The Experienced Mother

So over the weekend I had to make the decision of whether or not to move my son out of his assigned Kindergarten class. At our Back-to-School Night I had talked briefly to the principal about the situation because right away there were several things I was uncomfortable with. He was very principalian about it-- vaguely understanding, while supporting his teacher and the situation in a fair manner, and gently discouraging regarding my desire to switch classrooms. I told him I'd go home and think it over.

And I did. I thought about it, and talked to a few people about it. And in the end I felt that I was unhappy about several of the circumstances surrounding his current class that it was worth it to have him switched. I'm glad I did, but I do take these things seriously. School administrators work hard and deal with a lot and generally I keep my mouth shut about things I roll my eyes at because unless they are really critical, I think it's generally not worth making trouble. These are the kinds of decisions that make parenting a precarious walk along the ridgepole of a roof.

But then last night we had rice for dinner and the baby dug in and made a complete mess sending rice everywhere. He's at the "I want to wield a spoon PLEASE! but have no idea how to do it!" phase. So in the end he just uses his hands. After dinner I cleaned up the left-overs and loaded the dishes in the dishwasher, but when it came time to wipe down the table and sweep up the floor I left the rice and went to bed.

This is the kind of decision I can handle. This is the kind of thing I am experienced in: Cleaning up dried rice is a million trillion times easier than wet rice. Especially off the floor.

This morning, clean up will be a piece of cake.

Time Warp

I went to write a post about the first day of school and I got sucked in to some of my old posts. It's fun to take a jaunt around my old (yet younger!) self.

And then today my oldest started fourth grade, and my next oldest started second grade, and I called the principal and had my son switched to a different kindergarten class. It is not in my nature to do something like that, I'm normally a go with the flow, teach my kids to go with the flow kind of person. But. The classroom situation to which he had been assigned was one I was unhappy with for so many reasons, so there. I exercised my parental rights and got him switched to a new class. Kindergarten starts next week.

Where does the time go? Three kids in school. And I'm starting to wig out about next year, because next year four of my kids will be in school. And I have five kids. Oh Time. Where does it fly?

To old blog posts, I guess. My baby has decided that now, at the age of 14 months, is the time to start walking. And I love to see him wobble along on his two skinny legs, but there's something about it that breaks my heart. So I am writing this so that I can read it in 5 years and just enjoy the record of the past while I shake my head at living in the present, because really? How in the world did I get here?

It's so strange.

The Last Week of Summer

The kids start school next Monday. One last week of Summer before the schedule comes with a ruler in hand. We will have to be on our toes in order to keep up with the initial Fall rush.

It's been a good Summer; it's gone by incredibly fast. We've had ample juice popsicles, a few snow cones and some ice cream. We've spent a lot of time at the pool. We've had (good grief, so many) family reunions and our own little family vacay in SLC. There are a million projects I never finished, and never started, actually.

It's been a nice Summer.

If one were responsible this would be the week to get the kids up early, get them to bed early and get everything all prepped for the week after.

But, because it is the last week of Summer, do you really think that will happen?

Of course not.

Because it's the last week of Summer.

And that's not what Summer is about, is it? Especially not the last week.

resolved again: just say no

We got hamburgers and fries for dinner on the way home from dropping our car off for some repairs. The past few years I have really limited how much fast food we eat-- and it was never very much to begin with--but there are those nights...

and then I always regret feeding that junk to my kids. Always. I had one kid who wasn't full anyway, and one who felt sick all night. But now my resolve is strong again. Suggest Wendy's and I will say that if we must, I'll see you at In and Out Burger, where at least their meat is fresh and not filled with ammonia. We have a Sonic by our house. I say, with pride, my kids don't even think about it as a place to eat at, just as a landmark that says you are almost home.

Fast food = It may be sort of fast, but can we really call it food? That is my question for today. Michael Pollan would say "No." And so do I.

zzzzzzzzz

I am tired.

It might have something to do with my lack of quality sleep.

Which might have something to do with this cold I can't quite kick.

It might be because I chose the chocolate chips yesterday instead of the carrots.

But, truth be told, we've had a lot of carrots lately, and I haven't been grocery shopping and so there is not a lot left in the house. There are craisins. But you can only eat so many of those.

I have a to-do list a mile long. That sounds like an exaggeration, but I think if I lined up all of the words that are on that list it would roll out far and wide.

I have a theory: If I can just pick my self up by my bootstraps and dig in {dig dig dig} {dug} then I will be so exhausted tonight that I will collapse into bed and sleep hard and wake up refreshed. I don't know if I have the wherewithal or the patience to do this.

It might be because of my cold.

And I think that is why I am tired.