Er, my kid can do no wrong?

Add this to the list of parental shortcomings I told myself I'd never have but ended up having anyway. Yesterday, Ben came home from school and told me that the lunch supervisor had sent him to the back of the lunch line because she had told his class not to touch the wall, and then she caught him leaning against the wall. Sheesh, that seems a little harsh, was my first thought. What fourth-grader isn't a little spacey sometimes?

See, this is where the whole parent-I-thought-I'd-never-be part comes in. I've heard so many stories about those parents whose child misbehaves at school, and when the child is disciplined at school, the parents get upset and defend their child as if their darling offspring could do no wrong. I would never do that. Or would I?

Now, never mind that Ben didn't seem too upset about the situation. When he told me about what happened, it was more like this: I got sent to the end of the lunch line, and they ran out of French toast sticks, so I got pancakes instead. Yay! No matter. Suddenly, I was feeling what you might describe as defensive of my child.

This wasn't the first time I'd felt this way in recent weeks. A couple weeks ago, Ben forgot at school his agenda, which a parent needs to sign each day. He told me, again with no fretting on his behalf, that he would lose a ticket (part of his class's reward system) and have to stay in for a recess. I felt a ridiculous urge to save him from his penalty. Could I somehow get to school and get the agenda, I wondered. I felt like Gloria on last week's Modern Family, wanting to save Manny from the consequences of taking his classmate's locket.

Alas, unlike Gloria, I didn't act on any of my wacky ideas or urges. I didn't complain about the lunch supervisor or make a desperate dash to school to pick up Ben's agenda. Rationally, I know that logical consequences are good for kids. I know that kids, or people in general, for that matter, rarely recount happenings completely accurately. For all I know, Ben had been warned several times not to lean against the wall. Anyway, it doesn't matter much, does it? When my kids are at school, the discipline decisions by and large belong to the responsible adults there. So I guess I've had to arrive at a somewhat uneasy peace with that. But man, that lunch lady was a little harsh, no?

Guilty of insensitivity in the first degree

As a parent, there are few things I'd like to avoid more than hurting my kids' feelings, but yesterday I managed to do just that. It all started after a trip to the doctor's office. Ben no longer cares much about the stickers the office hands out to kids, but this time, he happily chose a Garfield one, and as soon as we got home, he announced that he knew just where he would put it.

Apparently, Ben has a favorite coloring picture, nay the best coloring picture he's ever done. On that coloring picture, he likes to affix the stickers he procures. It is that coloring picture, I realized with a sinking feeling, I had thrown in the recycling bin a few weeks earlier.  Crap, crap, crap! Ben searched for the picture on the "Look What I Made" clipboard that hangs on our kitchen wall. "Maybe I put it in your artwork box downstairs," I said feebly, hoping that maybe I'd forgotten that I'd thought better of my callous decision to recycle his pièce de résistance. "You threw it away?" he asked me tearfully. Ben's hurt feelings blew over fairly quickly, but I was left feeling terrible.

This all comes back to my lack of organizational skills. I am unendingly flummoxed by the problem of what to do with all the boys' creations. In my closet sits a paper bag filled to the brim with Paul's preschool projects from last year. If I still haven't figured out what to do with those, what hope do I have? Each day, Paul's folder comes home from school containing new paintings and drawings. Seriously, what's the right thing to do? I don't want to cross over into hoarding territory and keep everything the boys make.

I thought I had a system. I try to keep a sampling of what the boys make. For a while I had been taking a picture of the boys with their art projects and then throwing out the projects. Ugh! Even writing that sounds heartless, somehow. Besides, that doesn't take into account that I rarely manage to follow through on my best-laid plans. I have friends who display their kids' works in adorable and creative ways. I aspire to be able to do that, but then my complete lack of design and aesthetic skills kicks in.

Honestly, I don't know where this leaves me. I think all I can do is keep doing what I've been doing. I can't ask the boys: "Hey, do you mind if I throw this away?" I can see where that would go. I'll just have to use my clearly flawed judgment and hope for the best. But those tears, those sad, sad tears. I won't soon forget the sorrow I inflicted.

Who's really struggling?

With the second week of school tucked safely behind us, it's time for me to do a little reflecting. As I had predicted, the week that contained Paul's first full days and maiden voyages on the school bus did invoke some worries in my boy. And in me.

As the hours until bedtime dwindled last Monday night, Paul's anxieties began to mount. It's always evident with him because he begins to ask a lot of questions. How am I going to get to the bus? How will Ben find me? What if I can't sit with Ben? And the statement that about broke my heart: I don't want to go to school, I want to stay with you, Mommy. Feeling sad for the umpteenth time these past few weeks, I promised that Paul's teacher would get him safely to the bus, that we'd ensured Ben would be able to wait for the bus with Paul, that Gus and I would walk down to his bus stop to greet him when his bus arrived. Furthermore, I said that we'd give the bus a try for this first week, and if he really didn't like it, I could start picking him up instead. Paul's worries were assuaged, for the moment anyway, though my malaise lingered.

The next morning went fine. No tears during the drop-off at school. When I met Paul at the bus, he was smiling. However, soon he told me rather emphatically that he did not want to take the bus again the next day. Using the rationale that if taking the bus was the one issue that was getting in his way of feeling comfortable at school, I slipped into his folder a note to his teacher saying that I'd pick him up that day.

That afternoon, the phone rang. It was Paul's teacher. First of all, there was confusion because Paul was insisting that I was picking up, but my note must have gotten shoved down in his folder because his teacher hadn't seen it. After I cleared up that I was indeed picking him up, it quickly became clear that his teacher was irritated with me for giving in so soon. She delivered a mini-lecture about the need for consistency. I felt affronted, tried to explain that I was viewing the situation as his mom, trying to shield him from discomfort. She stood her ground, saying that he cries at the end of the day whether he gets picked up or takes the bus. That was true so far, but, but ... OK, she was right, a fact that took me a while to admit to myself.

That night we came up with a plan: Paul would take the bus home from school but would be able to choose one day a week to be picked up. Thursday and Friday both were successes. Paul had some tears on Thursday and none on Friday. 

So who really was struggling so much? As much as the 5-year-old boy, it's the 34-year-old mom who's having a hard time letting go and maybe was secretly hoping her boy would need her to pick him up. I've learned now, though, I've learned. I think we'll both be happier now that Paul's conquered a fear and I have, too.

And they're off!

After a lot of fretting and some tears on my part (and a few on Paul's), I must say I'm glad to have the beginning of school under way. You know the anticipation is always the worst part. When I dropped off the boys at school on Thursday, their respective behaviors said a lot about who they are at this point in their lives. Paul hung close, holding my hand on the walk into school. Ben, on the other hand, blurted, "Can I just go, Mom?" Without waiting for an answer, he sprinted away without so much as a goodbye for his weepy mom. I suppose maybe a fourth-grader doesn't feel like receiving a schoolyard hug from his mom, anyway. (See the reason for the tears? Suddenly it's feeling like time is passing too quickly!)

With Ben having taken care of himself, all that remained was getting Paul to his classroom. I'm so thankful to Paul's kindergarten teacher. She'd had him in her get ready for kindergarten summer school class, and seeing his separation anxiety, she ensured us she would work to get him placed in her class for the fall. I think it's for that reason Paul's transition has gone relatively smoothly. Paul immediately found his seat and sat down with a smile on his face. (He did shed a few tears at the end of the day worrying that somehow we would fail to pick him up, but overall I'm calling his first two days a victory.)

The kindergarten teachers hold small group meetings with the parents the first week of school. As we met with Paul's teacher, I was struck by how much kindergarten has changed since I was kindergartener. There's the obvious changed that kindergarten is a full day now, but where I recall kindergarten as largely a rather laid-back preparation for the whole school experience, it's now very academics-focused. My recollection can't be crystal-clear, but I remember mostly snacks, play time and rest time. Paul's teacher explained that 100 minutes each day are devoted to literacy and ensured us that Paul soon would be writing short sentences. Wow! And that's not even to mention the time they spend on math, social studies, science.

As for Ben, he's in teacher heaven. For the first time ever, he has a male teacher, and not just a male, but one who is a sports fanatic. Ben's classroom is covered almost wall-to-wall in football and baseball clippings. It's funny how differently I view this when I have a son. I remember being mildly irritated when I came across teachers like these in my education (I remember one middle school teacher who used to give extra credit for predicting football scores - I'm pretty sure as a seventh grade girl I couldn't even conjure a plausible football score). As it is, I'm happy for Ben. Anyway, Ben's third-grade teacher thought this particular teacher would be a great fit for Ben because he previously taught in the district's now-defunct accelerated learners program. He told Ben he was going to challenge him and asked Ben if he was ready. This is exactly what my bright boy needs.

After I dropped off the boys and reached my car on Thursday, I had a good little cry. I'm glad to have the hardest part finished, but I know some unknowns still remain. Tomorrow Paul will have his first full day and will take the bus home with Ben. And Paul's teacher's baby is due in November, so he'll have a different teacher for three months. I know all of these are good life experiences for Paul. I'm optimistic that this will be a great school year.

The big K is almost here

Thursday will mark the end of an era. Five and half years ago, the arrival of Paul began my journey as a stay-at-home mom. He's been with me every step of the way, so it is with decidedly mixed emotions that I will be sending him to kindergarten. Like all milestones, it's bittersweet. I will miss seeing his sweet face and having him available for a snuggle whenever I want to take one.

Now that the time for school is upon us, I want to take back all the times the boys were squabbling and I wished that school would just start already, as if by some feat of magical thinking I could gain back those hours and days. Even if I'd cherished every moment, this day still would have arrived just as quickly, I know. OK, so my heart is heavy right now. The parenting book I'm reading right now urges me to acknowledge what I'm feeling and accept it. I'm sad, and that's OK!

This time around, I have the benefit of experience on my side (not to mention the fact that, unlike when Ben started kindergarten, I don't have a 2-week-old and wacky hormones to deal with). I know from doing this once already that the first days are hard, but soon everything will feel routine. With my heavy heart, that's what I'm going to hold onto for now. I'll focus on that and the new friends and new experiences I hope await my dear boy. Ready or not, it's time for Paul and me to embark on a new journey. Maybe I'll have some new adventures awaiting me as well. No matter what, each day at 3:30 I'll be waiting to claim my missed snuggles.

Happy 3rd birthday, Wild Man Gus!

"Challenging." "Spirited." "A handful." On really bad days, "such a sh*t." These are just some of the phrases I've used to describe my third-born. Before Gus's arrival, I thought parenting was pretty tough. The reality of newborn sleep habits hit me hard and sent me reeling when I had Ben. Unlike Ben, Paul, an otherwise laid-back kid, was known to climb a bit. Having had two boys, I thought I had this down pretty well. Little did I know, none of my experience would prepare me sufficiently for Hurricane Gus.

As I mentioned in a recent blog, Gus was colicky and then after a period of a few calm months morphed into crazy, reckless boy. With Ben and Paul, we installed the standard child-safety devices: outlet covers, cabinet locks. Once Gus was mobile, we had to invest in gadgets I didn't even know existed. Door knob covers, locks for our Lazy Susan and oven. (The last I quickly ordered on Amazon after finding the oven door ajar one day while I was baking cookies. Miraculously, Gus didn't burn himself.)

As much as Gus has tested my sanity, as I like to say, there's another side to him. He is the happiest person I know, and it's infectious. Whether he's having a giggle fit or belting out "Frère Jacques" in the middle of a quiet church, he has an irrepressible joie de vivre. My family had this chocolate Lab, Bailey. Gus reminds me a lot of a Lab. Lab puppies are irresistibly cute, and the grown dogs are good-natured, making them a great choice for families with young kids; however, Labs also are incredibly mischievous. In fact, remembering dearly departed Bailey putting his paws up on the counter in order to reach some food, I think of Gus pushing a chair over to the counter so he may better reach the fruit snack cupboard. Even when Bailey committed one of his jaw-dropping acts of naughtiness, and believe me, we have many stories, it was hard to stay angry with him. Such is the case with Gus.

Gus has given me a great gift, one I really needed. He's taught me patience. The frustrations of child-rearing used to get me really tense. In his special Gus way, he's changed me a little bit. Having him challenge me in so many ways has helped me mellow. Instead of flying into a mini rage in frustrating situations, I've learned to just take a deep breath and move on (most of the time, anyway - I am still human).

Gus, you are one-of-kind. You filled the Gus-shaped hole in our lives, and you bring us so much joy. You make us laugh and smile every day, and I don't know what we'd do without you. Happy 3rd birthday, sweet Wild Man Gus!

Mom, I don't feel so ... bleahhh

That's the best imitation I can come up with of the sound my kids make when they uncontrollably vomit all over. I don't know if I'm alone in this, but my kids seem to throw up a lot. I'm sorry if this topic turns your stomach, but it's on my mind this week, especially after yesterday. I'll get to that soon. Last week wasn't a great one for the Thiel family. It started a week ago Friday when Ben and Paul were supposed to go on their first camping trip with their Grandma and Grandpa Thiel. Ben came down with strep, and though he and Paul were able to go the next day, they were sad that their much-anticipated trip had to be shortened.

When the boys returned from camping last Sunday, Ben was pale and feverish. For no reason I can see, as he was on antibiotics, his fever lingered into Wednesday. Then Paul, who has tubes in his ears and was on ear drops for an ear infection, spiked a fever. A very expensive trip to the ENT revealed that his infected ear was so full of fluid and crud, the drops weren't even making it to their destination. Lovely. Sickness always stinks for kids, but it feels especially unfair during the summer.

We had a busy weekend planned: for Saturday a gathering with all the Thiels at Mark's parents' house, for Sunday Mark and I competing on relay teams for the Oshkosh Triathlon. We thought we were in the clear, you know, at least we had gotten the boys' sickness out of the way in time for them to share some fun with their cousins. Not so fast.

After eating a big lunch and two desserts, Paul began to look green and said he didn't feel well. I should have known: note aforementioned proclivity toward puking. I think I was in denial. It was hot outside and in the house. Maybe it was just getting to him. I was sitting outside when Mark came and said we had to leave. Paul had, well you know, down the steps and onto Mark's parents' carpeting. I went in to discover the acrid smell of bile mixing with the warm air in the house. I was mortified.

Sadly, I think we're developing a reputation. This isn't the first time we've had a run-in with Mark's family. Two Christmases ago, Ben and Paul had stomach flu, and they inadvertently passed their malady to numerous members of the family, resulting in a very ill New Year. I wouldn't blame them if they shudder a bit every time we arrive. (Side note: turns out strep was to blame for Paul's sick stomach this time.) Believe me, I have other embarrassing stories as well, like the time Ben threw up at church and it ran down the sloped floor, and the second time he tossed his cookies there, this time in the hall. Come to think of it, we probably make St. Bernard Parish a little nervous, too.

Next weekend we will go on vacation with my family. At least the boys have gotten it out of their systems. Or have they? Watch out Ceman family.