Tomorrow is the first day of school, and as usual I'm wrapped up in knots. I always get a little anxious the night before the first day, even after all these years.
Last year I was on edge thinking about my grade level switch to first grade. I wasn't sure what to expect, so I planned that first morning precisely. When the morning bell sounded, I opened the door to all those smiling faces and welcomed them in.
I was not, however, very welcoming to their parents. I was friendly, and I greeted them warmly, and then I promptly had their children wave good-bye and I closed the door in their worried, hesitating faces. Truly, I thought I was doing them a favor. Plus, I had all those little squirts to deal with, and that was my job. Not coddling moms.
Well, shoe's on the other foot now, isn't it? I sit here tonight anxiously, not because I'm facing school tomorrow. That's cake. I sit here unable to sleep because tomorrow is Jaden's first day of Kindergarten. She's ready. I know she is. She'll be great.
Except I'm kind of nervous about her getting on the daycare van okay. Even with help, she's never made her way from point A to point B without Craig or I to hold her hand.
Also, she still needs help sometimes in the bathroom. What if she gets in there and can't get her uniform skirt back on right? Are the little 5 year old boys going to see her Hello Kitty panties and laugh at her?
And what about getting through the cafeteria lunch line? She's never had to balance a tray of anything in her hands, much less loose food! Hell, the girl can barely walk across the room without tripping over her two left feet.
And speaking of lunchtime, I have to give her a dollar for lunch tomorrow, and where exactly am I supposed to put that? Is she going to remember what it's for? Her experience with money is limited to Chuck E. Cheese tokens and random quarters she finds in the laundry room. Has she ever even seen a dollar bill? I forget, and I can't exactly wake her up and ask her now.
Her kindergarten teacher is a friend of ours, I trust her very much, and truly I don't feel compelled in the slightest to bug Ms. Jeffrey with my mommy worries and eek out some reassurance.
Yet, as I consider tomorrow morning, I realize that I kind of wish I could peek in the classroom door at 8:00, and watch Jaden's face as she finds her seat. I'd like to be able to smile reassuringly to her, and make sure she feels secure before backing out of the doorway. I'd like to take a picture of her in her seat on her first day of school. I'd like to be the mom for a few minutes before going back to being the teacher.
Oh, my gosh. Did I get it wrong last year? Should I have been more welcoming to parents, and let them hover for a few minutes? Just in case...I'm changing my game plan tomorrow morning. My motto has always been to treat children the way my own children deserve to be treated. Maybe I should expand that to include their mothers too.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Bread and a Little Jam
I've never told this story to anyone before.
When I was eight, my family lived in the very, very small town of Silver Lake, Oregon. The town of Silver Lake boasted a one-pump gas station, a schoolhouse of four rooms, and just one main paved road right through the center, out of which branched a dozen or so winding dirt roads. There was no supermarket, so going grocery shopping meant an hour drive to the city.
We did have a little corner store that sold a limited variety of staples such as milk, nails, and pastel candy buttons, and it was to here that I sometimes rode my bicycle to pick things up for my mother. I don't think my mom knew how much I hated this errand. Hated it, because I was this timid, shy little kid who hesitated to make eye contact with anyone, including the nice elderly man behind the cash register.
On this particular day, she sent me to buy a loaf of bread. I carefully pocketed the dollar bill she handed me, and set off on my bike. When I got to the store, I parked my bike and winced slightly as the front door tinkled my arrival. I headed to the bakery rack and gently squeezed a loaf of Wonder bread as my mom had taught me. Deeming it fresh enough, I carried it up to the counter where I gazed longingly at the candy buttons behind the glass. Still thinking about candy, I walked out to my bike and headed home.
It wasn't until 10 minutes later, when my bicycle wheels were wobbling up our gravel pathway that I realized I still had that dollar in my pocket! My feet actually froze on the pedals as the horror of what I had done hit me, knocking me over with my bike on top.
Now, let me just pause in the telling for a moment and consider what any other kid would have done in this situation. Would she have biked back to the store and sheepishly handed over the dollar? Maybe, if she was brave. Would she have gone inside and admitted her mistake to her mother? Maybe, if she was honest. Would she have just hid the dollar and taken the bread inside anyway? Maybe, if she was smart.
Me? On this day I was none of those things. I was a panicked little girl whose brain scrambled to come up with the perfect cover-up...one which did NOT involve going back to the store and facing the nice man who had just watched me brazenly walk out his door with my loaf of pilfered Wonder bread.
I decided to get rid of the evidence, and I tossed that loaf of bread into the bushes at the end of our driveway. What was I thinking? Did I think it was going to just magically disappear? Possibly. Panic-stricken eight-year-olds are clearly not the best problem solvers.
So, I went into my house and gave my mom back the dollar, telling her that the store was out of bread. She accepted that with a shrug and began to make soup for lunch instead of peanut butter sandwiches. It was so easy. And I didn't get in trouble. Feeling satisfied with myself, I buried my shoplifting guilt in the back of my mind and went off to play.
It was a short-lived relief, though. That loaf of bread...that stupid loaf of tell-tale bread! Wouldn't you know it? The very next day my mom came rushing through our front door holding up a loaf of Wonder bread! Wow, she exclaimed! Here we were...all out of bread with none in the store, and what do you know? Somebody accidentally dropped a loaf of bread right in front of our house! Was that providence, or what??
We ate our peanut butter sandwiches that day, mine sticking in my throat more than usual. Smiling at me, my mom gave me an unexpected second sandwich just because. And although I had no appetite for it, by God...I ate every bite.
My mom never said anything to me about the bread. I never knew if she really knew the truth or not, and the wondering about that was enough punishment in itself. Coincidentally, my days of shopping went on hiatus for a time. My mom began sending my plucky little sister Jacque, who wasn't scared of anybody or anything...and whatever scrapes she got into, she always brought home the bread.
When I was eight, my family lived in the very, very small town of Silver Lake, Oregon. The town of Silver Lake boasted a one-pump gas station, a schoolhouse of four rooms, and just one main paved road right through the center, out of which branched a dozen or so winding dirt roads. There was no supermarket, so going grocery shopping meant an hour drive to the city.
We did have a little corner store that sold a limited variety of staples such as milk, nails, and pastel candy buttons, and it was to here that I sometimes rode my bicycle to pick things up for my mother. I don't think my mom knew how much I hated this errand. Hated it, because I was this timid, shy little kid who hesitated to make eye contact with anyone, including the nice elderly man behind the cash register.
On this particular day, she sent me to buy a loaf of bread. I carefully pocketed the dollar bill she handed me, and set off on my bike. When I got to the store, I parked my bike and winced slightly as the front door tinkled my arrival. I headed to the bakery rack and gently squeezed a loaf of Wonder bread as my mom had taught me. Deeming it fresh enough, I carried it up to the counter where I gazed longingly at the candy buttons behind the glass. Still thinking about candy, I walked out to my bike and headed home.
It wasn't until 10 minutes later, when my bicycle wheels were wobbling up our gravel pathway that I realized I still had that dollar in my pocket! My feet actually froze on the pedals as the horror of what I had done hit me, knocking me over with my bike on top.
Now, let me just pause in the telling for a moment and consider what any other kid would have done in this situation. Would she have biked back to the store and sheepishly handed over the dollar? Maybe, if she was brave. Would she have gone inside and admitted her mistake to her mother? Maybe, if she was honest. Would she have just hid the dollar and taken the bread inside anyway? Maybe, if she was smart.
Me? On this day I was none of those things. I was a panicked little girl whose brain scrambled to come up with the perfect cover-up...one which did NOT involve going back to the store and facing the nice man who had just watched me brazenly walk out his door with my loaf of pilfered Wonder bread.
I decided to get rid of the evidence, and I tossed that loaf of bread into the bushes at the end of our driveway. What was I thinking? Did I think it was going to just magically disappear? Possibly. Panic-stricken eight-year-olds are clearly not the best problem solvers.
So, I went into my house and gave my mom back the dollar, telling her that the store was out of bread. She accepted that with a shrug and began to make soup for lunch instead of peanut butter sandwiches. It was so easy. And I didn't get in trouble. Feeling satisfied with myself, I buried my shoplifting guilt in the back of my mind and went off to play.
It was a short-lived relief, though. That loaf of bread...that stupid loaf of tell-tale bread! Wouldn't you know it? The very next day my mom came rushing through our front door holding up a loaf of Wonder bread! Wow, she exclaimed! Here we were...all out of bread with none in the store, and what do you know? Somebody accidentally dropped a loaf of bread right in front of our house! Was that providence, or what??
We ate our peanut butter sandwiches that day, mine sticking in my throat more than usual. Smiling at me, my mom gave me an unexpected second sandwich just because. And although I had no appetite for it, by God...I ate every bite.
My mom never said anything to me about the bread. I never knew if she really knew the truth or not, and the wondering about that was enough punishment in itself. Coincidentally, my days of shopping went on hiatus for a time. My mom began sending my plucky little sister Jacque, who wasn't scared of anybody or anything...and whatever scrapes she got into, she always brought home the bread.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Memoirs
Seeing as how all the things presently going on in my life I've deemed either too personal or too boring to write about, I was thinking I'll spend some time writing about my past. It wasn't always pretty, or interesting, but I've loved my life.
"...to understand that a little girl with more courage than she knew, would find her prayers were answered, can that not be called happiness? After all these are not the memoirs of an empress, nor of a queen. These are memoirs of another kind."
Friday, May 6, 2011
Artistic Expression
Abstract cave art believed to be from the Jadeolithic era. Pigment sampling has revealed that early humans enjoyed soap crayon as a popular medium.
Here we have a family scene suggesting a typical hunter-male pulling around a gatherer-female by the hair...
Here we have a family scene suggesting a typical hunter-male pulling around a gatherer-female by the hair...
Although similar paintings can be found in nearby caves, these unfortunately did not survive the erosion inherent to their region.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Thirty-Ten is the New Forty
So. It's not so bad. Really.
For all my self-deprecation this past week, I actually feel good. I feel like me, same as always. "Age is just a number." That's what they say, right? Besides, Kharli tells me I'm officially a cougar now!
I'm not sorry about entering a new decade of numbers. Numbers are important. Numbers represent more than what they are. When we add together all our hours, our days, our years living on this planet...well, why would anyone want to deny those?
Why would I really want to turn back the clock and deny all those days of being me? Why would I be sad and wish to have those days back? If anything, growing a day older only makes me sad in that it means I have one less day to stick around here.
Being older isn't such a bad thing to be. Yes, I have to be more careful about what I eat. And I have to wear sunblock on my toes. I have to take different vitamins than before. I suppose I have to worry about a whole lot of things I never did before.
But to me, being older just means that I've lived. Good or bad, I've lived. That's an amazing feeling. And I can't wait to see how the next forty years play out.
Happy birthday to me. :)
For all my self-deprecation this past week, I actually feel good. I feel like me, same as always. "Age is just a number." That's what they say, right? Besides, Kharli tells me I'm officially a cougar now!
I'm not sorry about entering a new decade of numbers. Numbers are important. Numbers represent more than what they are. When we add together all our hours, our days, our years living on this planet...well, why would anyone want to deny those?
Why would I really want to turn back the clock and deny all those days of being me? Why would I be sad and wish to have those days back? If anything, growing a day older only makes me sad in that it means I have one less day to stick around here.
Being older isn't such a bad thing to be. Yes, I have to be more careful about what I eat. And I have to wear sunblock on my toes. I have to take different vitamins than before. I suppose I have to worry about a whole lot of things I never did before.
But to me, being older just means that I've lived. Good or bad, I've lived. That's an amazing feeling. And I can't wait to see how the next forty years play out.
Happy birthday to me. :)
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