Kindergarten Suprise

Call me a heartless mom, but I didn’t think I’d cry over Calvin starting kindergarten. Not really because he’s our middle child, but because I see him and Reed as a unit. It just seems like Calvin should be at school with his buddy. Also, with his independent personality, he probably could’ve hacked it in the schoolyard at age two. So I was totally unprepared for the flood of emotions that hit me at his kindergarten screening this week. Calvin’s appointment was for 8:30, so I just took him to school with me and he hitched a ride back to daycare with a fellow Mrs. Pam’s graduate. He thought he was hot stuff, playing on the computer with his big bro, then getting bonus computer time before we had to head up to the gym. We walked down the stairs from my classroom side by side. Then I stopped at the door to talk to a coworker (who was insisting that she would take my 29 crazy ruffians along with her 18 all morning so I could stay with Calvin in the gym for the whole screening - I love my teacher friends!). While I was stopped, Calvin grabbed my hand with his right, pulled it into his left and grabbed ahold. Instant tear rush!  My brave little turdkin was nervous! We walked hand in hand all the way to the gym, him walking slower than normal, me fighting the ugly cry the whole way. When we entered the gym, I saw it through his tiny eyes--it was huge. My shoes clickety-clacked across the court as we walked to his future teacher. He let go of my hand, stood all formal-like with his hands by his sides and said, “Hi, Missssssss Payne.” Be still, my heart! We’ve been working on that sthstinking “s” sound for a long time. He nailed it. He looked like the Cheshire cat doing it, but a cuter cat I’ve never seen. Now I’ve got to mentally and emotionally prepare for his real first day in five months. When he’ll be wearing some kind of so-ugly-it's-cute backpack. And have his arm around his buddy. Kill me now!

Kinecting with the Fam

We bought a used Kinect from a friend this weekend.  Best invention ever!  Sunday was good and rainy, so we pretty much let the boys play all day. And there was no couch potato-ing whatsoever. The bigguns figured out the system right away. No controller cords for Max to trip over. He just bobbled around copying his brothers, thinking he was playing and never the wiser. They broke for nap time with no griping at all (Our, “If you whine, we’ll sell it to another family” warning might have had a little to do with it). During nap time, Reed, Calvin, and I ran a few errands, only to return to find Daddy dodging boulders and getting pretty serious about collecting gold coins. He finally let the boys have a turn. 

In between turns, Reed skipped into the kitchen to get a drink and asked who gave us the Kinect (Exhibit A, proving that we NEVER buy stuff - especially toys). I revealed the shocking news, that we bought it for them just because. “Thanks, Mom! This is awesome!” he said, skipping back for his turn.  While stacking plastic cups (I made the bigguns unload the dishwasher in between their turns), Calvin said, “This game is so cool! It’s so great...I can’t even say!”  The grateful little stinkers are gonna make me want to start buying stuff for them. 

They even got along better than normal! With the exception of one Max-pinning moment, they tolerated his little jumps on and off the screen. (Actually, Daddy had the least patience for little intruder. Be warned: don’t mess with the man’s aquarium hole-plugging record!) I took Max into the bathroom to distract him with a fun nail-clipping and Calvin kept us up-to-date with a play by play. He’d bob up and down the hall, shouting, “Guess how many hammerheadsths Reed has? Eight!”... “Nine!” ... “Ten hammerheadhsths!” Even on their last turn of the night, when an excited big brother jumped in front of his passionate medium-sized brother to try to “help” him, all he got was a shove and a laugh. 

It was such a celebration, I even busted out the blender and produced made-to-order milkshakes. Cinnamon. Peanut-butter. Strawberry. The day was so great...I can’t even say!

                                                                                                                           

Unexpected Day of Rest

I am currently relaxing in a clean house while my children play or nap quietly in their room.  It is Wednesday afternoon. Snow day, you ask? Nope. It’s a balmy 60 degrees outside. In fact, I have a date with two boys to jump on the trampoline sans baby. The phone call I received at 6 a.m. (when I should have been in the shower but was instead indulging in a third snooze period--oh happy day!) claimed we were out today due to a lack of electricity, but I know better. No, we’re out today because of the Biblical promise I have been clinging to this year that the Lord will not give me more than I can handle. 

He must think I can handle a lot. And, being omniscient and all, I really can’t argue with him, but WOW! I’ve been teaching 11 years now, and this is the hardest year of my career. Largest class ever. Largest ratio of class clowns to followers. High number of so-smart-I’m-bored kids, but just enough struggling-enough-that-I-need-you-to-slow-down kiddos sprinkled in to really challenge my pacing and differentiating skills. Throw in major technology problems, new curriculum writing requirements, new state standards (well, federal standards basically forced on the states, but I won’t get into politics...), one son having a rough year himself, and another entering the terrible twos with a vengeance, and you’ve got yourself one heck of a lot to handle. 

I’m sure last week has tainted my view of things. I was sick enough to be miserable, but not enough to go to the trouble of missing work. Max was about the same. I had kids missing school left and right, requiring gathering and explaining of make up work. All week, I basically whined and felt sorry for myself like I’m doing right now in this post. 

But a day of rest on Sunday had me rejuvenated for a new week. (I’m finding there’s a reason God COMMANDS that, though it SO goes against my nature to follow that command...) I gave myself a pep talk. Third quarter of the year always drags, but the 100th day of school has come and gone, so we’re already part way down the downhill slope. I’ve had a few tricks actually work to calm my crazy class. I will survive. And I will also use some of my personal days for “mental health days.” I didn’t want to waste one on a sick day last week. I couldn’t find a suitable day to leave for a sub this week (I’m fully aware that my control-freak tendencies are a large part of my problem. Admitting you have a problem is the first step to solving it. I’m still at step one.) But I had assured myself I would work in an easy day next week and take a day to get caught up and have a little me time. Hehehehehe, but look how today turned out! 

I have accomplished more in the last six hours than I do in a typical weekend AND I’ve been able to enjoy my boys, too. I’ve been using my sister’s “job strips” trick to keep me on task. I still have the rest of the day! And I will go back to only two days with my beloved little yayhoos tomorrow followed by a duty-light weekend with my truly beloveds. And summer is only 68 school days away. Life is good. God is great!

Creative Mopping Skills

This is my bathroom right now. 

Oh yes. 

And, why, you might ask, does it look like a bad episode of Hoarders up in here? Well, we’re really not sure. The whole time I was frantically trying to sop up water, I was no-no-ing Max, who took the fall when I asked who turned the water on. After all, he was the one who frantically ran to me saying, “Water comin’!” The music was up loud and I was in major cleaning mode (making up for a week and a half of being in major busy and/or lazy mode) so I just assured him that it was the washing machine and started to go about my business. Until he ran into the bathroom and I saw the sheet of water cascading onto the already-puddled floor. The lid was off of the Vaseline, which every forensic investigator knows will incriminate the almost-two year old.  So I asked him if he was responsible for the mess. He said yes. I launched into a lecture, told big bros to stop laughing and get me some towels, and proceeded to survey the damage. Brilliance struck and I revised my request to one for dirty laundry. Plenty of that around here tonight! You woulda thought I invented a new game. Who knew it could be so fun to drag dirty clothes out of the hamper and throw it in puddles? Underwear got an extra big laugh. And pants legs that accidentally got thrown in the toilet. Mama wasn’t laughing. Not at the water seeping behind the still-not nailed in baseboards (let’s pretend the bathroom redo was a recent affair, shall we?) Not at the the water caught in the trashcan mostly full of shaving clippings and Q-tips. And certainly not at the puddles that had made their way into three drawers, including the uber messy random make-up products collection. 

Fast forward through the cleanup, the constant squalling by kids hyped up on dirty-undie humor and a lack of adult supervision, three time-outs (all served by one offender), a broken baseboard (they don’t make great slipper slides, ftr), mom’s demon-possessed voice sending one to bed an hour and a half early and another to somewhere where I “don’t see or hear you the rest of the night,” and we arrive to the scene of my epiphany. Max had wandered into the bathroom (against his better judgement - he still hasn’t learned to read moods...) and stood by the sink. Something clicked. “Max? Can you show Mommy how you turned on the water?” I asked. “Ok...UHHH!.... UHHH!.... I can’t reachit, Mommy.” Yes, I see... So I called in the other suspects. One immediately shook his head no. The other sucked quietly on  his jammies, then submitted, “Well, I did turn the water on, but I think  I turned it off...” 

New Bedtime Routine + a "Pribilege" = Genius

 I knew I married Ryan for a reason. Our teamwork is amazing. The other night I added a new toy-picking up trick to our arsenal. Then Ryan created the ultimate getting-ready-for-bed incentive. The trick was to pick out six magnets, one for each room they have to clean. They choose one magnet, clean that room, then return to make their next choice. When they’ve tackled three rooms, they’re done.  Daddy’s  incentive was that the bedtime routine was to be a contest. They had to clean their three rooms, take their shower, put on their jammies, and have us brush their teeth. The winner got to have their daily Nintendo DS turn first. What a difference a contest makes. Here’s the break down:

Typical night:

7:00 Begin the circus. Yell a lot. Spank a little. Threaten more.

8:00 (on a good night) Read stories, kiss, allow a few minutes of reading time.

8:30 Lights out. Mischievousness. Tattles. Moves to top bunk. Spankins. “If I have to come in there one more time…” threats.

9:00 (maybe) Boys finally give it up

Contest night:

7:00 Start the contest. Boys run around like maniacs

7:06 Routine finished. (Well, all but story time, but seriously!)

Seriously. I even sniff-checked hair to make sure it was washed. I can confirm that it at least touched shampoo. Good enough for me!

The next night we got similar results. 6:57 to 7:05, baby! We bragged on the boys hard-core, then daddy came up with a new privilege to reward them for their great job. Any night they were ready for bed by 8:00, they could have bonus play time in their room  until 8:30. He said, “BONUS PLAY TIME” in an excited voice and was rewarded with squeals and jumping up and down. We didn’t mention that they usually are still reading and playing until 8:30 and 9 anyway.