Chopped Liver, My Name is Mom

Switching schools mid year can be tough. From day one at his new school my seven year old has been super excited about his school's version of Star of the Week. Top Dog, it's called in his classroom. He has been patiently waiting for his turn to finally roll around, and here it is- his Top Dog Week!

He spent the weekend creating his poster and deciding what special items he would bring into school.



Notice how he is wishing for a pigeon. Keep wishing, kiddo, not gonna happen.

He has been talking about me, his mother, coming in to read to his class during his special week. Non stop. For months he has been planning for this, and now it is finally here. He spent the weekend reviewing his book choices. This morning he bounced down the steps yelling, "Today is the day you are reading to my class!", which prompted him to trip and fall the last few stairs. He popped right back up. "I'm OK! And you are READING TO MY CLASS TODAY!"

As he hopped up the bus steps he looked at me over his shoulder, calling out, "See you at school- I can't wait!"

I arrive at his classroom and stand in the doorway, listening to 19 students sitting at their desks reciting a poem, in unison. My son spots me and a huge smile breaks out on his beautiful face. His eyes sparkle and he can hardly contain his excitement. Finally, the poem is complete and his teacher asks my son to please come to the front of the room and introduce his special friend.

I stand next to my son, who has wrapped his arms around me, giddy. My child is giddy. My heart fills and I am so happy that I made the choice to be here, right now, in this moment, with my oldest son.

"Tell us who you have brought today, Matthew". his teacher asks.

"This is my mother."

"And tell us why you chose your mother to be your special guest today?"

I smile down at the thick dark hair on my child's head. He is twisting his fingers together, standing there in front of his peers. He is being brave, his nervousness at standing in front of so many people seeping out through his constantly moving fingers and they twist around each other. My sweet angel. This child who has been inexplicably connected to my heart from the moment he was placed in my arms. More so than with my youngest son, who is often a mystery to me,  I know this child's heart. I feel him. I know what is thinking, feeling. I know him like I know myself. My heart fills again with joy at this moment. I am his favorite person! I am his special guest!

"And tell us why you chose your mother to be your special guest today?"

"Because my daddy works an hour away."

I smile, ready to accept his sweet accolades. Wait, what did he just say? His daddy?

This is the child who fights to sit next to me on the sofa. Who pouts if he has to sit next to his father when eating out. Who always wants to ride in my car and not Daddy's. Who whines if he doesn't get to sit next to me at our dining room table. We actually have to rotate who sits next to me so that both boys get what they want. This is the child who is physically attached to me at all times. He complains if I run errands without him. He acts as though I am his everything.

Turns out, I am his second choice. Bummer.

"Tell us what you like about your mother. What does your mother do for you?"

"I like her cooking."

OK, we are back on top! I relax a little. Cooking, this I know a little something about. Daddy doesn't cook. Daddy only shops if I give him the list. Daddy doesn't have this all sewn up.

"What does your mom cook for you that you like?"

"Chicken nuggets."

Dang nab it. Dang.nab.it. I plan healthy and creative meals. I shop. I cook. And yes, occasionally, I make chicken nuggets. Frozen, throw on a cookie sheet and pop in the oven, not the best nutrition chicken nuggets. And now everyone knows. Thanks, son.

"What else does your mother do with you that you like?"

"I like it when she takes me to the grocery store."

Uh sure. To buy chicken nuggets.

Obviously, I was quite the hit at school today. If you need me, I'll just be under the bed. My sweet husband, the one who works too far away to be brought to school- he can be in charge. Just turn on the oven to 425 and toss the nuggets in. You'll be famous...



 



 

More Than OK

The clock crowed earlier than usual this morning, calling us all to the first day of school. We all gathered in the super six year old's room and played a little, read a book, helped the persevering preschooler into his clothes as his older brother once again put on his school uniform. I watched as he inspected the new uniform shirt I had placed in his tomorrow drawer and then discard it, determining it was too big for his tastes. After settling on one of last year's shirts we headed to the kitchen, where eggs were scrambled and pictures were snapped.

 

 

 

And it was a good morning. Our normal chaos, sure. Our normal loud, sure. But everyone got to where they needed to be, wearing what they needed to wear, having eaten something warm and healthy. Really, that is all I am looking for these days.

 

Part of the reason our morning went so well is that we reviewed our back to school plans last night, at our big Back to School Dinner Party. I told the boys about their party last weekend, so that we could let them choose the menu. Then I let them know that there would be party favors with candy. A few days later I mentioned decorations. By the time we arrived home last night, after stopping by the persevering preschooler's preschool open house, the boys were frantic. They raced into the dining room to see their party.

 



Each boy had their very own 'chalkboard" place mat with their new grade level printed in chalk. Books and a cup of pencils added a school feel to our table, and the mug also held the questions for our "back to school" Q & A. I made a simple "back to school" banner and hung it across the curtain rod.

We ate dinner and talked about the upcoming school year. We reminded our sweet boys that we want them to do the best they can, to always strive for the top. We also reminded the boys that doing the best they can does not always mean getting straight A's. That sometimes it means being nice to the bully. Sometimes it means inviting a shy child to share your lunch table. Sometimes it means not hitting back or giving up your turn. We reminded our boys that "fair" does not mean that everyone gets the same, that it truly means that everyone gets what they need, instead. We reviewed our family policy of listening to the teacher and doing what we are told, even if we don't agree with it. We reviewed how we express that disagreement. We reviewed the homework and behavior policies from the super six year old's school and signed the agreements. (As a side note, I love how everyone signs these agreements. My first grader signed his name, agreeing to complete homework and to follow the rules at school.)

We talked about how proud we are of both of our boys and how amazing this school year is going to be. New friends, new experiences. New books to read, new puzzles to solve, new ways to show our faith, our compassion, our brains and our abilities. And then we played our game.

At the last minute I had written down a bunch of back to school questions, such as "Am I allowed to stand up on the school bus?", and "Show me how you walk in the hallways". Other slips included "What would you do if another kid picks on you", and "Who is in charge of your classroom?". Surprising to all of us the super six year old ran upstairs to get paper and created a score sheet for each of us. He made everyone answer each question, assigning a score to our answers, tallying the numbers with each round. Even the persevering preschooler got into the game, climbing down from his chair to demonstrate how he walks in the hallways and how he sits on the bus. After we finished reading all the questions my oldest son asked for more. My sweet husband and I lingered at the dining room table with him, firing question after question until we ran out of school related thoughts.

We laughed. We used a game to prepare our son for his new school year. We celebrated and reminded our boys of their responsibilities. Of our hopes and dreams for them. We cemented a tradition and made lasting memories. We are ready to embark on another great school year.

This morning the persevering preschooler and I walked our newly minted first grader into his school. As we reached the Activity Center, where morning assembly is held, I stopped right outside the door, kneeling down to whisper in my son's ear. "I am so proud of you. There is nothing you can do to make me happier with you than I already am. Just go, make smart choices, be yourself, and have fun. I love you!" He smiled, hugged me, and I felt his hand slip from mine and he ran into the room. He ran up to a friend he was hoping he would see today, hugging him and giving high fives. He looked around, unsure of where to put his backpack or what line to run to when the whistle blew, which would be happening soon. I watched him walk up to his principal and ask her his question. She pointed to his line and he ran over to drop off his backpack. On the way he stopped, noticing another friend from last year who was crying, sobbing really, unwilling to let his mother walk away. My sweet boy detoured to his friend, walking up to him and giving him a hug. I heard him tell his friend that it was going to be OK before he ran off to say hello to someone else. I turned away, picking up my youngest son and hugging him tight. He is going to be OK, my oldest. More than OK, I think.