The Last of the Last

The very last professional preschool photo. In one single blink. Here we go. 

Fab 5

These kids are our own little heros.... Many a day they have been saved by these faces. 

The Fab 5.

Mexico

Ashton you were student of the week! Here is your "about me" published in the class newsletter. I imagine teacher Jill was entertained during your interview. Papa Kristi promises you will have gas money.

Soapy Handles

Last night:

I learned bath time was almost an adventure to the ER.

Daddy learns to be careful not to snag the body.

Four year old learns not to insert objects into bum.

 

Yep, this bucket handle was inserted high enough that there was concern it would hook innards. Hysteria from the four year old and anxiety from the daddy. I speculate soapy water allows gliding what dryness immediately warns against…

 

 

The salt shaker is for size reference.

Team Soccer

A year ago we had our first practice. We as being: Kade the player and I as the coach. I had zero expectations for this group of six. I spent long hours coming up with drills and interesting ways to learn the game with out actually focusing on the game itself. It was skill building vs game playing. After all, we were a team of 3-6 year olds.  I was thrilled we kept our hands down and ran the ball towards our box. Snack was a motivating factor as was playing “Captain”.  I am never above bribing.  

One year later, we have entered a third season with two players. Kade is playing up a level and Ashton is still rolling around in the box. I am on the sidelines. Through the seasons I have learned absolutely safety is first, but fair is not fair. All of those warm fuzzies we practice at home and school are forgotten once those cleats hit the feet. I have a competitive edge that at the age of 36 I  am only now only becoming acquainted. I kinda fear her.

Soccer fields are where the best-laid plans to shield children from loss, thieves and kicks to the shin are transformed into a fleeting hope that nobody gets hurt (safety first), but someone has to win (right?).

Every Saturday from September through the middle of November we practice a new set of rules. Soccer rules.

1. Sharing is not caring.

If you pass the ball to your opponent, they will not pass it back. They will deliberately take the ball from you with or without your invitation. They may score. Gasp!

At this level you barely share the ball as it is. This being stated, NEVER-EVER share the ball with the other team. Keep it away just as you would from your brother.

2. Want it. 

Want that ball. Kick and yell fighting for the ball just as you do towards me when I tell you that you may not have a donut. Now is the time for that assault. Give it to ‘em.

3. We are not all winners.

You are not playing Grandma Church. The other team will not just let you win.  There will be games when a goal is made on your defense. This goal may win the game for the OTHER team. It happens. You lost. The sad reality is you are a loser on the field, but to me you are always a winner. There is a time and place for the fuzzies and as a reminder it is not on the field. Do not cry. Cry to Mama in the car, but brave face it those (short) 50 minutes on the field.

4. You may suck.

You have been told you are the best, and you are, but to me. Truth be told, the best player on your team isn't even the best player. Ideally, you should play at 110 percent, which is known only in sports math.

5. No hands in soccer.

Don't pick up the ball. No hands. Drop the ball. Do we use hands in soccer?

6. I can't always help you.

I may scream, yell over the heads of other parents and run the lines, but I cannot play for you. It kills me. Secretly, I want to. Like really, really bad want to. You must learn to play without me.

I will always be proud. I will forever be supportive. I will always console you or celebrate with you. And to me, youwill always be the best. But you must set and score your goals.

Boys, have fun like only you know how.
 

“Some wait their entire life to meet their favorite player. I am raising mine.”

 

2027

Dear Self,

Today, I let the oldest go. I Breathed deep and hugged him tightly. I looked at him and we smiled sharing in the pride. He is ready! He is bright, inspiring and creative. He hypothesizes and problem solves better than most. His moral compass directs him well. The world is waiting. Let him go, lady! Trust in all of these years your love and guidance has readied him (and you). It is okay to cry. He has seen this display of love and joy a gagillion-bazillion times. He knows this is bittersweet for you (and probably him).

Mama, you have been in this place before. Much like a tsunami memories and moments flood across both your mind and heart. You feel the lump in your throat grow. Oh, the tears! So much has happened, but it all starts to feel like yesterday. Do you recall September 2011? Do you remember? St. Stephen’s Preschool. It was the beginning of his three’s class. At not quite 36 months old he walked away ready and you left strong. It was a hard leave (you held back the tears for a private cry in the car), but an important one.

 

Skip over a couple of years. Does your memory find you at the doors of an elementary school? You looked at that big white school and steel doors thinking your son would get lost among the other 120 kindergarteners, not to mention the other students. Once again, you trusted. At the small age of 5 you believed in him. You knew he had the emotional and physical skill set to enter the long awaited first day of school: Kindergarten.

Kindergarten what a vibrant time of watching him polvolt into a big boy world: He was beginning to read (writing and sounds). I’d find him wrapped up in a word search rather than outside. He tied his shoes. The manners of this nearly six year old surpassed most adults. A sense of independence grew. He was worried about his hygiene and the bugs that might grow on his teeth if not brushed the entire two minutes. His clothing choice was bright and cheerful much like his personality. What a welcoming and friendly guy. If needed, he’d step up to make someone of any age a friend. What a heart of care and concern. A pleaser. He absorbs and recalls information you long forgot. A young boy whom on his own will apologize when he “misunderheards” (ie misunderstands) something said directly to him. Although you want him to pronounce things properly this one is given an allowance of correction a bit longer…

He is always yearning for more. Adam and I made the choice to apply for an out of district Spanish Immersion kindergarten program, which was newer and full day (8:00-2:20).

Kaden was so excited to learn he was accepted out of district and then drawn to enter the program. Do you remember when Ashton asked if Dora the Explorer would be Kade’s new teacher? Those young brains always working hard! It turned out that Dora would not be his teacher, but a lovely first year teacher would be.

 

Together, as a family of four, we entered Kindergarten. The class bright and cheery. The tone was serious as rules were firm. There were numerous small faces wearing only terror. I looked at our Mister Man sitting at his table writing his name. As he sat there he was chatting to a little girl who was uneasy about being without her Mommy. He assured her it was going to be fun. After all, they would be learning Spanish. He sat in his just the right size chair focused on his work as other students cried and pleaded not to stay. He was ready to walk into Kindergarten. He was kind of running...

 

"I love you, Mom" A hand touches my heart. "I know you will miss me. You will be back at 7:30." This is stated to give me bravery, but this Mama knows it is quietly reassuring him of my return. I explain I will be in the car line at 2:20 expecting a full report including two new Spanish words. He gave us all a squeeze that included an I love your guts. He turned back to his work. I stood there. It was time to let go.

 

You know how swift these moments pass. Gosh, it is our first day of Kindergarten with you both being scared and thrilled. As always, you were an active participant in the day. It is evident your participation will slowly take a new form.

 

The panic set in…

Will he make friends? Will he be bullied? Will he choose wisely? Will he eat enough? Will he be on time? Will he work hard? Will he lead? Will he challenge himself? Will he…. Will he… Will he…

The panic shifted from “Will he” to “Will They”: “They” being the school as a whole. Will They challenge him? Will They appreciate his kind and a nurturing nature? Will They be aware if he takes time to eat? Will They be firm, yet guiding? Will They allow independence of expression and ideas? Will They smile back? Will They make sure he has a coat? Will they remember his left handed scissors? Will they remember he NEVER-EVER rides a bus? Will They? Will They? Will They?  

 

Calm yourself. Breathe in-and-out. These are the same questions you asked 13 years ago. A mother never stops asking these questions of her child or the world, but it is time to stop asking him. He has always been a high-quality kid. He will be a first-class man. Trust him. Let him go.

I am proud of you, Nicole. You got here. You made it. You have a graduating son of the class of 2027. It is now time to sit in the stands and cheer. A familiar feeling will again flood you both: scared and thrilled. He may not need your constant involvment, but he will need your support. You are his and he knows it. You loved his guts first.

Delight in the here and now. Do not look back, or plan for what is ahead. This is a challenge, I know. Grab Adam’s hand, squeeze it tight and thank him for this gift whom is walking towards his very own.

This is yet another hard leave, but it is the most important one. Remember Mama, Kaden has always walked ready…

Love,

Me

Jazz Hands

Look what I learned today, Mama. Jazz hands! 
All of this and more for $125 a week!