Rewind...Valentine's Day

I just had to share my kids' Valentine's Boxes.  They had loads of fun putting them together and were so proud of the final result. 

Ethan's-----------------------------------Conner's----------------------------------Aubrey's

Hope that Valentine's at your house was "monstrously" fun too! 

How Lowe Can You Go?

Lowe's has become one of my regular haunts.  Lately I've been there a couple times a week.  So, when I told my boys we were heading to the hardware store again, their groans of disappointment didn't surprise me in the least.

As I walked to the the back of the warehouse I was stopped by a big, middle-aged man in a red apron. 

"Can I help you?" he asked politely.

"Yeah, actually I am going to need some wood cut," I smiled back.

Accompanied by this helpful employee, I walked to the woodcutting area and carefully picked out the board that I needed.

The saw buzzed loudly with anticipation while the stout man positioned the wood carefully.  As he slowly bent way over to operate the huge machine, his denim pants slipped down low on his bum.  This unintentional loss of modesty went completely unnoticed by this poor man.

My eyebrows raised in surprise, and my hand shot up to stifle the uncomfortable laugh that threatened to escape from my mouth.  I shifted my position and averted my gaze.  Just then, Ethan caught my eye.  He was curious about the saw and  had been watching in amazement as the saw sliced through the thick board as effortlessly as a scissors cutting through paper.  I saw Ethan's eyes take in the large saw and the area surrounding it, they came to rest where the red-aproned-man's pants had been just moments earlier.  His brown eyes widened and a mischievous grin bisected his face.

The next moment Ethan was at my side pulling at my sleeve.

In a split second several images rushed past my mind's eye.  Memories that embarrassment had permanently etched in my brain.  Moments where my children, in their innocence, had inadvertently made mortifying comments. Years ago, Conner's finger pointing at a woman just feet away loudly asking, "Mama, why is her bum so BIG!"  Ethan, chubby cheeked and only four years old, shouting secretively behind a cupped hand, "Her breath STINKS!"  More recently, Aubrey stage whispering, "His teeth are YELLOW, huh mom?"

This time, I wasn't sure exactly what Ethan wanted to say, but I was sure I did not want him to say it.  At least not in our present company.

"MOM!" my eight year old whispered urgently.

I pointedly ignored him.

"Mom, mom, mom!"

Ignoring him wasn't working, I tried another approach.

"Ethan, not right now.  Will you go find your brother? " I begged through a forced smile.

"But Mmmm-om, I have to tell you SOMETHING!" the pulling at my sleeve had a new intensity.

I just had to keep him quiet until the wood was done and we were out of earshot.  

"Just a second, okay?" I leaned closer to my little boy and looked deeply into his eyes, willing him to understand.

His finger started pointing at the employee in a poking motion, "Mom! Puh-lease, can I tell you something?"

I gave in.  There was no ignoring, no distracting and no pleading that was going to dissuade him, so I leaned in close to minimize the volume and hopefully the embarrassment.

Ethan was thrilled to finally have my full attention.  He stood close to me and took a deep breath, I closed my eyes, bracing for the worst.

"Mom!  He's not wearing any safety glasses!"

My eyes blinked open in surprise.  I looked at my son's face.  The relief of finally saying what he needed to was written onto every feature.

"You're right," I said with a huge sense of relief, "he should definitely be wearing safety glasses."

The End is in Sight

The last day of school is finally in sight.  I think that the last month of school is harder for me than it is for my boys.  As the schools on a traditional schedule finish, our year round school continues.  The weather turns hot and I grumble each time I have to send my kids out the door in the morning. 

So, Friday is the long anticipated day of freedom!  We have fun plans for the three week break before they start a new school year.  Before getting too involved in summer fun, here's a quick look back on the boys' last big projects in their current grades.  

Ethan learned about Deinonychus, a samll but fierce dinosaur who lived during the Cretaceous Period.  He made a diorama with a pack of Deinonychus and their nests, complete with salt dough eggs.  Ethan also presented what he learned in an oral report in front of his class.  He did a great job!

Conner was assigned a topic from a more familiar time and place; Rich County, Utah.  He also used salt dough as a medium for his County float.  Some features he highlighted were Rich County's livestock, Aspen Trees, Bear Lake and, of course, the Bear Lake Monster.  

I'm proud of Conner and Ethan.  They worked hard on these projects and did really well on them. 

The History of a Haircut

After Kedar and I had been dating for a couple of months he posed a question that would change the course of my life forever.  My hands shook and my brain raced as I tried to put my answer into words.  I didn't want to say "no" but I wasn't sure that I was ready to say "yes" either.  It was a defining moment in our relationship when he asked me "Will you give me a haircut?"

I finally caved and told him that I would try cutting his hair.  We went into the bathroom with clippers, scissors and Kedar's over-grown hair.  We came out of the bathrom 20 minutes later with tiny splinters of hair covering both of us and an uneven mop on top of his head.

We walked down the stairs and Kedar continued into the kitchen where the family that he was living with sat at the table. I lingered on the bottom step.  Each face turned in our direction and shocked looks turned into stifled snickers as they took in the damage that I had inflicted.  My face burned with humiliation.

I promised myself that I would never cut Kedar's hair again.  Never.

Over eleven years later, there have been only two times, since that first haircut, that Kedar has paid to have someone else cut his hair.  One was for our wedding and the other was about a year ago when our schedule was just too packed to squeeze in a haircut at home.  He went to a Sports Clips on his lunch hour armed with a coupon.

Very few things have stayed the same since that first haircut.  First, I like to think (or at least, I hope) that my skills have improved.  Second, Kedar is no longer the only one at the mercy of my scissors; Conner and Ethan are also my regular customers.  Lastly, there is nobody waiting in the kitchen to laugh at the final results.  If anybody in the house laughs now, they know I will just get even with them the next time they are in need of my services.     

Piano Lessons and Prayer

When Conner was a colicky little baby one of the things he would respond best to was music.  Every night he would fall asleep to our "Celtic Lullabies" CD.  Evenings were his fussiest time and we wore a trail into the carpet in his room, bouncing him back and forth through the moonlight.  His music would calm him when our other attempts failed. 

He was three when we realized that memorizing melodies came effortlessly for him.  We would sing or hum a line from a song and ask him where he had heard it.  If he had seen a movie, heard an add on the radio or heard it in nursery even just once he could almost always tell us where he had learned it.

He would toddle around the house or busily play with bugs in the yard while singing the music that he heard around him. 

His love for music has grown with him.  When his alarm is blaring in the morning, instead of getting out of bed and turning it off he will lie quietly, listening to the words and music,  then those songs become his anthems throughout the morning as he gets ready for school.

So, we waited for the time that Conner would be old enough to take piano lessons.  We imagined the satisfaction that he would get from making music and not long ago, we decided he was ready and put him in lessons.  Soon we learned he loves making music and he loves listening to music but he hates practicing.

Yesterday, when it was time to go to his piano lesson he locked himself in the bathroom.

"Conner, it's time to go!" I hollered as I gathered up his books.

"I'm not going!" His muffled response came from the other side of the closed door.

"Why don't you want to go?"

"He'll ask me to count out loud!  He'll make me name notes and I don't want to play scales!"  He listed his objections with vehemence.

After some persuasion the door was reluctantly opened and a little prodding got him into the car.  I pulled up in front of his teacher's house but when I climbed out, Conner stayed firmly in his seat.  Then he locked all the doors.  I tapped on the window with my finger and pointed to the lock on the door.  I must have my "mother look" perfected because he unlocked the door immediately.  I dragged him up to the door and we went inside.

Conner's teacher was waiting patiently for us.  He watched as we came into his music room.  Our situation must have been pretty obvious because Merrill walked over to Conner and put an encouraging arm around his shoulders.  "Thank you for coming today even though you didn't feel much like it." 

He spoke to Conner about the joy that music can bring, but emphasized that sometimes its work too.  He explained in kind words and loving tones how important it is that we each learn how to work.  His next words were not what I expected.

"Conner, would it be alright if we started our lesson today with a prayer."

In the sweet prayer that he offered, Merrill asked for Conner to feel comfort and peace.  He asked the Spirit to direct him as he instructed Conner.  He thanked Heavenly Father for Conner, expressed love for him and acknowledged the great love that our Heavenly Father has for Conner.  It was a simple and beautiful prayer.

Tears filled my eyes as I listened to Merrill's words.  In praying he had expressed humility and love.  Humility to ask for Heaven's help and to recognise that He knows a better way, and love for my son, a child of God that He loves and is mindful of.  Prayer had taken a negative situation, and in an instant, set the stage for a positive learning experience.

The most valuable lesson taught yesterday in Conner's piano lesson had nothing to do with notes or scales, it had more to do with faith and love.

“Drawing is putting a line around an idea.”

-Henry Matisse

I was filing some papers and came across these drawings Conner gave to Kedar and I a little while ago. 

I just love the "idea they put a line around."

This is the one he gave to his daddy.

He gave this one to me.

I love that we are all connected.  My arm is linked through Kedar's, Kedar has his arm around Conner's waist, Conner's holding Ethan's arm and Ethan has his hand on Aubrey's shoulder. 

(He even included Jasmine the gecko and Swirly and Spike the hermit crabs.)

Turnabout is Fair Play

There are some traits that I don't mind passing on to my kids;  My brown hair?  Fine.  My brown eyes?  No problem.  My second toe is longer than my big toe.  Not a big deal if my kids end up with that either. 

However, there are other traits that I'm not as sure that I want my kids to have;  My fingernails bend when they grow.  I have always disliked this and don't want them to have my deformed fingernails.  My toes creak and pop all the time.  This bugs me whenever I walk down the stairs, I hope they don't have this either (mostly because of the aches that go along with noisy toes).

Then there are some traits I have that it scares me to think that my kids might end up having too.  Recently, I recognized a trait in Conner that has me shaking in my parental boots.

It started as Conner and I sat at the piano together. We had just finished playing a duet of "She'll Be Comin' Around the Mountain" when we had the following conversation.

Me: "Conner, that was really good!  Make sure that you count out loud this time, okay?"

Conner:  Silence.     

Me:  "Conner?  Will you count out loud while we play it again?"

Conner:  Silence.

Me: Deciding to ignore being ignored and move on.  "Okay let's start at the beginning of the song, counting out loud."

We play the first few measures of the song, meanwhile Conner sits silently on the bench next to me.

Me:  "Okay.  Let's stop there and start at the beginning again.  We have to make sure to count out loud so we can stay together and get the timing right.  Okay?"

Conner:  Silence.

Me:  "Conner, do you understand why it's important to count out loud?

Conner:  "Yes."

Me:  "Alright, then, let's start at the beginning and we can count together."

We play the beginning of the song again.

Me:  "One, two, three, four.  One, two, three, four.  One, two, three, four...."

Conner:  Silence.

Me:  "Conner, are you counting?"

Conner:  "No."

Me:  "Why not?"

Conner:  Silence.

At this point, I had a vision of myself, sitting at the same piano in my childhood home.  When I was about 13 I decided that I was done taking piano lessons.  My mom tried her best to convince me to reconsider.

"Kari, you need to practice the piano now," my mom reminded me from the other room.  I put my fingers on the keys and played a stirring rendition of "Chopsticks."   

"Kari, that's not practicing.  Play your scales, okay?"

I said nothing.  Instead, I got up and went to the bathroom.

When I got back to the piano, my mom was waiting for me.  "You need to practice the piano.  Please sit down and play your scales."

I silently sat down and waited for my mom to leave the room.  When she was out of sight I plunked at the keys randomly until I heard her walk into the room again.

"Kari!  What are you doing?"

Silence.

"Please, practice your lesson!" my mom pleaded with me.

Without a word I diligently began practicing my scales... for five minutes, then I left the piano again and went into the kitchen for a drink.

This went on for several months.  My mom tried everything she could think of to get me to practice.  She grounded me, she bribed me, she hid money in the pages of my piano books, nothing worked.  After awhile she gave up and let me quit taking piano lessons.

Generally, I think that I was a pretty good kid.  I was usually very obedient but there were somethings that I would get very stubborn about.  I knew talking back would get me into trouble so instead I said nothing at all.  When my mind was made up my parents knew it because I became unusually quite, and no amount of convincing would change my mind.

My mind returned to the scene in front of me.  I looked over at my son who was staring silently ahead at the blank wall above the piano and I felt a bead of cold sweat run down the back of my neck.


What traits, good or bad, have you passed on to your children?  Tell me about it.

Dim Sum, Anyone?

Last weekend we were out running errands and making a few visits.  Things were taking longer than we had anticipated and lunchtime was quickly approaching.  From the back of the van we could hear the desperate cries of our children, "We're STARVING!  Please, can we stop somewhere for lunch?" 

This is the moment where things can get a little dicey for our family. 

Should we press forward with our errands, making the young'uns wait another hour (at least) for lunch, but at the same time teaching them valuable lessons?  Lessons such as: a person cannot starve to death between breakfast and lunch.  What about the important principles of budgeting and spending wisely?  By waiting and eating the perfectly good food that we had in our own kitchen wouldn't they learn to understand these things a little better?      

The halo-clad angel perched firmly on my right shoulder presented these arguments quiet articulately.   But she was quickly drowned out by the whining that echoed off the interior of our van, "Mom!  We're soooo hungry!  Pleeeeeease can we stop!?"  The guy with the pitch fork lounging on my left shoulder didn't have to say a word.  He just smiled smugly.

"Where do you guys want to eat?" I asked.

Within 2 minutes we'd weeded out 99.1% of the nearby eating establishments. 

"McDonald's!" the kids chanted with enthusiasm.

"NO!"  Kedar and I retorted, matching their gusto.

"Tacos?" someone suggested.

"BLURRRAH!!" one of the kids countered with elaborate fake vomiting noises.

"How 'bout Subway?"

"YUCK!"

"Sizzler?"

"Eeeeww!"

On and on this back and forth went until it was quite apparent that what we needed was a leader.  Someone to take charge and make a choice.  Someone who wasn't afraid to make some enemies, knowing that not everybody would be happy but still willing to make the best decision for the group.  It is in high pressure situations like this that leaders emerge. 

I noticed it happening gradually; Kedar slowly distanced himself from the circular banter, his driving evolved from aimless wandering to purposeful guiding, and his jaw set in resolution.  He'd made a decision.  The car grew quiet as we all waited to see where we would be eating our lunch.  A sharp right turn off of Redwood Road found us in a parking lot, the sign read "The Red Maple."

Our food was delicious, I believe the words "the best Chinese food in the valley" were spoken during the course of the meal.  When our chopsticks were clean and our bellies full the check arrived along with, of course, the fortune cookies.  The kids looked at them with expectation on their faces. 

Conner insisted the "authentic" way to acquire the fortune cookie meant for you was to pick one and then trade with someone else.  So, trade we did.  One by one we held our delicate treats in our hands and snapped them into two pieces.  The magic of anticipating what the hidden message may say found us all and buzzed in the air like static electricity.  We took turns reading our slips of paper.  The kids wondered out loud how their fortunes would play out in reality. 

"Mom, will I really bring sunshine into someones life?" 

"Do I bring sunshine into your life Dad?" 

"What does "priority" mean?"

"Why should my family be my highest priority?"

I was enchanted as I listened to our children.  Conner's paper said he would "bring sunshine into some body's life"so he believed that he would.  For the value that they put on them, these words should have been engraved on gold instead of printed on paper.  For three little minds that have no qualms believing in Santa Clause, Tooth Fairies and Leprechauns, putting faith in something as tangible as a fortune cookie wasn't a stretch at all.  Because they believed, I wanted to.

When my turn came to read, the words hummed in my head.  The realization hit me: there's no reason not to believe in these positive expressions.  Believing words of encouragement, no matter where they come from can only have a positive outcome.  So, I made the choice to believe.             

      
Motivation can come from many places, last Saturday it came to me in a crunchy Chinese cookie.

Gingerbread Houses

Beautiful Babies

Going through some old photos this morning has me feeling reminiscent. 

I had a couple of friends in my home recently, one of them is expecting her first baby.  The conversation turned to pregnancy; swelling bellies, ultrasounds and unusual cravings.  I was reminded of my own pregnancies, which feel like a lifetime ago.  There are so many things that I have forgotten, maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. 

I had forgotten that with each of my babies we received bad news at the ultrasounds.  Twice there were concerns with little hearts, and once we were warned about serious kidney problems. 

Kedar and I worried and stewed.  We gleaned from the Internet every morsel of information we could find.  We read books and asked questions.  But mostly we prayed. 

With each baby, time was enough to resolve our concerns, but the feelings anxiety and worry wouldn't leave me completely until I held a healthy baby in my arms.   

Each scare made me more aware of all that could go wrong, and emphasized the miracle of a healthy baby.  Today, I am feeling so thankful for my beautiful, healthy babies (who aren't really babies anymore).              

 Conner

5 years old

 Ethan

3 years old

Aubrey

6 months old

I Wanna Be Like Harry Houdini

Conner dressed as Harry Houdini for a recent school project.  My favorite part was when he took his place at the front of the class. 

He announced in a clear voice, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm Harry Houdini!" 

He raised his hands to reveal his wrists, shackled in handcuffs. 

"Please, watch closely," he boomed in his best showman's voice. 

Slowly, he turned in a circle.

When he was facing the class again he held the wrist-less handcuffs high above his head and declared, "Ta DA!"
 

Later, one of his classmates asked him how he had escaped from the cuffs.  His reply was, of course, "a magician never reveals his secret."

Every Party Needs a Pooper

This morning I woke up early to go running.  Kedar turned to me and said groggily, "You know there's snow on the ground, right?"  I felt like giving Mother Nature a big raspberry.  I've just recently come to grips with fall and it's already acting like winter.  I felt unprepared.  Grudgingly, I drug myself out into the cold, dark morning.  My legs were heavy, my feet were wet, I longed for the warmth of my bed.
  
When I got home the kids were just waking up.  Seeing the white blanket of snow on the ground had a different effect on them.  Excitement flowed from them as freely as water from a faucet.  Focusing on getting ready for school was hard for the boys, there were too many snowy plans to make.  After I got the boys off to school Aubrey was insistent on getting her snow clothes on and heading out into the cold.  I wasn't quite brave enough to go out again so I bundled her up and sent her out into the backyard.  I watched through the window as she dove into the ankle deep snow.  She rolled, somersaulted and made snow angels.  Every few seconds she would stop to wave at me through the window, making sure I was still there.

Listening to the boys chatter enthusiastically about their plans for snow games during recess, and watching Aubrey tumble happily in the backyard made me recognize my own (for lack of a better word) party pooper-ness.  The unexpected can be hard for me.  Sometimes I see it as an inconvenient hiccup in my plans, where my kids look at it as an adventure.  I love that my children embrace the unexpected with excitement.

The Pinewood Derby

The Car

The Line-up

The Final Three

Conner and the other scouts had a great time last night at the Pinewood Derby.  Kedar said he would be happy if their car made it to the end of the track in one piece (putting it together was a little stressful this year) so imagine their surprise when Conner's car actually did pretty well!  

Risky Business

Risk

The Game of Global Domination

Last night was an evening served up with a heaping helping of male bonding along with a side of global domination.  Risk, it seems, is a game made specifically to appeal to men.  So, it was fitting that it was Kedar who was teaching both of the boys how to play his favorite game.

It must have been gratifying for him to watch as his sons devised a strategy,

"Let's both attack dad and then when he's dead we'll battle each other," Ethan proposed to his brother.    

"Yeah!" Conner's enthusiastic answer was accompanied by a sinister laugh.

This strategy was short lived as their desire to battle was stronger than their determination to beat their dad.  Hungry eyes scanned the board at the beginning of each turn, "Hmmm, now where can I attack?"  Each roll of the dice was followed by exclamations similar to, "Yes!  You're dead!" and, "Ha! Ha! I totally wiped you out!!"  My dismay grew as before my eyes my innocent children were transformed into battle hungry generals.

In the end Kedar's methodical attacks turned out to be the better approach to the boys' haphazard battle-with-anything-they-could-see tactic.  When all that was left were smoldering remains and plastic soldiers lying lifelessly on the game board, Ethan turned to me and asked in an innocent voice, his big brown eyes opened wide, "Mom, will you play this game with us tomorrow?"

"We'll see, buddy," was my reluctant answer.

Heredity

Don't be deceived by these angelic faces.  I happen to have the three most determined (and by "determined", I really mean "stubborn") children on the face of the planet.  They also happen to be the three cutest children so, their determination can sometimes catch me off guard. 

I remember calling my mom and trying to explain to her just how difficult dealing with such stubborn children can sometimes be.  Her response was slightly less than sympathetic.

"Hmmm," she reflected with mock sincerity, "I wonder where they could have gotten that stubbornness from?"

I really don't know what she could be referring to.  I mean, really!  

Certainly, she wasn't referring to my childhood and my obstinate refusal to practice the piano even when she hid money in the pages of my piano books.  Of course, she couldn't have been thinking of the clench of my jaw and the resolute silence I would assume when met with opposition to my opinion.  And I'm sure that the whole span of my life from age fourteen to sixteen (okay, maybe eighteen) didn't cross her mind during my complaining.

Maybe she was referring to Kedar.  He can be very stubborn.  Yes, I'm sure that's what she was talking about.

Nine Years

 

The birth of every baby is a miracle, Conner's birth was no exception.
 
Before Conner was born Kedar and I attended all of the labor and delivery classes that the hospital offered. We were the instructor's star students.  When we did relaxation exercises the other men, instead of coaching their own wives, would listen to Kedar coaching me expertly through the imaginary contractions. We had a "Labor Plan" written down (absolutely no medications, after all, women had been having babies since the beginning of time, my body would know what to do). We had our hospital bag packed. We felt prepared.

The night before my due date I started having contractions. I was awake all night timing and pacing. When the sun rose over the mountains I told Kedar it was time to go to the hospital. But as we got ready to leave, my contractions became less regular and noticeably weaker. We were heading out the door and I stopped Kedar saying that I had been wrong; we didn't need to go after all. He looked at me for a minute and then said resolutely, "We have to go. Let's get in the car."

The whole drive to the hospital I tried to convince Kedar to turn around. I didn't want to be sent home without a baby. When we walked into the Women's Center at the hospital my contractions were nearly non-existent. Embarrassed, I approached the front desk where two nurses sat. They looked at me inquisitively; they could tell by the way I walked, by the way I spoke, by the look on my face that this was a false alarm. Another first-timer without a clue. They asked me all of the standard questions.

Their final question, "When is your due date, honey?"

"Today," I answered.

The nurses looked at each other knowingly, barely concealing a snicker. "Y'know, honey, most babies aren't born right on their due date."

"I know," I said quietly, my face burning with humiliation. Why had Kedar insisted on coming?

We were taken to a room where one of the nurses told me that I would be monitored for about an hour and then "probably be sent home." I was hooked up to the monitors.  I watched miserably as the green beeping line confirmed what I already knew- I wasn't in labor. I was still contracting but they were very weak and very irregular. I lay on the bed sulking for about twenty minutes when suddenly Kedar jumped up from his chair and studied the monitors intently.

"What is it?" I asked nervously.

"Nothing," he said, "I just want to check something," with that, he ran out the door.

The next minute, Kedar ran back into the room with a swarm of nurses. They were busy checking and poking, rolling me onto my left side and then flipping me onto my right side.

"What's going on?" I asked frantically.

"Your baby is under a lot of stress, honey. His heart rate is dropping during your contractions."

Within fifteen minutes, I was rolled into the operating room for an emergency C-section. When my baby boy was born I didn't hear him cry right away, when I got my first quick glimpse of him he was covered in thick green meconium and his little cheeks were raw and bright red from rubbing on the inside of my uterus.

"Five pounds, seven ounces," the doctor announced.

He was whisked out of the operating room  into the nursery where he was poked and prodded with needles and feeding tubes.

The next few days were surreal. I didn't feel like a mother. I lay in my hospital bed recovering and Conner was in the nursery with a feeding tube in his little nose. I couldn't hold my baby, I couldn't feed him, I couldn't do any of the things that I had anticipated. I felt like a failure; women had been having babies forever but somehow my body didn't know how to nourish or deliver a healthy baby. 

When we finally took Conner home a week after he was born, I felt completely abandoned.  Just the day before, his nurses were the only people allowed to take care of him but now I was in charge of his well-being.  I was expected to be the mother that I wasn't allowed to be in the hospital.

As I spent time getting to know my little baby I was amazed by the things I learned about him; I was in complete awe of his perfect fingers and tiny toes, his ears were thin and paper-like, he was alert and curious and although he was small he was strong and determined.  My confidence as a mother grew as he did, and I learned along with him about this new life that we were both starting.

Conner's birth didn't unfold the way that I planned, but the way that it unfolded made it impossible to doubt that it was planned by our Heavenly Father.  After I was able to recognise that His way was better than mine, I could see Conner's birth for the miracle that it was.       

Happy Birthday, Conner!  We're so blessed to have you!

First Day of School

Our summer break is already over; today was the first day of school for Conner and Ethan. 

Every year the first day of school is one of those milestones that serves as a reminder that my kids are growing up.  Generally, I live in denial of this fact but it's hard to ignore when it's as obvious as two signs on the doors of the school; one says 2nd Grade and the other says 4th Grade.

Ethan and Mrs. Swannack.  Ethan is excited to have a teacher that his brother had!

Conner and his buddy Braden. It makes a big difference to have a friend in your class.

Good luck today boys!

Eaves Dropping

Tonight I was sitting in the rocking chair near the boys' bedroom door. They had been in bed for a little while and I hadn't heard anything from their room for a few minutes. I thought maybe they were asleep. It was very quiet but then I heard Conner say in a tired voice,

"Hey, Ethan?"

"Yeah?" was Ethan's slow response.

"Love ya," said Conner.

"Love you, too."

I couldn't help smiling.

A Sense of Humor and a Softie

I think one of the best parts about being a mother is watching my kids' personalities develop. Within a short time after the births of each of my babies', I've had a very clear picture of each of their unique personalities. I have been surprised by this every time it's happened. How could this strong personality be packed into such a tiny package? How could this new little person have developed such strong opinions already?

But I'm not through being surprised by my kids' personalities. As they get older and have more experiences, more and more facets of their individuality have been uncovered. I'm not sure that I will ever get used to the amazement that I feel as I learn something new and unexpected about my children. Each of the boys have surprised me lately with things they have written that have offered a new look at their budding personalities.

Conner is learning that he likes to be funny and that humor is a tool he can use when he writes. He likes making other people laugh and has his own unique brand of humor. He brought this story home from school last week, when I was through reading I couldn't help but laugh out loud:

Snowman

By Conner

I am a snowman and I snowboard at night on the street. I almost got ran over by a car because there was snow on the street. I was having a BRAIN-FREEZE. Wait a minute, I don't have a brain but my head's really cold. MY WHOLE BODY's cold. Wait a minute, I'm snow, I'm supposed to be cold. Now I'm so hot!!! I'm melting!

Help, He, H.

The end.

P.S.

He died.

As Ethan becomes a better writer, he is using these new skills to help express his feelings. On more than one occasion he has brought tears to my eyes with the sweet way that he shares what he is feeling when he writes. Ethan passed this note to me at church yesterday:

My Mom

By Ethan

I love my mom. She is my mother.

She is my sweet mother, my home sweet mother.

Yes she is my mother.

I have a dad too, but my dad is not my mother.

I love getting to know my children better. I love being surprised by them everyday.

SEP Conferences

Recently, we went to the boys' school for SEP (Student Educator Parent) Conferences. Since the time that I was in school, they have changed the way that these things are run. When I was in elementary school, I remember my mom and dad heading out the door for Parent-Teacher Conferences and me staying home, fretting about what my teacher would tell my parents. Would she tell them that last week she caught me passing a note? Would she tell them that I talk too much in class? What about kick soccer, yesterday I got tagged out - twice! Was that the kind of thing that they would talk about? A few times, my mom invited me to come along, but the idea of them talking about these things while I was sitting right there was embarrassing.

I worried about what was said until my parents came home. Then they would tell me that my teacher thought I was doing great in spelling and reading, but that sometimes I did visit with my neighbors too much. Basically, my parents told me that my teacher thought I was a good student and that I was doing well. Whew! What a relief!

Nowadays, as the new title implies, students are directly involved in these Conferences. I love that Ethan was there to hear his teacher say, "Ethan is doing great with his reading, his writing is getting much better too." I was so glad that Conner could hear his teacher say, "Conner has been working really hard on his fluency and I have seen big improvements." I think that hearing their teachers' words of encouragement can be so motivating for them.

I was so proud of Conner and Ethan. I was proud to see the areas that they have worked hard and improved in, but the things that I was the most happy to hear were things like, "Ethan always shows respect and follows the class rules," and, "Conner has become a self motivated student. He is a hard worker." I am happy to see them developing these life-skills that will benefit them throughout their lives.

These SEP Conferences have become a great way for us to celebrate the achievements the boys are making in their schooling. Rather than having them stay at home and worry, Conner and Ethan are right there, getting encouragement and motivation first-hand.