Passing Notes

The reasons I love Julia are varied and countless. Ranking high among those is her ability to think outside the restriction of her age and engage with adults. This morning, I had a million and one errands to run. Before I left I stopped in her room to do something, which I can now not remember. Before departing I grabbed two stuffed dolls and set them at her American Girl Doll's tea table. I placed cups before them and grabbed a note from the cube on her vanity. I scratched, Hi Julia! Would you like to join us for tea? I returned a few hours later with a trunk laden with groceries and such. While Bobby and I were unloading she called out a hello from upstairs. She came down moments later with a list of things to do. On it: 1. Use the bathroom (that one had a check mark beside it). 2. Say hi to Mommy (she promptly pecked me and said hello to me and then, pencil in hand, checked it off). 3. Play Just Dance on the Wii until dinner. 4. Have dinner. 5. Take a bath. 6. Go to bed. The list was largely spelled correctly. I told her that I was impressed and reminded her that we had mass to attend and then dinner out with the family. She said she'd amend the list. I got back in the car to run the second leg of my errand quest and it occurred to me that she hadn't mentioned the tea table. I guessed she hadn't yet seen it. When I arrived home the second time she had two of her favorite stuffed animals at the kitchen table propped with open chapter books. The note on the table read, Hi Mom! Want to join us to read?

She makes everything fun.

Startling Discovery

So pretty much as soon as Halloween is cleaned up, Christmas rolls out here at the Kado casa. Last week while Bobby was in Bangkok, we kicked up the Christmas jams;  hung garland and wreaths; decorated her small tree; and such. Last night she and I tackled the big tree. As we opened all the branches, I explained that the goal is to have it look as natural as possible. I then launch into the benefits and drawbacks of both real and artificial trees. She looks at me astonished, "So our tree is artificial?" Before I can reply she asks, "Is my little tree also artificial?" I answer in the affirmative to both explaining that we couldn't hardly store them from year to year if they were real. Her sideways tilted face is in complete disbelief. "I can't believe in all these years you never told me that our trees were artificial!"

Too Much Clubbing in Jamaics

The other night we went to our favorite Arabic restaurant. They have an open brick oven where they bake the addictive warm Arabic pouches that they endlessly deliver to your table. I love to watch the baker, with his long paddle, work. In this restaurant, he is visible through a coved brick opening. Off in the corner of that same area is an open laptop. Not sure why, but it is there nonetheless.

Near the end of our meal, Julia turns to me and says, "Mom, I just saw the DJ booth. Can we go request a song?" "Huh," I reply, but what in the world are you talking about is what I am thinking.  She points to the bread oven. "Right over there," she says in that exasperated voice that is only missing a duh or stupid as her end punctuation. I don't know if it's the light from the fire, the small opening, the open glow of the laptop, or the man expertly working his craft, but I am instantly aware that Jamaica (or Jamaics, as the kids call it) has left an indelible mark on my girl.

Teacher Wired

Last week Julia and I went to my classroom to get some work done. I have moved again this year. This is nothing new to me. I move often. My new room number this year is 36. For some reason, I had it in my head that this is the same classroom that my neighbor, Jan, had taught in for more than twenty years. My neighbor, now retired, was a legend in the district. The places she could take a first grade mind were remarkable. I doubt a child who passed through door wouldn't name her as their favorite teacher of all time. I was lucky enough to student teach in the building where she taught. Her classroom was enchanting, really.  I admired her. When I got my first job in the district teaching first grade, I went directly to her to pick her brain. She sat with me and wrote things out for me; she helped me get started. I was delighted years later to find that we had moved in next door to her. She and Julia have a unique and profoundly special relationship. Jan's sons have yet to give her grandchildren. Julia has filled that need in her. In turn she has been a doting grandmother type to Julia. They share a love of books and adventure. A holiday or special occasion does not pass without a visit from Jan, hands loaded with gifts. She is fun, clever,  and an absolute delight. She is still teaching, whether it is something that she and Julia are doing, or she is giving me a fantastic idea to take back to my classroom, or she is sharing a story about one of her extensive travel adventures. She is teacher wired. So naturally I am thrilled at the idea of being in her room. There surely has to be an abundance of good karma stored in this room. Later that day she and I are talking over the fence and I say, "So Jan, I am in room 36," thinking this will elicit a fun response from her. Instead she is trying to figure out exactly where I am. "Okay, so you're on the courtyard side." He voice trails off. "Wait," I said, "Wasn't 36 your old room?" "No, I was room 34, one quarter, one nickel, and four pennies."

Always teaching. Love that.

Rewarding

Last night we met my husband's parents at an open air mall for dinner. The restaurant was overcrowded and not the ideal choice for a party as large, but it was great to see everyone. After dinner we walked around. Every adult emptied their wallets and pockets in search of pennies for the kids to throw in the centerpiece fountain of the mall. Afterward most adults wanted coffee and all children wanted a sweet treat. The two groups branched off from one another; I went with the latter. While the java junkies were getting their fix, we found our way to the Nestle Toll House Shop. I walked up to the counter with Julia and my nephew, Isaac. The Nestle girl approached and put her hands to her mouth and said, "I think I am going to cry, it's my first and third grade teacher."

I always say that the two words that strike fear in my heart when I am out in public are Mrs. Kado. I am always afraid that I won't remember a name. But there was Rebecca. Could not forget her.

In my first official year with the district, I taught first grade. Rebecca was in that very first class. Needless to say, that class is acutely exceptional in my mind. The next year, I was moved to third grade. The year after I remained in third grade and was fortunate enough to get roughly half of my old first graders. Rebecca was one of those. I married Bobby the summer after that school year. Rebecca and another student had their mothers drive them out to Troy for the ceremony.

She and I spent a few minutes catching up. She just graduated from high school. I asked where she was headed from there. She told me she was starting out at community college. Her desire, she told me, is to teach first grade.

My and Mine

Julia and I were sitting on the sofa, looking out the front window and rehashing the day's events. Summer is in full swing; we are in our routine; and I couldn't be happier. At this particular moment, she is recounting (i.e. giving her side of the story) an episode from earlier in the day where I witnessed Julia blow up at Isabel for riding her bike. She so rarely acts bratty or possessive that I am taken aback by her comments. "But it is my bike, mom," she emphatically states. I remind her that she was riding her scooter at the time, so what difference should it make that Isabel wanted to ride the bike. She firmly held her ground, "But [But starts many a sentence these days] Isabel has her own bike here. What does she need to ride mine for?" All I could hear was my and mine. I reminded her that all things ultimately belong to God. Whatever we have, I explained, is a gift from God. It is only ours temporarily. Knowing that she could not argue her way out of that and eager to lighten the mood and change the subject, she tips her chin to her chest and tries to fight a smile. She raises only her eyes and says in a quiet giggle, "So God has a girls' bike?"

Ridin'

True to her spirit, Julia has embraced bike riding with a passion and enthusiasm that is contagious. Bobby has had a bike for a couple of years now and has tried to coax me into getting one. I hadn't the least bit of interest, that is until I realized how impossible it is to walk behind someone who rides like the wind. So, Bobby found me a cruiser that I love. I was apprehensive to get on, but as the saying goes, it was just like, "riding a bike." Now every evening we chart a new route and take a long family bike ride. It's the new best thing around here. We three are loving it so!

What's in a Name?

Last week Julia and I were on a longish drive out to the ENT. As always, she was playing DJ from the backseat, "Please put on Michael Jackson; please put on Jagger," etc. On the way home she says, "You know what we haven't heard in a long time?" "Hmm?" I reply. "We haven't heard John Walker." I am puzzled and go through many of the artists she knows. After a couple of minutes, I realize she's referring to John Mayer. "Oh yeah," she says, "What was I thinking; John Walker is a drink." That's from her father, not me.

Fast forward to this week. She and Isabel are playing outside. They have one of those motorized John Deere pickups in the garage.  Isabel mostly chauffeurs Julia around in it (no one is fool enough to let Julia drive). On a warm afternoon with many neighbors (including the police chief who lives a few doors down) out, from the front yard I hear Julia bellow, "Isabel, bring the Johnnie Walker around front."

Big Week

On Good Friday (4.6.12), Julia lost her first tooth. The following Wednesday (4.11.12), she had her first surgery (ear tubes), and, two days later, on Friday (4.13.12) she ditched the training wheels for good and learned how to ride a two wheel bike. All of this happened in one week over her school spring break. I told her that was pretty big stuff to share when she returned to school on Monday. She said that at Telling Time they were only allowed to share one thing. I asked which one was she going to share. "Well, I thought about this, mom," she started, "Everyone is going to notice my tooth missing, so I don't need to tell them that. And nobody is going to care about my operation. So, I am going to tell about riding a two wheeler."

Lost Tooth Diaries

Julia has been waiting since the beginning of the school year to loose her first tooth. She's one of the only kindergarteners still with all of her baby teeth. Rule of thumb seems to be that the later a baby gets their teeth, the later they will lose them. And she was on the later end of teething. We've been watching a center, bottom tooth for quite some time now. We had rated is as almost wiggly months ago. Its progress (non-progress, really) was checked daily for a while. It seemed that I was getting regular updates of whom in her class had and hadn't lost teeth.  Eventually, interest on both of our ends dwindled. I had long forgotten about that tooth. Last Saturday, she told me to check it out. It was indeed wiggly. Really, really wiggly. This has been a new experience for me. I foolishly thought it'd be gone within the next day or so. I had no idea how long a tooth could hold on for; didn't realize it could actually sit parallel to the ground and remain attached to the gum.

Well with a gentle yank from her aunt, the tooth finally exited this past Friday.  She borrowed a tooth fairy pillow from her cousins (it has a little pocket on it for the tooth and the subsequent money).  As we put the tooth in she warned me, "Mom, I am going to get you and dad up in the morning to check the pocket with me. So please don't be grumpy when I call you to come in my room." I assured her that she could check it on her own and then tell us later. No, she insisted that we should check it together. I got her to at least compromise and bring the pillow into our room. She conceded but suggested that the light be on so that we could see the money. Eager to get her asleep (and knowing that there is sometimes no other way except agreeing with her), I agreed. I later found that she had given the same lecture to her dad. He also received the "Don't be Grumpy" speech.

Bobby and I went to sleep. The next thing I remember is the light flicking on. Fist clenched and raised high in the air, Julia shouts, "I got a 20 bill!!!!"

"That's great!" I replied. Blind without my contacts, I asked, "What time does my clock say?"

"Three, five, one," she answers.

"I'm so excited for you, Julia, but it's the middle of the night. Now get back to bed."

An 80s Kind of Girl

A few weekends ago, we had a fair at Julia's elementary school. Each classroom was transformed into a themed activity. My sister and I worked one of rooms. Deanna was featuring feathers for all the girls. While she was clamping them in their hair, I was running the till. Bobby took Julia around to all the different rooms. They would stop in the feather room periodically, check in on us and give us updates on what they were doing. After they made it through all the rooms and filled her passport, they decided to stop back in some of her favorites. Business in the feather room slowed down for a bit, so I decided to look for them. I found them in the 80s room. Bobby was standing off on the side with the biggest grin on his face. Julia, the only child on the dance, floor was surrounded by three parents. The Bangles were blaring. To my knowledge she's never heard the song or seen the video, but Julia was walking like an Egyptian in a way in which even Susanna Hoff would be impressed. She looked like an 80s queen fully embracing the moment. One of the moms, my favorite Kate, said to me, "There's a 20 year old in there dying to get out." 

Glorious

In the spring, few things make my heart happier than a Saucer Magnolia in full bloom. Glorious!

The God Card

3:50 p.m. on weekdays is a hectic time in our house. Julia and I are both just arriving home. Each day I navigate her strewn obstacle course as gingerly as possible, a backpack here, lunchbox there. I sidestepped all of her this and thats. I try not to complain because I know she will put everything in its place before long (she's a neatnik and a naturally orderly type). Today (a Tuesday) I notice her Friday Folder on the ground. As the name implies, it comes home on Friday with her one homework assignment for the week and returns Monday with her completed assignment.Due to the MLK holiday, Tuesday is Monday. I picked it up and looked inside. Sure enough her homework assignment from Friday as well as a book order and check were still inside. I questioned why it came back home, did she forget to turn it in. "I guess I forgot to turn it in, mom. It's not really that important," she tried to convince me. "Actually, Julia," I began, "It is kind of important. You want Mrs. V.V. to know you completed your homework on time." Her face is instantly sad and  disappointed in me all at the same time. She follows up, "Well, actually the most important thing is Jesus. There's nothing more important than Jesus."

Really, where am I supposed to go with that?

A friend and I were recently talking about a mutual friend whose grown daughter used what she referred to as the "God Card."  I liked that. Julia definitely played the God card on me.

I never posted this on Tuesday so I might as well add in a related story from yesterday. I sent her for lunch with one of her most favorite Arabic dishes, curry and rice. I reminded her in the morning to make sure she asks a lunch mom to help her close the lid on her thermos after lunch so she doesn't have curry and rice sloshing all over her lunchbox. Fast forward to 3:50 p.m. She's unpacking her backpack and pulling out all of her schoolwork. There are always a few pieces of artwork that she makes in her free time for her dad and I. She gets all that done and sets the lunchbox in the middle of the kitchen floor. She unzips it to reveal that she did not, in fact, ask anyone to help her close up the thermos. Curry (did I mention how staining curry is?) and rice are sloshing and sliding everywhere. She apologizes. I quietly pick it up off the floor and carry it to the kitchen sink to get started. I don't say anything to her. I know she feels bad enough, but I am not happy. She walks up to me at the sink and says, "Mom you just have to open this note I made for you and dad." I dry my hand and take the tiny, folded up note. It reads: Mom and Dad I love you.

Trumped again.

As she sits down to have an after school snack, I am still scrubbing away. She feels compelled to add one more thing, "I am really sorry, mom. And anyways you remember from the other day." He voice goes up and octave and it becomes sing songy, "That's not the most important thing."

She is right, of course.