A weekend of Firsts

Last weekend, was the start of the loss of little boy Isaac. Our Webelos 1 den went on their first patrol campout with the parents close at their heels. We were ready to help pitch tents, bandage wounds, douse flames or whatever came up.

To the boys credit, and the parents stunned pride. None of that was needed. We had a great time, and I think Isaac said "Hi, Mom" to me once as he skirted through the parental side of the camp to get something he had left behind.

It was also Sarah's first camping experience. Apprehensive at first, she didn't quite get why I was shoving all our belongings - including her pillow into a thin cloth thing that resembled a giant purse. And when the flashlight clicked off at 11 pm the first night and sucked the tent and everything in it into a black abyss, Sarah was a bit concerned. The new night noises were a little overwhelming at first too.

But after that first night, she settled right in and became little woods girl. She charmed the people we were with and bopped around the campsite like she owned it.

When the time to tear down camp came, Sarah was very upset to see the tent go. She told me several times that she wanted to stay and didn't want to go back home. At least until I reminded her that her toys, clothes and the flushing toilet were at home waiting for us. Then she got in the car.

A Jellyfish Has No Brain

Today I had the pleasure of attending a Mother's Day Program put on by the first grade students. When the pagentry was done, I sat chatting with Aaron and relishing in the time to speak with him without the constant interruptions from the many responsibilities that follow me around.

I questioned him on their recent project on the ocean and its creatures.

He researched crayfish, but wanted me to know about the jellyfish which has no brain. I marvelled at that with him for a moment and then asked him how did the jellyfish know what to do.

His answer: Mom, without a brain, they don't ever get anything right.

How Do You Say B-I-B-L-E

7 months ago Sarah did not know one iota of English. As she began speaking in English, her words still had a very Chinese flavor to them. Mandarain does not end with closed sounds, but everything seems to be open at the end of a phrase. Now this is just an observation, don't take it for fact, but I haven't heard anything end at the back of the throat or with a persons lips closed in Mandarin. So she would say I like-a mama, or I want-a a cookie. Sometimes she still does this and it really can crack me up!

Anyway, Sarah has been here awhile now and has emersed in English. I have been ecstatic to hear her utter words like kitty, mommy, bed, and at this point my list could go on forever -because she knows so much.

However, I was stopped short yesterday when she asked me if she could take her bIIIIIble to Walmart with us.

I did not spell bible incorrectly in the sentence above. I hope that you can hear her say bIIIIble with the long i - stretched to an infinitesimal length. It is just the way a Native East Texan would have said it.

So quickly she has gone from being completely Chinese to being a Texas Cutie Pie.

Dear Teacher

Dear Teacher,

I know when you call me to tell me about my child's behavior that it needs to be done. I know my child can do wrong and I know that my child can infuriate Mother Teresa if in the right mood.

But please, Mrs. Teacher, remember that I am the mom and I love this child dearly. Please remember this is very personal to me and my heart breaks when you tell me what my child has done and what you have done to my child - even if it was an inadvertant wrong.

Mrs. Teacher, when you tell me you have tried everything, please don't be offended when I question you about everything. Please don't assume that I am angry with you or blame you. Please remember that I desire what you do - A happy, well behaved child. But do respect that even with your experience as a teacher, I know this child better. This child is mine.

Sincerely,

The Parent

Our Route 66 Spring Break

How to Feel Like You've Accomplished Something With Three Kids in the House

I have never been a "crafty" person. I have tried to sew. I have tried to scrapbook, make flower arrangements etc. All failures. I was resigned that crafting was not my thing. I could find my creative outlet in other ways. After all, shopping and pedicures took lots less effort.

Then this new little girl came into my life and I went to buy my first hair bow and almost fell over! 8 dollars for a really cute one and I was going to need a bow to match every outfit, especially if she was going to become a proper "bow head".

As luck would have it, my wonderful Sis-in-law (who is very crafty) had just learned to make bows and she consented to teach me. I had my reservations since I stink at everything other craft I've tried, but I pressed on and made a bow, and another, and another...and another.

Success. In fact, I am now getting so good, I feel comfortable giving some away. So two Sunday afternoons ago, I sat down to do a craft. I worked for two hours and made about twenty-five bows. Cute, crafty bows

I felt accomplished - elated. In the midst of a time in my life when nothing is ever finished and my children are so needy, I finished a couple hours of work and saw my progress. Something was done. And then I understood my fellow crafty friends. They craft to express and to see finished work. They get to say, look what I have done. I am accomplished!

Eskimos or Joes

There is a very famous restaurant in Stillwater, OK that my family frequents on our trips to my Alma Mater and to see my husband's mother. (mater, mother...ha ha. )

Anyway, the restaurant is Eskimo Joe's. They have the best Cheese fries on the planet and some really awesome sweet peppered bacon. My family loves it and they love Joe, the Eskimo mascot and his faithful dog, Buffy.

On Saturday, I was alone with Aaron for a short while and he asked me what a "Joe" ate. The question puzzled me and I asked for a repeat. Once again he asked "What does a Joe eat?" I am thinking that Joe is a friend, or an animal, or this is an elaborate 7 year old joke. So I ask him to tell ME what they eat in order to ward off getting stuck as the butt of his joke. Aaron, unfortunately, just looked confused and became more emphatic.

"Mom, what does a Joe eat? You know those cold people in fur that live with the polar bears."

I immediately saw the error of our hamburger, cheese fries eating ways. I suddenly realized that Joe's not only causes clogged arteries, but a complete misrepresentation of an Eskimo and the name Joe. My son is doomed.