Chinese Immersion

At Tessa's school they will be implementing a Chinese Immersion Program for one of the first grade classes next year. Tessa came home from school with a note asking us to let the school know if we'd want Tessa to be in that class. Both Ray & I decided we should ask Tessa what she would like to do. After explaining to her that half of the day she'd be taught in English & the other half of the day she'd be taught in Chinese, she just sat there thinking. After about 5 minutes she looked up at me and said, "Mom, school is hard enough in my own language. Don't you think I should just stick with English for awhile. After all, I am just getting the hang of this reading stuff!"

Monsters Are Real

Nathan is convinced that monsters are real. He believes that they hide under his bed and in his closet just waiting to get him. These fears make bed time difficult. Each night he presents a strong case why he shouldn't sleep in his bed & I counter with all kinds of solutions. I do my best to rid his room of scary monsters with prayer, songs, tickles, hugs, stories, and night lights. I have taken some of Noah's art out of the room because Nathan felt they came alive to get him when the lights go out. Some nights we succeed and Nathan stays in his bed other nights he ends up in bed with me. The other night he stayed in his bed all night and awoke in a state of horror. I could hear his little pitter-patter run down the hall towards my room accompanied with woeful tears. He was begging me to clean him up.

At first sight of him, I was afraid too. His face and arms were covered in blood. I was hoping it had just been a bloody nose that ran a muck. However, Nathan, screamed at me that a monster had gotten him in the night. I tried my best to assure him it had not been a monster. As he allowed me to wash his face and arms he studied the dirtied washcloth with extreme curiosity. Then he said, "Mama, I sorry I pooped in my bed. Pleeeease get it off mef!" I immediately felt badly that he came to the conclusion that if it had not been a monster then it had to be him pooping. I tried to convince him that neither had happened--that it was dry and he'd just had a bloody nose. Since I don't want him to feel shame I finally surrendered the argument and agreed that a monster did attack, but convinced him that he'd won the battle. He hugged me as I said, "Nate, imagine what that Monster must look like...I am sure he'll never come back now."

Valentines

For weeks Emma has begged me to assist her in making fancy homemade Valentines. I insisted that she couldn't begin until her Indian report was finished. I was hoping that she'd be a little more motivated to finish her report. Unfortunately, no amount of motivation would prevent oodles of drama in accomplishing this assignment. Enduring the tumultuous turbulence of writing a report Emma finally finished it and so I surprised her with a couple of ideas for her Valentines. I hoped this project would entertain her for hours preventing the usual whining that there is nothing to do and no one to play with.....
Emma decided to make fish for the boys and butterflies for the girls. Three hours later, she'd managed to make two fish. These fish were thoughtfully designed specifically to each person they were intended for. She truly beamed with excitement in her masterpieces. While she was happily entertained, I became concerned about whether or not she'd have enough time to make enough Valentines before her class party. After all, she only had a week.
Each day after school I reminded her to work on her Valentines. Each time I was met with a defiant, "NO." I wondered where the enthusiasm for her project had gone. As it turns out, I ended up making her the 33 Valentines. She ended up tossing the 2 completed fish because she didn't want the other kids to feel badly about getting one of my puny ones. After all, she wanted to be fair.
In contrast....
I had given Tessa the same options. She chose butterflies for the girls. For the boys she took a pipe cleaner with a heart on one end and twisted it around a candy stick . Tessa finished all of her Valentines in a few hours without any drama. She only wanted to know how many days she had to wait until the party and could she have a candy stick?
I asked Noah what kind of Valentines he'd like to pass out: homemade or store bought? He decided to trace and cut small red hearts out of construction paper and stick candy on them. His only concern was if he had to say something on them. He seemed very happy that I only instructed him to put his name and the recipients name on each heart. He finished in an hour.
Elizabeth made some heart wire jewelry for her friends. The Jr, High provides an opportunity to purchase cookie grams to send to friends. While Elizabeth didn't seem interested, I remember Jr. High and the popularity contest it turns into and to feel not as loved as someone who gets tons of Valentines. So I sent one to her anonymously to insure she'd get at least one. She ended up with 5 and shared them with siblings.
Nathan also wanted to join in the fun. I cut out some big hearts. He colored them with markers and then decorated with stickers. He taped candy to them. We delivered one next door to his friend, Emmy. After giving it to her, he was sad to see the little heart sticker staying with her and so he savagely tried to steal it back. Tessa trying to restore peace, found a matching sticker for him to keep while preserving Emmy's heart intact.
As for me, I spent three frantic days making sugar cookies on sticks for my kids. Each day I had to beg them not to eat them yet. Each day I felt more frustration than love for my project. On the third day I let Nathan help me. I gave him the dozen tiny ones that were a little crisp to frost. He ate every single cookie and did his best to each every drop of icing. That was the best part of my Valentine project.

At last, my cookies were finished and distributed. I thought they turned out super cute. I hurried to make a cute cookie holder for them to adorn our festive dinner table as our centerpiece. I hoped they'd be appreciated. Wanting to light candles seemed much more exciting. As each child gobbled up their cookies I realized that cute or not they were gone. As I sat alone at the dinner table I watched the last candle flicker. I noticed the food spills. I noticed who hadn't cleared her plate and who hadn't pushed in his chair. I noticed the charcoal from one candles wick that had been smeared all over the table. I noticed my husband had cleared the left-over food and put it away. I could hear my children playing nicely together upstairs. I felt love.

Short Sighted

My extremely helpful and lovable 11 year old son, Noah, is also incredibly short sighted. His eyes are in perfect condition and not the problem. The short sightedness is a condition in which he can only remember things for about 10 seconds unless he needs to recall Bionicle, Science, or other trivia he's interested in. While he loves school, homework, and papers from the school tend to not be among the things he chooses to recall. This is something we as an entire family have been trying to improve upon. It has become a routine to drill Noah every night about whether his homework is done, has it been signed by a parent, did you do the spelling as well, and are there any papers for me in your backpack? The girls occasionally assist in this process as they testify for or against him when they have witnessed what actually has happened. Last night after I had drilled him thrice about whether or not he needed to give me some papers, I sent him to bed satisfied that we had successfully made it through another day. This morning I found one sealed envelope addressed to the parents of Noah lying on my bed. I went down the hall to collect dirty clothes and found one sketch he'd drawn of his father lying on the floor. After loading the washer I began to pick up some toys in the family room and discovered some of Noah's baby pictures he'd taken to school for a project lying on the floor. I am realizing that while I am grateful those items are not smashed and eternally forgotten in the abyss of his backpack, I know we still have room for improvement.

Self-Absorbed

In college I had a teacher whom requested that anyone who was 18 or 19 stand up. She then proceeded to compare us to toddlers: completely self-absorbed and believing the world revolves around them. Since I was one of the 18 year olds I was completely offended. Nevertheless as I continue to age I realize she was right in her assertion.
At church yesterday Nathan became unreasonably loud. I patiently held his face in my hands and begged him to look up to the front to see the speaker. I then explained that all of the other people in the chapel were trying to sit quietly to see and hear that speaker and we should do our best to sit quietly so everyone could hear. Nathan, however, retorted, "No, Mama, they are all here to look at me!"

Hair Scare

After writing the story about Tessa's encounter with a bug in the bathroom Nathan had his own kind of scare that same afternoon. Lucky for me, I was already awake and present to recognize we weren't in any fatal danger. Of course the terror occurred in the bathroom again. Nathan is learning to use the toilet and as he sat there doing his business he let out a frightful scream about the hair that he spied next to his leg on the toilet seat. I calmly encouraged him to pick it up, hand it to me, and I would throw it into the garbage can. Convinced that a single strand of hair could inflict torture beyond imagination, he refused to touch it. However, he continued to scream for me to rescue him from his tormentor. As a mother, how could I allow his suffering, so I picked up the hair and tossed it. After we'd wiped and washed I picked him up to explain the natural process of hair growing, falling out, and re-growing. Nate listened attentively at first until I informed him that his hair also falls out daily. He reached for his hair screaming, "No, not my hair! I don't want to lose it! Put it back on!!!!" He seemed pacified as I tenderly explained that when a hair falls out another hair grows back. Now I have a sense of concern that if he grows up and has true balding issues will he remember that I assured him his hair would grow back? Will he be screaming, "Liar!" Will I remember why?
In sharing this event with Ray, he suggested that I am already to blame. I hate hair that falls down my back annoying me profusely until I can capture it and banish it to the city dump. I, however, do not feel that I have ever demonstrated this crazed behavior in front of my son. So then Ray suggests that it is genetics. I suppose that whatever caused Nathan's initial fright of hair, I can agree that hair when not on ones head is incredibly bothersome regardless of whose it is and where it came from. I can only hope that in time he will be able to take care of loose hair on his own and that he will never bald.

Fire?!?

I woke up this morning to the most blood-curling scream I've ever heard. Every scenario for what might have occurred past quickly through my mind from fire to an intruder. While I didn't know what caused it I knew the source-- Tessa. Turns out after she'd gotten off the toilet she noticed a fire bug (box elder bug) on the toilet seat. I could completely sympathize with the extreme surprise she'd encountered. It makes me shudder too. I was also relieved that this "fire" could be extinguished by Noah's lizard who thoroughly enjoyed her early morning treat.

Competing or Cheating?

Elizabeth signed up to challenge a teacher in the Jr. High's annual "Beat the Teacher" reading contest. She is challenging the teacher who has consistently come in second place every year. She would have taken on the first place teacher who happens to teach English, but no one has ever come close (like within 1000 pages) of beating her. Now we know why...Elizabeth came home frustrated that her English teacher is cheating. She further explained that the teacher has been delegating assignments to the kids to study on their own or has them write about this or that and then she reads during the whole period. While Elizabeth feels that this isn't cheating exactly, she feels better in knowing why this teacher can't be beat. I on the other hand, think this teacher is cheating and is way too competitive. I feel she's cheating her classes by not teaching anything. I feel she's taking a fun competition way too seriously and wonder why she is afraid to let a 7th grade truly try to beat her? So, while this teacher may win again this year, what is she winning? And, what is she teaching? Her message is loud and clear to me: Win at all costs and beating a bunch of students makes me super-de-dooper.
In the meantime, I will allow Elizabeth to read during dinner until this contest ends in March.

Silly Rilla

Rilla was having a difficult day. Nathan & I decided to cheer her up. We bathed her, dressed her up, and laid on the floor trying to get her to smile. She had ideas of her own. I suppose after a morning like we had had, she was trying to cheer us up instead.