Christmas

Ever the well rounded kid, the two things Julia most wanted for Christmas were a locket and a Darth Vader talking mask. Happily she woke Christmas morning to find both under the tree. When I asked her whose picture she would like to put in the locket, she was surprised. Although she wanted one because Isabel had one and loved that it opened and closed, she had no idea that it could hold a picture. I explained that you should put a picture of someone who is special to you inside. Hoping (but knowing her well enough to not entirely expect) it'd be her dad and I, I asked whose picture she will put in there. Darth Vader was her reply. I should have known. What little girl doesn't want a photograph of the dark lord in her locket?

Lunch

On a recent Saturday, Julia asked if she could make her own lunch. I gladly obliged as I am all about encouraging independence. I floated around but tried to mostly stay out of the kitchen area. I heard the pantry door open and the familiar sound of her retrieving a step stool. She took it over to the kitchen sink. Cabinets opened and a plate came out next. Then to the fridge. Back and forth a couple of times from the fridge to the sink with the water running. Knowing what a cucumber and tomato junkie she is, I assumed she was rinsing the veggies. A few minutes later she hollers something to me but I can't hear her over the running water. I enter the kitchen and walk up to the sink to find her holding a dripping piece of bologna over the plate. "Well," she says, "I just washed the first piece of bologna."

ED

I am attending an in service at the Detroit Zoo today on Fossils and Plate Tectonics and thinking about the trajectory of my teaching career. In another state or economy, my diverse resume would allow me options outside of my dying district. After my three year stint developing curriculum for and teaching the district's pilot Global Connections course and 12 total years in the district, I was laid off at the end of last year. I was called back in the summer to a sixth grade classroom. I teach five sections of Science a day. I have my homeroom and four other groups. Being back in a general education classroom is wonderful. Three quick classroom stories.

1. T is a bright girl, great student, always well behaved, lovely. About a month ago her dad was released from jail. He walked her in one morning. The too long handshake and the uncomfortable staring told me that he was a creepy one. Soon after his release, her attendance became inconsistent. She was chronically absent or tardy. Her grades started slipping, and she began to get into trouble in other classes. I was looking forward to meeting him at conferences. First conference, he does not show up. I rescheduled him three time to no avail. I called and sent notes, nothing. After a week, T comes up to me and pulls this glossy card out of the pocket of her parka. It looked like the advertisements you'd see in the vestibule of a Detroit restaurant. It was an invite to some fashion ball.She said, "My dad asked me to give this to you. He said you should come." I couldn't help myself. I asked, "Is this where dad wants to meet for the conference."

2. Although I have mixed feeling about the efficacy of lunch detention, I am on a team with veteran sixth grade teachers who use it. I had an extremely disrespectful boy who I gave detention to. Little did I know (but was not surprised to find out) I was the second teacher who had given him detention that day. This means he'd have to serve two days in a row. I arrived back in my classroom with all me detainees (they all look so pathetic with their little tray of hot lunch) but no sign of him. One of the children told me he was bragging to everyone that he was not serving anything. I called his mother at the end of the day, reached her voicemail and left a lengthy message. I spoke with the mother the next day about what happened. She said she questioned him, he told her he honestly forgot receiving a detention from two teachers. She actually believed him until she saw texts on his phone bragging to people that he wasn't serving anything. She was so angry that she took away all of his designer clothes for a week. She said she wanted to let his teachers know that he wasn't being neglected and to expect him in clean, but humble clothes. Made my day. A parent like that is so rare in our demographic.

3. I brought Isaac and Isabel's old 3' tree into my classroom, but it needed a tree skirt. I asked the kids if anyone had an extra. About three kids raised their hands. Two offered to bring one the next day. The third wanted clarification on what a tree skirt was. I told her, "You know it is that decorative, circular piece of cloth that goes over the stand to cover it up."  Another raised her hand for further clarification. "Mrs. Kado, you mean that thing is supposed to over the stand? My momma put it under the stand." Says a whole lot right there. How in the Hell am I supposed to get these children to be proficient in culturally biased, standardized state testing.

3D

Julia has embraced Kindergarten with an enthusiasm that exceeds my expectation. She is eager to go each day. If only we could build up her immunity and get her to keep her hands out of her eyes, nose and mouth in tandem it'd be a monumental achievement.

The minute she walks in the door each day she must immediately unload her backpack and download her day. She tells me the highlights and walks me through each piece of work in her bag. Bobby's mom tells me he was the same way. Yesterday she tells me, "Look at this cool 3D picture I made." It was the technique of drawing two identical figures right next to each other. I asked if she made it in Art class the day before and was just now bringing it home. No she said. She made it that day during indoor recess. I asked if her fifth grade helper showed her how to do it. Nope. I asked if Mr. Heenan, the art teacher, showed her. Nope. She said she just had the idea to do it when she was looking at some scribble art with which she had adorned her father's closet door. The picture itself is simplistic (not at all representative of her ability) and has some conceptual flaws (e.g. there are only two eyes instead of two sets), but I just think it's just so clever.

Topless Adventures

Undressing to get in the shower this evening, she says, "You know, taking your shirt off is like an adventure. When you pull it over your head it's like you never know where you'll go or what you'll see." Long pause and then, "Most of the time it's just the inside of your shirt."

Literally

I have an abundance of happy, summertime childhood memories. Nearing the top of that list would be our almost daily visit to the lakefront park. There we had access to two pools, a small beachfront, boat docks, tennis and basketball courts, a playground and picnic area. Two or three times a week my mother would pack up whatever she made for dinner (no matter how complicated or ethnic the meal) and we'd take it to the park. After dinner, we'd swing for an eternity. As an older child, my brother Matthew and I were allowed to ride our bikes there. We would spend the day playing at the pool and beach. In my late teens and twenties my friends and I would perfect our tan poolside.

I wanted Julia to have that connection and love for the park. She is a water baby, so of course she loves being there. As the home stretch of summer is upon us there is an urgency to get there as much as possible. Before we all know it cruel winter will be upon us. And what is taken for granted in July is cherished in August. Even the August bees seem to be agitated by summer's plan to exit.

In the last week or so Julia has come into her own on the diving board. She loves both the low and high dive. She walks to the edge of the board, adjusts her goggles, contemplates whether she should do a real swim class dive (elbows locked above her head, palm over hand, fingers arching toward the water below) or some crazy one of her own design (one bears a striking resemblance to the Karate Kid's crane technique) and then she just goes for it. After a few dives, the swim to the ladder in the 12' area can get tiring for one as small as her. She was climbing up the ladder and looked like she needed a minute. Already heading back to the board, I stopped her and said, "Take a minute and catch your breath." She looks at me with her condensation filled goggles and nods approval of my suggestion. She cups her hand an inch or two in front of her mouth and loudly exhales. The cupped hand then closes into a fist and she continues walking to the board. It takes me a moment to realize that she literally caught her breath.

WDW

Each summer we take one big family trip. Big in terms of size of the group traveling (10 people) and big in terms of the duration of said trip (11 days). Two years ago we went to Walt Disney World. Julia was three and just loved the whole grand affair. After that Bobby and I decided that we would commit there after to an every other year vacation schedule, in other words, Disney, somewhere relaxing, Disney, somewhere relaxing, Disney, for at least a little while. The following year we traveled to Mexico. Polar holiday, but revered by all for its profound level of relaxation.

A few weeks ago we returned from Disney. It is astounding to me what a very different trip this was from the one we took two years ago. My saucer eyed baby who was amazed at her first glimpse down Main Street and happy to ride Dumbo, Small World, and Peter Pan had added "thrill seeker" to her repertoire. She rode everything that her height allowed. She eagerly climbed in each cart, strapped in a threw both hands in the air long before her cart left the loading area. Those hands remained up until she climbed out at the end. She departed each ride proclaiming, "That was GREAT!" Her 43 inches made her just shy of the requirement for Space Mountain and Expedition Everest and quite shy of Aerosmith's Rockin' Roller-coaster. She is chomping at the bit to get back to this and has vowed they will be among her first ridden. I watched in amazement and wonder. Of course I know this is where her father's genes come into play. I loved watching their shared excitement at all of these adventures.
At Hollywood Studios they have updated the Star Tours ride. It is a simulator ride that takes you through various scenes of the Star Wars movies. The new ride is a collaboration between the Disney Imagineers and George Lucas. The many sequences create 54 variations of the ride. It is so well done. Outside of the ride is a stage where children can sign up to participate in Jedi training and then ultimately fight none other than Darth Vader himself. We had watched the show a few times so Julia knew what to expect. The children are given the brown cloaks and a plastic light saber. As a group they practice a few moves with a Jedi master. Cue up the Star Wars Vader music (da da da na da da na) and doors slide open, smoke pours out and a large Darth Vader appears. He warns the Jedi master that he is there to recruit as many as he can to the dark side. One by one the "younglings" are lead to fight him. In the end they all gain status from "youngling" to "padawan." Julia was beside herself with excitement to give it a try. From the audience I watched her excitement to turn to slight fear as Vader got on stage. Isaac was the first of the cousins to go up. Once she saw that he survived, relief washed over her face and she was eager once again. Watching her tiny frame going saber to saber with Darth Vader was my highlight of the trip.

That said, she did still cherish all the character meetings and little kid rides. Peter Pan's Flight was her first ride of the trip. There is such a wonderful balance to her personality and spirit.

Wildly Independent

This post was originally written back in January; I just came across it while writing another.

Every Tuesday and Wednesday, Isaac and Isabel are dropped to my house after school. Our routine on those days is pretty much, well routine. On Tuesdays I drop older two to catechism. Wednesday is homework and snack and then up for showers.

From the day Julia was born, Isaac and Isabel have indulged her every need. Isabel was four when she was born. I joked that she was my au pair. As Julia has gotten older and her personality has developed (i.e. her mouth and attitude have gotten saucier), both Isaac and Isabel  will now challenge her, argue with her or even tease her.  For the most part the little one can hold her own. When she can't she cries foul and tattles to the nearest adult.

Isabel and Julia always go up first for showers. They get in together and Isabel washes Julia's hair and lathers her up. They love it because they giggle and do silly stuff. I love it because I can get dinner on and visit/help Isaac with his homework. It usually works well. Their greatest offense is taking too long and draining the hot water before Isaac showers. This is probably the part where I should admit that Deanna and I allow the kids to pee if they are in the shower. Not only is it greener than flushing the toilet, studies show that it's really good for your feet. So the girls get in, and I am upstairs getting their towels out and hanging them near the tub. I hear Isabel announce that she has to pee and Julia should back up. Julia is listening to none of this. She's too busy directing Isabel to position one of the shower heads at her. Isabel complies (sort of) and accidentally sprays Julia in the face with the water. This in turn causes Julia to lose her footing and slip to the ground. I pull the shower curtain at the back end of the tub  to look. Julia is on the floor of the tub with various soap pumps surrounding her complaining that Isabel sprayed water at her and peed on her. I tell her that I'd be happy to step in and shower her instead. They both protest and promise to make up and get on with it. I go back downstairs. It seems fairly quiet up there. After a long while, they call me up and ask if I would brush out their hair. When I get into Julia's bedroom they are both laying on the floor across from each other long hair out of the towel dripping wet, bodies curled in the fetal position wrapped tightly in their towels. They are practically hissing and growling at each other like two wet cats. I always start with Julia first. Normally her hair brushes out so smoothly; Isabel washes and conditions very well. I take the brush to it. It is an absolute rat's nest. I ask Isabel if she maybe forgot to condition it. This is when she tells me that Julia insisted on washing it herself. Really, a four and one half year old washing her own waist length hair? Isabel tried to reason with her but when Julia's mind is made up, that's that.

Later that night, Julia is laying stomach down across my lap reading. I lift her pj shirt to kiss and bite her lower back and squeeze (and bite)  her buns. And then it occurs to me. I ask her, did Isabel scrub you today or did you also wash your own body. She casually turns away from the book she's reading. "I did," she tells me. I reconsider biting any part of her that she washed.

The Dark Side

Not sure exactly when it all started, possibly when she started thumbing the vast collection of Star Wars books in Isaac's room. Julia has officially caught the Star Wars bug.  It started with innocent character inquiries, then deeper questions about plot and storyline, and finally small snippets of the iconic battles on youtube with Isaac as her guide. She is both scared and fascinated by Darth Vader.

As a teen, Bobby dressed as Darth for a costume party. The costume has long since been lost, but we found the mask/helmet in his parents' basement a few years back when Isaac caught the bug. It is an adult size, two piece mask and helmet that Bobby remembers paying a pretty penny for. Isaac has had it since along with cool light up sabers and all the junk a junkie should have. Now my junkie cannot wait to get over to LaLa's house to play Star Wars with Isaac. We are not in the door for five minutes and she's got the Darth on. It is absolutely hysterical to see that giant thing on her small five year old frame. Pair that with a light saber that when extended is taller than her and you've got quite a sight.

Bobby and I have decided that as soon as summer vacation starts (a time when I won't mind giving up a night of sleep to spend in her room if necessary), we will let her watch most of Part 4.

Meanwhile she all of a sudden has a renewed interest in Toy Story 2. It took the second or so time through lately for me to realize why. The relationship between Buzz Lightyear and Evil Emperor Zurg is a parody (and the closest thing she'll get for right now) to Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader. So the other morning the dog beats me upstairs to wake Julia (which is whole other blog topic). Julia swings her legs slowly over the side of the bed but then hops down rather quickly. She looks me in the  eye and says, "So we meet again Buzz Lightyear for the last time!" And like a good mother I replied, "Not today, Zurg!" Unlike the movie, however, a battle of giggling and kissing ensued.

For her birthday, she received Super Mario Bros for her DS. This bookends Star Wars nicely. When she is not playing or taking about Star Wars she is madly pursuing Bowser. These are her two greatest obsessions of the moment.

I am certain that if you asked Bobby what he loves most in the world, after God, his family and his work, he'd say video games and Star Wars.

Julia has crossed over to the dark side.

Ants and Bugs

Last Sunday, warm weather returned to Michigan. The sun positioned itself right over the thumb knuckle of the mitten and stayed there all day. Every true Michigander knows the significance of this day. We have survived another winter. It goes without saying that everyone drops whatever they are doing or had planned for that day to find their way outside. Some will ride bikes, go to the park or visit the Detroit Zoo, but many with the practical mindset of a midwesterner will spend time in the yard. The silver leaf maples that line our street hold onto their last batch of leaves until it is too cold for anyone to venture out with a rake in hand. So there is much to do. Bobby, Julia and I spent the entire day outside. Bobby and I working and Julia riding her bike and playing.  After a few hours things were looking good. Bobby decided to tackle the assembly of his new grill. The box it was delivered in was monstrous. I asked that he not break the box down so that Julia could play in it. I told her my idea. She loved it and immediately started gathering things to put in her "house" as she called it. She's a nester. She takes the big umbrella that goes with her water table, and we position it in there. This she calls "the palm tree." She climbs out again, which is no easy task as the walls are high for an almost five year old, drags out her box of sidewalk chalk and says to me, "How do you spell no ants allowed? Well I know how to spell no, but what about ants allowed." I help her stretch those words so she can hear the sounds and together  we spell out her warning. A few more items and now she's ready to get in her house. Just as she is about to hurdle the thick cardboard wall she cries, "Mommy, there is a spider in my house!" I am able to grab the thin thread the spider is on and move it to another area of the yard. Before she gets in she drags the chalk box to a different wall of the house and asks, "How do you spell no bugs allowed." This time I write it nice and big in all caps for her. As I am writing she says, "I don't know why we are doing this. I don't think bugs can read anyway."

Which is Better 3 or 4?

Although I rarely admit it to her for fear that she may get carried away with herself my sister, Deanna, is the most fun mom I know.  She is imaginative and resourceful and invents the best games and contraptions. My sister has an uncanny knack to know exactly what a child wants. She indulges their every whim. With her own children she is able to find a balance, draw a line. With Julia, however, she has absolutely no adult filter. She is part aunt, part grandmother, part playmate and all LaLa (that is what Julia calls her). They are constantly in cahoots.  Julia's birthday is a little more than a month away, but Deanna already has her in birthday mode. It's all the talk at LaLa's house. The whole family was eating together the other night. After dinner, Deanna encourages Julia to go and get the birthday wish list that the one dictated and the other scribed. She retrieves it and perches herself in LaLa's lap. She starts and the first two items are fairly benign, Strawberry Shortcake sleeping bag and Play Dough. She gets to item #3. Her one dimple and half grin tell everyone who knows her that she is about to announce something absurd. "An IPhone 4." After assuring me that at five she really is ready for a phone, she explains that I too seldom allow her on my phone to play with apps I have loaded for her.  I look at Deanna who maintains that Julia, in fact, is the one who came up with the idea and then asked Deanna, "Which is better 3 or 4?"

 Deanna says I am lucky that she didn't tell Julia that 5 is close to launching.

The Little Red Hen

Preschool is completing a unit on nursery rhymes, folk and fairy tales and the like. Each day I get to hear Julia's spin on one. A few days ago she was telling me the story of the Little Red Hen. Now if put on the spot (which I have come to learn is where parents of small children often reside), I could not immediately recall the finer points of this one. As she started the retell, though, I remembered it well. It is the story of a  little red hen with an unparalleled work ethic and her shiftless animal friends who stand idly by while the hen takes a grain of wheat full circle to a loaf of bread. I knew we had a copy of this story somewhere and so we read. When we reached the part where the hen asks who will help her harvest the wheat. I no sooner say, "Harvesting is when..." "I know," she interrupts never taking her face from the illustrations in front of her. Her sideways glance finds me and with that same corner of her mouth she says, "Harvesting is knifing it." We read on and now poor hen is looking for someone to help her thresh the wheat. I know better than to explain this one. I allow her to take the lead. Face still forward she tells me, "Threshing is smacking it." This she illustrates with with a couple of flat handed smacks to the air with her pudgy little paw. I was getting excited as I knew the wheat would soon be going to the mill and couldn't wait to hear her description of that. My excitement quickly ebbed, "I'm not sure. I think that's where they smash it up into flour." I should have known that it couldn't get much better than knifing or smacking.

Interpretation

This morning is our first morning alone. Bobby will be in Turin for a week. Julia woke first and climbed in my bed. After much too much kissing and snuggling, we are lying side by side on our backs. She says, "You know that John Mayer song about goodbye? It makes me feel happy. Last night it made me feel like everything was going to be okay with us girls while daddy is gone for seven weeks [actually seven days]. It made me feel like he'll have a good work trip and will come home soon." Wow, all of that from a song about breaking up and saying goodbye.

I turned to her and took advantage of her being on her back. I pinned her arms above her head with one hand and attacked her. As I was kissing and tickling her under her arms, she said,"Don't, I am wearing deodorant; you're going to get it all over your hands!"

Only a Mother Could Understand

So last night Julia was to spend the night at my sister's house, while my husband and I went out to celebrate his birthday (which is today). Although Julia had broken the fever, the virus seemed to have moved to her stomach. So we decided to keep her home and just stick with our usual Saturday plan. Most Saturdays we attend 4:30 mass with my sister's family. Afterward we eat out. Often times, we'll try a somewhere different, usually downtown Detroit.  This is really a win win win. We attend mass, enjoy a big family dinner and the adults feel current as we are selecting from a variety of restaurants from offbeat to trendy. 

As each painful stomach episode occurred throughout the day, I vacillated between sending Bobby to mass without us or putting an extra pair of underpants in a zip sealed baggie and venturing out. I chose the latter. We positioned ourselves at the end of the pew so we could quickly and discretely get to the bathroom if need be. We made it up until the responsorial psalm when she whispered that she needed to go.  It was a false alarm, and we made it back in time for the gospel. The remainder of mass was uneventful.

As plans for dinner started to take form a small voice said, maybe this isn't the best idea. Not only did I not heed this voice, but I also agreed to leave our car in the church parking lot and jump in with my sister's family. And if that weren't enough I suggested a new place.  It is called Vince's. It is on Springwell near I75. It's old school Italian. The parking lot is fenced in and located in the back, where the only entrance to the restaurant exists. I was told it was  set up that way intentionally. Although it opened long after the days of the speakeasy, there were still plenty of extra curricular activities going on inside. They set a look out guy at the entrance to the lot. When the police pulled up it allowed them just enough time to relay a message inside and clean everything up before the police could enter through that one door.


So we get there and it is everything I expect. We had barely decided on which wine to order, when Julia climbed into my lap and announced that her stomach was hurting badly. I quickly look at the menu and leave Bobby our order requests. Off we go back into the bathroom. After a minute of papering the seat, while she is moaning and pouting, I drop her drawers and hoist her up. I am holding her under her armpits while squatting in front of her. In a public bathroom this is enough to set a germaphobe like me into a tailspin. She passes gas and begins to cry. At first it is quiet and weak, but it is building quickly. I am shushing, but to no avail. Her face is buried in my hair, the wailing stops only briefly while I hear her begin to choke. I believe she breathed in a mouthful of my hair. Have I mentioned that she has a serious gag reflex? The coughing has turned to choking with intermittent hysterical crying (I am sure that protective services will bust in at any moment), all the while stuff is coming out of her other end. With my grip under her arms still tight, I go from my squat to an on my toes full body arch to avoid the saliva that is pouring out of her mouth and the mucus bubbling out of her nose. I am watching it drip onto her very chic cowboy boots. In an instant, everything ceases. It is dead silent. I wipe down her face, blow her nose and wipe her bottom. We zip, button and wipe off her boots. I look up from her boots and her sweet defeated face is looking down at me and my love for her at that moment is tremendous. She says, "I feel all better now." We wash our hands, wipe her face with damp paper towels and exit the bathroom. Although we were gone for 15 minutes no one is any the wiser (the bathroom was a room away from where the family was sitting, so no one even heard her cry). Thankfully the wine has arrived in my absence. I down the glass and on we go.


Dinner was outstanding, and we arrived home with unused panties in the same zip sealed bag secure in my purse. 

The Patient

Julia has been sick for the last two days. yesterday she was her father's ward. She loved every minute of it. He stopped her at Burger King after a visit to the doctor. And they ate inside, something boring old mom would never do. She is weak, happy to rest and not at all herself. Today was my day home with her. I have been at her beck and call all day. I made her scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast. Afterward she wanted to rest. I said, "Let's set you up in the family room." She liked this idea.  At school she read a book at school about a sick child who laid in bed all day reading comics, eating crackers and popsicles. After a quick trip to the  grocery (because who has popsicles in February), I had everything we needed. She immediately began gathering things for her recovery room. Here is a list, in no paticular order: a bed pillow; a fleece blanket; crackers; a stack of books (including comics which her doting cousins dropped off for her); a small holy family relic she received as a favor at a baptism we were at on Sunday (she can be such an old lady Arab); a box of Valentine chocolates and a Snoopy doll in a doctor getup. She reminded me of the scene in The Jerk where Steve Martin is gathering up random items and claiming them to be among his most treasured possessions. I went down to the basement wiped down and grabbed a small stacking/folding table for all of her hoot. With popsicle in hand, she happily laid in her nest reading "comic books" and nibbling on crackers.

I mentioned this with a friend who recalled her own experience. She told me, "I love the sick bed supplies!! Those are some of my favorite childhood memories! With a fever/vomiting, we were made a bed in the couch in the living room. Poached egg on toast that had been softened with some of the water that cooked the egg. Small sips of Vernor's and my mother's close attention. I enjoyed it so much, I recall a time trying to keep the fever going by holding the thermometer to a lamp bulb!!"

It's funny how one memory can trigger another. It made me think of sleepovers at my great aunts Eleanor and Julia's house. Those nights and the mornings that followed were pure magic for my sister and I. We adored them. Poached eggs were always a breakfast staple. Love, love, love them. My aunts had this neat little poacher with six perfect little cups that make six perfectly poached eggs. They are without a doubt one of my favorite eggs. Modern cooking has long since abandoned the poacher and most cooks simply drop the egg into water. As simple as it appears to be I have always been slightly intimidated by this. Saturday morning's breakfast will include poached eggs.

Hopefully my patient will be back to her old self by then and ready to try.

What the H?

I was completely engrossed in a story I was reading on the laptop. Julia walks up behind me and says, "What the H is that?" I am thinking, what in the world did my sister teach her now. I turn back to her and in a sweet, soft voice, say, "Excuse me?" "What the H, mommy? What's that big H?" Her index finger leads me to the address bar. There is a great big H there. It is the icon for the Huffington Post.

Phew!

Whatever

Julia and I were in the midst of a heavy back and forth that, truth be told, I was losing.  I decided to put an end to it with an authoritative directive. "You need to [blah, blah, blah]," I began. She looked me dead in the eye and replied, "Whatever." With my blood boiling, I told her to go and sit in the corner and we would talk about it in four and one half minutes. She sits one minute for each year of life. Since she's so insistent about putting that, "And a half," on the end,  I will hold her to it.

As the time expired, she returned from the corner with the posture of boiled shrimp. She sat in my lap. I did not even have time to launch into my, why did I ask you to sit in the corner, what are some other choices that you had, what will you do next time, etc. She raised her pathetic little face up to mine. "Mommy you really hurt my feelings. You interrupted me before I could finish. I was going to say, 'Whatever you say, mommy.'" 

Seriously, how do you even recover from that. Imagine what kind of reply she will be able to come up with after five minutes.

Whatever!

The World Needs More Leaders

Approximately once a month, each child in Julia's class has an opportunity to be the "special person." On that day they bring in a special show and tell item, they lead morning calendar and they are the line leader for the entire school day. In the world of preschool, it's quite a big deal.

One of the things Julia continues to struggle with is walking in line. It is not that she cannot walk straight in line. Nor is it that she talks while walking in line. Her greatest offense, according to the teacher, is that she allows a large gap to fall between herself and the person in front of her. Although I have been teaching for quite a while, I am embarrassed  to say that I needed her teacher to spell it out for me. "You see," she told me, "With the large gap it's like there a whole new line. This allows Julia to be the line leader of all the children behind her."

I mentioned it to a friend who replied, "What's wrong with that; the world needs more leaders."

Thoughts on Preschool

So preschool thus far has been an interesting ride. I was certain that my darling would be the rule following teacher's pet. To be more exact, I thought she would be just like I was in my early school career. Instead she is, as her teacher puts it,  "Wildly independent, single minded and an out of the box thinker." As a parent, I am thrilled. I love her individuality. As a teacher I realize that she needs to conform a bit in order to work within the system, and I fear that the structure of school may suppress her creative spirit to some degree. It is a difficult balance.

Speaking in Tongues

Months after a visit to Chicago, Julia is eating and says to me, "You know, mommy, I really am," now imagine a heavy Arabic tongue, " An allaboosa."

"What's an allaboosa," say me.

She explains, "It means a really fast eater."

I bite, "In what language?"

She gives me the my poor mother, everyone knows the answer to this look and answers, "Chicago Spanish."

In case you're wondering, a basoola is a slow eater.

Too Web Savvy

So she is sitting in the morning having her breakfast and we are talking and watching the birds outside the kitchen window. She says to me, "Mommy would you like to hear a lovely song about birdies?" Of course my reply is in the positive. I wait about 10 or 20 seconds, nothing. I look at her and she is staring straight ahead face almost frozen. Without turning to look at me in her spitty, lispy whisper she says, "The song is still loading." At that moment I envision her sitting in front of my laptop waiting for one of her favorite games to load. Another second or two and she goes into this completely ad libbed, crazy song about birds.

Prayer

For a short while now, we've been introducing prayer to Julia. It's mostly of the thanksgiving variety. We've also mentioned that you can pray for others (i.e. turn to God). She must have processed this to mean that you can ask God for things through prayer. Yesterday she wakes up and quietly comes in my room. She announces, "Mama, I prayed to God while I was laying in bed just now." I am thrilled. She continues, I prayed to God for a t.v. in my room."

We have some work to do.