Last night at the pool was everything it should be. After I swam with Chip for a half hour or so, I got out and sat at a table with some other people, enjoying a beer and talking while we watched the kids swim. Bird had brought a friend, but Mare played with some other kids who happened to be there. An older girl befriended Chip and kept him entertained. And I sat and talked and laughed. Summer just doesn’t get better than that.

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Chip is a maniac in the pool. He tells me “You take off that hat - now!” as soon as we arrive. This is his way of letting me know I must get in the pool with him because he wants to play. He loves to jump in to me and directs how far back I have to stand to ensure that he becomes fully submerged before I pull him out of the water. We are practicing holding his breath and closing his eyes and he is getting better at it. He wants to jump in over and over and over. And over.

Yesterday I finally got him to like hanging on a noodle as I figure this is the only way he’ll learn to kick. After he jumped in, I yelled “Noodle Time!” and I pulled him in a circle around the area we were playing in. He loved that and I’m glad - up until now he had resisted any form of flotation device.

After he has had his fill of jumping in, he likes to go to the wading pool, which is about two feet deep, and throw himself around, getting his face wet in the process. He is in heaven if big kids are in the little pool as well because then he can “play” with them. Even better if they are playing with squirt guns or balls. Yesterday he took the kickboard that I tried to get him to use in the big pool and used it to “body surf” around the baby pool.

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Mare is a little fish in the pool this year. She swims around amazing well, reminding me of an eel as she wriggles around under water.

She had her first swim meet Saturday. The first race went well but she decided, for some reason, that she only wanted to swim one race, even though her coach had clearly written four races on her arm in dark black Sharpie marker. I bribed her with the promise of some “mommy time” if she would do the relay so that her team mates wouldn’t be let down. She finally agreed but refused to do any others. We had a long talk after the meet and I don’t think that will happen again.

After her races, she and her best swim-team-friend decided they should have a playdate. Mare came up and asked if she could go home with Julia and I said sure. A little later on, Julia’s dad came up and I realized I had never seen him before and when I said “I’m sorry, I know my kid is about to ride home with you, but what is your name?”, we both laughed that I was willing to let my 6 year old go home with any old Tom, Dick or Harry. Which isn’t exactly true - I had met Julia’s mom once and, well, they belong to the pool, and um. Yeah. Maybe I need to be a little more careful.

In any event, she had a fabulous time at Julia’s that day. We didn’t pick her up until 5:30 and it was like pulling teeth to separate her from Julia even then.

They are assigning Buddies at Swim Team this morning. Ellen and Amy, the swim team coordinators, told me that all the big girls want to be Mare’s buddy.

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Bird one first place in the 8 and under freestyle race. First! I was so excited for her. Additionally, she swam breast, butterfly, free relay and medley relay (swimming butterfly). She was disqualified in butterfly and breast (as were all racers in that age group for those events - it is too technical a stroke for this age group.) Her medley relay team was DQ’d as well for the same reasons. No matter the DQ’s, though - it was awesome watching her do butterfly for 50 meters in two races.

Summer:  It does a girl good.

Bird has been incredible this week.  Playing non-stop with Mare, ever patient and inclusive.  No surliness, no yelling, no hitting. Bird and Mare held hands as we walked to our friends’ house for dinner the other night.  She spent an hour “teaching” Mare how to be an artist.  She is on the third Chronicals of Narnia book and can’t wait to delve into it whenever we have downtime.  Or not - she carries the book everywhere, enjoying it at the pool, in the car, at the store.  She takes showers with relatively little protest.  When Bird saw that Mare was struggling with backstroke at swim team practice the other day, she swam over and supported her back and encouraged her to finish the pool length.  She has been practicing piano - happily! - every morning.  The list goes on…

And yet, she told me the other night that she misses her teacher and school. Hmm - that’s nice, but I don’t.

I’ve been feeling a little out of it lately.  I’ve got issues.  Issues with the way I look, the things I say and the way I write.  Do you suspect drama on my part?  Let’s take it one at a time and you can decide.

The Way I Look

Boring.  Boring.  Boring.  Even John agrees.  He told me last week that I’m dressing like an old lady.  He was kinder than that, but that was the gist of it.  Now, I knew there was a problem, but if my husband notices than it must be bad.

Perhaps the fact that I keep trying to buy crap from the clearance section might have something to do with this.  Or maybe, more to the point, it is that I’m shopping the Lands End clearance section.  Why do I do this?  Because I’m shopping for the kids and its just easier to throw something in the basket for me then it is to navigate out and go to another website.  Must.  Stop.

Also?  I’m in a hair rut.  On the one hand I get lots of compliments on my hair from all sorts of people.  On the other hand, I’ve had the same freaking haircut for 6 years.  Maybe more - I can’t remember.  Blah.

Thirdly, my face won’t quit breaking out.  As Starbuck would say, what the frack?  I’m 37 going on 14.

Finally, the weight.  I’m still struggling.  Nuff said.

The Things I Say

Two problems:  I’m boring and I have been gossip-y lately.  I don’t like either of these things very much, but the gossiping is what bothers me most.  I agree with what I have read:  Gossiping is a result of insecurity.

I’m not actually boring, I’m just not hip.  I’m no good at flirting or witty banter.  I’ve been known to say really dumb things.   But I’ve always been this way and I doubt it is going to change and so if I accept that, I should be able to resolve to not gossip in some lame attempt to gain status (unless it is with my very closest friends - because, well, sometimes this stuff in interesting or funny or sad or whatever.)

The Way I Write

You know, I want to be as eloquent as the people in my blogroll.  But I’m just not.  I was actually well aware of this when I started Heartfull.  But I guess I didn’t realize how difficult good writing is.  Humor, flow, organization, concise thoughts.  These things elude me.  But, given my limited interest in doing anything to improve my writing, I guess I’ll just have to get over it and quit hyper-analyzing.  But it just sucks to not be able to say what I want to say in the way I want to say it.  See?

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OK, I may be displeased with myself right now, but there was a woman at a party recently who did her part to improve my self image.   I mean, I may be boring but at least I’m not (usually) offensive…

She was the singer in the host’s band.  I work with the host at his day job.  We’ll call the host Bob.  Singer and I were introduced and almost immediately she rubbed me the wrong way.  Annoyingly enough, I ended up sitting at a table with her at dinner where we had to make small talk.

Within the first minute of conversation she let me know that her daughter would be starting the gifted program in first grade.  Then she spends a good portion of the time letting me know just how well she knows the hosts - implying, I suppose that they are really, really great friends.  Honestly, it was begining to sound like she worshipped them.  The last straw, though was when she asked me “So, what do you do for Bob?”  I was so taken aback by the implications of the question (did she imagine he ran the company?  did she think, because I was a woman, I was his secretary?  did she suspect I forgot to pick up his dry cleaning today?) that I stuttered and stammered for a moment before mumbling something about being the boss’s daughter, so I, um, do a lot.  Of stuff.  I immediately regretted the way  I belittled my job, but that wasn’t exactly her fault.  She, though, went in for the kill at this point and commented “Oh…  Well that is certainly job security.”  To which I faked a chuckle and upped the dislike feeling to total disdain.

At this point, Singer’s “gifted” daughter came over, whining about something.  I heard Singer telling her to just go play with the other kids as I made an escape.  Later, as we were driving  home from the party, I asked the girls if they liked playing with the other kids.  They said yes, except not that one girl because she was a tattle-tale, bossy and no fun.

I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

My skin is peeling off on my burned hand. It is really gross and embarrasses me multiple times a day. But! It gives me a conversation topic at my many social events. My friend told me last night at the school picnic that yes, she knew about my trauma because I had gone on and on about it Friday night at a party we both attended. I told her that if she remembers my tipsy talk, she needs to drink a little more.

And then I obsessed about my lack of social skills for the rest of the picnic and on into the night. I mean, really, with my excellent conversation skills, is it any wonder I’m not, in actuality, invited to more social events? I mean, who doesn’t want to hear about my burn, in detail?

Jeez.

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Bird’s teacher next year is fantastic and her two good friends were put in the same class. I really like these girls (and their moms!) and I’m excited for her to be forming friendships with them.

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Mare’s first grade teacher is excellent, I’ve been told. She also intimidates me because she is so quiet and put together. I feel like I’m a tornado next to her mountain breeze. Then again, I feel that way a lot.

Two of Mare’s friends are in her first grade class. One girl, Ellen, is very sweet - the last time she came over for a play date John was working from home and could hear them playing. He said he has never heard so much giggling in his entire life - Mare and Ellen had that good of a time. That said, they had to be separated this year when they were sitting at the same table - too much giggling for the classroom apparently.

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Mare’s friend’s dad is starting a “Pre-Select” soccer team and asked Mare to be on it. Not because she is good, I think, but because she showed some degree of aggressiveness and she is friends with his daughter (who is very good.) This makes me a little nervous, but we’ll go with it.

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The kids had a great time at the school picnic. Bird was excited that the other kids beat up on her (part of a game, I assume) and Mare was too busy socializing to eat.

Chip spent the entire 1 1/2 hours trying to make other kids laugh. He charmed his way into the center of a gaggle of older kids and they had fun laughing at him - although there was one bout of tears because they wouldn’t give him their ball. Meanies.

Today is the day.  The day we moms find out who our kiddos have for a teacher next year.  And I, for one, have been pulling my hair out worrying about it for the past two months.  When I mention it to the girls, they are just like, what ever mom.  I’m sure in a couple years they will care as much as I do, but for now, they are too busy thinking about tomorrow, not next year.

My anxiety really started to build about  a month ago when parents were invited to write letters to the school.  If you choose to write a letter, I don’t know what you would put in it, because honestly, if you don’t think your child’s current teacher knows him or her after an entire scholastic year, than perhaps you are in the wrong district.  The memo the principal sent home says you can fill this letter with information about your child but you can’t request or decline a certain teacher.  I thought I had no reason to write a letter.  But!  I found out at book club that apparently I’m the only mother who didn’t.  Which gave me a warm fuzzy feeling, let me just tell you.  If my kids end up being taught by the custodian, you’ll know why.

Our district, I have been told, puts a lot more thought into who goes where than most districts.  My friend, whose son was in a huge district in San Antonio prior to moving here, said that at that school it was a random placement and you found out where to show up a couple days before school started.  With 10 classes per grade, it was almost guaranteed you would not know anyone in your class.

Here, we like to really draw out the process.  I have been told that when the teachers meet (each grade level plans where their students are going for the next year), they hand-pick each class.  They consider personalities of students vs. teachers.  They discuss friendships and conflicts.  And of course, they consider race and disabilities.

While I didn’t write a letter, I did give Bird’s teacher a couple names of girls she gets along with so that we can foster friendships.  This is the first year I did this - up until now I have figured she would get along with whoever she has in class and of course, if she was close to someone, they would be kept together.  I was stunned last year, though, when she was not put in a class with her best friend (her 1st grade teacher was on maternity leave for the last 2 months of school and thus, the other two teachers made all the decisions.  In retrospect, a letter was called for in that case.  My bad.)  I’m hoping that she is placed with at least two of the three girls she really likes.  I do not have strong feelings about any of the teachers for 3rd grade, though, and Bird is an excellently behaved student, so when I open the letter this afternoon, it won’t be to see whose class she is in, it will be to find that out and then immediately call other moms to see who else is in her class.

I talked to Mare’s teacher as well, but in that case it was more to let her know I was counting on her to make a great choice for Mare.  I love all the first grade teachers, so once again that doesn’t matter as much as which friends she is placed with.  At Mare’s age, though, I’m really not worried about friendships as it is still pretty easy for her.

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Today also happens to be Field Day, which is what my kids are most excited about.  Mare could not fall asleep and came in my room complaining of her insomnia at least three times last night.  I think the last time was at 11:00 pm, sigh.  I’m hoping for good weather - a bright, sunny day makes the whole thing so much more fun.

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Chip has been walking around shooting things lately.  Yesterday it was a mostly-eaten bagel that he thought ended up looking like a pistol.  So he made popping noises as he shot me.  Um.  Do they have guns on Clifford?  Sesame Street?  Super Why?  Curious George?  Because those are a the only shows he sees and yet somehow he knows not only that he can shoot things, but that things “die” afterwards.

“shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot”

“your dead”

This is distressing, to say the least, for his mother.  I know form having talked with other moms that boys just do this.  But, quite honestly, I would have thought he would have had to at least have seen some TV to be introduced to it.  Something besides Word World.  Then again, he loves the arcade at CiCi’s.  And there isn’t anything PBS-like about some of those games.  I guess they just soak it up.

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There was another little boy at Bird’s dance last night.  He was about the same age as Chip and Chip was in heaven.  They played with Chip’s truck and had a great time.  I tried to get Chip to sit down by me at one point so he wouldn’t be disturbing the dancers and he would have nothing to do with that.  He wanted to sit “by that boy!”

I guess I’ll file that tidbit of information under my “Learned Something New” file.  I mean, I had heard that boiling chicken broth was hot, but I had never actually experienced it.  Oh, maybe a splatter had hit my arm in the past, but I have to say that the only way to truly comprehend just how hot boiling (not simmering!) chicken broth is is to completely submerge your hand, up to your forearm, into it.  Then, I can attest, you will know.

The other thing I learned is that warped pots need to be thrown out.  Because after they are warped, the cook might try to use said pot to make Spanish rice , which requires a tightly lidded pot and thus will try to force the lid onto the warped pot and could in turn learn, first hand (ha!), how hot boiling chicken broth is when the lid slips, goes flying onto the ground and the startled hand that was pressing down hard on the lid to force it on uses that left over energy to plunge its self into the boiling (not simmering!) broth.

Needless to say, I gulped ibuprofen like it was going out of style and, when John and I went out alone for a romantic dessert after the kids were in bed (grandma came over to babysit), I had to carry a huge plastic cup with me, filled with ice water, so that I could dunk my hand every minute or so to stave off the intense burning sensation that occurred whenever my hand wasn’t submerged in cold water or still wet from a recent submergence.  That was definitely romantic.

Love is wonderful after 14 years.  Because if you’ve made it this far, you don’t care that your spouse temporarily forgot about your anniversary this morning.  Even though you remembered to send her this:

Those would be deliciously dipped strawberries.  I tasted one covered in chocolate and coconut and YUM is all I can say.

I love you sweetie.

Even though we have said it a million times, it still holds true so here it goes:

It just keeps getting better!

Chip played a hilarious game the other day. I was laying on my bed with him when he decided to put the Little Tikes plastic chair on the bed with us. Then he named it “Banjo-Banjo” and started talking to it and asking it questions. He had a whole little conversation with Banjo-Banjo and insisted I participate. Eventually, he turned it upside down and and played the four legs like they were drums.

We went to the library and yesterday and the girls got their own library cards. They were so excited. Mare got about 6 books - she wanted all picture books and we found some really cool ones. Bird got four, though she had already finished the two Amber Brown books by bedtime and didn’t like the other two I had picked out for her. I caught hell for having had the audacity to pick out two books for her that she didn’t like and got no credit for having found the Amber Brown section (she knew she liked those…)

Chip and I had to do some shopping yesterday and he informed me that “my tummy HUNGRY mom!” and then “Are you hungry? I thirsty too.” We stopped in at Einsteins at about 1:00 for some lunch for me. I got him a cookie and water since he had eaten earlier. Though he was squirmy and climby, he was doing pretty well and the older couple at the table next to us were charmed. The woman, though, had the audacity to ask me if the cookie was his lunch. Uh, yeah, lady. And I thought I would give him a Krispy Kreme for dinner later on.

Bird has decided she wants to play soccer next fall. And now I’m stressing about the fact that we aren’t also playing volleyball - because girls start volleyball in 3rd grade. And, dang it, I think Bird would like volleyball more than soccer but she won’t pick it at this stage because she doesn’t know what volleyball is. But it is inside where there are no bees and it isn’t too hot or cold. And I found out last night that soccer games are on Saturday and volleyball games are on Sunday, so many parents do both. But not us, right?

I found out that about 22% of kids in my school district qualify for the gifted program. When I am at PTO functions and book club, I feel like it is 99%, with the 1% comprised of my kid and that other one known for picking his nose. Honestly, I tell myself that it must just be the parents of the gifted students are more involved, but it is hard not to let it get me down.

There has been some bullying in one of the second grade classes this year (ha! probably by those gifted students.) Mare, whose Kindergarten class takes PE with this 2nd grade class, told me a group of 2nd graders told her to call “Ellen” “The Devil”and run away from her (though Mare also said that Ellen doesn’t even know it is happening, so I think the bullying is just whispers right now. Apparently 2nd graders don’t have it in them to be bold yet.) Thankfully Mare said she wouldn’t do it because “I like Ellen!” I called the PE teachers and told them what I knew and they thanked me and said that there has been a bullying problem with this class this year. Thankfully, it seems to be only happening in this class and not Bird’s, but next year those girls will be mixed up and it could spread. For the record, Ellen is different - I could see that just watching her interacting with the Brownie Troop. But still. I plan to cut ties between Bird and the girls who are doing this. I know I’m probably over reacting - I’m just not ready to watch my kids loose their innocence or get caught up with mean girls.

The pool opens this weekend. Whoo-hoo. Plus, swim team sign ups are on Thursday and we start practice next week. Hm. Ya think it is possible to loose the 15 lbs I gained this winter in a week? Oh yeah? Well I’ll take that as a challenge!

Because really, I need a challenge, people. I just keep gaining and gaining…

I read a chapter of Edward Tulane last night to B and MG.  I can’t say enough about this book.  Everyone should read it no matter your age.  It is a very short chapter book with beautiful illustrations and you will love it.

To recap, Edward was a very self-centered china rabbit who cared only for himself and his fine clothes and nothing for the little girl who owned him.  On a voyage across the Atlantic he ends up being thrown overboard and spends an unspecified amount of time a the bottom of the ocean until a fishing net catches him.  We are in the middle of the book, and the fisherman has taken him home to his wife, who quickly grows quite attached to Edward, whom she names Suzanna.  At this point, Edward is beginning to look outside himself and see the value of friendship.

I stopped reading at one point and asked the girls if they noticed a difference in Edward.  Bird said “It is like the bottom of the ocean was a medicine that made him better.”

And that sums it up quite nicely.

Some time last week Chip decided he can go potty “all by himself”. I’m thrilled as this accomplishment really relieves a mother of a toddler from the bonds of potty training.

Diapers are flexible and easy. But kinda gross as the toddler gets older. That, coupled with the threat of askance glances from “those” other mothers encourages us to start potty training, even with the knowledge of how much harder it will all become.

Potty training is incredibly unflexable and can consume your entire day. In the beginning, you can not leave your home because the quickest route to potty training is a naked bottom 12 hours a day. If you must go out, you better know the exact location of the bathroom in every store you dare to enter. Inevitably, you will be seen careening down isles as you rush towards said bathrooms with a cart full of items, the afflicted sitting in the front, laughing joyfully at the fun ride he has procured for himself, and one or two older kids jogging alongside (or not, which means you can add screams of “keep up” to that image.) Sometimes you don’t make it. If you do, you’ll have to whip off his shoes, pants and big boy underwear as you wipe down the seat and plop him down just.in.time. Then you’ll freak as he tries to flush the toilet with his hand. Then you’ll get his pants back on (did you know little boys have to completely undressed so they can straddle the toilet backwards - I’m telling you, it makes training a little girl - who can wear a dress when she goes out - a piece of cake), get his hands washed and get everyone back in/by the cart so you can get back to the opposite side of Target, only to be told by the 6 year old that now she has to go.

Once they are consistently using the potty, parents are still slaves. Little bladders must be relieved often and it takes a pretty long time for them to get the idea of going by themselves. Until that time comes, our days are interrupted many times by the cry of “I gotta pee!”

So the fact that Chip has decided that he does not need my help anymore is pretty awesome in my book. Now, I can read a chapter of my book paint my toenails cook dinner without stopping! I usually know he has gone because he no longer is wearing clothes on his bottom half (at 2 1/2, he isn’t dressing himself.) We’ll work on that, but in the mean time, its kind of cute.

We are still mastering lifting up the toilet seat but honestly, the kid is a quick study and I’m hoping that a few intense discussions and demonstrations about what exactly happens to mom’s bottom when he skips this step will solve this. Or not if what most parents of boys tell me is true.

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Leaving school last night after my last-ever Brownie meeting (whooo-hoo - I cleaned something off my plate), Chip started talking about the various vehicles in the parking lot, one of which was a fairly large dualie.

“Look! That is a big truck!”

“Oh, wow, Chip that is a big truck.”

“It has two wheels!”

You are impressed, right? No? Well, this is one example of the awesomeness of parenthood. Because I have read or seen several things on the research they have done into a child’s innate capacity for math. And so, it only stands to reason that my son, at 2 1/2, would be able to count that there are two wheels on each side of the rear end of a dualie truck. I know this is totally developmentally appropriate. And yet. I’m still amazed. Because? Because I’m his parent! Because he counted! Because I didn’t know he could count! To two!