them and teach them. And, when I'm not wrestling small people into submission on a church bench, I can look around the chapel and see a friend in every pew. I know it's worth it, because I am a believer and this is what we do.

Just remind me next Sunday.

Is There Some Secret Mothering Manual I Forgot to Pick Up at Target?

I don't know why I thought this whole motherhood thing was going to get easier over time. Those of you ahead of me in the learning curve are probably shaking your head and chuckling, but I really did think that once they were all potty trained and on the school bus, life would be just one big yoga class. Followed by spa pedicures and an Asian salad at Panerra.

But somehow it just gets trickier by the day. I mean, I used to worry about people drinking Clorox or falling out of second story windows. These days I worry more about online images and fighting on the bus. Not to mention how to get Little Sister's pink glittery jewelry kit bead out of Big Brother's brand new Airsoft. (Note to self: Hot glue on a toothpick is not the way to go.)

Just today I noticed Jake subtly put his carefully-selected, brand-new birthday shirt at the bottom of the laundry pile. Isn't it cool enough? Did someone make fun of it? Why would they? What exactly makes one shirt acceptable and another nearly identical shirt destined for the back of the drawer? And, most of all, if someone really cares so much about his personal appearance then just why IS my frequent suggestion to become one with the toothbrush always so offensive?!

Em has been complaining of headaches for a while now. She rubs her eyes and whines sometimes. In my expert opinion, of course, she is just looking for attention. This is a girl who loves vitamins and medicine and Band-aids, after all. She visits the school nurse for cough drops almost daily. So, I chalk it up to middle-child-syndrome and tell her to rest on the couch.

Well, yesterday I finally took her to the eye doctor. (After much begging on her part and me saying, "Why? You just aced the school vision screening.") It turns out she is practically blind in her left eye and has astigmatism in her right. We pick up her purple sparkle specs on Wednesday.

What kind of mother lets her beautiful daughter wander through life under a veil of blurry darkness?! Me, that's who. (I confess to shedding a few tears over the whole thing until I remembered the time I broke my arm in fifth grade and NOBODY believed me for days. Thanks, Mom. I feel better now.)

When does it get easier, people? Exactly when will I go from novice-mom to expert status? And don't tell me to hang on and wait for grandkids. I don't know if I can last that long...

Eleven Years Ago

Eleven years ago I was awake in bed wondering if you would ever come.

Afraid of jinxing the adoption, I had not purchased a single diaper or pack of undershirts or any of the baby furniture I'd been coveting for years.

All I had was an empty bedroom next to mine and the What to Expect book which I had secretly read with religious devotion while on vacation with your dad in Hawaii. No one knew you were coming, so I couldn't read it by the pool or on the beach. Our traveling companions probably wondered why I kept sneaking into the hotel room and, if they had looked closely at my face, they would have seen it hovering between hysterical laughing and hysterical crying. I could never decide which.

On the long flight home, I took advantage of Dad's laptop and typed up my twenty page Mothering Manifesto. All my hopes and dreams. The kind of mom I would be. The kind of person I would train you to become. Unfortunately, this brilliant piece of philosophy was forever lost in some tangled mess of binary code and, though I hunted for ages, I was never able to find it again. Too bad. I think it would make me chuckle these days.

Eleven years ago I lived in a brand new house that was spotless with white carpet in every room. All of my Magic Markers had lids. I kept coffee table books on my coffee table. And I bought dry clean only clothing.

My life was different eleven year ago. I didn't know how to unfold a stroller or sterilize a bottle or love unselfishly. Believe it or not, I'd never watched a single episode of Phineas and Ferb or made a peanut butter smoothie. I had never been to the orthodontist and there were no action figures in my bathtub.

Eleven years ago I didn't need to color my hair and the backseat of my car was completely crumb-free. But I'd never had a Mother's Day card or heard you read Bears on Wheels all by yourself either.

Eleven years ago a new life began. And I don't mean yours.

Happy Birthday, Jakey! Can't imagine my life without you.

My Children Want to be Jewish and Other Yuletide Reflections

This week just about everyone in our neighborhood is celebrating Hanukkah. Including us. We've lit the menorah and spun the dreidels. We've eaten the chocolate coins. But it is not good enough. My kids want presents. Eight nights' worth to be exact.

I keep reminding them that Santa will come soon and that, anyway, we believe in Jesus and want to open presents on His birthday. And, don't get me wrong, the kids love Jesus and Christmas. Of course.

But it's really hard to compete with the brand new air hockey table next door. Oy.

--------------------------------

Tonight I was helping Jake with spelling homework, thinking up sentences for his words. I like to kill two birds with one stone and throw in a little moral lesson with my sentences.

Word: Voluntarily
My sentence: The boy voluntarily let his sister have the first ice cream sandwich and made his mother very happy.

Jake's response: Yeah. Like when did that ever happen?


Word: Enviable
Jake's sentence: He had an enviable scar.
Me: Really? I don't think people envy scars, do they?
Jake: Mom, you've got to start thinking like a guy.

Duh.

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We are doing our annual Christmas card map and have received cards from thirteen different states! As well as Vietnam and Venezuela! Marking the map makes me very happy. So does reading the cards and looking at the photos. Thank you to everyone who has sent us holiday cheer.

We need more Midwest and Southern states represented, though. If you happen to live in those wonderful geographic regions and have an extra stamp, please send us something. A postcard is fine. Thank you.

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Tonight was Family Night. And, I am happy to report, no one was hurt during the game portion of the evening's activities. This is rare.

Luke, however, did need to excuse himself to apply several Go Diego Go bandaids in the course of Jake's (extremely hands-on) lesson about The True Meaning of Christmas.

He might be lucky and get an enviable scar.

Oy.

Kindergarten Love

"I never see you anymore," my friend said at a Christmas party last weekend. "What are you doing with yourself these days?"

"One word." I told her. "Kindergarten."

Yes, kindergarten. No, I am not teaching kindergarten. I am not even attending kindergarten. But if you have two kids in afternoon kindergarten, it officially becomes the center of your universe.

We spend all morning Getting Ready for Kindergarten. There's not really enough time to go for a playdate or run more than one major errand. Several changes of clothing are involved. Also, people are starving. All the time. Which means apple slicing, peanut butter spreading, cracker crumbing, countertop wiping and more changes of clothing.

Then, no matter how early we start or how organized I am, we somehow are always Rushing to Catch the Bus. I am old-fashioned and don't believe in driving to the bus stop unless the weather is really really really bad. So we walk, we bike, we scoot, we fall, we get muddy, we collect sticks and we climb trees. It is quite a production.

By the time the boys climb into the bus, I am very relieved that no one has broken an arm. I wave and give the twins our "secret sign" as they look through the window. Then I chat with my neighbor, Sue, for a few minutes. We solve several world problems and then I walk slowly home dragging a Razor Spark scooter and a red two-wheeler behind me.

My official kindergarten title is Room Mom. Kindergarten room mom at our school is responsible for lining up parent helpers for Kidwriting each day. Which means I am constantly bugging the parents with emails and phone calls. Or doing Kidwriting in the classroom. Or watching another mom's toddlers so she can go do Kidwriting.

I am always happy when it's my turn to help out. I love elementary school. I loved attending. I loved teaching. I love construction paper and the smell of school lunch (usually).

When I walk into the classroom, the kids are so happy to see me. Nothing is better for one's self-esteem than Kindergarten Love. After hanging with a bunch of eye-rolling teenagers in Seminary every morning, walking into kindergarten is like stepping into a warm bubble bath. They fight to sit next to me! They call out my name! They like my red hoodie! I feel like the Star of the Week.

The truth is my seminary students are not a whole lot different than a group of kindergartners. Both enjoy snacks, stories, sitting by their friends. Both need frequent reminders to stay on task and stop chatting. Both think life is exciting and extremely difficult at the same time. They are right.

As much as I complain about the daily inconveniences of kindergarten, the truth is that I am going to really miss it next year. No more morning buddies to ride in a firetruck shopping cart and embarass me at the grocery store. No more Kidwriting. No more Star of the Week.

But, thankfully, there is no time to worry about that now. It's time to start Rushing to Catch the Bus!