This morning my 5-year-old was thrilled to find some kind of generic athletic logo printed on his pants. “This is the sign of my ninja training,” he told me, “and I have to practice every day to keep up my skills!” Practice, of course, involved taking off his shirt, shuffling stealthily up and down the hallways, and generally getting underfoot. Oh, those ninjas.
Last night we gave the children ice cream for dessert. The three big kids were happy, but little Katie thew a fit when she saw her bowl of vanilla ice cream, pushing it away and squawking madly at me and Brian. We shrugged and got ready to take the ice cream away, when we listened closer to her babbling and realized she was saying “chokwit, chokwit.” She was mad because she wanted CHOCOLATE ice cream, NOT VANILLA.
She is 20 months old, and she’s learned how to say “chocolate” before “mine.” I don’t know if I should say “Atta girl!” or be slightly afraid.
School begins late in these parts, so I still feel justified in posting these first-day-of-school pictures.
It’s been a tough transition for everyone — with the jog between our old school district and our new one, the kids had a 15 week summer break. By the last week, I contracted a head cold brought on, I feel certain, by sheer exhaustion.
Everyone was excited when school began. The kids were bursting with so much nervous energy that I told them to run laps around our cul-de-sac while waiting for the bus to arrive.
And can I say how jazzed everyone is by the school bus? Ho boy, this is riding in style.
It’s hard to send little Wimmy off for full-day kindergarten; I miss our one-on-one time in the afternoons. The transition was a little difficult for him. For those first few days, he would jump off the bus happy about school, but then begin yelling at me over some random trivial thing (like the color of his water bottle). He even tearfully told me that kindergarten was “too boring” and he wanted to stay home with me all day. But I also know that if he was going to half-day school (only 2 hours long, blah) he’d be complaining about being bored at home and missing his siblings, so . . . meh. These days, he loves school with the same sunny enthusiasm that he loves everything.
Eleanor’s 2nd grade teacher is a dude this year, which is interesting. She’s happy to be back to doing her favorite subject (math) and very happy to be getting back to her favorite extracurricular activity, creative dance. (I LOVE the dance school we found for her — small classes, talented kids, and a third of the class is male!).
Meanwhile, Jeffrey is in an oversized 4th grade class this year, but his teacher seems good so far. And the school psychologist is amazing! I’ve already had 2 face-to-face meetings with her, and his IEP is rolling forward at lightning speed. Such a big change from the schools in Salt Lake . . .
The demographics of our new school are very different from our old one. There’s a lot more diversity — kids from 37 countries go to this school. It’s a nice change, but there isn’t as much parent involvement. I’d say less than half of the families from this school showed up for Curriculum Night. I wonder if that’s because of cultural/language barriers (parents not being aware of what’s expected) or an inability to attend because of work schedules and transportation issues? We’ll see how things go from here . . .
As I type this, the boys are scurrying around upstairs, hiding all the stuffed animals in random little nooks and corners.
“Then, when we’re finished,” explained Jeffrey, “Eleanor will walk around with the rubber band gun and hunt them all down!”
Eeep?
The moment Brian and I drove our little family through downtown Seattle for the first time — after a long 9-hour drive through eastern Washington and the Snoqualmie Pass — there were two emotional outbursts from the back seat. Jeffrey became so excited by seeing the boats on Lake Union and Lake Washington that he begged to go “boating” right away; meanwhile, Eleanor burst into tears and continued to sob until we reached our new house.
That pretty much sums up the kids’ different reactions to our new home. Even though we took a boat ride the very next day after arrival (we rode the water taxi from the waterfront over to West Seattle) Jeffrey still begs for sailing lessons, and carries a Washington State Water Safety pamphlet around from time to time, endlessly reading up on life jackets and signal flags. Occasionally he wistfully talks about how much he misses his best friend, Win, but otherwise he’s been the same.
Meanwhile, Eleanor has been a nuclear bomb of angry, mouthing-off, screaming and crying Girl Drama. She hates that we have moved, even though she’s already made better friends here than she had in Salt Lake. She balks whenever we suggest replacing any of our old furniture. We recently acquired a new living room couch, which caused her to hide in her room for an hour; replacing the scratched-up television console caused another similar outburst. Practicing piano has become dreadful — the first day I attempted it, she had to curl up and cry with each song we played, missing her piano teacher so much — and now it’s just known as the Daily Argument. I hate it, I want my sweet little girl back! Not this surly teenager-ish waif.
I can only hope that things will improve when school starts. (Tomorrow! Yay!)
Already Shoreline House is beginning to feel like home. Little patterns of our daily life are falling into place: remembering which light switches to turn off, how the windows lock and unlock, only a slight pause at the top of the stairs as I remember which way to turn towards Katie’s room. (It’s to the left.)
It didn’t feel so homey at first. Our house had been unoccupied for five months, and the whole place smelled musty. With no carpets or furniture, our voices echoed too loudly against the walls. Apparently crows are common backyard birds around here and their caws easily woke us every morning — the first morning we slept here, Jeff and William arose early and ran around the house yelling “squawk! squawk! squawk!” I’ve been homesick, too. There are things about our house that are great improvements on Retro Acres (such as a lovely dark-colored kitchen floor that hides dirt) and things which are not (no basement! I’ve never lived in a basement-less house before).
Every now and then I yearn for my old neighborhood, my old routines, like a cultural jet lag. But it’s getting better.
Just about all my worldly possessions are on a truck right now, heading somewhere to the Great Northwest. This is it: the Big Move. Brian and I realized that we’ve been anticipating and worrying about this for an entire year now (it was about this time last year that we found out that it would be unlikely for Brian to get a job in Utah). I just want to get it over and done with.
We had an open house over the weekend for friends and family to stop by and say farewell. I took a few photos, but none of them turned out quite right. So this is what I’m including instead: pictures from my hike in the Albion Basin from two weeks ago.
I had been hoping and hoping that I’d be able to do this hike one more time before leaving, but it was difficult to find the time. Many, many thanks to my sainted in-laws for making this last-minute trip possible (Kathryn came with me and the big kids, while Randy stayed at home with the baby).
We were extremely fortunate with parking (always difficult on this popular trail). I LOVE the clear air and the smell of pine trees! Cecret Lake was lovely as always. Wildflowers were in abundance, and to cap it off, we saw a moose! He looked right at us, too. Moose are some of Wimmy’s favorite animals, so he was especially pleased.
This trail is the essence of what I’m going to truly miss about Utah. Friends and family? Yeah, they will also be missed, but we’ll easily keep in touch with those. Hiking the Wasatch, on the other hand, will be mighty difficult in the near future.
But hey! Let’s look on the bright side! Here the things I will not miss about Utah:
Our dreadful white linoleum kitchen floor
The old kitchen stove that takes 30 minutes to boil a pot of water
Winter inversions
Ugly billboards on the freeway
A popular culture that tends toward insular provincialism and faddish trendiness
The Eagle Forum
Having to vacuum the sunroom carpet
Food storage ads featuring BYU basketball stars
A lawn that costs more to water than we can afford
Nasty looks from neighbors who disapprove of our yellowish under-watered lawn
The kids up the street who bully my kids
People who complain that it’s hard to find time to take their kids to Disneyland in the winter because it interferes with the children’s skiing lessons (oh yes, this conversation really happened)
The world’s noisiest dishwasher
All of this: Buh-bye!!
I often see greeting cards wishing people a “happy belated birthday,” but no equivalent for celebrating a birthday early.
‘Cause that’s what we did on Saturday. William is unofficially five years old. I wanted to squeeze in a party with his buddies before we moved away.
And boy howdy, how my party standards have fallen. This is the third birthday in a row that I haven’t made the birthday cake myself. What . . . what has happened to me??? (Hint: her name begins with K.)
Anyway, William chose the “jungle party” cake from the big book o’ cakes at the grocery store. I think it was adorable! William was delighted! He talked about it nonstop in his Primary class the next day. And it hardly took any effort on my part! (Remind me again why I bother making cakes at all? Okay, I know: because they taste awesome. But still.)
The rest of the party was “birthday” themed. We played Pin the Tail on the Donkey using the Eyeore set my mom made for me when I was four . . .
. . . and played Musical Islands (a non-competitive version of Musical Chairs).
At the end, everyone has to crowd onto one “island” together. It always ups the cuteness ante.
There was also a game where the kids took turns dropping a wooden clothespin into a jar, but alas, no photo evidence of such.
My family has a tradition called “Heavy Heavy Hang Over” when we give birthday presents. Each person gets to gently “bump” the birthday kid on the head with a present in exchange for a wish. I loved William’s reactions to various family members’ bumps.
The present from Brian and I? A Razor scooter (or, as he puts it, “Lazer scooter”) which William has been asking for since Eleanor got one for her birthday in April. For whatever Eleanor hath, William wants to hath also. Or something like that.
You know how it only takes a small stone to break a window? Well, sometimes it only takes two sentences to ruin a day. Confused? Stay tuned.
Today is the seventh day that Brian’s been out of town. He won’t be back for four more days, and everybody in the family is feeling the strain. I’m exhausted, the house is a mess, and Katie has begun throwing Category Five temper tantrums. She’s developed a high-pitched scream that sounds like a steamboat whistle and has been clocked at around 120 decibels (roughly the same level as a sandblaster or a loud rock concert).
So you can imagine my apprehension about taking the children to church today, especially considering that our ward has Sacrament Meeting last. But I decided to stick it out. It was the right thing to do.
And know what? It wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t fun either, but it was bearable. We made it all the way to speaker #4 in Sacrament Meeting before I ducked out early. The kids had begun to squabble over toys, and Katie had started steamboating. Time to go.
The kids had lasted much longer than I anticipated, so I left feeling rather satisfied and happy with myself, until we rounded the hallway corner. A portly, balding older man with a cane caught my eye.
“The way your kids scream is awful,” he said.
“Yeah, Katie’s a screamer,” I said with a laugh, thinking he was commiserating about the difficulty of raising a toddler.
“No,” he growled. “I mean your kids are awful. Their behavior, the screaming . . .”
He went on and obviously had more to say, but fortunately I had already turned my back and headed down the hall. The noive! THE NOIVE! Did he think I wasn’t aware of my kids’ behavior? I HAVE LEFT CHURCH EARLY! OF COURSE I WAS AWARE! How on EARTH did he think how this going to HELP or CHANGE ANYTHING?
MORE WORDS IN ALL CAPS!!!!!! EX-CLA-MA-TION POINNNNNNNTS!!!!!
[deep breathing, deep breathing]
I suppose you could say this was kind of the last straw for me. I was having a happy moment! He ruined it!
What has happened to the secular LDS culture that makes people think it’s okay to say such judgmental things? Well . . . I know it’s probably been going on for ages in many LDS communities, but ithappens a lot in this ward. To me. I’ve put up with it for four years; to tell the truth, this makes me kind of happy to move away. (Maybe God sent this on purpose to make me not so sad to leave all the truly wonderful Christlike people around here?)
And I’ll blithely refrain from recounting the many times my kids have been bullied in Primary and Cub Scouts. It’s another reason why I want to get away, but it’s off-topic.
And to think I had almost skipped church to avoid something like this. But what would that teach my kids? That church is only for when it’s convenient? When it’s easy? For when you don’t have a kid with autism and a cranky toddler and a husband who’s far away?
How many other people decide to stop coming to church to avoid jerks like this guy?
Okay, rant over. Peace out.
My youngest sibling, Alex, got his Eagle Scout Award last week. This was a very big deal for my parents, and they all requested that we come to his Court of Honor. (And a two of my cousins, Kim and Erin, were there too! I haven’t seen them in a few years, and it was great to coo over their babies.)
For Jeffrey, it was two of his loves combined: he loves being a Cub Scout, and he absolutely worships his Uncle Alex.
I made sure to spiff up Jeff’s Scout shirt for the occasion, collecting all the little beads and neckerchief slides and sewing on those impossible arrow points. (Who invented those dumb arrows? Not anyone who knows how to sew, surely.)
Jeff shadowed Alex the entire evening.
My dad was able to represent the Scout Council and give Alex his award. (Isn’t his hat awesome? Brian and I both come from big Scouting families).
Alex’s Eagle Scout Project was building this enormous concrete fire pit in the city park behind my parents’ house. To celebrate the end of the event, everyone had fun torching marshmallows to death in the new pit. There were benches and everything — an impressive project.
Alex gave his Mentor award to my mom (who, to tell the truth, did a lot of work to get this project done). D’awwww!
And now Alex gets to go off to the Blair Atholl Jamborette — an international Boy Scout event in Scotland. And he gets to wear a kilt! AND I NEED PHOTO EVIDENCE OF THIS, DO YOU HEAR ME, ALEX?
Eleanor and I went to Girl Scout Camp this week. Here’s something you may not know about me: I love Girl Scouting. Here’s something else you may not know: you don’t have to be a Girl Scout to go to camp. One more thing: many councils will host parent-child camp sessions, and they are very reasonably priced.
When I heard that there would be a three-day mother-daughter camp in June, I signed me and Eleanor right up. And we had a blast! We slept in a platform tent!
We had our trail mix stolen by a chipmunk! We saw a deer! I forgot to bring clean socks for myself and had to wear the same pair three days in a row!
My fingernails turned black with dirt and I could not ever scrub them clean. There was fire building (with pretend fire) and knife safety (with pretend knives) and knot tying (with real rope). We ate in the mess hall and hiked together and sang silly songs in the amphitheater (Eleanor and I even sang The Spam Chant for Skit Night) . . .
. . . and some girls in our camping area formed a secret society that met in Tent #3. They called it a “Three Meeting” and involved lots of giggling and the consumption of Twinkies.
BUT . . . the best thing of all? HORSES.
I would say that 90% of the girls at camp were there for the horses and horses only. All that time playing games and balancing on the ropes course? Mere obstacles to getting into the saddle.
It’s a tough 1/2-mile hike up the mountain to get to the stables. Since the camp is at the top of the South Fork of Provo Canyon, Eleanor and I were breathless, and she complained all the way up.
But then she got to meet Pep.
And it wasn’t a pony ride we did, either. Eleanor got to give Pep simple commands to go forward, stop, and turn from side to side. Pep liked to stop and eat grass on the side of the road, and Eleanor was able to get him back on the road all by herself.
Pep is now Eleanor’s favorite animal, ever. She talked about Pep alllll the way back down the mountain.
I rode a very old horse named Duke. He’s a tri-colored beauty.
Here’s the view on the trail. I’m really going to miss the Wasatch mountains.
The next day we played games with this gigantic parachute . . .
. . . and we had a carnival. There were balloon animals, cotton candy, and games, but the most intriguing activity was “horse painting.”
Hilarious, no? I can’t wait to do this again with Eleanor next year in Seattle.
Casa Camisas 