Mistaken Identity

This morning I was horrified to hear Vaughn ask me, "Why is Hannah Montana on that box?" while pointing at the box of Sunmaid Raisins. "Hannah Montana?!" I replied, "That's the Sunmaid Raisin Girl!" - as though this commercial image was somehow more wholesome than another commercial image. But that's kinda fair - the Sunmaid Raisin Girl is pretty much like Laura Ingles Wilder and Hannah Montana is modern and Disney. My fear was misplaced though- Vaughn said, "No- there" and pointed to the printed Hannah Montana advertisement that had been adhered to the box.

Fall 2009

I took the summer off and honestly didn't know if I could start back up again. I felt uninspired and apathetic to writing. But looking back through the old posts and laughing it was easy to remember why I'm doing this - because I have a crappy memory and I do want to remember some of these little details.

It seems apropos that I would return to blogging about the menagerie this morning after losing a chicken to a raccoon at three in the morning. Yes, in the three months I took off from blogging we acquired two baby chicks and managed to have them both die. I guess this is why people always say "You and animals!" (which somehow still pisses me off - as if I'm intentionally killing them - it's a rule of numbers people! I own more so more die. Or something like that).

Anyway- I will say this - Vaughn has been lobbying me for tortoises lately and I just can't do it. Maybe I'm slowing down - not wanting to collect so many. I have been overwhelmed by the amount of cleaning and care-taking required with even our reduced brood. And I think it's fair to say that I don't believe tortoises have very good quality of life- even if you get a big tank and the required gear. But mostly I think I'm resistant because they live FOREVER.

"I Wrote That Poem - And Then I Published It"

From "A Room Full of Poets" - By Logan's First Grade Class

"The Blacks"

Five days ago I had the blacks.
The blacks that make you feel bored
The blacks that make you feel bad
The blacks that is the darkest
color in the world.
Black, Black, Black,
Black in the world.
Black can come in different colors.
Black Dark
Light Dark
Black

I'm really tempted to write some comments - but I think I'll let this piece stand alone.

The End of The First Grade

School is winding down once again and we're getting ready for summer. As things finish up one of the big tasks facing Sunnyside is getting all the library books returned. How are they getting the kids to look under their beds and return the missing books? By promising them a bead! That's right, a single "magic" bead. I'm not sure how far up the grade levels this enticing incentive went (maybe sixth graders get two beads) but it worked on our kiddo who reminded us for days to get the books located so he could claim his prize. I kind of feel like a sucker for giving him $3 a week for chores that don't get done.

Oh So THAT'S How

Today Vaughn and I were doin' a little Saturday browsing in an antique store when we saw a completely made up bed. Vaughn pointed to the bed and said, "That's what you need to make a baby" (perhaps he wants a sibling so bad and thinks I've forgotten and so he's taken to coaching). After clarifying that he said what I thought he said I think I mumbled something reminiscent of a '50's dad like, "What are you learning at school these days?" because honestly, sometimes a gal just wants to do her antique shopping without it becoming complicated.

Vaughn Turns 7

Last Saturday the blessed birthday party day finally arrived and like all birthdays thus far, it was pretty formulaic (Arrival-free play-game-pinata-cake-gifts-anxiously wait for parents to come claim children). This was the first party we'd had where parents could either hang out or drop-off and it actually made things a lot calmer with most parents choosing the drop-off option.

Literally two days before the party (and well after all supplies had been purchased) Vaughn started telling everyone he was having "a pirate party" despite the fact that nothing we'd bought fit the theme (I guess it is less exciting to say "I'm having a generic birthday-themed birthday party!"). In an effort to throw him a bone I tried to sketch out a rendering of Jack Sparrow for pin-the-eye-patch-on-the-pirate. It ended up a weird combination of overly serious (with the face being done in pencil with lots of shading and detail) and cartoonishly simplistic (with the rest of the picture being quickly added in Sharpie minutes before the party).

The highlight of the afternoon was when the majority of the kids had left and it was down to Vaughn and just a few friends who were scheduled to stay later. As they sat out on the back deck playing with his newly acquired Bakugan and Bionicles, Vaughn reclined back in his lounger and earnestly asked, "Would anyone be up for some finger knitting?" There was no reply and the play continued.

You....Not You....You

Selecting who is attending the birthday party is rife with consternation - although admittedly it is limited to the parents at this age. Vaughn was solid on who was attending his birthday party (and it was primarily people who had been available at recess the previous week) but Jacob and I knew there were loyalties, commitments and obligations to uphold. With a little haggling we got the list to both a reasonable number and ensured we'd be able to continue to look some of our friends in the eye.

After invitations went out we realized we'd neglected to put any sort of RSVP information on the invite so I decided to do just a quick follow up note. On his actual birthday I took Vaughn to school with a small stack of inconspicuous pieces of paper and began to frantically stuff boxes before any more parents came in.

Suddenly, out of the classroom came a little boy not invited to the party. What are those? he asked me, Invitations? I sort of felt like the Grinch getting busted by little Susie Who on Christmas. Without making eye contact I coolly replied, Noooooo, they are reminder notes for parents. (Score! Technically true!) He pointed at his box, This is my box - I sometimes forget things. Then he hovered....waiting. I started to break into a mild sweat and, hoping to ditch him went into the class to speak with the teacher. After nervously mumbling something about the muffins we'd brought I exited to deliver the last slip of paper. Heartachingly, he followed me and watched to see where the last slip of paper would go. I turned and walked out of the building without making eye contact with him again. Get used to it kid, it only gets worse. I should have said they were flu shot reminders.

** Update: Apparently Vaughn deflected the blame to us by saying that he wasn't invited because, "My parents don't know you that well."