Doodle

School’s out for summer

Today is the last day of Kindergarten.

As much as I’ve complained about the school year dragging on interminably, it’s still hard for me to believe that an entire school year is over. As of 2:00 today I’ll be the mother of a first grader.

And if you think it hasn’t occurred to me that first grade means she’ll only live at home for twelve more years, then you have seriously underestimated all my neuroses.

It turns out that all those times I’ve held her and asked her to just stay little have not been working at all.

Cue Jim Croce singing “Time In A Bottle”.

(Seriously. I just pulled out Jim Croce.)

Yesterday her class had an end of the year party with a luau theme. Caroline has been so excited about the party and as we said our prayers the night before she said, “Dear God, thank you for controlling Mrs. C’s mind and telling her we needed to have a luau.” Because God is into mind control techniques concerning Hawaiian-themed parties.

In spite of the heat and 98% humidity, we all had a great time at the party because it’s really impossible to not have fun when hot dogs and cupcakes are involved. That’s just basic party math.

Here’s Caroline going back for another cupcake.

But, sadly, all good parties have to come to an end. Once the limbo contest ended and the keg was floated, it was obvious it was time to wrap things up and head to recess.

Before I left I wanted to say a few things to her teacher. I knew I’d write a thank you note, but I wanted to also say thank you in person. The only problem was I wasn’t sure I could get through it without holding onto her for dear life while crying and begging her to just follow us for the next twelve years. It’s not like she’d have to go to college with Caroline, but merely get her through high school graduation. It doesn’t seem like too much to ask of someone who was a total stranger nine months ago.

Last summer I said many prayers that Caroline would end up with the right teacher for her and when the envelope finally arrived the week before school, I opened it up and saw a name on a page that meant nothing to me. The name of a stranger who would be spending six hours a day with my child. Would she see how sweet Caroline is? Would she appreciate her sense of humor? Would she understand that sometimes she tends to overreact and have a level 9 reaction to a level 2 situation?

(By the way, I don’t know where she gets that last one says the woman in tears over the end of Kindergarten)

The answer to all those questions turned out to be “yes”. I couldn’t have picked a better teacher for Caroline’s first year of school. Mrs. C has a way of making you forget that teaching is her job and makes you feel like there is nowhere on earth she’d rather be than telling your kid for the sixth time to go wash their hands or get in line for recess. I bet if you asked the kids in her class who her favorite student is, they would all say it was them.

Yesterday I asked Caroline what she was going to miss most about Kindergarten and she didn’t say “eating paste” or “seeing how much sand I can collect inside my tennis shoes at recess everyday”. Without hesitating she said, “Mrs. C”.

I managed to hold back tears yesterday as I told Mrs. C thanks for everything she has done for my child this year. She’s taught her to love school, she’s taught her to read, she’s taught her to be kind and respectful to her classmates. She has been a gift.

I told her about my dream of having her follow us for the next twelve years and she said, “I’ll be with you. A part of me will always be with Caroline.”

And she’s right. She will always be a part of Caroline’s history. We’ll never forget her.

Not to mention I’m pretty sure that her native Massachusetts accent is the reason Caroline has begun asking for her “crans” as opposed to her “cray-ons”.
Swim of the penguins

It’s official.

The penguin goggles are out and we’re ready for summer.
Time to invest in a Barbie styling head

So yesterday was Mother’s Day. The day when mothers everywhere are showered with love and attention for three minutes before getting back to sorting the laundry.

I actually had a good Mother’s Day because I received official confirmation that The 30 Day Shred is producing some results. Caroline’s teacher asked them questions about their moms and then recorded their answers on a piece of paper.

According to Caroline, I am “12 feet tall” and “probably weigh about 30 pounds”, which means I’m approximately the same size as Heidi Klum.

That Jillian Michaels is a miracle worker.

On Friday afternoon, Caroline decided it would be fun to play beauty shop. She pulled out all her makeup and hair accessories and asked me to make her look beautiful. As I delicately brushed some blue glitter eyeshadow on her lids, I marveled at how long her eyelashes are and the smoothness of her olive complexion. I swept her hair off her face and let my hand rest for a minute on her cheek, just taking in all of her five-year-old sweetness and thinking that I couldn’t love her more.

After I finished putting on her lipgloss, it was my turn. She managed to yank out half my hair with the hairbrush and then began to put makeup on me. I closed my eyes and felt her brush my cheeks with blush, coat my eyes with glitter, and then, in a perfect imitation of what I’d done to her, rest her hand on my cheek.

I opened my eyes to see her looking at me so intently. She was taking in every angle of my face as if trying to memorize every line. It took my breath away to realize how closely she watches me, how often she copies what I say or do, and how much we love each other. There is an incredible bond that exists between mothers and daughters.

She held my face in her hands for a few more seconds and gently said, “Mama?”

“Yes, baby?”

“You have a big hair growing out of your chin.”

Perfect.

I guess next time we play beauty shop, I’ll have to get a wax.
Somewhere Ronald McDonald is crying

Last week, Caroline asked me if I’d please come eat lunch with her at school.

Oh sure, it sounds sweet and at the beginning of the school year it made my heart so happy to think that my baby still wanted to eat lunch with her mama, but now I know the truth. She just needs someone to cart some food up to the school so she can sit on stage and practice her prom queen wave.

Fortunately for her, a mother’s love knows no bounds so I am happy to be that person.

I asked her what she wanted me to bring for lunch:

“Caroline, do you want Sonic or a Happy Meal?” (I could already taste the tots and Cherry Limeade)

“I want sushi.”

“Sushi?”

“Yes. I’d like a California Roll and some edamame. Please don’t forget my chopsticks.”

Well, sure.

Because what kid would want a good old American cheeseburger with a side of tots when they can have sushi instead?
A good wallow

Last Friday, Caroline and I went over to Gulley’s house to spend the afternoon. The kids all ran outside to play and, after a few minutes, came inside and begged us to let them play on the Slip ‘N Slide.

Well, who are we to deny them the opportunity to break an appendage while hurling themselves down on the hard ground in an attempt to glide across wet plastic?

Gulley got the whole thing set up for them and then we sat inside in the air-conditioning and watched through the window. A few minutes later, Caroline came running in to inform us that the Slip ‘N Slide had a hole and wasn’t working. What is the world coming to when you can’t count on a $7.00 piece of plastic to entertain your children for hours?

As a consolation prize, Gulley handed them the hose and told them they could just chase each other across the yard. This solution brought a cheer from the crowd, so we went inside and resumed our in-depth analysis of various flavors of pita chips and whether or not we plan to watch the new season of “The Bachelorette”.

(I’m a definite yes. Gulley is on the fence because she has standards and hobbies other than watching a bunch of twenty-somethings cavort in hot tubs across the world.)

All of a sudden, we both remembered that we had children and looked outside in time to see this.

Let’s take a closer look.

Life lesson #275: When life hands you a water hose, make a big mud puddle and pretend you’re a pig.

I just hope it’s not a sign that they’re coming down with the swine flu.
She’s shattering the glass ceiling or window or whatever

Last Friday, Gulley and I were talking on the phone. Her youngest son, Will, asked if she was talking to Mel. She told him yes and he said, “Tell her I need to get with her about a time she can pick me up from school”.

Okay, Mr. Trump. Let’s see when we can get that on the calendar.

I told Gulley to put him on the phone so we could work out the details of our impending date. As it turned out, Tuesday was a good day for both of us. Our calendars were wide open, which isn’t easy when you’re dealing with a four-year-old who has a social schedule jam-packed with time spent eating fruit snacks and remembering to go potty.

Seriously, I love both of Gulley’s boys like they are my own, but there is something about Will that just does me in. He is a little bit of a rebel with charm to spare. Apparently, my taste in men hasn’t really changed over the years.

This is Will giving me what he refers to as his “sweetest smile”.

I’m powerless to resist him.

The thing about Will is that he reminds me so much of Caroline. Gulley and I often marvel at how similar their little personalities are. They both have a flair for the dramatic, can hold a grudge for days, and will make you laugh out loud about twenty times a day. And when you get the two of them together they are like fire and ice.

At Will’s birthday party this year, Gulley was talking to P and said, “We better hope Will and Caroline never decide to date each other because there would be way too much drama. They’re either loving or fighting”.

P replied, “Sounds like a perfect marriage to me”.

I have no comment.

Anyway, Caroline and I picked Will up after school yesterday so he could spend the afternoon with us and then go to Caroline’s t-ball game where Gulley would pick him up. I took the kids straight to a nearby candy store because the Easter Rodent only brought about three pounds of candy and that would never get us through an afternoon.

We secured our bags full of gummy butterflies, rattlesnakes, and one SugarDaddy sucker that proved to be an unfortunate decision, and headed back to our house to play. I don’t know why I was caught by surprise that they were so wound up considering that I’d let them eat massive amounts of sugar and they both tend to be overenthusiasts even without the high fructose corn syrup, but they hit the house like a pair of Tasmanian devils.

Caroline suggested they roll a ball back and forth to each other across the kitchen, which seemed harmless enough until I realized that by “roll” she meant “hurl across the kitchen with force”. Fortunately, the picture frame and toaster managed to survive intact, if not a little battered and bruised.

I sent them to the backyard in the hopes they would run enough to sweat some of the sugar out of their bloodstream. They immediately began to chase each other around, climb trees and make an attempt to pull Bruiser around in our red wagon. It was turning out to be a wonderful afternoon unless, of course, you were Bruiser.

After checking to make sure they were okay, I called Gulley to finalize our plans for the t-ball game. We were in the middle of our conversation when I heard the unmistakable sound of shattering glass.

The word that came out of my mouth when I heard it was not a word I learned in Sunday School.

I hung up on Gulley and ran outside to see what had happened. Caroline was standing by her t-ball tee and crying hysterically. Will was standing a few feet away from her with a look of shock and awe on his face.

Our bedroom window was completely busted.

There is no doubt that I am a true South Texas girl because my first thought was “How on earth am I going to make sure that my room doesn’t lose too much air-conditioning tonight?” High maintenance much?

I attempted to calm Caroline down while I did what I always do in situations that require some type of solution and organized thought process, I called P.

“Hello?”

“CarolinewaspracticinghittingtheballandbrokeourwindowandwhatamIsupposedtodo? WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR OUR AIR-CONDITIONED ROOM?”

“You need to settle down. It’s no big deal.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Tell her it’s no big deal. Accidents happen. See if you can clean up the glass and I’ll be home in a little while.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He has no sense of drama.

The kids danced around me while I picked up the shards of glass. It helped the situation some, but there was still a big gaping hole in our bedroom window.

In the meantime, Caroline began to feel a sense of pride over her accomplishment and told me she’d like to call Bops to let him know how hard she hit the ball. She and Bops have really been working on her swing and, judging from the window, their work has really paid off.

I’m so proud.

And also probably a few hundred dollars poorer.

My knight in shining armor pulled into the driveway and immediately pulled out the duct tape. He taped what he could, but it was obvious we needed something to cover the window for the night. Because did I mention the need for maximum air-conditioning?

He disappeared behind the garage and came back with a solution.

At least it’s good for something.