Pomp and Circumstance

(Wild Kindergarten Graduation Boogie)

All sweet things must come to an end. Last Tuesday, the boys graduated from kindergarten. And I cried. I cried through the graduation wiggle dance (see above). I cried through the diploma presentation. And I cried through the ceremonial ingestion of bomb pops on the playground. I was crying because in the space of a year, my tiny boys morphed from mere nubbins of people into "big kids." They read books. They ride their bikes without training wheels. They roll their eyes at me. And I feel this sense of being at the perfect moment of their lives, at the place where childhood wonder and an increasing competence exist in equal measure.

But truthfully, the graduation itself didn't work out so smoothly. Blue and Green's teacher decided that she would present the diplomas in alphabetical order. And then, to create a sense of metaphor, each child and his/her parents were to leave the room and symbolically head to first grade. This worked well for Adam, Anna, and Ashley. By the time it was Green's turn, the room was seeming a bit empty. And Zachary? When it was time for him to get his kindergarten certificate, his mom was the only one in the room to deliver the applause.


(Blue receiving diploma while teacher does "sign language clapping.")

Of course, the kids didn't notice the sloppy execution. They didn't notice my tears, either. All they noticed was that SUMMER! VACATION! IS! HERE! God knows that all those kindergarten craft projects and field trips and playground games were EXHAUSTING. Time to kick back with a juice box and wait around for the ice cream man to show up.


(Green, with post-graduation refreshment. If you look closely at the background, you can see the sign that tells students that they can't bring their potbellied pigs to school. I am not kidding.)

But, wouldn’t you know it, six-year-olds relax a little differently than I do. On the first day of summer vacation, the boys made an elaborate bad-guy-catching system throughout the house. They used string to zigzag booby traps between furniture and across rooms. On the second day of summer vacation, they brought in all of the rocks they could find in the back yard and piled them up in the kitchen. Apparently this was supposed to be a construction site. On the third day of summer vacation, they pulled out some toy police vehicles that blared the COPS theme song at top volume (Bad boys! Bad boys! Whatcha gonna do?) and played the tune over and over until I screamed. Then they made houses for their penguins out of Cheerios boxes (paper, tape, markers everywhere) and created a series of menacing signs for their room ("No Adults Allowed"). When they had a little friend over last week, I overheard one of them say, "I know! Let's make a flood!" And here's what I learned: little boys + running water + dirt = cosmic mess.

When I was a kid, summer was all about staying cool. As a parent, I’m finding that summer is all about keeping my cool as the kids tear through my previously serene space and destroy it. Remember the picture that my neighbor gave me when the boys began school, the one with the lady in the living room smiling happily as her kids leave on the bus? I get it now! I get it!

Summer vacation. One week down, ten to go.

Memo

From: The School District
To: Parents of Kindergarteners

Dear Parents:

This memo is to inform you that we have scheduled a field trip at the beach for your children on June 6. We have made sure that this trip coincides with "S is for Summer!" day in the kindergarten curriculum, and we have attached an important handout about the importance of sunscreen.

We are aware that this year is a La Nina year in our city. We know that record grey, record cold, and general crapitude is predicted for the upcoming weeks. But we truly doubt that the region's bad weather would impact this wonderful excursion. If it does, we will change the curriculum theme to "S is for Shittiness."

We have also made sure to schedule our trip at a far-away beach. Despite the steep gas prices, we want to ensure that your child has a powerful memory of a long ride in a steamy, gas-guzzling bus. To further enhance their experience, we have chosen a site that has no bathroom facilities. After all, if you bring 85 six-year-olds on a four hour trip, the likelihood that someone will need to pee is small, right?

If, on the day of your trip, you are startled by the predictions of snow in the mountains and several inches of rain in the lowlands, be advised that we will not cancel or change these plans for any reason. We owe it to the environment to send your small children out into the low tides to handle, fling, and strangle the wildlife.


Sincerely,

The Powers That Be

The Unknown

The other day Green came into the kitchen with a piece of information to share. "Mama," he said. "Did you know that another word for a lockdown is a reverse evacuation?"

I did not know that.

But I did know that he and his fellow six-year-olds spent the week preparing for danger. There was the usual earthquake drill, the regular fire drill, the What-To-Do-If-a-Bear-Wanders-Onto-Your-Playground drill. But there was also something different. This time they were practicing what they would do under siege.

The drill began by simulating a lockdown in the classroom (door gets locked; shades get drawn; kids huddle under windows). Then they learned what to do if the lockdown happened while they were in the library (huddle in the computer lab, as far away from the windows as possible). And finally they learned what to do if the lockdown happened while they were in the bathroom (pull up pants fast).

At the beginning of the year, we had to send an "emergency kit" to school. The bag needed to include a snack, a toy, a photograph of the family, and a note. I remember being paralyzed by the task. What kind of note? What kind of emergency were we talking about? The bear on the playground or the apocalypse? Should I say, "Don't worry, honey, you'll still get home in time to watch Curious George!" or "It's been kind of a bad day for mommy. I've been vaporized. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy the stale granola bar I have provided for you."

Every generation has its thing. My parents had Duck-and-Cover. I spent my adolescence listening to Sting sing about how he hoped the Russians loved their children, too. But the boys will have to live with a cultural anxiety that's less specific. Is the lockdown about a terrorist? A sociopath with a gun? Another child? A stressed out mother who didn't get her morning cup of coffee? Who is it? So far, this ambiguity has not troubled the kids. But I, with a wee tendency toward anxiety, am unsettled.

Yesterday afternoon, I brought up the drills again. "Hey guys," I said. "Remember those things you did this week for reverse evacuation?"

They nodded.

"Why did you do them?" I asked.

They shrugged and returned to their game of Penguins in Love.

"Guys!" I continued. "What kind of danger is so big that you would need to close the shades and lock the door?"

Blue answered, "We'd have to go into lockdown if we had an invasion of Purple People Eaters."

Wild Minnesotan football players on the loose! I didn't think to add that one to my worry list.

No Joke

For the remaining month of school, the boys need to bring something into class each day. Friday is Joke Day, and each child is responsible for sharing a chuckle with his/her peers.

Green has already identified his joke. Here it is:

Question: Why did the penguins cross the street?

Answer: Because they needed to find a place to mate.

Oh no!

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.

I said, "Green, I don't think that's the kind of joke that is appropriate for school."

"Why not?" he asked.

Why not, indeed. What was I supposed to say to that? No sex jokes in kindergarten?! Ack. I ended up saying something like, "That joke won't be good for school, because not everyone is interested in penguins in the same way you are."

I don't think it was my best parenting moment.

Contradictions

Guess what, dear readers! I have a holiday to talk about! And no, it’s not Teacher Appreciation Day or Take Your Grownup to Lunch Day. There’s a very important holiday that the boys recently celebrated in school, one that required nearly two weeks of preparation: Earth Day.

The good news, of course, is that the kids learned how important it is to be a steward of the environment. They learned about all the garbage that imperils the ocean ecosystem. They learned a catchy tune in music class about recycling. And they even informed their father about the pollution he was creating as he started up the gas-powered lawnmower.

The bad news is that they used nearly 30 reams of paper to do their Earth Day craft projects.

This contradiction is just one of many the boys have experienced in kindergarten. And, of course, I am wildly entertained by these contradictions. For instance, their recent character education lesson on “compassion” coincided so perfectly with the creation of a new “No Kissing” rule. Apparently it’s important to be kind to others, but not so kind that your slobbery little lips cross paths with your neighbor’s cheek.

So you can imagine my amusement as the Earth Day festivities ended on Tuesday and were replaced by a large unit on lumber on Wednesday. No joke. The teacher sent home a note asking us to take our child to visit a sawmill (!) “to see lots of wood in various stages from tree to finished product.”

One thing I have noticed over the years is the curious corporate sponsorship of “environmental science” curriculum packages. For example, last quarter one of my students brought in a curriculum package his district uses as part of their middle school “environmental learning” unit. The set of materials, called Caretakers All, is sponsored by the National Cattlemen’s Beef Association. What I love about this curriculum (besides the fact that I learned all about the scary things made out of cows: shaving cream, lipstick, capsules for medicine…) is that it offers some particularly baffling activities. Here’s one of my favorites:

Have students complete this sentence to show their awareness.

I’m glad the farmer is a good caretaker of animals because…..

(Sample good answer: I like hamburgers!)

Huh.

Anyway, I now know more than I ever expected to know about lumber, because I agreed to be a chaperone on the boys’ field trip to the Center for Wooden Boats. I can’t really explain how I got myself involved in this, but it had something to do with two matching freckly-faced kids and some serious begging. The result was a long ride on a school bus and then another journey in a wooden umiak (basically a tippy native Alaskan rowboat) with 22 of my favorite snot-nosed kids.

When I agreed to participate on this trip, I first had to sign a form stating that I would not, under any conditions, sell drugs to the children. This was a foil in my plan. See, I had this idea that I could sell each of the kids a double-dose of Benadryl and then go for a wild joyride on the bus.

But instead, I had two jobs. The first involved holding a small boy who was deathly afraid that our boat was going to be swallowed by a shark. The tour guide/boat captain/lumber educator tried to reassure him that the water was so polluted that it contained no living creatures, but the kid was inconsolable.

My second job was to help the young people build some small wooden boats with hammers, hand drills, and assorted other tools. I will admit that comforting little kids is something that I do somewhat naturally. But carpentry? Uh, this is a bit out of my skill set. Besides, I’m not so sure that giving kindergarteners unlimited use of woodworking implements is such a great idea. After all, the “No Whacking Your Classmate With a Hammer” rule was never officially stated, not even during Compassion Week.

It all turned out OK. No one jumped off the dock on my watch. No one got eaten by a shark. And no one got hammered (not even me, though I did make a joke about how good it would be for the chaperones to get some free cocktails. This joke was not well-received).

I will not, however, be going on any further field trips. Nope. No way. The power of cute freckly faces only worked this time. Manipulate me once, shame on you. Manipulate me twice, shame on me…

(Addendum: I am scheduled to chaperone the class trip to the beach on June 5.)

Spring Fever.

I've been rather overwhelmed this week. Somehow, everything is happening all at once, and I'm not dealing with it very well. First, there was Michael's birthday. I barely remember what we did -- except that it involved me getting the boys OUT OF THE HOUSE so that Michael could lie around on the couch in peace. I've noticed that our respective birthday aspirations have grown much less ambitious over the years. It used to be that we would plan ADVENTURES and PARTIES and give BIG GIFTS. Now we say, "Honey, can you take the kids away so that I can have a nap? That's all I need today."

Second, there was the end of the teaching quarter and its accompanying stack of student papers. Unfortunately, while forcing myself to read at a steady pace without drifting off into a numb and bored sleep, I had a violent encounter with a box of thin mint girl scout cookies (Guess who won?).

Third, T-ball season started. You'll be glad to know that Blue and Green are now proud members of a team called the "Peckers." No, I'm kidding. Their team really is called the "Penguins," though. Green's winning suggestion for a team name beat out the "Fire Breathing Dragons" and the "Snakes."

Fourth, there's Easter, which is strangely situated in mid-March this year. It was challenging to squeeze the egg-dying in, because we're still busy getting over the leprechauns and the pots of gold from St. Patrick's Day. The boys each made three "leprechaun traps" at school last week, and we're waiting patiently for some evidence of the mischievous little green guys. I didn't tell the kids, but I think a trap dismembered one of the Easter Bunny's back feet. There was a bloody pile of toes and fur by the front door this morning.

It's been exhausting. Good thing we're going on a trip! Yes, this week Michael, the boys, and I (along with the stuffed peckers) are taking off for California, where we plan to swim in frigid water and pretend like we're real penguins in Antarctica. I will try to update from the road.

Today I will leave you with the winner of the Winter Quarter 2008 Absurd Sentence Written by an Undergraduate Award:

"One plus one may always be two, but there is more than one way to come up with that answer."

Huh.

I don't even know what to say about that one.

The March of the Penguins

It has been a busy week. Who knew that the kindergarten preparation for St. Patrick's Day would be so intense? Last Friday, I had to measure each child's head for an Irish "derby hat" made out of newspaper. My instructions were to cover the children's heads and faces with newspaper and then wrap their heads tightly with masking tape. Does this count as torture?

The kids also decorated potatoes in fancy clothing and brought them home as "pets." Apparently they also measured them and weighed them as part of a math activity. We are now the proud owners of one potato in a yellow scarf whose name is "Toilet." Fabulous.

Speaking of pets, we've managed to avoid taking home any of the real animals that have infiltrated the kindergarten curriculum these past few weeks. There were the goldfish and the snails and the worms. Much of the discussion surrounding these animals concerned poop (Does a worm poop out of both ends? What does snail poop look like? When a fish poops in the water, does the poop sink or float?). Yesterday, when they were drawing and writing "D" words, one kid proudly announced that his "D" word was going to be "dung." And he went on to produce a very life-like representation.

The other animal unit that the boys studied was "Penguins! Penguins! Everywhere!" (FYI, penguin poop is called "guano."). For some reason, Blue and Green have become obsessed with the waddly little creatures. Penguin artwork covers our walls. Penguin books cover our bookshelves. The other day, I noticed Green peering down the front of his pants. "What are you doing?" I asked him. "I'm looking for my brood pouch," he answered. When I tried to clarify the difference between boys and birds, he told me, "I would rather be a bird."

The biggest result of this fixation on penguins is that both kids have attached rather deeply to a couple of mangy stuffed penguins. I think it's part of some sort of separation thing. The consequence of this attachment is that I have been abruptly demoted from "Very Important Person" to "The Lady Who Makes My Sandwiches and Washes My Clothes." It used to be that when I picked the boys up from school, I would say to each one, "Oh, sweetie, I missed you so much today!" And they would respond, "We missed you, too, Mama!" Last week, I said to Blue, "Oh, sweetie, I missed you so much today!" And he said, "Do you know who I missed?" and ran over to hug his annoying little toy.

It takes a little bit of effort for me not to mention to them the THREE MONTHS I spent on bedrest while pregnant, or the THREE MONTHS I spent listening to them scream through colic, or all the ear infections and croup and toilet training and general handwringing. But it's good that they're becoming more independent, right? It's so wrong of me to have homicidal feelings toward some greying and matted toys that Michael bought for $2.99 in the grocery store floral section.

Of course, there's one little detail that I've left out of this story. They each refer to their penguins as their "peckers." The first time I heard them use this term, I was eating a bowl of cereal in the kitchen. "Mama!" Blue shouted from the other room. "Have you seen my pecker?"

My head snapped back in surprise. "Uh...what?" I asked.

"I can't find my pecker! Where is that tiny little pecker?"

"Ummmm...." I stammered.

"Oh, pecker, where are you?" Blue continued.

I waited, not sure how to handle this issue.

Blue screeched in delight. "Mama, I found it!" he said. "I found my soft pecker! Would you like to come give my pecker a kiss?"

They may be done with me. I'm old news. But I do think that they have a bit more to learn about the world before they leave for good. "How about if we give your penguin a new name?" I asked Blue the other day. He shook his head and said, "It's my pecker, and I can do what I want with it."

Enough said. I think I'll let their father deal with this one.

Assessment

A special thank you to all the folks who sent love my way after my shameless shout-out for feedback. I really did just want to see if anyone was actually reading this anymore, but I am very pleased about the fact that my blog made so many “What I am thankful for” lists.

This weekend we discovered that the thing that we are truly grateful for is ketchup. Without ketchup, our kids would not have eaten any of the Thanksgiving feast. Without ketchup, there would have been whining and moaning and sulking. So thank you, ketchup, for your amazing capacity to disguise the taste of any food. Thank you also to chocolate sauce, which accomplishes the same thing, except without the antioxidant properties of lycopene.

While they were waiting to eat their ketchup on the holiday break, the kids had to do a particularly perplexing homework assignment. Here were the instructions:

Write down what you would do on Thanksgiving if you were a turkey.

Ummm……WHAT? Was the purpose of this assignment to make the kids aware of the connection between the horrors of industrial farming and their own food consumption? Did the school intend for the students to cast a critical eye on the process of coloring cute, feathered farm animals one week, only to eat them the next? If so, it worked! Blue said, “If I were a turkey on Thanksgiving Day, I would be all chopped up.” Fabulous.

One thing about last week that I haven’t mentioned yet was that we attended our first parent/teacher conferences. Oh, the stress. I want so much for my kids to be happy and well-adjusted and curious and comfortably above-average. This was our first chance to find out where on the cosmic scale of happiness and adjustment and curiosity and above-averageness they each land.

What I was unprepared for was the extent to which the boys’ abilities have already been measured, quantified, and categorized. At our conference, we sat down, and the boys’ teacher promptly took out a massive sheet filled with numbers and rankings. Then she had to explain how the evaluation sheet worked. “So you see,” the teacher said, “Level A means kindergarten level work, and the number that follows the letter suggests whether your child is below, approaching, at, or beyond standard for the year. This number corresponds with the assessment done on September 20, and it suggests the anticipated outcomes from the assessments delivered on November 13. If you place these numbers on a graph, you will see if your child is gaining skills and knowledge, losing skills and knowledge, or just waiting patiently each day for recess.”

For those of you who plan to enroll your child in kindergarten any time soon, here are three tips to maximize your child’s score on the key first trimester exams:

1) Geometry is very important. Any kid can learn squares, circles, triangles, etc. from watching a half hour of Dora the Explorer, but you need to make sure that yours is familiar with all the obscure shapes most of us encountered for the first time in the 10th grade. Green, for example, could not name the trapezoid, whether it was right-side up or upside down. He was an ace at naming the rhombus, however. Atta boy.

2) It is crucial that your child learn how to draw well, or, to use the correct term, draw “smart.” You know all those times you’ve exclaimed with happiness when your child brought home some silly scribble from preschool? Stop it right now. Start prompting your child to make his drawing more exact by saying things like, “Sparky, why doesn’t your rendering of the ice cream man include a big, fat wallet? By drawing his wallet, you will help the viewer understand why the ice cream man is charging so much for his products.”

3) If your child has sufficient practice at drawing smart, she will do well on the tests that she will be taking over the course of her kindergarten year in preparation for the big state-wide standardized test in the fourth grade. Here is a sample question that Blue and Green each answered correctly:

Shawn had 3 cookies, and Erin had 2 cookies. If you put their cookies in a bowl together, how many would they have?

The answer is 5, right? Well, the tiny test taker needed to do more than simply offer that 3 + 2 = 5. He needed to DRAW THE COOKIES IN THE BOWL to show that he understands the math problem conceptually. Blue and Green were savvy enough to draw cookies with chocolate chips in them, which made them look like actual cookies. Smart cookies!

The good news is that Blue and Green do indeed appear to be happy, well-adjusted, curious, and above average. If they stay on this course, they will likely pass kindergarten. The teacher did point out that we need to focus on that trapezoid problem and the general bad handwriting.

But, really, I have trapezoid problems, too, and I think I’m doing OK.

Thankful

Here we are just a few days before Thanksgiving. The boys have the entire week off from school, and I am struggling to maintain my sanity. Right now, if I hear them correctly, they are shooting pirate toilets across the living room. A good parent would investigate what, exactly, this activity entails. But clearly I’m not a good parent. I don’t want to know.

Once the Veterans’ Day hoopla died down at their school, the boys and their classmates moved into a unit about Thanksgiving. My volunteer work on Thursday involved helping twenty wiggly, snotty kids follow very explicit directions in a Mayflower craft project. Once again, I proved to the world that I am not astute enough to do kindergarten crafts, because I inadvertently encouraged the kids to put their glue on the front of the ship instead of the inside. I was quickly reassigned to manage a painting project in which each child was asked to add their handprint to the back-end of a turkey. I think their prints were supposed to look like feathers, but the whole thing got so smeared and drippy that it didn’t look like much of anything at all. When the teacher came by to check on things, she frowned. “It kind of resembles a peacock, doesn’t it?” I asked. She didn’t reply.

One of the last projects they did before the holiday hiatus was to write about what they were thankful for this year. Green believes that it’s important to follow directions. He understood the intent of this assignment and searched his brain for an appropriate answer. His choice? “I am thankful for having a nice mommy and daddy.” Good boy! Blue, on the other hand, decided that this assignment was a cliché. Or maybe he’s just more honest, because he produced a surprising answer to the teacher’s question. What is little boy Blue thankful for? Do you think it’s his ramshackle but warm house? His opportunity to live on the dumpy fringes of a really nice neighborhood? The abundance of organic macaroni and cheese in his kitchen? No. Blue is thankful for...

Bugs.

Yes, Bugs. I don’t know why. When I asked him about it, he said, “The idea just came to me.” OK. Bugs it is.

In the spirit of irreverent thankfulness, I’ve come up with my own list. So here are the things Jennifer is thankful for in 2007:

1) Netflix. Obviously this service is good because of its efficiency, delivering your movie selections right to your door. But for me, it’s something more. It sort of makes me feel like we have a social life, a built-in plan for the evening, even if we never really go anywhere. Netflix allows for structured TV watching. Otherwise, I fear that our nights would involve aimlessly flipping between “The Biggest Loser” and “Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders: Making the Team.” So thank you, Netflix, for adding a little quality to the time we spend staring vacantly at the box.

2) Portable DVD Players. Really, how did our parents survive without them? Have you traveled lately? Did your 3 hour plane flight with the family suddenly turn into a 7 hour odyssey? You needed one of these. The rest of the passengers needed you to have one of these. I think that all the research that says that kids’ screen time is detrimental to their health does not take into consideration the social good that results from having kids watch cartoons on an airplane.

3) Snapea Crisps. Have any of you tried this product? It’s genius. Whoever thought of the idea of taking a potato chip and dying it green and shaping it like a vegetable deserves an award. If you’re inclined toward the occasional midnight binge, this is the snack for you. If it looks like a vegetable, and you bought it at the health food grocery, it must be a vegetable. Right?

4) Senorita Margarita Hot Salt Scrub. OK, so imagine this. You’ve just faced a moral dilemma with your class of undergraduates. Upon reading their last stack of papers, you discover that they have no knowledge of the basic rules of grammar. They don’t know that “they’re” and “their” and “there” are three different words. And if you really look closely, you see that they don’t understand that splitting their ideas into different paragraphs is helpful to the reader. Complicating the issue is that this particular group of students plans to be TEACHERS. So, do you break away from your plan to investigate the ins and outs of school funding to teach grammar? Do you risk getting bad course evaluations (and therefore not getting hired again) by telling them that something they did was less than fabulous? It’s the end of this headache-provoking day, and you step into the shower. Suddenly you’re transported to the warmest, sauciest cantina in all of Mexico. The smell of this bath scrub is so good and so real, you could drink yourself.

5) Living with Tech Support. I have a lot of problems with computers. Really, the fact that I got this site up and running ALL BY MYSELF was the most amazing thing I did all year. But usually I’m not that independent, and I need to ask for help. I feel so lucky that I live with a person that has such talent with computers that he can solve just about any issue that confronts me. Plus, he’s always so cheerful when I interrupt his very important meetings to ask him how to fix the margins on a paper I’m writing.

5) You. Yes, I am so thankful for you, my loyal readers. I would love it, however, if you would let me know that you’re out there. Leave a comment. Send me a sign. What do you want to hear more about? My cauliflower butt? My hideous garage? My adventures at the gym? Let me know. Your wish is my command.

Veterans' Day

I know it seems like all I talk about are the holidays, but it's hard to avoid them this time of year. Just as the pumpkins on the front porch started to rot, the boys came home from school last week to announce another round of school-based festivities. "On Friday," they chirped, "we're going to celebrate the people in the cemetery!"

"What?" I asked. I was confused. Halloween.....er, Harvestoween had passed. The posters of mummies had been taken down. The books about feisty witches were removed from the classroom shelves. I had no idea what the boys were talking about. And frankly, neither did they.

"Are you going on a field trip to the cemetery?" I asked. They shook their heads, no. I pushed a bit more. "Well, did your teacher tell you how you were going to celebrate the people in the cemetery?" Blue answered, "She said we were going to sit criss-cross-applesauce on the floor of the cafeteria."

Ah! An assembly! "Is someone coming to talk to you?" I continued. "Yes," Green replied. "It's gonna be a soldier that plays a horn." Things were becoming clearer. I had a feeling that the arrival of the tooting soldier meant that Blue and Green were going to have their first ever lesson about war.

Michael and I have kept the boys pretty sheltered. They don't play video games. They haven't seen many movies. They don't watch the news. And they don't really know that people, if left to their own devices, are not always very nice to each other. Basically, we've done a crackerjack job of preparing them for a world that doesn't exist.

So on Friday, I anxiously sent the kids off to school to learn about Veterans' Day. I think my trepidation was influenced by my own experience with Veterans' Day assemblies. When I was a kid, veterans' organizations were working to get folks to remember the horrors of the Vietnam War. The people who came to speak to us didn't bring cheery tales of heroism. Instead, they talked about their Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. They talked about the innocent people they killed. They talked about friends that had died. It was grim and gruesome and shocking.

Apparently the message has changed over the last 30 years. This was not an assembly about war. This was a military pep rally! Blue and Green broke away from their morning lesson on squirrels to listen to the high school band play a medley of foot stomping, patriotic tunes. Then a member of the Air Force spoke about the meaning of the flag. And get this: each child was given an Air Force football as a souvenir. It's the kind of trinket that recruiters give away at their booths on college campuses. RECRUITERS.

The boys love their footballs, but they may have missed the message. On the way home from school, I asked, "Boys, what is Veterans' Day about?" Blue answered, "It's about the military." "And what's the military?" I asked. Green shrugged. "I dunno. Something about Yankee Doodle." OK, I guess they're not signing up for service just yet.

Of course, Blue and Green had some Veterans' Day homework to complete. Each weekend, a kid in the classroom gets to take home the class "pet" (a stuffed mouse puppet). The student's job is to write a booklet describing all the things that the mouse did with that particular family. And this weekend was Blue's weekend. On the way out of the classroom, the teacher said, "It would be great if you could take the mouse to do something related to the holiday. You could go to the cemetery!"

What is it about the cemetery?! No, I was not going to drag the kids and their smelly puppet around the cemetery in the rain. Instead, we went to visit one of our favorite veterans, who kindly pulled out all of his pins and medals to educate the rodent about the armed forces.


Thanks, Grandpa.

New Month

Well, phew. I’m glad it’s November. All the harvest celebrating got to be a bit much. There were the two trips to the pumpkin farm. There was the in-school party, the after-school party, the jackolantern carving, the costume buying, and the inevitable craze that was the actual day of Halloween. I’m exhausted.

I think what we need is another holiday in October to offset the maniacal build-up to Halloween. Columbus Day is clearly not helpful. It seems as if that day’s claim to fame is that all the people in the neighborhood get to wander around wondering why the mail isn’t being delivered. I’m not sure we know what to do with Columbus anymore, now that his big discovery has been challenged. In schools, teachers are left with a bunch of curriculum materials that are historically problematic. But, not wanting to waste all those “Columbus Was An Explorer. Are You An Explorer, Too?" signs, educators have simply watered down the old message without addressing the controversy. As a result, Blue and Green received a host of bland Columbus-related social studies worksheets, including one that said this:

Columbus sailed on a ship.
He landed in America.
He met the people who lived there.

Now there’s an exciting story! Way to bring the drama of history to life!

But anyway, Halloween. Trick-or-treating pulls something primal out in me. The truth is that I wasn’t ready to give it up at age 13 and would probably STILL ring people’s doorbells for candy if it were at all socially acceptable. When I was a kid, it was all about strategy. The size of the candy bar was often in inverse proportion to the size of the house. Older people often gave out TWO pieces, probably because they didn’t want leftovers. People with little kids were often too distracted by their own goblins to pay adequate attention to their candy supply. And so on. I learned how to maximize my candy acquisition in the shortest possible amount of time.

To my dismay, Blue and Green are not strategists, at least not yet. Despite my exhortations to hurry! hurry! to get the most candy, they happily ambled along. At about 7:30, after an hour and a half of reminders about the importance of saying “thank you,” Green announced that he was ready to go home. “WHAT?!” I hollered at him. “You’re done?! How can you be done?” But he was, so Michael took him back to the house. I convinced Blue that it would be worth his while to do one more block. And sure enough, I was right – he scored several more reese's peanut butter cups (his favorite). “Blue,” I told him, “you’re learning from a master.”

The sad part is that I don’t really crave the candy anymore. I’ve had a piece or two, the “fun size” kind, but I’m not crazy with lust over the remaining bowl of Hershey bars that we have sitting on the kitchen counter. When did that leave me? When did I learn to be happy with small squares of organic dark chocolate, you know, the kind with ANTIOXIDANTS? I’m certainly glad they didn’t tell me that as a child. Can you imagine the depressing high school assembly, entitled “Things You Never Guessed About Adulthood?” Here’s what they would say:

1) No matter how old you become, you will always get pimples, especially on important days.

2) McDonalds food will stop tasting good, or at the very least, it will make you feel incredibly crappy if you eat it.

And

3) You will no longer want to consume an entire bucket full of Halloween candy in one sitting, and if you do, it will feel like a shameful binge instead of a joyful celebration.

On that note, I will leave you with assorted Halloween photos:

Choosing the biggest pumpkins in the patch




Carving

Doctor Green, Doctor Blue, and Me (Not Really a Doctor)

Holiday

At Blue and Green’s school, today is Halloween. Well, it’s not really Halloween. It’s Harvestoween. We certainly would never celebrate anything connected to the underworld, but farming? Yes! We love farming! Though we all live in the city, we go to the farmer’s market every weekend to get our organic produce. So yes, let’s celebrate the farmer and his/her bountiful pesticide-free spinach.

I shouldn’t poke fun. I understand that holidays are complicated for public institutions, but this one just cracks me up. For the past week, the boys have been studying nothing but traditional Halloween symbols. They painted jackolanterns. They designed elaborate pumpkin people. The hallways are filled with signs that say, “Boo!” Last week, the school dragged all 85 kindergarteners to a rural pumpkin patch, never mind the driving windstorm and pounding rain. On our permission slip, the administration promised that this trip was intricately tied to the goals, objectives, and learning benchmarks of the kindergarten program. But in truth, the kids took a tractor ride, slid down a big slide in a hay maze, and were able to pet several bedraggled rabbits.

Besides the absence of the actual word “Halloween,” several other things have changed about this holiday since I was a kid. First, the children are not allowed to wear full costumes to school. Instead, they can only decorate their heads. I assume this rule emerged to make costumes less distracting, but I’m not so sure that’s working. I saw one girl this morning who fashioned her long hair into a foot tall palm tree on top of her head. It was painted green and had noisy, dangling coconuts on it. Another little boy almost peed in his pants because he was so excited about wearing hair products for the first time. “Look at me! Look at me!” he shrieked at the top of his lungs. I overheard his teacher say, “Brent, you need to sit down and take out your homework.” “I can’t,” he responded. “I’m wearing mousse!”

The other thing that is different about Halloween is that there's no candy. Instead of in-school trick-or-treating, Blue and Green are going to experience a healthy food bonanza at their classroom party. I told the boys that they weren’t going to need their lunchboxes today, because each child was bringing in a wholesome dish to share. “What about dessert?” Blue asked. “Ummm,” I stammered, “Your friend Linus is bringing in dried apricots, and some people might consider that a dessert.” “Mama,” Blue said, “An apricot is fruit. Don’t you know that?”

Well, yes, I know that. I am also aware that as I write this, my picky-eater boys are struggling over whether to a) go hungry or b) eat the mini soy corndogs that Lucy brought in, or c) try the honey dew melons that Schroeder contributed, or d) sample the “mini raisin lemon pancakes” that Pigpen’s mother stayed up late last night to make. I have a sense that Green is going to stomp out of his classroom this afternoon and announce, “Harvest time is no fun.”

Another problem with this holiday is that it is being muscled out by Christmas. When I was at the drugstore the other day looking for appropriate head decorations for the boys, I found one measly aisle devoted to Halloween. But if you were out that day looking for a wreath or a stocking or some reindeer wrapping paper, you would have been in good shape. And if you were really paying attention, you would have heard the instrumental version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” being piped over the airwaves, just to get you ready for when he really does come to town in TWO MONTHS.

And of course, all this ho!ho!ho! retail spirit is getting the kids geared up for greediness. Blue and Green are already hard at work on their Christmas lists. In particular, Blue wants a custom-made, gas powered garbage truck that he can drive up and down the neighborhood streets. “Uh, Blue,” I said to him, “I don’t think Santa will have room in his sleigh to bring a garbage truck of that size.” “He’ll make room, Mama,” Blue replied. “You told me that Santa is magic.”

Maybe the Christmas rush starts so early to give parents enough time to work themselves out of moral dilemmas like this one. But, just in case, I have to ask: Does anyone have a spare garbage truck they could donate? The stinkier it is, the better.

The Race

Blue and Green's teacher has created an elaborate incentive plan that rewards good behavior while simultaneously preparing the next generation to participate in the market economy. For every positive act, each child is presented with a fake dollar bill (a dutiful dollar), which they can then spend at the "store." When they learned about this plan, the boys were thrilled, thinking that the teacher was going to take them on a wild spree at ToysRUs. In reality, the "store" is just a paper bag filled with pencils and stickers, but its allure is still enough to get my kids to toe the line happily each and every day.

On Wednesday, the mother of one of the boys' classmates asked me, "Did you hear about the counterfeit dutiful dollars?" I hadn't. She lowered her voice and told me the sordid tale. Apparently, some child brought in a homemade stash of pretend money and quietly stowed it in his pencil box along with his other, honestly-earned dutiful dollars. When it came to light that this kid was suddenly much richer than his peers, his scheme was revealed.

But see, there's more. Rumor has it that the counterfeit dollars were made by scanning a genuine dutiful dollar into a computer and then copying it. The question naturally emerges about whether it's possible for a five year old to do this by himself. And if it's not possible, does that mean that a parent was an accomplice?

Now, I'm pretty suspicious about the whole story. Information that weaves its way home through the mouth of a kindergartener is usually part fiction, part wish, and part maniacal, exhausting, run-on blathering. But what's interesting about this case is its calculating, competitive nature. Whether or not the story is completely true, it's not totally inconceivable that a parent would lie, cheat, or steal to get his or her child to the head of the class.

Parents are everywhere in this school, all day, all the time. One thing we noticed -- and loved -- when we visited the school for the first time is that there are always parents cheerfully helping the teachers. I joined these ranks recently, giving up one of my precious hours each week to offer my expertise in the classroom. Every Thursday afternoon, I do things like help the kids finger paint the trunks of coconut trees or glue sea shells to the tops of shoe boxes. But really, I'm watching. I'm watching how my kids play with others. I'm watching how well they write words. I'm watching to see if the numbers they put on their worksheets look like actual numbers. And, if I'm honest, I'm watching to see how they compare to other kids.

I think it's natural to think that your own kid is a genius. I mean, come on -- you knew him when he couldn't even raise his head off the mattress. Now look! He can count to 110! He can write the words "stay out of my room" with just a little assistance! Sure, he might have a few annoying habits, like needing to rip the toilet paper precisely on the perforation line, but otherwise this kid emerged from his amoeba-like form and turned into a real phenom.

A couple of weeks ago, I returned from my stint as mommy volunteer feeling a bit dispirited. I was in the midst of a rather hectic craft project with seven kids, trying to get them to make patterns out of sequins. It is very difficult to get that many kids to focus on a project like this. In their eyes, it would be much more fun to organize the sequins haphazardly. There's more splash! More pizazz! But no, this is school, and they're supposed to be learning. One boy had a red, blue, red, blue thing going, when he suddenly inserted a yellow. "Why did you put a yellow there?" I asked him. "Because it's pretty," he answered. "But, honey," I said, "remember that you're supposed to be organizing these sequins into a pattern." "Why?" he asked, looking at me with an unflinching gaze. Why? Why? I had no idea. I wanted to say, "Because I need to get a good grade in volunteering."

Anyway, I was in the middle of this chaos, when Blue and Green's teacher came up to me. "I'd like to talk to you about the boys' writing," she said. I smiled at her. My kids are fabulous writers! So creative! So inspired! But the teacher frowned. She said, "They have very immature grips."

Oh.

Now this isn't completely surprising. They do come from a long line of folks who have poor penmenship. But, still. She's saying my kids are immature? Why didn't their preschool teachers alert me to this problem? Why wasn't I working with them all summer to get them better acquainted with correct pencil form? How will they get ahead? How will they ever pass the test to get into the Smarty-Pants Program? How will they get into college? Ack!

It's in the air, this pressure to excel. Yesterday, I approached a group of mommies standing at the edge of the playground after school. They were whispering and pointing at a kindergarten boy who was sitting and reading a book. "Is Fred reading a chapter book all by himself?" one of them exclaimed. Another nibbled on her fingernails and said, "I just don't know what to do about Daphne. She would rather play with her ponies than do the worksheets I give her. How will she ever learn to read like Fred over there?" Everyone clucked sympathetically. One woman cleared her throat and said, "I hear there are more kids who are qualified for the Smarty-Pants Program than there are spaces available. I wonder if there's a way to help my son Shaggy become better prepared."

I wanted to squinch my eyes closed and cover my ears like the boys do when they don't want to hear what I'm saying. My kids are five years old. There are leaves to jump in, pumpkins to carve, jungle gyms to climb, castles to build. I want to give them this time. Doesn't the window for childhood joy seem pretty narrow? But I also know that the race has started, whether I like it or not.

Ready, set, go?

Curriculum

Over two weeks have passed since Blue and Green started kindergarten, and we're beginning to get into a bit of a rhythm. Of note is the fact that we've been on time every single day, even with the double breakfasting, the dressing, the lunch packing, the snack packing, the form signing (twice), the water bottle filling, the car loading, and the car unloading. I'm always a little sweaty by the time the bell rings, but the kids are as cheerful about a new school day as I am about a frozen margarita on a hot beach.

The hardest thing for me has been the fact that I don't really know what's going on for them during the day. In the afternoons, I ask for an update, and I usually get a gossipy story about kids who didn't follow the rules (pronounced woo-wuls). Most of these rules seem to concern having kids SHUT UP. Here are a few, in Blue and Green's words:

1) Don't shout out to another teacher who's with another class when you're in line because you need to be quiet because it will disturb other classes that have their windows open.

2) Don't talk during directions

3) No talking unless you raise your hand

4) If you need to talk, don't talk in a mean way

and

5) After lunch, try to get into two lines and don't talk until you get around the corner and if you do it well the principal will give a silent cheer.

I happen to know that there are a few other rules, because I received the school's six page "code of conduct" during the first week. In addition to SHUTTING UP, here are some of the other guidelines:

1) No pocket chains

2) Summer clothing should be reflective of an educational institution and not that of a beach party (this is a direct quote!)

3) Flush toilets

and

4) Wood chips stay on the ground at all times.

OK, so I get it. Rules are important. But what are they learning? What are they doing all day? It's hard to tell. One day earlier this week, I asked the boys what they did in class. They answered, "Today we played with dead birds!" Ummm.....what? Is this for an important unit on taxidermy? Guess what, boys? I have a new rule! Wash your hands after every lesson!

My gap in knowledge about the school day was concerning, so I was happy that our teacher held "curriculum night" on Thursday. At 5:45, 20 parental sets squeezed our big bottoms into teeny chairs and learned that our little geniuses would exit kindergarten 1) reading; 2) writing; and 3) certainly able to stand in line without talking. We learned about science ("preserved" birds = observing the natural world), math, and literature. We learned about field trips (school buses!), birthday parties, and art.

I was pleased. It seemed like a rich curriculum that both had a purpose and was reasonably creative. But there's one thing that still nags at me: homework. Yes, homework. For kindergartners. I don't know why I'm surprised. After all, my two five year olds need to be able to compete with five year olds in China and India, and God knows that those other kids have been up to speed on dead birds for years now. But, man. Homework? I guess that I have a Leave It To Beaver-esque notion of what childhood should be. You know, you come home from school, throw down your backpack, and go play kick-the-can with the neighborhood kids until dinner. Homework complicates that image.

Of course, if I'm honest about it, it's vexing that their homework is really my homework. And I could tell that other parents were agitating about this, too. After the curriculum night presentation was over, there was a line-up of nervous mommies in designer jeans waiting to talk to the teacher. And I could hear the questions:"OK, it says on the homework sheet that Junior needs to read more than two books for twenty minutes every night and then fill out this form. I'm reading chapter books with him, so can we read more than two chapters, or do we need to read several of those long books every night?" or "I've already taught Poopsie how to do long division. This homework is too easy for me....I mean, her. Can we adapt it to include some pre-calculus?" And in my case, I notice that I'm approaching their homework the way I used to approach my own, by putting it off until the last minute. That way, the work itself might not be interesting, but it becomes a huge! alarming! emergency! that can add a little drama into an otherwise dull afternoon.

For their part, Blue and Green love doing homework.



They think it's fabulous, no matter how mundane the task. "Okay guys," I said the other day. "It says here that you have to go count all the cans in the pantry." "There are twenty!" they hooted, after pulling out and examining all the cans of beans and vegetable soup. "Actually," I replied,"There are nineteen. I'm throwing this one away because it expired in 2004."

One of their favorite activities had to do with leaves. They were supposed to gather 10 leaves and then sort them by size and color. We put on our shoes and trekked to the park. I said, "This is homework, boys. You need to find 10 leaves." Off they went, while I rested on a bench. When they returned, this is what they had with them:



Overachievers, already.

The First Days

Thanks to those of you who expressed your support on Wednesday. I'm happy to report that I did recover from my initial angst, thanks in part to a successful retail therapy excursion. Blue and Green love kindergarten so far, especially recess (three times a day!), the perpetual ringing of the bell (two before school, each recess, lunch, after school), and, of course, the locker. It is a bit hard to figure out exactly what's going on, since the news I get is partial. When I asked them what they learned yesterday, they answered, "We learned how to draw straight and squiggly lines." Huh. Well, that will sure make their doodling better! Gotta love my tax dollars at work.

Once I recovered from Wednesday's danish binge, it occurred to me that I have a rather unique opportunity here. My classes don't start until the first week of October, so that leaves me with three weeks with TIME TO MYSELF. SIX HOURS A DAY. Can I say that any louder? SIX HOURS A DAY!!!! TO MYSELF!!

I began my stint as a lady-of-leisure by returning to the gym after a rather lengthy hiatus. This return had less to do with my danish habit as it did with my need to catch up on reading material. My sister-in-law is recovering from surgery, so I thought I'd use this space today to entertain her (and you!) with all the knowledge I gained on the elliptical machine this morning.

#1) Fitness magazine says, "You must be a priority...Be your own high-stepping, baton-twirling majorette." Hmm. OK, but I don't have a majorette costume.

#2) Fitness also claims that leggings, leg warmers, and LEOTARDS are back in style! Oh boy! Maybe I can get a majorette costume after all.

#3) If leotards aren't your thing, US magazine offers some useful advice for any woman of a certain age. "In your twenties," they write, "you can wear a skirt with fishnets and red satin heels, but in your thirties, you have to choose just one." Oh no! Just one? I'll leave it to you, my loyal audience, to make that choice for me. What should I wear to the PTA picnic tomorrow -- fishnets or the red heels?

#4) I know that many of you are in your forties and beyond. US says this about you: "Go for clean, classic styles with bold accents like a splash of leopard." Alright, it's time to pack away that leopard bodysuit you love so much. Didn't you hear them? They said a SPLASH of leopard, not an entire carcass.

#5) For those of you who have daughters, this one's for you. Actress Evan Rachel Wood recently told reporters, "I'm sorry if I have blonde hair and blue eyes and my boyfriend looks like a vampire. What do you want me to do about it?"

Kindergarten

My neighbor gave me this picture. I think she thought it could be a model for what my time today should be like. But, alas, there are a few differences between my life and this woman's life. First, there's her neat living room. Where are all the toys? The dust bunnies in the corner? The milk stains on the coffee table? Was she really able to get her house clean during those long, late-summer days when the kids were wrestling and throwing plastic food at each other? And of course, there's also her face. Doesn't she look serene? I, by contrast, am pale and blotchy from the epic crying fit I had in the car after the parents were ushered out of the classroom this morning.

The boys have left for kindergarten. Kindergarten. KINDERGARTEN. How did that happen? I remember when they were 2 months old and colicky. At five o'clock every night, they would commence screaming in an inconsolable, window-shattering way, and the only thing in the world that could stop it was driving over 55 mph. So Michael and I, on 3 or 4 hours of sleep, would put them in the car and drive to the mountains and back. The stress of the rush-hour drive was nothing in comparison to the sweet joy of silence. But when we returned, just as we were slowing down on the exit ramp, the screaming would begin again. It was as if they were saying, "You're not going to get any quiet for FIVE WHOLE YEARS."

And here we are. It's so quiet in the house I can barely stand it. I guess I should feel some measure of success, because we've come a long way in the last few weeks. Green, in particular, was concerned about the whole big-kid school concept. When I told him last week that we were going to his kindergarten orientation on Thursday at 1 pm, he said, "I think I'm busy at that time." And I said, "Clear your calendar, kid. The real world's knocking."

Lucky for us, Green found something to get really excited about: lockers. Ever since Green was a toddler, he has loved doors. Sliding doors could entertain him for hours. But lockers! That's new! We did a little video of each of the kids, where I asked them a series of questions like "What do you want to be when you grow up?" and "What's your favorite food?" When I asked Green what he was most looking forward to about kindergarten, he didn't mention learning to read, or art class, or recess. He said he was most looking forward to having that locker. "Why?" I asked. And he answered, "Because I get to open it."

Well, alright. Whatever works for you.

So they're off with their lockers, and I'm left trying to figure out what's making me so sad about this whole thing. Part of it is that my nest is empty. Michael said this morning, "But your nest will fill back up again at 3:00." That's certainly true. But the thing is, when they're not in my nest, I can't protect all of those fragile things about them: their enthusiasm, their silliness, their creativity, their joy. I have to let them protect themselves. And how can they do that when they can't even eat applesauce without spilling it down their fronts?

I know I'm not the only person going through this. After the post-drop off crying jag, Michael took me to the coffee shop to buy me a cream cheese danish. I find that it takes about 700 calories or so to soak up all those tears. While I was waiting, I must have looked pretty pathetic. A woman came up to me and asked, "Did you just take someone to kindergarten?" "Yes," I answered, and she smiled as if to say, "It's going to be OK." And I know it will. But for now, I have four hours to go before they come home. And I'm holding my breath.