Five year old ramblings...

The Older boy is gone on a play date for the afternoon which gave me an afternoon with Monkey. We immediately left for the grocery store to pick up some lunch meat and milk (and diet cola :). Monkey must not have heard The Older being picked up and at the bottom of the steps, he yelled back into the house, "The Older, come on we're going to the grocery store."

So I told Monkey, "He's not here."

Monkey asked, "Where is he?"

I replied,"He's at J's house. Remember? He had a play date with her."

Monkey's response as he shrugs, "Well...that was quick." So we were off to the grocery store. We had a pretty decent run. I love going to the grocery store in the mornings during the week. I honestly used the grocery store like some people use coffee shops or bars. Before I started school, almost two years ago, I was at the grocery store daily. I have also always enjoyed my time with either of the boys at the grocery store. It may sound weird, but the grocery store was my favorite place to teach my children stuff. We would talk about food or the polite way to leave your cart when you are perusing the shelves looking for items or using manners to interact with people at the deli or seafood or bakery counters or the checkout persons. I find it better to "hang out" in than say Target where I would just buy crap that I don't really need or couldn't really afford. There's always some food item that could be picked up though. (I'm looking into getting a therapist to deal with some of my eating/food issues. They run deep.)

Anyway, after the grocery store on our way home through the park, Monkey yells out, "Hey, I think that's E.'s car." Our incredibly cute two year old neighbor girl.

I said, "Yes, it probably is. They were going to be in the park today."

Monkey asked, "Well, does she even know how to swing?"

"I would say probably yes. She does."

Monkey then asked, "Does she know my name?"

"Maybe. I'm not completely sure."

His final question that left me giggling the rest of the ride home, "Well, does she know what the back of my throat looks like? Because I've looked at it in the mirror before."

My response, "No, no she probably doesn't know what the back of your throat looks like."

Once home, we had a nice little lunch chatting about his friends. This started because he wanted to watch Minnesota Cuke before nap time, which is about dealing with bullies. That led to him talking about people who he thinks are bullies and how he would go about being friends with them. Then he said something slightly disturbing, "D. always tries to kiss E. (a friend from school not the neighbor) and he shouldn't do that because they don't match."

I pushed this a little further, "What do you mean they don't match?"

"D. is brown and E. isn't."

I asked, "Who says it has to be that way?"

Monkey stated, "I do. It's a simple puzzle."

My teaching moment, "Well, I'm here to tell you that even though people don't match it doesn't mean that they can't kiss and love each other." I then gave as many examples as I could think of including his grandparents.

Monkey added, "But D. is mean to E. sometimes, and they're not best friends."

I state, "Well, I guess that's good."

Monkey asks completely shocked, "To be mean to people?!?"

I clarify, "No, that it would be good to be best friends before you kiss someone."

Monkey says a little relieved, "Oh. Can I save the rest of this spaghetti for later?"

"Yes, but I want to make sure that you know that it's okay for people who don't match to kiss each other."

He asks sounding a little bored, "Back to the D. thing again?"

"Just that." And thus ended the intercultural education of the five year old at lunch. Apparently, he was most offended by a boy being mean to a girl sometimes, but then trying to kiss her other times.

And Dirty thinks I'm Hermione...

So we are looking into a language immersion school for Monkey next year because we aren't thrilled with our kindergarten option and he didn't test into the "gifted" (but really accelerated not gifted) school. Originally, I was turned off of the school because it's a Charter School. In my circle, Charter School=The Devil because when children go to the charter schools, the money that the government uses to pay for their education, is redirected from the public schools to the charter schools. There is a whole moral side to this that I now feel bad about. I am contributing to the decline in enrollment to the public schools and taking away the money that would follow my child through the public school system. I am not completely able to put all my feelings eloquently into words on the subject and therefore, I digress.

At this point in time, there are two language options: French and Spanish. I believe living in America that Spanish would be the most useful. I took French in high school and have never used it. I didn't even use it when I went to Canada to be perfectly honest. The French teachers at the school, and apparently the staff as well, all push for the French option. Their argument, French is spoken in more countries throughout the world than Spanish. Okay...that is true. French is spoken in more countries throughout the world and a heck of a lot of those countries are teeny tiny countries, and larger coutries, in Africa, a few countries in Europe, Canada (And who really counts Canada? I kid.), Haiti, then finally tiny remote islands in the Pacific ocean.

Spanish on the other hand is spoken throughout Central America and South America and by so many people throughout the United States. I wish that I took Spanish in high school. There have been so many instances when I could have interacted with people. The Scientist's friend in first grade's mom was from Ecuador and she wasn't comfortable enough to speak to me in English. His other classmate, J, I don't know where her family was from but again there was a language barrier and her mom only felt comfortable talking to the mom from Ecuador. In both instances, the most interaction we had was saying hello and smiling. Most conversations were stunted after that. Anyway, I decided that the Spanish option was the most practical since Mandarin isn't available yet.

Now, I would like to give a brief excerpt from my conversation with a staff member who was pushing the French option:

Enrollment Lady (EL): Have you decided which school?

Me: Yes, Spanish. I have no plans to move to the Great White North.

EL: Well, it would help with pronunciation of the street names. For instance, it isn't show-tow; it's Shuh-toh, and it's pah-pahn; not pay-pin.

Me:(thinking) It's not win-GARD-ium levi-OH-sah; it's win-GARD-ium levi-oh-SAH. Yes, we live in a French settled city. Yes, we pronounce the street names incorrectly. French is still a useless option in my opinion. It doesn't seem like a strong enough argument to learn a language just so you can pronounce the street name correctly. I've gone my entire life without people pronouncing my name correctly. I got over it by the end of high school.

I apologize if I've offended anyone by my lack of interest in using or learning French or in thinking that it is at all useful. I guess it's also obvious that the way these French speakers conduct themselves in promoting French just rubs me the WRONG way.

Morning Routine...

There are only so many moments where I feel I get the chance to really focus and connect with my boys. For most of the morning, while we're getting ready for school, there's so much silliness between them. It's mostly potty humor with "butts" and "pooping" being the main focus. They are little boys after all. I try to limit this because it's really easily escalated to running at top speed through our apartment. (I'm still processing The Scientist breaking his arm in this way; running through the house, not the potty talk. I was the cause of the fracture.) Somehow though, we are able to complete our routine in time for Monkey's bus.

I usually supervise, heavily mind you to keep on schedule, the getting ready of Monkey. He tends to sleep later which gives him less leniency with his time. Plus he's a little boy, and he hasn't quite trained his body to focus yet. Eat, get dressed, brush teeth, put on coat and backpack, head to bus stop. These are the steps to our morning. I walk with Monkey alone to the bus stop. The Scientist continues getting ready while we're gone.

As we walk, we sometimes hold hands. I don't check my phone. My undivided attention is his. Sometimes we see special birds. Sometimes there are questions that pop into his head. "Which one is our Christmas tree?" "Why did daddy put it there?" "Which one is a yard waste dumpster?" "Why is it green?" Sometimes I ask him questions about the night before. "How was gymnastics?" "What did you do last night?" "What was your favorite part?"

Most days he runs ahead to the corner. Every single time I get nervous. I wonder if he'll remember to stop at the corner? Once I catch up, he usually finds a game to play. When it snowed, he threw "snowballs" at me. This morning and yesterday morning, he wanted to break up the ice in the gutter. I usually stand and watch for the bus to turn onto the street at the end of the neighborhood. As soon as I see it, I tell him that his bus will be there soon. He always gets a little giddy when I tell him. This makes me sure of the fact that, while sometimes he is not motivated to go to school, once he's moving in that direction he enjoys himself.

As the bus pulls up in front of us, I offer him my hand. Partially, this is to make sure he doesn't run out too quickly. The other part, is because I don't know that he'll always let me take his hand. One morning he didn't want me to walk him to the door of the bus. It was bittersweet. Luckily, it only happened once. I give him the option now that he's done it once, "Do you want to do it yourself or do you want me to take you?" I now ask him daily as I offer my hand. I lean down so I can hear him better over the street noise. Every time, since that one time, he says, "I want you to take me." My heart melts. He still needs me. He still wants me. I walk him to the door and say "Good morning." to the bus driver, and "Bye Monkey." as he steps onto the bus. Then, I walk back to the curb. I can still feel the warmth of his little hand in my palm. I stand and wait. I watch to see if he'll remember to wave goodbye.

Most mornings, he does. I watch him put his seat belt on. Then, I see his little face, grinning widely, peering out the window. He waves to me. Again this feels bittersweet. He won't always look out the window smiling, waving. One morning we were fighting. I put my foot down and wouldn't let him take two different toys that each had many pieces to lose. He was angry with me. He wanted to take the pieces. He wanted to take both action figures. I wouldn't bend. There was no time for negotiations. Despite bus schedule regularity, I'm always anxious we'll be late. We never are. The walk that morning was tense. He was so angry. As we walked, he listed reasons why it was fine for him to do what he wanted. I tried to explain why it was not. We did the routine.

I told him when I first saw his bus. As it pulled up, I offered my him my hand, he took it. Now, I recall this was the morning he wanted to walk to the bus himself from the curb. His being angry with me pushed him to grow a little. I gave him his space. I supervised him from the curb. I watched him put on his seat belt. He turned his head to look out the window. He was smiling! I was surprised. He was just so angry with me. I watched his eyes as he remembered he was angry. He tried so hard to change his smile to a frowning, pouting face. That morning, like some other mornings, the bus driver took a little longer to pull away. That morning, like the other mornings, I was grateful for those precious extra seconds. In that time, he couldn't turn his smile into a frown. He began to laugh and smile again. He waved in a sort of silly resignation and turned forward as the bus pulled away.

It was over. He was fine. We were fine. In the mornings, after his bus pulls away I feel light as I walk back to the house. He's five already. He rides a bus to school. He still needs me and misses me while he's gone. Sure I enjoy the time during the day when the boys are away. I also miss my time with them as a stay at home mom. We need time away from one another though. It makes those times together that much more special. I've been so lucky to stay home with them those first few years when they develop so much socially and emotionally. I 'm so lucky to get those few precious minutes of just he and I in the morning when he's so confident and happy to move forward in his day. It makes me feel as if I'm made of air and light.

Winding down the semester...

I don't have much time to make a big long post. I'm in preservation mode to get through the semester with straight A's. I'm may be a bit in denial about how much work I have ahead of me. I do have a ton to do, but am working on one task at a time while also making sure to keep a tally of all the things that need to be done by December 17th. I went to see the UMSL School of Nursing. It's competitive right now, but I'm hoping all the hard work I've put into school, this time around, will give me an edge. I really liked the campus. It made me excited to start the nursing school portion or this trek, but like I said...one task at a time. BUT I have registered for classes next semester and am in the process of applying to UMSL while also looking into other options because of the competitiveness.

The Scientist (until I can come up with a suitable nickname) broke his arm on Thanksgiving. The story is basically this...he was having trouble getting motivated to get his coat on to leave, I challenged him with "I bet you can't make it into the kitchen in two seconds," he did but ran full tilt into the door frame. I knew he was really hurt (not that hurt, but hurt) and after consulting Children's Hospital's website decided with The Scientist to "watch and wait." He went through Thanksgiving day flinching every now and then, but doing most things as normal. We called the nurses line the next day. She suggested not going to the emergency room, but go ahead and see the pediatrician. Once there he recommended x-rays and that led to a six hour wait for the orthopedic pediatrician to decide whether to cast or splint the fracture. He's good now but milking the "I can't write" angle for all it's worth. To an extent we're going along with it. That may change once we go see the orthopedic nurse practitioner tomorrow.

Otherwise, we've been busy with schools and gymnastics and family get-togethers for Thanksgiving/Christmas. The Scientist was asking me today what we do as a family to celebrate the holidays. He didn't realize that we start Christmas at Thanksgiving and that goes until New Years. Busy, busy, busy.

You will also notice that I've changed the background layout of my blog. Thanks Half! I snatched the website from you.