Bring on Summer 2011

Jemma's been done with school for what seems like weeks now, tagging along with me everywhere that I go.  And Annie's last half-day of first grade is tomorrow.  So today felt like the last, best chance I had to get things DONE around here.  I may have tried to do too much (run, Target, library, groceries, set up interviews, phone call for new writing project, teacher thank-you notes, creation of summer boredom-buster activities (see below), cooking dinner, filling out paperwork for Girl Scouts and allergy testing, and topping it all off with a family trip to Jersey Junction), but I think we're really ready.

Annie has cheerfully and not-so-cheerfully done chores and saved her money these last six weeks or so, and Jason and I decided to go ahead and order her rollerblades as a surprise gift for her spectacular school year.  We gave them to her tonight right after dinner, then headed straight outside to strap them on and skate twice around the block, up and down the driveway practicing turns, and then all the way to the ice cream shop and back.  One fall.  Three tears.  Huge, proud smile and grateful little girl getting her "spend" money out of its envelope to pay us her portion tonight.

Not wanting Jemma to be left out of the action, we got her something fun for summer that we knew she'd love, too.  She whacks that ball at least half the time we pitch it at her, sometimes knocking it straight into us, always laughing and talking the entire time.

 After a week or two of brainstorming ideas, I finally put this together today, just in the nick of time.  It's Annie's "I'M BORED" Board - get it? - and it's full of fun and educational activities to stave off the summer whining and backsliding.  The whole thing went together in less than an hour, made up of one extra-sturdy (puffy?) poster board, four lengths of ribbon attached to the board with four brads, and about 25 activities divided between four columns:  Write, Do, Learn, and Create.

The I'm Bored Board could have as many or as few categories as you wanted, and you can simply write the task on an index card, label the other side of the index card with the category, and attach it to the ribbon with tape.  Here are a few of our board's activities:

Write:  a comic strip; a story about our family; all the Spanish words you know; a letter to your teacher; a poem; a postcard.

Do:  go for a run; make cookies; weed and water the garden; make up a dance routine; yoga; play catch; jump rope; make an obstacle course.

Create:  paint rocks; draw a self-portrait; make a birthday card; paint using pointilism; paint outside with the art easel.

Learn:  play math games on the computer; research a bug; read a book outside; do math flashcards; pick a country from the globe and learn about it; practice piano.

That should totally take care of summer boredom, right?

*****

I'm predictably wistful about sending our big girl off to her very last day of what's been such a wonderful school year, and predictably amazed at how quickly it has gone.  Heading home from ice cream tonight, I think it was the first time our family has journeyed there and back without anybody in a stroller.  I remember making the trip the summer that Jemma was an infant and Annie was two; both girls rode in the Chariot together, Jemma still on the little papoose board.  The next summer, when the girls were one and three, we'd often take separate strollers (The Fighting) or maybe have Jemma in a stroller while Annie rode her tricycle, one of us pushing her along with our foot.  The last two summers, Annie has been able to ride her bike or scooter or just walk, but Jemma has always been in a stroller for the trip.

Tonight, though:  Annie flailed gracelessly along the sidewalk, refusing to hold anyone's hand while she paid careful attention to the cracks in the concrete; Jemma pedaled her blue-mouthed self right behind her sister, flying down the hills and then churning her legs stubbornly on the way up; Jason and I walked behind, watching, holding hands, feeling lucky to have another long summer stretching wholly before us.

Things They Say: Control Freak Edition

A:  Mom, when you get a cast, do you have to let people sign it?
Me:  No.
A:  Good.  Because when I have a cast, I'm not going to let anyone sign it.
Me:  Oh, okay.  (Pause)  You planning on breaking a bone soon?
A:  No.  (Pause)  But I don't like how sometimes people draw a picture on the cast, like a heart, or a peace sign, and there isn't room for everyone to sign their name, and then the whole cast gets full of black marker and looks all messy.
Me:  Noted.

Read Elsewhere: Letting Go

"The trick of being a good parent is to play the line out slowly until, when the moment is right, you drop it and stand there with empty hands. That is hard, and it is sad, but it’s the only way." - Anna Quindlen, via Momfilter

"Graduation open houses are still a long way off. But when they come, I want no regrets. I will say I drank up every moment, appreciated every sticky hug, relished in the joy of afternoon puzzles or putting my order in at her pretend cafe. It will come soon enough. And when the time does come, it will be a lot easier letting them go when I know I made the very best of the time they were mine to keep."  - Kelle Hampton, Enjoying the Small Things

"Here is the small kinship with mothers throughout time. Where do we find ourselves when we have spent so long defining ourselves through the mirror of our growing children? Where do we go? The fearfulness in my empty belly, the panic: over ordinary complacency these are actually good things. These are nutrients. This is the fertile soil where new opportunities sprout." - Sweet Juniper

Not-As-Good Things, June 2011

In spite of the weekend's pictures, it's not all sand and sunshine 'round these parts.  Last night, for example, after that glorious day at the beach full of swinging and playing in the sand, and after dinner at Butch's Beach Burrito and eating ice cream, and after watching unlimited Magic School Bus DVDs on the way home, Annie had an epic tantrum because I wanted her to . . . get out of the tub.  And she was cold (though initially the tub had been Too Hot), and I was standing there, telling her to get out of the tub, actually holding a towel two inches from her and waiting to wrap her in it - you know, to warm her - and instead she stood in the tub and cried about how cold she was.

I tried three separate times to get her to step out of the tub, but she was deeply committed to her naked crying, and my patience ran out.  I threw the towel on the floor and told her unkindly to go to her room and dry herself off and get her own pajamas on and OF COURSE SHE WAS COLD; SHE WAS STANDING UP WET AND NAKED IN THE TUB.  Ahem.  And THIS resulted not in Annie realizing abruptly how insane and irrational she was being, but in her resorting to her go-to response in these kinds of situations, which is to insist, "You don't love me!"  There were tears, there was stomping, and there was eventually a note of apology pushed from under her bedroom door.

Then today, Jemma got gum stuck in her hair because she was taking the gum out of her mouth and stretching it even though I have told her 24943204 times not to ever, ever do that.  When I catch her even touching the gum that is in her mouth, I make her spit it out and throw it away.  But today she somehow got it in her hair, on her forehead, on her right arm, on her cheek, and below her lower lip.  And even though the peanut-butter-gets-out-gum thing was floating around in the back of my brain (the way back, though), I cut it out.  I just couldn't bear the idea of googling peanut butter home remedies and making a huge mess and getting her into the shower and washing peanut butter out of her.  So I cut it, and I did a pretty good job, too.  (The damage was limited.)  Then I made her go to the drawer, get the brand-new-minus-one-piece package of gum, and throw it in the garbage.  Wasteful?  Yes.  But I was going for high-impact deterrent, so I think it was 99 cents well spent.

I am the only person in the house who regularly flushes toilets or turns out lights.

Jason left at 7:30 for a work-related meeting with the understanding that he'd be back in time for me to run.  That was over two hours ago.

The girls were arguing with one another so ridiculously and continuously tonight throughout dinner and afterwards, during getting-ready-for-bedtime activities (at one point, I told them to "stop fighting" for the tenth time, and Annie responded sassily that they "weren't fighting, cause I'd be using a sword against a villain"), that I announced that I was leaving the house to go take a short walk.  This led, predictably, to Annie wailing, "She doesn't love me!" to Jason.

The big, old tree in our front yard is sick or possibly dying.  I have an arborist coming over tomorrow morning to tell us if it can be saved.  I may cry if he says no.

I burned a pot of brown rice for tonight's dinner, and Jason has left it in the sink "to soak."  We all know what that means.

There are only three and a half more days of school until I have to call Annie a second-grader.  Also, until both girls are together all day, every day for three solid months.  HOLD ME.

The Weekend in Photos

Get Smaller

A minute ago I was in the kitchen, setting out ingredients to make sticky buns for tomorrow's breakfast.  I was about to walk right past the counter where the computer lives, switch off the light, and go to bed.  But I made myself stop, pick it up, and sit down at the dining room table, where out the window I can see the very last gray-blue light of this summer's evening.

It's tempting these days, as the girls' stories become more their own and I feel less and less sure of what to write here, to go to bed at night without writing anything.  Used to be, I'd prompt myself almost every single night to write at least a paragraph or two about our day; I'd ask, What do I want to remember about today?  Lately, though, I tend to write long, imaginary treatises about Big Issues (The Mommy Wars!  Money!  Religion!  Inappropriate Media Causing First-Grade Girl Drama!), but they don't show up here, because I've written them in my head.  While in the shower.  Or on a run.

I look back on those old, old posts (I started blogging when Jemma was not quite six months old, during what's become fondly known as The Sweating Phase of parenting), and I am reminded of something that Heather Sellers told me in a writing workshop once:  Get Smaller.  Because I wrote about teething and favorite baby dolls, car trips and tantrums, conversations with friends and the food that we ate, The Sound of Music phase and the time Annie declared her love for her preschool teacher to be greater than her love for me, Jemma's first haircut and Annie's first time swimming by herself; I wrote about the little things, the details, the minutiae of life together.  And I treasure those old posts so very much.

So tonight, for my 400th entry in this space (a fact I did not even realize until I had settled at the table, computer glowing in front of me), I want to get smaller.  I want to ask, What do I want to remember about today?

Today I woke up to a note Annie wrote me last night while Jason and I were out, which ends, "Thank you for taking care of me.  I love you so very much."  Today I ran with my friends around the lake first thing and came home to drink coffee and watch The Magic School Bus BUGS! with the girls.  Today we went to the pool and stayed for lunch and talked to friends and Jemma went down the waterslide a zillion times, pumping her hands in the air in celebration each time.  Today I wore a big, ridiculous, new straw hat and got mocked for looking like I was going to a regatta while walking Annie down to Lucy's birthday party.  Today I wore my wet-in-the-butt swim coverup to the grocery store inappropriately and thought to detour to Rite-Aid on the way home to buy water balloons.  Today our whole family sat in the hot, wet grass in the yard and soaked each other with water balloons until it was time to come in for dinner.  Today I was grateful that the girls are at an age where candy from a birthday party pinata and $2.99 worth of water balloons can make their whole afternoon magical.  Today I smelled Jemma's hair when I tucked her into bed . . . and when I tucked her back into bed after she got up to "go potty" half an hour later . . . and when I tucked her back into bed at 9:24 after she "had to tell you something about my nose."

Today I remembered to get smaller, and cherish the little things.

End-of-Year Teacher Gifts

In the last few days, I've seen Facebook discussion threads asking for teacher gift suggestions, talked to a friend about what she's doing this year for her child's awesome teacher, and sent my contribution in towards my daughter's class gift.  End-of-year teacher gifts are a hot topic right now - and, as a former teacher, it's a topic that's close to my heart.  Especially in this economy, especially in the current climate of cuts to education and de-valuing of the profession in the comment section of every online article, it's so important to thank teachers for a job well done, for a year of tending to our littles.

So, what do the teachers want?

Here's what they don't want:

• a mug.  Trust me, they have received 1,000 mugs already.  No, really.  1,000.
• anything apple-themed, no matter how nice it is.  (I once received a beautiful, expensive, lovely crystal apple from Tiffany & Co.  I exchanged it.)

Here's what they do want:

• a gift card.  Most especially a gift card to a bookstore.  (Do you know ANY teachers who aren't personally passionate about reading?  Me, either.)  This is great because they can buy books for themselves, books for their classroom, books as gifts for others, books for their own children or family members, or any of the other sundry items that bookstores sell, like cards, coffee, calendars, music, home decor, stuffed animals, magazines, etc.  Bonus:  get the gift card to a LOCAL bookstore and feel especially good about supporting a small business.  
• an item (WITH GIFT RECEIPT) that you are quite sure they would like/use based on your knowledge of their hobbies or their life.  This one is trickier, because you really have to know the teacher in an outside-the-classroom way, but if you do, you can pull it off.  I was happily gifted with a great running jacket, a silver charm bracelet, a gift certificate to a nearby fancy restaurant, a Nigella Lawson cookbook, a spa day, and a Kate Spade purse over the course of my career, and I loved every single one of those gifts.
• a small, personalized or homemade token (homemade granola, cookies, picture your child painted) PAIRED WITH a gift card in a similar theme.  This is a creative option if you're the crafty/baking type.  For example, you could make some biscotti, wrap them in cellophane, attach a little "Thanks a Latte!" card, and then include a gift card to Starbucks or your local coffee shop.  See how it's thoughtful (and a little more effort than just a gift card), but still allows the teacher to buy whatever they like the most?  Win-win.
• a donation in their name to the school foundation or annual fund.  This is great for a teacher who probably doesn't need or want much in the way of consumable goods, and it's a nice way to publicly recognize the great year your child has had as well as your financial support of the school.

No matter what gift you choose to give (or even if you're simply contributing to the class/group gift) the most important thing is that you include some type of personal note to the teacher.  This is not just a generic "You're #1 Teacher!" card; this is an actual, handwritten note that specifically thanks the teacher for the ways in which they have nurtured your child this year.  At the end of a long, exhausting year of teaching, it is so affirming for a teacher to hear that you recognize, value, and are grateful for the important work they did.  

Tucked into Nigella Lawson's How to Be a Domestic Goddess, I still have one of those notes, an excerpt of which reads as follows:

M and I would like to thank you for a job beautifully done.  A had her problems adjusting to the demands of second grade and a brand new teacher.  You gained her confidence quickly, showed her how much you cared about her progress, and before we knew it, we had a beaming second grader, ready to burst out the door each morning to start another busy day in Mrs. D's classroom.

I have a note somewhere, too, from a long-ago student which reads:

Dear Mrs. D.,

If I had the choice of getting thirty dollars or coming to live with you, I would come to live with you.

Love,

M. 

The point is this:  It's June, and there's probably a teacher around that deserves an end-of-year gift.  So go buy a gift card, take the time to write a sincere note, and make a teacher's day.