Home of The Brave

I got home late from a Yoga class, but when I peeked in on Little One, She was still up.
She was pretending to read. But really, She was sulking.
I asked Her what was up.  She was upset because the school Basketball Game and Party was that night, and She was missing it.  And J and I didn't even CARE!
I had heard something about this event at some point in time and that's about all I could relate to this issue.
A hard part about Little One's new school being so far away, is that I am hardly ever there. I pick Her up at the bus stop, on this side of town, so I don't have much opportunity to interact with the staff or other parents, and gave up months ago on the PTA, so I'm pretty disconnected from the school as a microcosm.  The fliers She gets almost never come home on time, if at all.  They get colored on or torn up in games on the bus, or they sit in Her cubby before She remembers to pack them.  Sometimes I forget to check Her backpack.
I feel terrible about all this of course, so the Mama guilt kicked in right away.
I immediately checked my phone for the email about this event, and to our mutual relief, it was actually happening the next night.  I was reading the notice out loud.  They also still needed bake sale items and someone to sing to National Anthem at the big parents vs teachers basketball game.
Little One, who believe it or not has struggled with massive stage fright for a long time now, shocked me by saying, "Well maybe I could do that". 
"You would like to sing the Anthem for your school? For everyone?"
"Yeah....you know, mom.  I have some bad stage fright.  But...but I think...I think if I just go up there, and just give it a big try and like, go for it, you know...I think I could do it."  
I was so surprised, and so excited to hear this inkling of confidence from the Little One who somewhere around 6 hit the massive brick wall of realization that She cared what other people think of Her, that I instantly replied "Of course you could! That's just great! I'll see if they still need a singer".  And I sent that email right off.
*THEN I bothered to ask if She knew the song.*
How is it possible that the public school system, her family and friends, and J and I, have all so epically failed at teaching this kid the Star Spangled Banner?! Doesn't everyone know that song? I mean, the kid is American.  It should just BE in there somewhere.  Right?!
Nope.  She had never even heard of it.
So imagine my predicament, when I got an email the next morning, after I'd packed Her off on the bus, saying how happy the organizers were to have a singer, and to meet them at 6:15 sharp by the stage to get Her set up with the microphone.
Hmm.  I thought this over.  Sure, the reasonable thing would have been to politely withdraw the offer, seeing as how it would be hard for Little One to sing a whole song She'd never even heard.  But have we ever known me to be a reasonable person?  Nope.
This was an Opportunity.  I could hear it.  It was totally knocking.  And we also all know how I feel about those.  So here is the crazy thing I did.
I emailed the school, and said that Little One had "an appointment", and I'd be there to pick Her up.  In 30 minutes.  And then I did; I took Her out of school in the middle of the day.  She had an appointment all right.  With destiny, guys.
Ok, well.  With me.  An appointment with me, in the basement.
Little One and I spent the whole afternoon learning and practicing the Star Spangled Banner.  We listened to it on repeat during dinner, and all the way to the school.
We brought the music we'd printed at home, and shyly approached the MC.  He showed Her the microphone, and asked Her to say "testing".
She was horrified. She couldn't even look at it. Like a toddler, She hid Her face in my shirt, and wouldn't even speak.  The guy looked at me with the fear in his eyes of a man realizing he had made a terribly rash decision.  I smiled at him.  "We'll be fine.  Come get us when it's time, k?"  And I pulled Her outside.  She sang it for me twice, with all the right notes and words.  We went in and waited.
Finally She was called over, and we sat together at the front of the gym, while the bleachers filled and the players were announced.  She hummed nervously and every 10 seconds or so made a funny squeaking noise and pressed Her face into my neck whimpering "I can't! I just can't! I can't ever do this! Oh no. I can't do it!" 
"Whatever happens, just be confident.  Get up there and have fun with your great new song. You can do it." 
Her name was announced and She squeezed my hand tight.
"Oh no!"
She was frozen.  I picked Her up and set Her on Her feet.
She turned to run!
I put a hand on Her shoulder and looked as calm as humanly possible.  I was like a freaked out teenager trying to be cool. Heeey man.  No big deal. Nooo big deal.
I looked Her right in the eyes.  "Go for it." 
She looked right back at me. Took a deep breath.  And stepped up to the mic.
She looked at the many dozens of people in the stands.  Her teacher, Her fiends, strangers.  She looked at Her music.
And She sang.
She sang the first line beautifully.  After that, She got the words right, and sort of marched to the beat of Her own drummer with the melody.  But She never faltered or paused; She stood there and She sang it out.
The fans cheered.  She smiled.  She ran off to watch the game with Her friends.
On the way home, I told Her how I was so proud of Her.

"Really, mom? Even though...I got all the notes wrong." 

"But you told me that you were scared to do it.  You said you had 'stage fright'.  And still, you worked hard to learn this new song, and then you didn't let yourself down.  You got up there and you did it.  I always tell you to be brave.  Brave doesn't mean to never feel nervous or afraid, brave is to do what you have to do, what is right, and what you love and want to do, even when you ARE scared. Tonight you were brave. I am proud of you."

I am kind of amazed by Her.  I would not have been the least bit upset if She'd backed out at any moment.  But She never did.  How many of us would be willing to put ourselves out there like that? I'll be honest.  She's braver than I am.
It's true, pulling a kid out of school to teach them a song isn't exactly on the list of allowable excused absences.
But, I argue, learning Her national anthem is an educational activity.  And besides that, today She also learned how to overcome a fear.  How to work hard for something and not give up on it, how to do something She cared about without being stymied by what others might think of Her; how to be brave.  How to hear an opportunity knocking, and open up the door. Pretty good for a day's work, if you ask me.
Good work, my little American cutie pie.  You belong right here, in the land of the free.  Home of the brave.

Little One Turns SEVEN

Today my Little One is seven.  Seven.
It has been a wild year, full of challenges.  She moved to a new state/town/home/school.  She weathered Her father disappearing into residency and Her mother going back to work.  She had three health emergencies at school, including on picture day and Her birthday.  She lost three great-grandparents, a grandfather, and Her dog.   She switched schools again.  She started riding the bus, 2 hours a day.  She found out that when the year is over, She will switch again, and oh- also be moving across the world.  (More about that later).  She adopted a fish, took on gymnastics, piano, and swimming, and had a sweet baby brother morph into a 25 pound wrecking ball.  And she lost a bunch of teeth.
 Little One has dealt with all of these things in the Little-One-est way possible; with grace, resilience, and cheerfulness.  Little One, surrounded by challenges, peers out onto a horizon of endless mountains and sees a grand adventure in each one.  Her first instinct on facing any steep terrain in life is to find a foothold and start climbing.
As my little girl begins truly to grow up, Her innate drive to Try Hard is something I find so beautiful and inspiring in Her.  It's this adventurous, open-hearted spirit and willingness to go through the struggle of something new that has brought Her through to being a seven-year old who seems to excel at everything She tries.  It's because She tries, and tries, and tries again until She gets it.  I might want to be like Her when I grow up.  In the last year, Little One has covered a lot of ground.  She has:

- Done well in school, and been accepted into the accelerated STEM program at the magnet school that is practically in Siberia it's such an long bus ride from Her mother.  Ahem.

-Become a self-described "book addicted person", consuming books like a flame.  In the last year she has read the entire magic treehouse series, fairy series (good riddance), and most of encyclopedia brown, in addition to stacks and stacks of others.  She usually gets about 20 from the library each week, and burns right through them.

- Started gymnastics for fun and was invited to team-track.  Last week She completed a gym right-of-passage and climbed 20 feet of rope to stick Her name tag on the ceiling!

- Become super interested in robotics, and for Her birthday asked for "small motors, lithium batteries, and lots of scotch tape".

-Begun cooking meals and baking all by Herself.

- Gotten pretty good on Her bike, though not yet ready to let go of training wheels.

-Managed to keep in touch with friends from Her old school, and also make great new friends on the bus and at Her new school.

-Moved forward in swimming and with Her grandad's coaching learned to dive.

-Been a flower girl in both Her aunts' lovely weddings!

-Taught Her brother the alphabet song, and also how to Cha Cha slide.

-Grown tall enough to ride some of the rides at a theme park

-Taken good care of Her fish.

-Eaten probably several metric tons of sushi.  (should I not have put those last two in a row?)

-Realized that Her parents are not perfect (that one stings a little)

-Loved us anyways (at least so far).

-Loved all of us, actually.  All of of us in the immediate and extended family, neighborhood, and basically the world.  She loves the whole world.  She wants to take care of all the everyone.

Her Loves and Not-Loves:

Loves:
Sushi
Seaweed in any form
Japanese food in general
Hot Dogs/Tofu Dogs/anything called dog that gets ketchup on it
Home made bread and honey
French Onion soup
Ethiopian food
Brussel sprouts
Sugar.

Reading
Robotics
Pokeman (because the bus kids play)
Anything that ends with Her covered in mud
Traveling/visiting new places
Learning about Anything
Making Mister Laugh
Art projects and pretend with Missy
Chasing the boys
Riding the bus
Dancing
Cooking (French Onion soup is Her specialty)
Vegan Baking (Brownie Pie is Her top recipe)
Riding Her bike
Being altogether silly
Pigtails
Headbands
Sparkles/ruffles/fancy shiny anything
Sleeping/snuggling with Her sister

Not So Much
Mushrooms
Bell Peppers
The idea of cheese or eggs.  The look and smell and existence of them.
Sitting at the Peanut-free table at school
Missing Her dog
When Little siblings don't get the memo about Her being In Charge
The "frog" stretch at gymnastics
Playing with dolls/barbies
Scary movies or stories
Lights Out at bedtime (She would read until midnight)
Sleeping/snuggling with Her sister

Little One at seven alternates between being curled up reading, practically in a coma She's so still and  quiet and unaware of the rest of the world, and being a whirling top, cartwheeling through the living room, dancing in the kitchen, creating utopian worlds in the backyard with Missy, constructing 4-foot cardboard robots all over the basement, and asking ALL. the. questions.  About ALL the things.

She's at a fragile stage of growing up, wondering aloud if there's really such a thing as a tooth fairy, but not daring to think about applying the same logic to Santa.  She wants the freedom to wear Her crazy mis-matched outfits and to ride Her bike beyond our line of sight, but still wants cuddles and lullabies before bed.  She's beyond wanting us to read to Her, but still likes to read right beside us.  She thinks She should watch these movies Her friends talk about, like Star Wars and Jurassic Park, but hides behind me when Bambi's forrest catches fire.  Sometimes in gymnastics I watch Her, steadily stepping along the high-beam, and it feels familiar.  She's walking the line between a Little Kid and a Big Kid.

Knowing how close that era of Her life (and ours) is now, it's impossible not to look ahead, as a mom, and go breathless with the wonders and worries of the more complex years ahead.  But being around Little One helps me to keep from panicking.  Hanging out and chatting with Her, it's hard to imagine She could ever not be sweet, fun, and fantastic.  When I'm with Her, I see all those challenges ahead in the Big Kid years for what they are through the Little One lens- adventures waiting to be taken on and made into successes.  Mountains waiting to be climbed.

Seven on the Seventh.  A golden birthday! Happy, happy birthday Little One, my golden little girl.  We love you so much, and love going through all your grand adventures with you.  May you always climb with such strength.   

Adventures In Learning

I can't believe the summer is winding down.
Little Miss is very excited to be returning to Her montessori school, where She will be starting Kindergarten.  She's very, very excited to be staying all day this year.  I am very, very much in denial about the whole thing.  I like to tell myself that it's the same montessori class (mixed ages 3-6) so it's not really really kindergarten.  Even though it is.  I try not to think at all about Her being gone all day.  I just can't with all that.  But I'm glad She's going back to a school that we all love and which I am pretty sure will be a positive educational, social, and emotional experience for Her.
That's Montessori, though.  You get all this happy fuzzy stuff, and all it costs is an arm and a leg.
Public school, on the other hand.  That is free!
Sadly, Little One's kindergarten year was worth just about exactly what we paid for.
I actually liked the school.  The principal was competent and nice, the teacher was friendly, the kids were all as cute as only a bunch of snaggletoothed 6 year olds can be.  I liked the other parents and hosted a weekly coffee and cake so I could hang out with all their awesomeness.  I got to know the nurse (a little too well) and trust her to look out for my girl.  I PTA'd it up and was elected to be the VP this year.  Little One and I started a book club after school.  It was a dream to be able to walk both Sisters to school every morning.  I mean, Little One's school is about one block from our house!
The thing is, Little One had all that Montessori pre-school.  And She has this voracious appetite for learning.  She's been known to randomly get interested in something- the revolutionary war, or greek mythology- and go on a bender where She can't read or hear enough until She feels like She's learned Alllllll The Things about it!  So.  Before school started, I met with the principal, and said I thought maybe She should start in first grade.
The principal smiled, and chuckled, and gave me a "hey now, Tiger Mom, let's take it down a notch!" speech, and showed me the door.  Ok.  So, maybe, her points about Little One having just moved to the area, and going to public school for the first time, and the food allergies and all that being overwhelming as it is were valid.  So we went to kindergarten.
At the first teacher conference of the year, in October, Her teacher said to me,
"well, Little One has already met all the indicators for the end of the whole year! So... She's good!" Thumbs up.
I said, "Great, but, so....what's next, then?  I mean, She needs to keep learning throughout the year...new things, right?  So...what's the plan for Her then?"
Teacher stopped smiling.  And that was the start of the trouble.
Little One loved kindergarten, in that She loved recess.  She made lots of friends and became "leader of the girls team" on the playground, and loved everyone in class.  She got awards for being helpful and respectful in class. But She complained a lot about being bored.  She would finish the homework for the month in one evening, but I gave Her other work from bookstore workbooks, and She read a lot, so I wasn't really worried.
Then I went to parent day.  Waiting for my turn to observe the class, another mom greeted me all teary.  "What happened?" She asked.  "What did Little One do, to be punished like that?"
I was alarmed.  What DID She do?!
"She has to sit all by Herself! All the other kids are together in groups, but She had to be in the corner by Herself all morning!" 
So I asked the teacher.  "Oh no, She's never in trouble! But mornings are reading centers, and She's in Her own group.  There's one kid who reads at a level 8, but the others are all 2s and 3s, and Little One...is a 16.  She just can't read with the other kids." 
I observed.  Little One, who was reading chapter books at home, still had to sit at circle time and repeat over and over, "C says Cuh! C says Cuh!"    
She raised Her hand after a story, and was waved away, "Little One I KNOW you know the answer, so let me ask someone new".  There were worksheets later. She finished Hers in two minutes.
"What does She do now?" I asked the teacher.
Blank stare. "Well, it's a 15 minute center... so.  She can rotate when the bell rings."
"Could She read a book or something while She waits?"
"We can't let everyone do whatever they want. They have to stay at their center. The rules are the same for everyone."
I was in class for three hours and Little One did basically nothing, the whole time.  But She was still expected to sit still and be quiet.  By Herself.  Keep in mind, because of Her food allergies, She was already seated at Her own table at lunch.  She already had to stay apart from other kids while they ate the school provided breakfast (which She wasn't allowed to skip watching Her classmates eat, as that would have made Her tardy and reported as a truant).  So except for recess, She was set apart all day.
At home, She started saying that reading wasn't fun, because you couldn't have friends if you can read. She started pretending She didn't know how to do math.  She became so used to doing all academic work in 3 minutes or less, that when I introduced a challenging problem at home- something She would have exalted in before- She would get frustrated and call it dumb and give up.
I talked to the teacher.  I asked if She could be grouped with kids from other classes who were at Her reading and math levels.  But it was no longer "policy" to group kids out of their assigned class.
I asked if She could get worksheets from first grade teachers to work on while She waited during center time.  I was told it was absolutely not allowed to introduce anything outside the KG curriculum.
I pleaded for Her to be allowed to do Her work at a table with other kids. I had to actually beg, and promise to tell Her to hide Her worksheets so She wouldn't be a "show off" and make the other kids "feel bad".  Later, Her teacher said she turned out to love having Little One at the table with other kids, because She "helped them all with their work".  But, other than getting different books to read and some extra homework (to appease Her mom), She was never allowed to have any work that entailed learning something new.  All. Year.
Now, I know that a kindergarten teacher has a really tough time, because there are 15 students and they are all across the spectrum of learning.  Some have had 3 years of preschool, like Little One, some have had no school, or are just learning English.  That's a lot to handle, trying to meet all those needs.  I understand prioritizing the kids who need help to catch up- they need that help.
But as an advocate for my child, I couldn't accept that She had to spend six hours a day bored out of Her mind and being made to feel like an outcast.  I couldn't stand seeing Her wonderful passion for learning squelched as if it were a nasty habit.  I had a lot of talks with Her teacher and even the principal about how I could help Her, and got nowhere.
At the end of the year, I went to an info session on what the curriculum covers for each grade level.  It was clear that the work She was doing at home was about the middle of second grade level stuff.  So J and I asked to skip Her to second grade next year.  People, you would think we had asked for the actual Holy Grail. You would think I had asked them to bring me a pink unicorn.
The administration had heard of this mythical "skipping of grades"....but never actually SEEN it. It didn't really exist.
But since we insisted, they had to do something.  So they decided on an "evaluation period".  They pulled Little One out of class parties and music and art, to test Her and test Her with reading and math specialists.  At the end of this three month period, I went to a meeting.
I was told that, while She got the answers right on the math tests, She had to be failed on the evaluation, because She wouldn't always explain why She got those answers. She was docked points for doing math in Her head, because She didn't show Her work.
Example:
"what is 18 take-away 7?"
"It's 11".
"WHY is it 11?"
"... Because you had 18...then you took away 7."
"Can you show me why on paper?"
(on paper): "18 minus 7 is 11 because that is what is left."
Wrong.
I was told that, while She was reading on an end of second grade level, She wasn't ready to start second grade, because when the specialist asked Her about the books, Her answers were short and to the point, and She preferred non-fiction, factual information over discussing how She felt about things.
The reading specialist pointed out that not once, not once, did Little One ever re-open a book to look for the answers- which was a VERY important indicator for using resources.

C: "Did you know, that on the school's red-yellow-green behavior scale, Little One has been green, every single day?"

Punk Reading Specialist: "No, but what does that have to do with.."

C: "Ms. LittleOnesTeacher, has Little One ever broken a rule in your class or failed to ask your permission before doing anything She didn't know the rule about? No? So, Ms ReadingSpecialist, I have to ask.  Did you ever tell Little One that She was Allowed to look for answers in the book?"

PRS: "Um...no."

C: "Because I'm pretty sure She would have thought that would be cheating."

PRS: "Well. Oh.  Well.  She still was supposed to...it's a...uh...it's an indicator...."

Right.
In the end of the meeting, it was clear to see that they had never really considered skipping Her.  They don't believe in unicorns at all.  All of the reasons given were basically that while She could get all the answers right, She was shy enough with strangers to give them a reason not to move Her.
In the meantime, while all this testing was going on, the principal called me in for a talk.
"You know, not that we're trying to get rid of you, because we love you guys. But there is this school, a magnet school, for kids like Little One who are just...how can I... who are sort of....humming along at a different frequency.  You might just consider it." 
It happened to be the day before the deadline to apply for this mysterious odd-frequency school, so we just turned in the paper, just in case.
Then we had to send letters from teachers, letters from us, transcripts, report cards.  Little One had to do an interview and go to a testing session which we were not allowed to watch.
We googled and found that there are people whose whole career consists of tutoring little snaggletoothed 6 year olds to pass that test.  That hundreds of people apply, and only 25 get in. So we forgot all about it, and went back to trying to skip Her a grade.  
Then we got an acceptance letter.  
Supposedly, it is the same curriculum, but there are "acceleration opportunities" for STEM subjects. And there will, they promised without my having to ask, definitely be other kids in Her reading and math groups, doing the same stuff.
The place is an hour away.  Little One has to be there, and leave there, at the exact same time Missy has to be at, and leave from, Her school over here.
Instead of walking 5 minutes, I'll have to drive Her 15 minutes to the bus stop, where She will have an hour long bus ride to school.  If She has an allergic reaction or an asthma attack that doesn't respond to medication, as She did last year, I won't be able to rush right over.  There will have to be an ambulance.  This school does NOT sound fun, for ME.
So we deliberated and discussed, talked and thought, J and I.  What to do? Then we asked Her.
The so-called Queen of recess, who loved Her friends and teachers so much, what Her preference would be, so we could consider that in our decision.
She didn't miss a beat.  She didn't hesitate, and She was unequivocal.
"Please.  Please please.  PLEASE let me go to the new school!"

"But you know you won't see all of your friends any more. It will be all new. You won't know anyone there, and it will be different."

"Yes, I know.  But I can make new friends! And different stuff is good, cause that's what's an adventure, mom.  And besides...maybe...maybe...maybe at the new school, I won't have to teach the kids stuff all day with their work.  Maybe we could work together instead. That's all I want."  

 Ok then. I'm nervous about Her being so far if something goes wrong.  I'm scared to death of the bus.  I'm going to miss Her those two hours a day She will be commuting to school, and I can only hope it will be worth it.  And truthfully?  I'll miss the PTA and the moms I chatted with at pick up and all of that too.  All I can do is try to follow my Little One's lead, and make new friends. Hope that just maybe it will be a place where She can fall back in love with learning.  And realize that different is good, because that's what's an adventure.

Birthday

Yep.  I had one.  

It was kind of hard to tell, at first.  Since J worked like 12 hours that day, and I spent it cleaning bathrooms and organizing the basement and covering my ears and rocking back and forth signing REALLY LOUDLY to drown out all the WHINING from the kids who were stuck in the house due to a mosquito invasion of apocalyptic proportions, and neglected due to the bathroom scrubbing and basement cleaning.  

As a special treat there was the insurance adjuster who came to assess my birthday present this year, which will be a new car door, seeing as how I smashed the other one into a wall.  Tricky, those walls! He knew it was my birthday, so he brought me a back-scratcher shaped like a bear claw.  Er.  Thanks..

He also tried to give me the gift of "hey, you're not that old" by giving me his number, and repeatedly telling me to call and text him, but not to tell my husband.  Or to tell him about the back-scratcher either.  And if he were my man, he wouldn't be mad at me for wrecking the car.  ('Don't tell your husband I said that').  And then after he left, he sent a few text messages and then came back, texting me from the driveway to ask if he could come in and borrow some duct tape.  Really? At which point I directed him to the furthest hardware store and went back to the basement, where it was less creepy.

The Sisters wanted to throw me a "party", which means they got out every piece of everything and flung it around the room, draping beads and scarves and, ahem, my bras ("they're so fancy!") from the furniture and lamps and taping stuff to the walls.  

Then, while I tried to wrestle a two-ton angry crocodile (or maybe it was Mister, hard to tell which was what that day) into a nap, Sisters decided to bake me a cake.  I guess the floor in there was white anyways, so whats a bunch of flour and sugar and stuff? Right?!

The whole gang of them wanted in on decorating it, too, so we got out- the sprinkles. Which, all the moms who shuddered upon reading that know, are almost as bad as glitter.  

J had offered to bring a birthday dinner home, but he got stuck at work until after bedtime, and couldn't text me until the children were already gnawing on their own elbows they were so hungry.  So it was microwaved tofu-dogs and freezer peas for dinner.  And wine.  For me. 

I re-wrestled the crocodile into bed, and stopped at the door to chuckle.  

Because I mean.  

This day.

This day guys! 

Then, guess what?

I walked back to the dining room, where I'd left the sisters finishing their dinners, and there they were. Grinning. With such a beautiful chocolate brownie cake, a banner that said "happy birthday mommy we love you so so so so much", a stack of handmade cards, and two gloriously decorated boxes.  

They sang to me.  

We had cake, and I opened the boxes, which they had apparently been hiding under their beds for weeks.  They were filled with little treasures.  

We chatted and laughed and I was showered in hugs and kisses.  

It was the best birthday ever.  

It was the first time that my children, all on their own, threw me a birthday celebration.  They worked hard and they did it because they love me.  

I realize that as I've aged and grown another year, so have they.  There has begun a great tectonic shift beneath the surface of our relationship, a change by which now, and more and more from now until forever, I not only take care of my children, but they take care of me, too.  

My children have always saved me, taught me, and brought me joy.  But now, they do it on purpose. 

On my birthday I realized, there is certainly a gift in that.  

News From The Ark

Well hello there.
It seems that every time I post here, I start out with some iteration of "it's been a long time".
It's like a person who loves to cook grand, multi-course meals, whose life speeds up so fast they realize one day they've had nothing but drive-through take-out for months.
Me, I like to write overly involved stories about things that are important to me, trying to preserve these gorgeous, fleeting moments, but it's come to a point around here that Instagram is about as good as it gets.
But the busy cook-at-heart would surely stay up late stirring spices into a pot from time to time, for the sake of remembering who they are, right?  And now and then, even though I should be doing other things, I pop in around here.
Hey.  It's been a long time!
But we're all still around.
This has been a rough year in some ways.  In the last six months, we lost J's remaining grandparent.  And his father, unexpectedly.  We lost my Nana, as I've mentioned.  And then, just a week later, my grandfather.  My grandaddy was a really, really important and special person to me.  I think I just shut down for awhile.  But I'm just carrying on, as we do, and missing him quietly.
We have also been adjusting to not only having J in residency (with the erratic, stressful schedule that entails) and having me go back to work (from home, mostly, with the erratic, stressful schedule that entails), but doing both at once.  We've had some struggles with Little One and school, plus, you know, Life.  Waah wahhh wahh.
The last year almost, it's felt like our little family was sailing through a storm.  We hunkered down, getting tossed around and soaked and bumping our heads on the rafters and just riding it out.
But, slowly (and with the help of J's parents and my mom, bless them), we've adjusted ballast so that, even though it's still windy out there, we've got a pretty even keel and strong sea legs.  Balance.
I returned from a trip to Ethiopia just in time for the last week of school, and all that fun and chaos. Little One had one more snow-day-make-up on today, and now we are FREE for the summer.  Freeeeeeeee!
It is possible that this change will knock me sideways again for awhile, but I have to admit I am incredibly excited to have long days spread before me with all my littles home.
Here are a few updates on those little monkeys, since it's been awhile:

Little One
Well for one thing, She lost another tooth tonight.  The growing up just will. not. stop.  It's crazy.
Little One has had a great year at school with friends, and a rough year with the learning part, but She handled all of it like a star.  I'm so proud of the way She has faced Her challenges and been a good friend and not stopped hugging me goodbye at drop-off yet.  She might be a little boy crazy.  But this is not really new.

Miss
Missy has traveled light years in Her ability to express Herself and handle Her emotions.  She is still our drama queen, no doubt. But She's able to reassure Herself that the world is not actually ending if She can't find Her favorite shoes.  She was the darling of Her preschool teachers, who really truly will never believe that I could call Her dramatic or accuse Her of refusing to get dressed for school in the morning, leading to Her arrival at school in nothing (I mean nothing) but a bathrobe.  She painted Her way through preschool, but somehow learned to read. It's because She quietly notices everything. She's the most cuddly, loving, kissy Little of all time, and also hilarious.  Mostly on purpose.

Little Mister
This guy.  He has his moments.  Moments in which He is hangry, and then gets frustrated, and reacts by throwing Himself backwards with all His might, whacking His head on the floor, and then, every time, freezes for a moment- in complete shock, as if it's never happened before- and then cries because, you know.  THAT HURTS.  In those moments I can only look at Him blankly and wonder if maybe I drank heavily during pregnancy and forgot about it.  But most of the time, most of it, He is sweet and fun and adorable.  He talks all the time, constantly, and we are realizing that He is actually saying stuff.  We can make a lot of it out now, and He's pretty funny.  He loooooovves His sisters.  He loves raisins.  And shoes.  And, ok, all the things.  He loves all things.  Except the ones He can't have.  Those things are WAHHHHHAAAAHHH!  Lucky for Him, with two doting Sisters wrapped around His pinky, there aren't a lot of those.

J
Not a Little.  But he counts right?!  I hear he's doing fine.  If you see him, you can ask.  I'll have to take your word for it.  Kidding, kidding.  Sort of.  J is working long hours and long weeks.  But he's still making time to be superdad, and I'm trying to accept the extra housework and kid-wrangling he's been picking up lately as we adjust that ballast.  It's funny how difficult it can be for a person who considers herself to be a feminist to allow someone else to do the laundry.  I just bite my tongue really hard, and breathe deeply in a quiet place for awhile repeating, "it's ok that he sorted into only two piles. If they all turn out pink I can buy all new clothes. Let it go. Let it goooo".   That Frozen movie song really applies to mis-sorted laundry.  Which never turns out pink.  He's basically a champ.

Me
Well I have a laundry problem, clearly.  But I'm thankful that J is so supportive of the new balance we are finding as a family.  I'm thankful to have a job I believe in that I can do without hiring help with my Littles, and that our moms step in at crucial times when I otherwise would have had to hire help.  And I'm especially thankful for this time when my Littles are all going to be with me all day, all summer. And like it.  At least, hopefully they'll like most of it.  I know these days are finite, I know they are precious.  I take none of it for granted.  And, despite the rough waters at times (that's life!) I am thoroughly enjoying the ride.  

Always

C: "Little One, can you turn on the light?" 

LO: "Um, sure, I think so mom."

She reaches, it's too far.  

She hops.  She jumps.  

Again and again, throwing Herself up the wall with Her fingers stretched waaaaaay up, trying to hit the switch.  

She's six, but She's little.  She's still so little, and the light switch is just too high.  

I watch Her a few more times, then offer, 

"Little One, would you like a little help with it?" 

She doesn't slow down.  She's jumping with all Her might now, running out of breath.  

"Just-a, few-more, times, mama-"

"Ok, love, no hurry.  Just let me know."

I look on as She jumps again.  Five times, ten. Twenty? I don't know how many.  

Then-  

She gets it.  

The light flashes on.  

She stops, panting, Her hands on Her hips, beaming as bright as the bulbs.  

I'm grinning too.  

"You did it!!"

Little One smiles, She wiggles Her hips in a little victory dance and chants, 

"Always believe in your self."

This is  one of the most beautiful things about being a parent.  Getting to witness these little moments, these trivial things, that are not little or trivial at all.  

Beautiful

Awhile ago, J's did a rotation at a VA hospital.  When you first walk in, you find yourself in a huge room.  Little rooms open off to the sides of it, like spokes in a great hub.  The ceiling soars to the glass half-walls of the floor above.  This arena is littered with signage, equipment, and, well, litter.  It is filled with tired people in scrubs, sick people in wheelchairs, sad people in ragged clothing.  And at the exact center of it all, surrounded by velvet ropes as if it were some specimen of royal lineage, is a shiny grand piano.
We visited several times, and never saw anyone playing it.  It just sits there, a nice thought that maybe was never practical, never a priority, and forgotten.  People bustle past it, they sit on line in queues all around it, and never seem to notice it.
We visited J a few times at the hospital, mostly when he was on an overnight shift and we would bring him dinner.  Because he was busy with patients, we would come and just wait.  Hang out in the lobby until he had a chance to run down to pick up some food and give us all a hug.  So we waited in the room with the piano.  Little One always noticed it.
On night, while we were waiting and it was late and almost empty inside, Little One sat staring at it. And staring at it.  And staring.  Finally She whispered, please mommy, could She play it.  So we asked the security officer guarding the front door.
"Piana? What piana?"  We pointed.  She looked surprised.  Like in all her time working there, in the same room, she had never realized there was a grand piano surrounded by velvet ropes.  "Well sure honey, I don't care if you play that thing. Go ahead." 
Little One clapped Her hands in front of Her chin and said thank you.  She turned and sort of sideways, sort of slowly, sauntered towards it.  As it it were a wild thing to sneak up on.  As if She might scare it away.
She ran Her hand along the rope, ducked under it, and slid onto the shiny bench.  With effort She lifted the lid, then sat for awhile with Her hands resting on the keys.  After some time, She began to play.  She played bits and pieces of songs She knew, then paused another moment.  When She settled on a song and began again, a man had just come down on the elevator, and was crossing the room in his wheelchair.
She began to play "Old MacDonald".  She played it through to the end.  When She began, the man in the wheelchair stopped short.  He turned.  While She played, he sat frozen.  Watching.  When the song was over, he hollered.
"Yeah! YES!"  Little One looked up.
He clapped and clapped his hands and pointed at Her.  "Old MacDonald! Right? Yes! And you played it! She played it! That was great.  It was! What a thing to hear! Little girl, you got something.  Mom! Don't ever let her stop playing! Don't let her! That was great! Yes! Made my night!" And then, somewhat more quietly, "Thank you."  Little One was bright red.  And smiling.  "You're welcome", She said.
Later that night, Little One asked me, "Why did that man get all a'cited and clap like that?  Why did he say thank you and don't to stop playing piano?"
"Because, Little One, you played music and music is beautiful.  You made something beautiful and he enjoyed it.  It made him happy.  You made him happy with your songs."
Little One looked amazed.  She whispered, "I did?  I did that?"
"Yes!" 
"Wow.  Well.  He made me happy with his clapping and cheering me on, so.  I thought he was beautiful too."  

First Days- For Those Of Us Left Behind

 I have been asked if there were any tears on the first day of kindergarten.
From Little One: Please.  The girl was like a chihuahua on pixie stix She was so excited to be there.  Walking up to the teeming masses before the bell rang, She admitted, "I am a little scared, Mom.  But I'm pretty brave.  So it's ok."  Other than that moment, She was all smiles.
No tears from me, either.  You read right! Because:
Miss had enough sadness for us all.  For Her, the trauma was multifaceted; She lost Her best friend, being left behind in both a physical and metaphorical sense, and preschool doesn't start for another week and a half.  Which is, I'm told, "Impinity" years away (three-year-old time).
To lessen the blow a little bit, I tried to talk up how great it will be for us to have all this time together in the mornings, just us two (and a half. Mister naps, so He only gets a half), and I told Her that on the first day, we could do ANYTHING SHE WANTED.  ANYthing.  Go to the zoo, out for ice cream, a museum, swimming, whatever She wanted to do.  I braced myself to hear what crazy thing She would come up with.  She's got a good imagination.
Here's Her choice:  To stay home and play together in the playroom with toys.
So we did.  We played with airplanes, princesses, dress-up dolls, and an aircraft carrier.  We played pretend.  And, because it's Missy, we cleaned everything up as we went, and we also played "orga-zizing" games.  Here are the animals, orga-zized into flying, walking, and swimming.

 I think it's interesting how She so instantly and definitively categorized the ducks and geese, and not always into the same pile.  The snake got it's own pile, because, as She explained, "it on-y sliss-ahs."
After Mister woke up, I talked Her into a picnic at a new playground and She loved it.

A tractor drive right onto the playground, and a couple of deer walked by as well, so there was plenty of excitement.  Without the shadow of Her big sister, She was unusually chatty with strangers who said hello, and was so proud to be the one that got to show off baby brother and list all the ages of the kids in the family.  On the way to pick Little One up, She even said She wanted Little One to go to school another day so we could have more "fun things wif us".  In the last two days, we've baked cookies together, played games, read stories, worked in the garden together, and even just cuddled on the couch.  Each day, I offer any outing of Her choice, and so far She'd rather just hang out at home.  This morning we read for two hours, played chutes and ladders, and then as I pushed Her on the backyard swing, She sighed, "Oh, Mama.  Isn't it just so. nice. and. PEACEFUL. I love this a bazillion."  I love it.  I love Her appreciation for the simple; how many of us never get it?  I love the wisdom beyond Her years (and maybe mine) for Her to know that we will have more real, quality time, if we just stay somewhere quiet, the two of us, and be together.  I have truly enjoyed these few mornings with my middlest baby.  As much as I'm looking forward to Her getting to go to school and begin making Her own friends and Her own way in the bigger world, I'm also really treasuring these days.  In which She's the teacher, and I'm the student.

The Night Before Kindergarten

Tonight we began our new family policy of letting Little One stay up a little later than Miss (who gets to stay up a little later than Mister, so is only a little offended).  I'm hoping this will be a good opportunity for us to have some real time together in the months ahead, when She's gone from me so much of the day.
Tonight we gave Little One a small package- a book called "The Night Before Kindergarten".
J and I snuggled up to Her on the couch, and She read it to us.  Then together, She and I made Her lunch, picked out Her outfit, wrapped up a gift for Her teacher, and packed up Her backpack.
Tonight I'm going to bed with three little ones, and it feels like tomorrow I will wake up with just two- and a Big Kid!
I'd write more, but Little Mister is (very unusually) crying insistently in His crib.  It looks like a long night...but there area silver linings all over, right Peanuts?  What a reminder that even though Little One is heading off to big kid school... I have plenty of baby snuggles left here.  At least for now.  

Brave

Monday will be the first day of Kindergarten.
It's true that Little One has been going to school for three years now, but this will be public school.  All day school.  With hundreds of kids.  With lunch time. It's a whole new thing.
Tonight Little One and I walked through the drizzling evening to attend the "back to school" info session.  It was mostly hum drum, mission statements and conduct codes and pick-up schedules and such.  It was late (and boring) and Little One leaned on my shoulder, lacing Her arm through mine.
When the teacher got to the part about lunches and snacks, I perked her up to listen.
Hearing the talk about how all the kids get milk, about the class eating breakfast each morning in the classroom,  class-provided snacks (the ubiquitous goldfish crackers being the example),  the various options for lunches on long tables in the cafeteria, caused knots to form in my stomach, slowly tightening with each paragraph.
One parent in the back asked, "is this a nut-free school?"  
"No, no it isn't" answered the teacher.
At that, she got the biggest reaction from her listeners she'd had all night.
"YES!!" exclaimed several parents in the crowd, one pumping his fist in the air.  "Awesome!" "great!" "Oh that makes everything easier!"
Everything easier? Really?
Now, I am actually not an advocate for nut-free schools.  There are nuts in the world, and kids like mine have to learn to navigate that fact.  I also understand the fairness issue with asking many to be inconvenienced for the sake of one.
But it is, after all, the sake of one life.  
How can I explain this to someone who doesn't live with life-threatening food allergies?  Imagine the teacher saying that all the children would be allowed to carry loaded handguns, and all the parents going, "Yes! I'm sending mine with a semi-automatic!"   Only worse.  Because if kindergarteners did carry guns, at least they might have been told to be careful with them.  At least the teachers would know they were dangerous and would instinctively supervise to some degree.
But for my kid, the peanut butter sandwich and the cups of milk are just as dangerous.  And no one handles pizza with caution.  Meaning that the burden of staying safe in an actual minefield of danger, all day long, will fall on the shoulders of a five-year-old.
Hearing all those parents exalt over getting to send nuts into the place my Little One will be spending the majority of Her time,  watching Her innocent little eyes get big and round, feeling the delicacy of Her hand pressed into mine... I felt a wave of real terror.
I put my arm around Her shoulders as if I were sheltering Her from an attack; for a moment I thought I was going to be sick. I can honestly not remember the last time I felt so afraid.  And that's me.
How must She feel?
I squeezed Her hand and the talk moved on to folders and homework.  Afterwards She thanked the teacher and we started for home.  By now it was late, late enough to be dark out.  To get home, we take the short-cut around the back of the school, behind the baseball field and down a little path through a wooded area.  But we've never walked it at night.
As we turned the corner of the school, the back was unlit, littered with broken chairs, flat basketballs, and overflowing dumpsters.  The thought was just flashing through my mind, that this was pretty sketchy looking and I was a bit uneasy about it, when Little One stopped short and grabbed my hand.  "Um, no way Mom.  No way we should go through here, it's too dark! I'm scared.  This looks like a place where Bad Guys come out from."
I looked again.  It did look like a scene that might be accompanied by creepy music.
But it was the way home.
"Little One, it's ok.  This is our own, safe neighborhood.  I have a flashlight, and we know the way.  We are tough and brave, and I am right here.  We're just going to keep going." 
She looked a bit doubtful.
"If a bad guy jumps out, I will whack him with this umbrella. I'm not afraid of anything. Let's go!"
She held my hand tight, and we walked.
Even though what I said was true, that it was a short familiar walk in our own, safe neighborhood, if I'd been by myself, I might have run through the dark part, or gone the much longer way through the lit streets.  But sometimes when you're mom, you don't have the luxury of being scared.  You have to be rational, you have to be brave.  Because it's one thing to teach my child to be cautious, and another to make Her afraid of the dark, of Her own shadow.
So I walked with confidence; I smiled and pointed out the lovely song of the crickets, the beautiful pattern of the moon through the leaves.  I kept a careful watch and I held onto Her hand- but we walked right into the dark and kept walking until we were home.
I wish I could walk Her like that through life.  I wish I could hold Her hand in every darkness.
Kindergarten and school and the wide frightening world are right around the corner.   They are shadowy with Unknowns and there are dangers to navigate.  I would give anything to make every back alley and lunch room safe and sunny for Her! But I can't, and there's no way around it.
Still, even if I can't always be there with Her, I will always be there for Her.
All we can do is hope things aren't so dangerous as they seem, to navigate as smartly as we know how, to walk into the darkness and keep walking.  And be brave.

Yes For Dessert

I have this artist friend.  I love the way she mothers.  She and I parent the same in some ways, differently in some ways, but we find the same kind of joy in it, I think.  So when she talks about her Way of parenting, I listen.  And when she posted some random link on Facebook today, I clicked.  I read it.
The article was about how it is important to say "yes" to children, when as parents we are so constantly saying "no".  Important to say yes; not "maybe", "I'll think about it", "if you this" or "after that".  But really, truly, "yes that's a great idea"; "absolutely".
Ok, whatever, that's nice.  I clicked on.
But that article popped into my head today, every time I admonished my girls for using their hands instead of a fork, or the tablecloth instead of a napkin.  Every time they asked if we were done waiting for the doctor, or could go to the zoo today, or have skittles for lunch.
They say Eskimos have 100 words for "snow", but moms have at least 1000 ways of saying "no".
Today was a long day.  The kids were up early.  We spent four hours at the allergy clinic, waiting and meeting Little One's new top doc.  We grabbed lunch and drove through DC traffic to the commissary where we shopped for the next month (because I'm not doing that again all the time, Peanuts.  I mean really) and hauled it all back home and unloaded.  Because J has an overnight shift tonight (which started at 5am today), I made him dinner- a new Chinese recipe requiring lots of pots and pans- and brownies for the whole resident team.  I packed it up, fed the kids, washed the dishes, bathed Mister- because no matter how busy we may be, this face:

needs a bath after dinner- got the Sisters faces washed and hair brushed.  Got the text that J didn't want dinner (another resident went out for Chinese), but loaded all the kids and the brownies into the car anyways.  We drove 45 minutes through rush hour, and Missy fell fast asleep.
So I put Her in a stroller, brownies in the basket, Mister on my hip, and pushed Her in, with Little One holding the handle.  We waited 20 minutes in the lobby while J finished helping a patient, and saw him for about 10 minutes.
By the time we left, the sun was setting, Missy still fast asleep with Mister following suit, and I was thinking of how much I had to do as soon as I could get the kids into bed.  As we made our way to the parking lot, Little One said,
"So, mom.  I was thinking...how 'bout since the kids are asleep and it's past bed time, how 'bout you and me do something fun? Like have a girls night? 
"We-elll....we might still have time to read our special book.  But it's already after bed time, love."  (We've been reading chapter books lately, after the younger kids are in bed.  We're currently in the middle of "The Little Prince").
"But.  But...well...I was thinking more like, you know, like a game, or something, or....Oh! I KNOW! Let's BAKE something! Something from my new cookbook Aunt Sherry gave me?  Just us two? 'Cause, 'cause you know, mom.  You know, you and Dada have been working a LOT lately....and Missy has been reading the Little Price wif us, and that's ok because She likes it and that's great She does, and so we also shouldn't read any more wifout Her, you know, but well.  So we haven't had that much time.  With us, just.  Please?  Please could we just have a fun girl night and bake some stuff?  Us two?"  
I began preparing a good version of No in my head- after all it was already past bed time and I had a lot of cleaning up to do and some other chores to get done.  But that article flashed through my mind. I asked myself why I was saying no.  Did it really, truly, need to be a no?  Or was I just used to saying it?  We had nothing to do in the morning; there was nothing waiting for me at home that couldn't wait a little longer.  Besides which: there will be a time, soon, when Little One might not want to hang out with me "just us two".  A time when I will wish She would.  Here I had Little One, offering Herself up to me on a silver platter, offering me a whole evening of time together having fun.
So I said, "Little One.  I think that is a terrific idea! Absolutely.  Let's do it!"
She lit up like a firefly.  "Ok! Great! Oooohhh I can't wait to decide what we are gonna make! There are TONS of great recipes in my book, mom.  We are gonna have fun just deciding which one!"
 We did.  We put the littler Littles to bed, dawned our matching aprons, and pored over the book until we found the perfect thing.  We adjusted it to allow for the fact that Little One really wanted to use strawberries and bananas.  Then we measured and mixed- Little One doing almost all of it Herself.
We chatted about our day, about kindergarten coming up, about lots of things.

While they baked, we read The Little Prince, just us two.  When they were done, we split one in celebration.

"Little One, thanks for a great idea.  That was fun! And tomorrow we will surprise everyone with tho special breakfast!"
"Yeah, mom.  They will be happy, right? I guess I do have good ideas sometimes.  Hey mom.  I love you."  
We brushed teeth and tucked Her in.
I didn't really get any chores done.  I didn't get to call and chat with my sister or a friend like I'd planned.  But I did get to spend some excellent time with a wonderful, fun person who is becoming more and more a friend every day.  Plus, our strawberry-banana muffins turned out to be delicious.  

Sometimes, as moms, we have to force ourselves to do something nice for ourselves, to treat ourselves to something purely fun.  But it's worth it to take the time.  Saying "yes", is sweet.

Phase One Complete

Well, Peanuts.  We somehow survived the pack out.
People always say, "oh how nice! How nice that they pack for you! That saves you so much time and effort!"  Yes.  It is and it does.  But.
I have learned from experience now, that sitting back with a cocktail as the (lowest bidders for the job) packers do it all for you, is a decision that will only necessitate a great many cocktails on the other end of that move.  The packers are about speed; they see something, dump it in a box, move on.  So if, for instance, you have a little box of pins in your sewing drawer, it will be all kinds of interesting unpacking the box they got dumped into when you get to the new place.  Like your own welcome cactus in a box!  Or if, for instance, you are me and you like things to be organized and so you put everything into little labeled boxes and baskets and such, you are going to be silently listing all the expletives you know when you see that the packers took aaaallllll the categorized, organized toys in the whole playroom, and dumped each box out together in one big box, and then put all your boxes in another box. Why?  Why commingle the barbies with the trains?  Why all the legos all mixed in with the monopoly game pieces and hundreds of puzzle pieces?  Did I insult someone's mother?  I mean, why?  Imagine how fun it is to have a whole house to set up, and have to spend an entire afternoon sitting on the floor....playing puzzles. And jewelry. 20 little chain necklaces all in one giant knot.  That will take two afternoons.  If there is trash in the wastebasket, it's getting dumped in a box (with other stuff!) and packed.  If there are wet washcloths hanging, you are getting a box of mold on the other end. And so.  I have learned the importance of pre-packing.  This time around, with J's help, I managed to get it all done in two (very long) days (and most of the night).  Here are my tips for military movers:

1) Have a yard sale and/or donation cleanse first.  I think it helps the transition to involve the kids.  We went through all their stuff and made a pile of things that "someone else might love to have".  On yard-sale day, I spread out two big blankets, gave them a cash box, a stool, and an box for a counter, and let them set up their "store".  They spent half the morning working on their displays, putting shoes here and books there. They were in charge of setting prices, negotiating with buyers, collecting and counting money, and giving back change.  The rule is, whatever money is made from the sale of their things, they get to keep.  This is a pretty good motivation to let things go.

2) Go through all bottles of shampoo and such and either ziplock them or be sure those lids are closed and tight.  The packers do not always care if the shampoo is open and upside-down.

3) Tiny things like needles, thumbtacks, paperclips, and jewelry have to be placed into a container that will not open.  For jewelry, I fold each necklace or pair of earrings into a handkerchief; roll, place another in, roll, etc. to keep them padded and separate.  Then I put the rolled handkerchiefs into a jewelry bag zip it up, and wrap it.

4)Movers wrap is my best friend.  It's basically a ginormous roll of really strong saran wrap.  All my little boxes and baskets, all the puzzles, and so on get wrapped up in that stuff.  This time I wrapped an entire cabinet of little drawers.  Because I am not separating dress-up shoes from tiaras all day in July.  I would rather have the moving guy look at me funny.  I explain in the beginning that if it's wrapped in plastic, it goes as is.  Some packers hate me for it (takes up a lot more boxes), some love it (most of the job is done for them).  But it's the difference between unpacking a room in one day, or taking a week to sort things out.  I've even taken drawers out of dressers, wrapped them, and had them pack the drawers into boxes.  When I get there, I just stick the drawers in and I'm done! It's easy to wash a drawer at a time and put a whole load back in one place, rather than re-sort everything.

5) Make signs.  I empty a closet or two myself, then put everything I don't want packed in there and make a "do not pack" sign on the door.

6) Because things can be handled roughly, lost, or stored in uncontrolled conditions, go through and take out anything that is really special, or can't be replaced (like old film photo albums, little clay baby handprints, old family things, and a hard-drive with photos and videos), and pull it out.  Usually we put them in our trunk and drive it to the new house ourselves, but since that would mean hauling it around for six weeks (and I have to admit I have a ton of old photo albums), we left it with a friend this time.  We also had a generous friend collect and babysit our house plants until we can pick them up.

7)Anything you don't want dirty (throw pillows, sofas, anything) or that is really fragile, wrap yourself.

7) Do ALL the laundry, empty wastebaskets, wash ALL the dishes, and keep people from using them.  So hard with little kids who are in the routine of throwing things away in certain places.  And changing their outfits five HUNDRED times a day.

Not to mention, all the stuff in high cabinets or shelves has to be brought down, all the stuff on the walls taken down, swing sets and play houses dismantled, electronics unplugged and serial numbers listed, hardware labeled, etc.

So even though it truly is a huge service to have packers come and do the heavy work, it's not exactly a breeze, unless I want to pay for it later.
We arranged to have the Sisters stay late at school on those days to keep them out of harms way, and after the packers left I would move things around to make their room safe again.
Coming home and seeing all your stuff gone and a bunch of boxes in its place can be upsetting for little ones.  To help ease the pain, we bend some of our rules during moving time.  We let them watch a movie on a school night (bonus of keeping them entertained safely, away from towers of boxes that could topple if climbed), have popsicles, and stay up late for extra cuddles.  I also gave them a sheet of "This box belongs to me" stickers to put on their boxes so we can find them right away when we get there.

And the last night, we got to go to a hotel with a swimming pool.  Oooohhhh.  Aaaaahhhhh.

So far Missy actually seems to be loving the adventure of it all, and until She collapses from the lack of naps at the end of the day is extraordinarily cheerful.  Little One is very, very sad to leave friends behind, and to leave the familiar, and alternates between being happy and excited, sad and tearful, and moody and obstinate.  Frankly I'm pretty much the same, so I get it.  Moving is hard.  It takes a lot of work and is, in every sense of the word, unsettling.  The one I'm looking to as a role model in all of this is Little Mister.  Mister has had some protesting over the disruption of His perfect schedule.  But overall He is dealing with it all better than any of us.

He doesn't care about our stuff being boxed up, or whether it will arrive in one piece, or at all.  Who cares about a bunch of stuff?  He doesn't care that His fancy play gym is gone and He has to roll around on a flattened box, playing with some sunglasses and a random plastic lid.  Why not be happy with whatever we have in this moment?  He doesn't care that we are leaving places and people behind. Why not focus on Now, on the sound of the birds in the trees and the warm breeze through the window and the amazing entertainment of our own toes? Really, so long as He has His most basic of needs covered and is with His loved and trusted family, He hardly cares what else goes on.

I have cleaned, sorted, padded, wrapped for our move.  I have packed, labeled, planned, back-up planned for our trip.  I have good-byed, thanked, and KIT promised many friends.  Ok.  But now?  Now is the time to be like Mister, and let it all go.  Now we set off on our next chapter, and take it day by day, moment by moment.  Despite all of it, things will get lost.  They will break.  Vacation failures will happen and some friendships will fade.  But we have our most basic needs covered, and we are all together.  We really couldn't ask for more.
Of course, swimming, warm baths, The Magic School Bus, and a pizza party in our hotel room aren't bad bonuses at all.

Little One Found Jesus. He Was Wearing Sequins.

Have you ever been to a Catholic Mass?
We're Catholics around here.  For you nons, let me tell you. It is serious business.
It's largely the same every time; stand up, sit down, kneel, recite, pray.  The message of each service changes but the structure does not, and the seriousness does not.  We do not mess around.  Nobody can get a witness in a Catholic mass.  We shush and listen to the man in the dress.
J and I, we're some Catholics.  Some of us more somber than other.  (ahem...J). 
But we've never really found a "home" church here.  So we haven't attended much mass in Virginia.
BUT.  As every lazy Catholic knows, skipping Mass is one thing.  And skipping EASTER Mass is another.  Easter is the one time each year that all the closet Catholics get dressed and make an appearance.  We take for granted that we will at least go to church on Easter.
We decided, though, that since we're hosting a brunch tomorrow, we would do a Saturday evening Mass instead of Sunday morning (totally permissible by Catholic standards).
And.  Since we don't really have a special church, and since Little One has been asking since we moved in to go to the church down the street, and since it was, after all, right down the street- and had an earlier evening service than the nearby Catholic place...we decided, what the heck?  Let's try something new. Let's go to the big church with the billboard and the waterfall.  It isn't Catholic.  But it's Christian. Tomato, Tomahto.  Right?  Right.
So.
Peanuts.
We walked in.  This church, it had a gift shop.  And! A coffee shop.  Whoa.  And it was huge.  And had movie theatre seats.  With a big stage in front, all fancy with fire and stuff.  Little Miss was like, "Um...what are we doing?  I thought it was for chuh-ch?" We rolled with it.
By the way we are all dressed up.  Fancy Easter dresses and such.  Someone asked the girls if they's recently been flower girls.  Nope, lady.  We just get formal when we're Catholic.  Nice leopard-print tights, though.  Also awesome.
The girls came with their "church bags"; little purses with crayons, notebooks, stickers.  I even included a lollipop I was so concerned they hush during Easter Mass.
Little did we know.  Not only was this a very different sort of church than we're used to (different is good, you know), but unbeknownst to us, it was not going to be "church" at all.
It was going to be.  A musical.  
Yes.  It was going to be a TWO AND A HALF HOUR musical play about Jesus- manger to ascension.  The pastor got up at the beginning and we all prayed for the lighting and sound crew.  The  Littles looked at me like,  "What the communion is going on here?"  The live band plugged their electric guitars into some  *VERY POWERFUL* amps, and the show began.  Little Mister's eyes got very large.  But He sucked away at that pacifier and kept quiet.  Not that you could have heard Him if He's screamed; my ears are still ringing.  Despite the decibels, Missy began to nod with Her lollipop candy (it broke off the stick) in Her mouth. It terrified J and I until She finally chomped it up and went to sleep in the second act.  Mister went in and out the whole time- mostly out.
But Little One.
I mean, it was a *musical*.  In the bathroom at intermission (all my Catholics are like, "at the WHAT now?!") yes, at the intermission, Little One excitedly told me, "Mom! I love this! It is so NOT-boring, I don't even need all my crayons and stuff! I don't even need any-thing! It's so a'citing!" 
Yes.  She was excited for the whole thing.  She asked lots of questions and payed close attention.  She did a little bounce, a little sway, when the gospel songs got rocking.  She may have held a hand up, every now and again.
At the end, the pastor got up and did some talking. He asked if anyone was coming to Jesus tonight.  If anyone was feeling the spirit.  People raised their hands.  Little One raised Her hand.  Miss and Mister continued to sleep.  He asked everyone who was finding or re-finding Jesus to come to the front.  I let Her go.  I saw Her fly down the isle in a blur of silver-pink dress and billowing hair.
But the crowds got so large I began to worry.  So, with Little Mister asleep in my arms, I made my way down to the front of the seats.  Little One was in the VERY front, both Her hands raised high, listening to the pastor and not caring, particularly, whether I was there or not.  But I stayed.
The the guy said that all of us in the front, who had just found Jesus, would be counseled. And suddenly! There was a woman at my arm asking my name, address, and email.
Um.
Ok, so.  I figured, they won't hound a little kid, right?  So I panicked and threw mine under the bus.
"Um...I....I-I....ask Her!"  I pointed to Little One.  "I.....I just...followed Her up here." 
I dunno, guys.  I kind of thought she'd leave it alone if it was just a little kid.  But no. The lady asked Little One to spell Her name and address and took it all down.  I was just trying to get out of giving out my phone number and email, when Little One saved me by pulling at my dress and plaintively begging, "Jesus! Jesus!!" 
She'd asked me earlier, so I knew.  And I explained to the address-lady.  "She said She really wants...to meet Jesus." 
She did, guys.  She  had been begging since the crucifixion.  She wanted a photo with him.
Lady was touched.  She said,  "You want to meet Jesus?  Let's meet some Jesus."
And she took Little One's hand.  And without even acknowledging this over-protective parent, off they went.  Backstage.
A moment later, J popped up cradling a sleeping Missy.  I was cradling sleeping Mister.
"Where's Little One?" He asked.  And I could only answer,
"She... She...She's gone to be with Jesus."
She had.
A friendly usher ushered us backstage, too, and there She was.  Jesus, who had been Risen and exalted, was standing there in his stage make-up and purple, sequined Jesus gown.  Little One had stars in Her eyes. At Her bequest, we snapped a photo and about a dozen people remarked on the adorable piousness of Little One as we made our way out.
Even though the length of this production put even a Catholic Mass to shame (no easy feat) I'm glad we went. For one thing, I believe that trying new things and different things is important.  And this thing was about as far from a Catholic Mass as you could fly and still say "Jesus".
For another, the kids had a great time; it was like going to a loud, slightly off-key broadway show.
Also, though, it told the Christian Easter story like no book ever could.
At one point, listening to the dialogue, Little One asked me, "Mommy, what's a 'sacrifice'?" 
Do moms ever know the answer to that one.
In the end I think She actually got a lot out of it, and J and I had to laugh just a little as we hauled our Littles back home to bed. Because of course.
Of course  if Little One is going to find Jesus- She would find Him onstage.

Be Optimistic

Our Little One was born with Her arms stretched wide, greeting the world at the top of Her lungs.

I know, now, that She was singing.  

She's rarely stopped since.  A chance whim of mine to let Her watch Mary Martin's Peter Pan  during one of Her fevers, at two, hooked Her deeply and forever on musicals and broadway show tunes.  This genre, never present in our home before Little One, has become a permanent Pandora station, and in a way serves as background music for much of our last few years.  

Some time ago, I accompanied the Little's lunch (soup) with a song I recalled from childhood (concerning monkeys and rabbits that loop the loop), and the giggles it produced compelled me to play the original version for them on YouTube.  

There was Shirley Temple, tapping her toes, bouncing her curls, and singing away to adulation.  Little Miss loved it.  She couldn't get enough.  As for Little One?  She seemed to see in Shirley a soul cut of the same cloth.  They both fell in love.

Who hasn't?  I remember watching those curls bounce and trying to tap along when I was little.  I remember my mother humming along, surely transported to her own childhood dreams of the good ship lollipop.  And one of my dearest memories is of sitting in the guest room with my grandmother, as she reverently brought out the Shirley Temple paper dolls she had played with as a child- and saved all those years, they were that precious.  We played with them for hours; Shirley Temple could close the gap of two generations so simply.  

She's hemmed in another generation in this family now, too, encompassing my children.  We keep a lookout for Shirley in the movie section of the library, and even though there are no animations, no special effects, sometimes not even color, they easily compete with the flashiest modern productions for a place in my Little's interest.  

Most recently, we watched (and re-watched, and again) Little Miss Broadway, and a part of that movie twirled out of the screen and affixed itself to our daily lives like a sequin on one of Miss Shirley's flouncy dresses.  

It began with Little Miss.  You are familiar with Missy?  Of the world-infamous frowny face?  There was one episode in which this face which was particularly stubborn and I could not seem to remove it, no matter what solvent I tried.  Then Little One swept in- Her own curls bouncing- regaling Missy with their favorite song from Little Miss Broadway.  

"Be optimistic!" Little One crooned at Her sister, "Don't you be a grumpy! When the road gets bumpy, just smile!"

Like a magic spell, Missy broke out in laughter.  It has been our lucky charm ever since.  Whenever one of us begins to pout or get cranky, someone pipes up with the little song and, if you can believe it, we just about always end up all smiles, the lot of us.  It's a silly, old fashioned song.  Which is just the point.  You can't hear it or sing it without laughing.  Try it!  

I'm not much for the worship of celebrity.  I mean, I don't know these people, and I find it odd to be transfixed by someone I've never met.  So I can't say that I'm personally affected by the death of Shirley Temple Black, as a person.  But I can say I feel a gratitude for the uncommon manner in which she managed to serve as a positive role model her entire life.  And I do have a tenderness in my heart for the idea of Shirley Temple- the idea of generations of people cherishing innocence and simple fun despite themselves. 

So, to commemorate this legacy and honor the ray of sunshine her childhood curls have reflected into my own family's life, here is our Little tribute.

Veteran's Day

My Veteran

Just over a year ago we were standing on a dock, waiting to welcome J back home.  In the moments just before we saw him, when the sailors began filing down the gangway, everything that had been forced behind doors and under stones in my heart rose like floodwater and began to sting my eyes.  All the worry, the hope, the proud moments and the weak ones.  I will never forget that moment, the one in which it seemed ok to let those things exist because it was going to be over.
We're a lucky family.  J has been gone only once, not for too long, and he came back. Since that moment I have never stopped being thankful for that, and never stopped crying a little in the deep parts of my heart for all the families who are not so fortunate.
For me, though Veteran's Day has always mattered, it will never be the same. This year, I took time to be extra thankful both for J, for the fact that we were able to spend the day together, and for the sacrifices made by those who never will be tangible to their families again. We celebrated all this deep meaningfulness (and also the fact that J got the day off) by taking a trip to Montecello.
We picked apples in an impossibly picturesque orchard on a hill, and then learned all about one of the most influential men in our nation's history- Thomas Jefferson- by touring his home and museum. A fascinating character.  In interesting estate.  A lot of hard questions to answer like "what's a slavery?"  It was a full, educational, and lovely day for us all.

Hot Cider!