my kind of study buddy

After a week of saints costumes, school spirit dress, and "crazy hat day" (in which I fashioned a cardinal's biretta something like Cardinal Dolan is sporting here with a little help from this dude), the Catholic Schools Week festivities culminated with school Mass and receptions in the classrooms.  Back in the triple digit heat at the beginning of the school year, I had signed up to supply a "sweet treat" for the younger lad's party. This is what I came up with (by way of one of many gracious hostesses I'm delighted to count among my relatives):

I call it "Study Buddy Snack Mix".  It's crazy good.

It was so easy, I didn't even stay up half the night making it (although I may have botched melting some white chocolate in the process; it all worked out in the end).

Get the full scoop at Foodie Proclivities!

[sic]

Ever notice a quote in a newspaper article or other written source that has an obvious typo or grammatical gaffe followed by [sic]?  That part in brackets means "thus was it written", basically owning that the writer knows that the something's amok in the quote with spelling, syntax, or whatever, but that's how it was originally stated.

Ergo...

• The Kindergartner in the family greatly enjoyed his snack from [the lucky pot] (otherwise known as "potluck") one day this week. 
• The Second Grader was eager to tell his dad that the lad had been allowed to bring home the  classroom 2013 [alamanack] to peruse at his leisure. 

I'd add these to [stoo-dul] in our family dictionary of toddlerisms, were it not for the fact that the lads who utter such endearing blunders are hardly toddlers anymore.  Apparently, a new chapter is in order.

sugar shock

On Fridays the eighth graders at our parish school stage a bake sale for the rest of the students, who come with their quarters after school Mass.  Today was the first time the younger lad's kindergarten class went to school Mass (they had been going to chapel separately since school began) and bake sale, so I was eager to hear how things went from the younger lad's perspective.

"Good," he said, in his usual way. 

"What did you get at the bake sale?" I asked him.

The elder lad responded for his brother, "he got a graham cracker with frosting and colored chocolate chips.  I was going to get one, but it looked really unhealthy, so I got a donut."

out and about

In the past couple of weeks we've been taking in some local attractions and special events:

• We made it out to see the last B-29 bomber still flying at the local air and space museum, which made for good nostalgia considering it was the plane my Papa Jack trained to serve on as a flight engineer in World War II (though the War thankfully ended before he saw combat).  That event also allowed us the opportunity to sample some of the offerings from a food truck, which was fun from a foodie standpoint, if not necessarily one of expediency.  We waited for a *long* time for that food. 
• We had a great time at our parish school's annual Fair, complete with tasty (and quick) food served by the Knights of Columbus, pony rides (for the horse-loving lads, anyway), a petting zoo, lots of fun games, an obstacle course, and a live bluegrass band.  It was a humdinger of a festival.
• We've been on a few field trips.  The elder lass's preschool class went to a humongous fire station *and* the pumpkin patch (not all in the same place or on the same day), and the younger lad's kindergarten class went to the apple orchard. 

While we greatly treasure and preciously guard our stay home days more so all the time, getting out to these events has been refreshing, exhilarating, and delightful for everyone involved. 

already?!

Our kind-hearted Kindergartner the younger lad tossed this bombshell my direction in his usual nonchalant way: "A lot of girls have been noticing me, Mommy."

me: "Who?  Where?"

him: "In the cafeteria.  They asked me my name."

The elder lad suspects they were sixth grade girls, as if that helps.

brown baggin'

School has started for our bambini.  The elder lad is in second grade now, the younger lad is a wide-eyed kindergartener, and the elder lass is going to preschool two days a week ('twas her idea).  So far things are going well, though I always brace for a harrowing adjustment time the first few weeks(!) of school as everyone gets used to the new reality.

Along with the earlier wake up call, school days signal a return to packing lunches.  The lads like to eat school lunch when breakfast is on the menu, but otherwise they take their lunch.  The elder lass has to take her lunch.

from Bread and Jam for Frances by Russell Hoban

Given my thorough treatment of picky eating preferences, I still try to keep things interesting as well as healthy and delicious in their lunchboxes. For ideas I pore over all the posts I can find on the subject, including this witty and informative post penned by my sweet friend Katie. I'm especially fascinated by the whole bento box movement, which places a premium on the presentation of food as a pathway to the food actually being eaten. I have yet to carve hot dogs into octopuses of cut out fruit in flower shapes, though. The closest I've gotten is my rainbow fruit skewer.

While some of the bambini are more open than others to variety in their lunchboxes (I won't name names), this passage from Bread and Jam for Frances by Russell Hoban (we are, by the way, big time Frances fans) neatly sums up the attitude of at least one of our bambini when it comes to branching out a bit:

"How do you know what you'll like 

if you won't even try anything?" asked Father.

"Well," said Frances,

 "there are many different things to eat,

and they taste many different ways.

But when I have bread and jam

I always know what I am getting, and I am always pleased."

Frances may not be open to spicing things up a bit (at least not at the beginning; I won't spoil the ending), but at least she and her friend Albert take a real lunch break to enjoy their food.

from Bread and Jam for Frances by Russell Hoban

With the prospect of recess looming for kids who are hungry but eager to burn off some pent-up energy, lunch is less leisurely, more pit-stop-esque, there's hardly time for doilies and tiny vases of violets...

wake up call

With both lads in elementary school this year, we decided to put an alarm clock (the one I used in my former life when it was just my enormous yellow Persian cat Baldwin the former starving stray and me) in the bedroom they share. The idea is to begin cultivating within the lads the sense of responsibility to get themselves up and going, rather than relying on us to do it for them -- or something like that.

I showed the elder lad (who can tell time pretty well) how to set both the actual time and the wake time on the alarm clock (see above about the whole cultivating responsibility thing). Off he went to make sure it worked after so long in cold storage.

The ol' alarm clock does indeed still work, as repeated tests in one- to two-minute increments show.  This surreal experience was not unlike enduring a prolonged test of the Emergency Broadcast System or what I would imagine the master alarm on a submarine or Space Shuttle would sound like.

Six days a week we are all up and at 'em, thanks to the time-tested little digital alarm clock with enough chutzpah to awaken an entire household.

Super Tuesday

Our eighth wedding anniversary was this past Tuesday, which was also the first day of school for the elder lad (now in second grade) and elder lass (who started preschool two days a week) with some medical- and school-related appointments for the younger lad thrown in the mix for some logistical bonus points.  (His first day of Kindergarten came two days later.)

With everything going on that busy "super Tuesday", it didn't bear much resemblance to the peaceful day my beloved and I entered into the sacrament of marriage. To celebrate this anniversary, we had gone out to dinner the previous weekend, and I made a favorite meal on our actual anniversary, but the focus of the day was not so much on the two of us as it was about the young family for whom we are now caring.  This anniversary had its roots in that wedding day, when we consented to accepting children willingly from the Lord and bringing them up according to the law of Christ and his Church. 

We are in a season of family life where the bambini are a primary focus of our efforts, attention, and energy.  As we continue to discern how best to balance their needs with our own, including the need for the two of us to stay in sync as we journey heavenward, I pray the Lord will continue to bless us with opportunities for refreshment with each other, for wisdom to know how best to care for the bambini he has seen fit to send our way (if only for a little while), for grace to see each other as Christ sees each of us and love each other accordingly, and for length of days to serve him hand in hand. 

I'm still here.

A recent spate of stormy weather coinciding with an overnight business trip for my beloved requiring that I drive like mom one morning in the midst of many end-of-Kindergarten festivities for the elder lad has spelled a drought for this chronicle.  I'm still here, though, with a laundry list of salient topics (but lots of laundry to keep on, lest it bury me alive) in my mental queue.  So please stick with me...

myopic view?

Since he is still hyped up from the "come join Cub Scouts" ice cream social the elder lad went to with my beloved this evening, the soon-to-be kindergarten graduate is taking some extra time to wind down to sleep.  He is, however, doling out sweet smiles as he is telling me how much fun he had at the event, which reminds me of similarly sweet smiles he gave as a baby...

me: "when you smile at me like that, it's like sunshine to my heart."

him: "when you smile at me, you look like you have two heads and four eyes."

Gee, thanks. 

fun in a jam jar

For the Kindergarten moms' monthly gathering last week, I took something tasty and (partly) homemade...

 Get the recipes at Foodie Proclivities!

likely story

me: "What's that on your shirt, babe?" as the elder lad boards the Honeywagon after school.
him: "I think it's mud."

me: "that's a strange place for mud -- it's just a little bit and right at your collar."
him: no comment.

me: "I ask because I want to know how to treat the stain."
him: "It's chocolate milk.  I got it because it's Thursday -- almost Friday."
*As in, bring on the weekend!  Chocolate milk all around!
 
I've used this logic myself, but the shirt still hasn't come clean...

C.W. Anderson's Billy & Blaze books

On our afternoon drive to collect the Kindergartner from school (the one who came charging around the corner today, backpack bouncing from side to side on his back, huge grin on his face, Bon Jovi-esque hair flapping every which way in the wind), we drive past a home on a large lot with "miniature horses" for sale.  Said "miniature horses" (not ponies, though I still don't know the difference) are often grazing in the large yard in front of the manor house, and we always look for them.

(Well, the lass usually looks for them, if she's awake; the younger lad is often on his way to zonking out for a power nap by that point.)

Whenever the lads are playing with cars and trucks, very often at least one of them has a horse trailer hitched up to a truck or similar vehicle.  Neither of them has ever ridden a horse, but the lads find the creatures especially fascinating -- at least as seen from the safety of their car seats.

By happy accident, my eyes landed on some books by C.W. Anderson on the top shelf of the children's section at our branch library that have since become some of the lads' favorites.   Their hero is a young squire named Billy, a country boy who loves horses more than anything else.  He receives a horse for his birthday that he names Blaze.  In various adventures, the inseparable pair inspire a neighbor boy and his pony, save a number of homes from destruction by forest fire, vanquish a mountain lion, befriend a wild stallion, and make new friends and discoveries exploring both the wooded area around their home and places the family visits (horse trailer hitched up to the family vehicle, of course).   Anderson's pencil-drawn illustrations bring the stories to life while allowing plenty of room for  imagination.

Along with other vintage favorites of ours such as those by Esther Averill and those by Edward Ardizzone, they have the kind of timeless appeal that keeps them relevant, entertaining, and inspirational in an age of glowing screens and urban sprawl.

In fact, sometimes these books are about the only enticement we can offer those mud-lovin' lads to come in from the slop for some quiet time.  That's probably as it should be...

vaporlocked

The moms from my elder lad's kindergarten class gathered last night to catch up after the long snow break.  I really wanted to go, but I didn't.

It wasn't that I didn't want to socialize and develop relationships with those moms.  I did. 

It wasn't that I didn't need some time to regroup after a day frought with the emotional highs and lows of life with four young children.  I did.

As much as I would have loved to have gone to the gathering of moms from my elder lad's kindergarten class last night, when it came down to it, the price was too high to pay for a few hours out on this particular school night -- for everyone. 

Yes, I know Mama needs some time to herself.  Yes, I know Mama needs to have friendships with peers such as those in this group.  Yes, I know it's just a few hours of one evening every once in a while.  Yes, I know it's good for my bambini to rely on other people (such as their father) for some things.   Yes, I know everyone benefits from Mama having aspects of life outside of child- and home-tending. Yes, I know I might come across as deferring too much to an overly child-centric approach at the expense of my own needs.

This was the discourse chattering in my brain much of the day as I weighed the decision to go.  I was one big stress ball about it, as I could all too easily imagine a frantic baby, a Kindergartner up too late because of that, and the two middle littles similarly upset by the departure from our routine.  I had my beloved's support either way I decided (for which I am so grateful), but I really wrestled with making a decision and being at peace about it.

Striking the balance between caring for these young children and tending to my own spiritual, physical, and psychological needs is an ever-present challenge.  I am actively working on ways to develop and nurture friendships as well as my own faith life without causing undue stress on my six-month-old baby who is by her God-given nature meant to be at home with her mother at bedtime (and everyone else at the same time).

Maybe I make too much of it, but in our particular circumstances with three other young children, this is how it is for the time being.  It won't always be this way.  Maybe things will be different even by the time the moms get together again next month.

We go one day at a time around here.  I may miss out on some fun and worthwhile things, but in choosing to stay home with my littles and my beloved and end the day in peace, I haven't missed a thing.

best medicine

With temperatures now in the 50s and 60s as opposed to those hovering around zero last week, the blanket of snow that tucked us in at home for a good ten days or so (with a few exceptions) is melting rapidly.  In spite of all my yammering about cabin fever and cracking of potty jokes, I must admit the time spent at home was -- for the most part -- peaceful, pleasant, and suffused with grace.

Still, humbling as it is to admit, I am prone to gloominess at the prospect of being unable to get out and about at my whim.  When I sense this mood coming on, I try to put it in perspective by thinking of the untold numbers of people who simply do not have the same freedom due to infirmity or even political circumstance.   Such realizations help snap me out of my pity party.  

We are humbly blessed to have been able to retreat from the world and ride out the impassable conditions without much recourse.  My beloved was able to work from home (albeit with one or more bambini pressing noses up to the glass in his home office door wanting to make appointments with him), and we pretty much stuck to the routine (ever-evolving as it may be).  I was truly grateful not to have to answer to the alarm clock after the usual multiple rousings each night to tend to one or more bambini.  And my laundry-folding table stayed refreshingly visible throughout the week, as I was able to process the loads of clean laundry in smaller batches rather than chipping away at the usual mountainous pile. 

On Friday the elder lad returned to school, and we went to school Mass.   It was our first real outing in a week.  Our Kindergartner sat with us this time rather than with his class as he usually does because we were celebrating Catholic Schools Week -- observed a week behind schedule because of the snow days the previous week -- and there had been a special invitation issued to families for this particular Mass (not that they aren't always welcome at school Mass, because they are).  After receiving Communion, I watched the elder lad walking ahead of me spontaneously grasp his little brother's hand as they navigated through the lines of people back to our pew.  I thought I just might dissolve in a puddle of Mama mush at the sight of it.

The white out of the past two weeks is now a colorful memory.  We were all definitely ready for a change of scenery.  Emerging from our cave to go to Mass was more than that, though.  As it had been for us the first week of the snowstorm when we'd gotten out to go to Sunday Mass at our home parish, school Mass on Friday was the best medicine ever prescribed.

flashpoint

I've reconstructed the piece I drafted and obliterated a few days ago.  From psychoanalysis to performance review...

Before this snow mess caused the closure of school for four days last week, I witnessed a scene after school one afternoon that sticks with me, especially juxtaposed against the scene that played out at home later that afternoon.

As I doled out the fruit snacks that are now somehow expected by my passengers once we arrive in the school parking lot, I saw what I presumed to be a father and son duo standing outside their SUV.  They aren't among the "regulars" of that parking lot (there are a few lots at school, and the ones who park where I do are mostly familiar to me now), so I took notice of them in an attempt to be observant of my surroundings.  The son was leaning up against the vehicle, his arms crossed and his head hung low.  His father took a similar stance as he stood facing the lad, arms crossed and back stiff.  The lad looked down at the ground, up at the sky, around the parking lot -- anywhere but at his father.  The father's body language suggested a chastisement being issued.

Down-dressing finished, the two got in their vehicle and left.  I offered a silent prayer for them, that there would be peace between them and a peaceful resolution to whatever conflict brought about the scene after school.  The lad may very well have "had it coming" to him for some poor choice he'd made before or at school, but I felt so badly for him to have had that obviously stressful encounter with his father upon their reunion after they'd been apart all day.

Back at our house later that afternoon, the elder lad was having some trouble respecting his siblings' personal space.  He's really made some great strides in the past several weeks in this area, showing great consideration of their feelings and wishes and offering his able assistance to them in many ways.  We've made sure to commend and thank him for these valiant efforts.  But we all have our moments of lesser than greatness, and he was having his.  It was happy hour, after all.  After fair warning, multiple attempts to engage him in positive interaction, and ample opportunity to remember himself and his young squire principles, I finally insisted he regroup in his room until he could treat others with the respect due them.  I wasn't exactly using my kindest voice as I led him to his room, but I made sure to let him know I would do the same for him should he be on the receiving end of similar garden variety (or worse) ill treatment from his siblings or anyone else.

Although my lad ultimately pulled it together and we ended the day in peace, I still rehashed the scene in my head when I followed through on the disciplinary measure I let him know he would incur (that of removal from the scene until he could be respectful of others).  I always do this, because I want to analyze the contributing factors that led to things coming to the point they did in an effort to minimize those that cause such trouble in the future, paying special attention to how I handled myself in the heat of the moment -- and how I can do better next time.

I pray that we who are entrusted with the care and tending of these young souls always exercise our God-given authority in as Christ-like a manner as possible, with love, gentleness, compassion, and a commitment to justice, so that our bambini will develop the self discipline to conduct themselves similarly.

far out

A sick day from school was no excuse for a day lolling around doing nothing (that came later in the week when Mama succumbed to the full force of The Sniffles).  On Monday the elder lad was coming off a fever he'd run over the weekend, so he stayed home from school.  He and his brother had been engrossed by the space-themed play set their aunt and uncle had given them for Christmas over the weekend, and the intergalactic fun continued on the sick day.  Thus was born the thematic approach to our unexpected stay home day.

We read Martian Rock by Carol Diggory Shields (illustrated by Scott Nash), in which a group of Martians set off in a space ship from their home planet to explore the galaxy looking for signs of life.  They refer to the planets as "orbs", and as they visit each one we learn a little something about the composition of that planet.  The last one they visit is Earth, where they land on the South Pole.  Thinking there is no life on this orb just as there hadn't been on any of the others, they are about to head home until they encounter a colony of penguins...

Since this is a multi-age classroom (ahem), we also read Helen Oxenbury's Tom and Pippo See the Moon, one of the gifts the lass received for her second birthday.  Tom asks Daddy all about the moon and considers going there himself in a rocket with Pippo (after a good night's sleep).  Considering our affinity for Tom and Pippo, and the insatiable interest children have in the potty and what transpires there (there's a drawing of Tom sitting on his gazing at the moon), this book is an instant winner here. 

To develop logic, critical thinking, and spatial-relational skills, we worked our new solar system puzzle. 

Add to this the space-themed songs from our Schoolhouse Rock playlist.  And for "glowing screen time" (I can't take credit for that term, but I love it), we watched an episode of the PBS show Word World about compound words entitled "Race to the Spaceship/Sandbox Surprise".

Not too shabby for a sick day...

drive like mom

My dad drove me to school most of the time.  It was a special time for the two of us, triggered in my memory by hearing renditions of "Zippity Doo Dah" and other such ditties.  He and I have logged a lot of miles together, not just to and from school, but back and forth to Chicago lots and lots of times over the years. 

Sometimes we needed to make haste in the direction of our destination (which was usually not too far from our starting point, my hometown being small-ish and all).  At such times I am reported to have suggested he "drive like Mom."  That meant... with purpose (or something like that).  Nothing illegal or aggressive.  Just determined. 

My mom, you see, is a self-proclaimed gearhead and likes to get where she's going.  It's part of her charm.  We love her for it.

That's how I drove this morning when my beloved had to catch an early flight for a business meeting, which meant I needed to get our elder lad to kindergarten.  Four bambini plus Mama tripping over each other to get out the door at sunrise for the forty minute commute equals some fantastic feats of daring and silliness (such as Mama donning a sweater with a pretty butterfly -- a noticeable departure from my usual solid-color selections -- and declaring with great fanfare that it is "Fresh Contact Day" for Mama!!!), but we did it.  We made it to school on time. 

not Super Mommy

Some well-meaning people when marveling at my posse of children have made the declaration "wow!  You must be Super Mommy!"

Hardly.
(but thanks for the vote of confidence)

Sometimes I lose my temper, I grow weary of caterwauling and shenanigans, and I'm not too keen on the idea of constructing a complicated Lego truck while also trying to manage a toddler who thinks she's as big as her brothers and a baby who'd like some nursing, please.  I would love to be more present in my elder lad's Kindergarten classroom, but I have an obligation to the little ones at home.  I can't be everywhere at once.

I was late to "Muffins with Mom" this morning.  I was behind from the moment I got up this morning, and my timely departure for school was adversely affected.  As I drove I imagined the lad waiting for me, seeing the other moms coming in and hugging their children, and wondering where I was.  I called the school to let them know I was en route (and to please pass that reassurance along to my lad, which they did), but I know that didn't really make up for my tardiness.

Once I got there, he (and the other moms) seemed relieved.  If he was upset that I was late, he did not let on.  Instead, he read me the book he had made for me entitled "My Magnificent Mom" and introduced me (again) and his baby sister to his "school mates".  (The middle two children went to the park with my mother and sister.)  As I looked around the room I spotted a drawing on the wall he'd done of us, his family. I've been asking him for just such a thing.  I think it's part of his "home sweet home" center.  I plan to break up some of the expanse of bare walls around here with it once it comes home.

After school the bambini successfully lobbied to play on the playground.  We do this at least once a week.  It's been a good way for me to meet some of the other moms.  As I stood near the play structure surveying the scene and drifting in and out of the conversation a few moms were having behind me, my eyes landed on the figure of a child lying face down on the ground on the opposite side of the structure not so very far from me, but out of arm's reach.  It was my child -- my younger lad, who had misplaced his foot on a spiraling ladder-type apparatus and fallen about five feet.  He'd been all over that structure lots of times before and is an able climber, so his fall was a sorry surprise to me. He was not injured but understandably shaken.  Of course I rushed right over, as did a friend of mine who'd seen him fall.  She spoke of seeing other children do the same thing before -- not to minimize the incident but to commiserate with me in a way.  After checking him over and hugging him close, we walked back to the car and went home.

I know I can't protect my children from every hurt, be they physical or emotional, though I try my utmost to do so.  I hadn't foreseen such an accident happening or else I wouldn't have let him climb up there.

As these most recent cases in point illustrate, I'm not Super Mommy.  Meeting the needs of these little ones can be an exhausting, emotionally draining endeavor.  I am humbled to be entrusted with their care and honored to give it.  I'm not perfect, but I'm not giving up.

home sweet home

The kindergartners in one of the classes at the elementary school where my beloved's mother teaches third grade are apparently studying transportation.  On one bulletin board, black construction paper cutouts of VW Beetle-shaped cars are affixed to pages that say "my car is going..."  Each child finished the sentence and drew a picture to match.  A few of the cars were going to McDonald's or outer space or someplace equally exciting.  Six of them, however, were going "home."

The centers in our elder lad's kindergarten classroom have a Halloween theme to them, but their pretend play center is called "home sweet home." 

As the heart of this home, I pray that my loved ones -- the ones who spend many of their waking hours away from home (at least on weekdays), those who are here with me all the sometimes live-long day, and those who visit for a little or a long while -- may find this place to be one of refuge, peace, and joy.