School Supply Mama Drama

Is it just me or are school supply lists getting just a wee bit complicated? I have been on a two week long scavenger hunt all over Wichita Falls (and the Internet) for no less that four ga-jillion items which I believe can only be loosely tied to the actual education of my children. I remember the good old days when you just showed up with a Big Chief tablet, a couple of pencils and a box of Kleenex.

Fast forward 25 or so years (gulp) and now one cannot be properly educated unless there are wet wipes and Germ-X at every desk. For reasons I cannot possibly tie to any educational purposes, I have to buy small paper plates, large Ziplock bags and Sharpie markers. The list goes on and on.

I have searched for washable classic color markers until my feet hurt and I am still looking for the Holy Grail of school supplies: the 8-count Crayola washable crayons. I was forced to go off-list on the crayons and I ended up buying a 16 count, triangle shaped set of Crayola crayons. Emme will probably pitch a fit when she sees that they are not like all the other 3-Ker's. She is a stickler for details that one.

In my defense, I don't think anyone can really fully comply with that list. Seriously, why must Carson have a 1 1/2 inch Durazip binder? If I actually could locate this overly specific piece of school accoutrement, I think I would still hesitate to buy it. Exactly why must his papers be zipped up in order to be brought home? Did he gain some kind of extra security clearance now that he is in third grade that requires that all papers should be under lock and key before placement in his backpack? It is getting ridiculous.

I am beginning to think that maybe the list is a test. What if there is some kind of sliding scale of compliance that tells the teachers just what kind of parent they are dealing with? Like at the crazy type-A end of the scale are the loonies who manage to get every single thing on the list and then go one step further and monogram it all. And at the lazy slacker end of the scale are the parents who go all rogue and buy Rose Art instead of Crayola and figure that nobody needs 3 boxes of Kleenex on the first day of school, so they just send one. And in the middle of the scale are the poor schmos who do the best they can with the supply list and hope that their kid doesn't notice that they have triangle crayons and not round ones? And depending on how you do with the list, that is how the teachers know how to deal with you.

I don't know, maybe I am just over thinking this whole school supply thing. But just in case you find small and/or large binder rings, let me know. I sure don't want to be nailed as a slacker.

Evie and Emme

Yesterday was Evie’s birthday. Oh yeah, I forgot, you don’t know about Evie. Evie is Emerson’s best-friend and she is, to the rest of us, quite invisible. I say "best-friend", because she is just one of several of Emerson’s imaginary friends, the most prominent being Evie, Kyle (her brother) and Ennis, Emerson’s on-again and off-again boyfriend.

Yesterday, on the way to daycare, Emerson announced, “Guess what, today is Evie’s birthday!!” She then went on to detail all the wonderful plans she had for her party, the decorations we would be needing, and of course, the delicious cake I was going to make for her. Well, an imaginary girl doesn’t turn 3 everyday, so we did in fact have a birthday party for her last night. I didn’t have any decorations, but I did make her a cake with sprinkles and all of the imaginaries were there. We sang happy birthday and then ate my delicious cake.

I often wonder how far I should let this imaginary thing go because it tends to infringe on our daily lives. If Evie is at our house at dinnertime, then Emerson insists that we all sit at the dining room table because the bar only seats four and there's simply no place for Evie to sit. So upon announcement that Evie is staying for dinner, up we go over to the next room so that Evie will have a proper seat to sit in. If Emerson and Carson get juice, then I have to pour a small glass for Evie because juice is her favorite. If Evie is in the car, then Emme will roll down her window because Evie likes a little breeze. The list goes on and on.

Sometimes, Evie comes over with her brother, Kyle and on occasion, her parents come too. When the parents come over it is usually because they have befallen some catastrophic tragedy at home. The last time Emerson explained that there was a terr-wible fire at their house and it all got burnt up and they had to stay with us until their house was ready.

Fire is a bit of a theme with her. A few weeks ago, Ennis stopped coming around and when someone asked her about it (oh yes, the extended family is in on this as well) she didn’t bat an eyelash when she woefully explained that Ennis’s house blew up in a giant es-plosion. It was quite a tale. I would almost feel sorry for poor ole Ennis if he wasn’t such a thorn in Dobie side.

See, Ennis is a boy, and Dobie doesn’t approve of her having a boyfriend, imaginary or not. And he particularly doesn’t like Ennis because his name rhymes with, well, you know, and those things should not be associated with Daddy's little girl. However, what really gets him going is the fact that she is adamant that when she grows up she is going to “slobba kiss Ennis at the moo-vies”. Where in the world she figured out that people “slobber kiss” at the movies, I will never know. I definitely need to tighten up the security on her Cartoon Network viewership.

In any event, we haven’t heard from Ennis in a while. I think they may have broken up. I heard her talking to him on her sparkly blue princess phone and she said, “Sar-wee Ennis, I can’t mar-wee you. My daddy says I’m just a little child.” So, from this I gather that he may be out of the picture for a while.

So, we’re basically down to Evie and Kyle. Kyle doesn’t hang around much at night because he can’t sleep in her bed or take a bath with her because, according to Emme, Kyle is boy and he can’t see her privates. Well, I guess Dobie can let out a big ole’ sigh of relief on that one. That's one less boy he has to deal with. That is until she dreams up another one.........

She's alive, aliiiive!!!

Well, I’m back. I know, I know, it’s been months since you’ve heard from me, but I have a great excuse. See, Dobie works as a referee on the side and from the months of August (the beginning of football season) until March (the end of basketball season), I am practically a single parent. Football season is not so bad, but basketball season wears us both clean out. And to make matters worse, Dobie did such a great job during football season, the “association” asked him to ref’ several semi-pro games which required his presence on the football field through May.

So, I have been super busy raising two children, trying to keep up with my exercise class 3 times a week, making a miserable effort at trying to keep my house clean (maid got pregnant), and intermittently losing my mind. Did I mention that Dobie and I both got promotions? Yeah, well what they don’t tell you is Chiefs of Court do a lot more work than mere little indians and that there are not enough pharmaceuticals in the world to keep the stress levels down to a manageable level. It took a while to find a decent pace, but I think we both got it under control now.

So, the good news is that Dobie is done for the year and back in my life. With us being a right respectable two parent household again, things are running much smoother now. Ahhhhhh, so much better.

So, I will try to make a pass at this little blog again. Here is what’s been happening:

1. January- I turned 35. Boo. Took it a little harder than I though I would.
2. February- Dobie turned 35. It didn’t phase him one bit. I think this is the month I joined a book club. I also think that this is also the month where I didn’t have time to read the book, but I still showed up for the free wine. I just nodded alot and tried to look like I knew what they were talking about.
3. March- Dobie got a little operation which seals the deal on us staying a two child household. It went off without a hitch, I highly recommend. If I get the go ahead, I may tell the story of how it all went down. It was, in a word, hilarious. And the best part is that Dobie doesn't rememebr a thing.
4. April- I don’t know, it was Easter, nothing else much happened. Oh, I started Spring Boot Camp. But, since I am impervious to losing weight, I think I finished at about where I started.
5. May- School ended, yeahh!! Carson broke his arm again, booo!!! (Who knew Red Rover could be so violent). I volunteered (I think someone put a roofie in my drink) to be President of the Parent Teacher Fellowship at school. I am soooo not a leader. I do much better as a mindless follower.
6. June- I emerged out of my fugue state to re-join the human race and begin blogging again.

Clue 2008

"IT WAS THE TODDLER WITH THE FEBREEZE IN THE LIVING ROOM"

This is the gaping hole where our television used to sit peacefully minding its own business.

How you wonder, did such a big gigantoid void come to be in an otherwise nondescript, law abiding, surburban household?

Well, that's where our story begins.......................

Act One Scene One: The Kosub family bathroom. It’s 7:45 a.m. and the family is busy in the morning hustle and bustle. Enter, the culprit, Emerson Claire Kosub, and her insatiable hunger for destruction.

Emme: Mommy, my hair loots ca-zy. Fiz it.
Mommy: You won’t let me put it in a pony tail, so that’s the best I can do.
Emme: Fiiiinnnne. Mommy, I wanna pud on your mate-up.
Mommy: No, baby, mommy is in a big hurry and I have to get ready or I am going to be late. Go get your shoes on.
Emme: (Throwing herself onto the floor for a big, fake, fit.) I don’t wanna go to Ganny’s, I wanna stay here and watch Bootie Beast!!!!
Mommy: Here, look, take this bottle of Febreeze and go spray mommy’s bed and make it smell good.
Emme: Yeahhh!!

Emerson runs off, happily spraying the Target brand knock-off Febreeze. The air is filled with a child's laughter and the pleasant smells of a spring garden.

Act One, Scene Two: The Kosub family garage. It is 5:30 p.m. and Mommy and Emme have just returned from Hastings with the latest potty present, Barbie and the Diamond Castle. Their celebratory mood quickly fades when they see a menacing looking Dobie standing in the garage, hands on hips.

Mommy: What’s wrong?
Dobie: You need to come in the house.
Mommy: Seriously, I’m worried, just tell me what happened? Were we robbed?
Dobie: Emme did something.
Mommy: Oh.
Emme: (From the back seat) Sow-ree mommy, it was an assident.
Mommy: What did you do?
Emme: I dunno, but I dint do it purpus-ly.

Act One, Scene Three: The Kosub family living room. Dobie is kneeling is front of his television, like a soldier holding his fallen comrade, softly stroking it with a damp cloth. The bottle of Fakee-breeze is sitting in front of the television, and Emerson is no where in sight.

Mommy: What happened?
Dobie: Evidently, Emerson got ahold of a bottle of this (holding up the stupid, stupid, bottle of fake Febreeze) and sprayed it all over the TV.
Mommy: (Realizing where Emme got the spray, Mommy swallows hard as the truth washes over her) Can you just wipe it off?
Dobie: She sprayed so much, it got under the plastic screen; I don’t think it can be wiped off.

Mommy: Umm, what’s all that black stuff?
Dobie: It’s where the fiber screen used to be. The spray is mostly alcohol and when combined with the heat of the TV, it disintegrated the fiber screen.

At this, Mommy decides to come clean. Mommy tries to explain how it is she who gave
the spray to Emerson in an attempt to occupy her earlier that morning. She is ridden with guilt and blames herself for the damage to Dobie’s most prized possession. Luckily for her, Dobie gallantly refuses to make her feel like the irresponsible wretch that she most certainly is.

Final Scene: Both Kosub parents are now kneeling in front of the TV, still reeling from
the realization that Emerson’s path of destruction truly knows no bounds.

Dobie: Don’t beat yourself up babe, these things happen.
Mommy: Actually, not to be totally argumentative, but I have never heard of anyone else’s three year old incinerating their high definition television with Febreeze.
Dobie: What, I meant to say sweetheart, and what is much more accurate, is these things happen to us.
Mommy: True enough, my friend, true enough. (long pause) So, are those screens expensive?
Dobie: Well, the repairman says that he can replace it for about $350.
Mommy: $350 Dollars!!!! EMMMERRRSONNNN!!!
Emme: (From somewhere in the back room.) It wuz an assident!!!! I saaiid I wuz sow-ree!!!!! Gah –leeee!!

End scene………………………….

The Princess v. The Potty

Here is a small sampling of Emme's three year old pictures. There are a grand total of 81. I am amazed at how wonderful they turned out considering that Emme was not exactly a willing participant. Lucky for me, my sister is a fantastic photographer and has enough patience and love for my child to endure the grueling experience of trying to take her picture. I swear, if it wasn't for Sandy taking my kids' pictures, there would be no pictures of them at all.

I need to get Carson's pictures made too, but he is more reluctant than Emerson. He does not want to wear anything that I would consider "picture worthy" and really, really does not want to take time out of his busy Nintendo playing schedule to accommodate the wishes of his mother. I told him that someday he is going to complain that we only have pictures of Emme. And when that day comes, I will gladly remind him that it is his own fault. The only evidence I have that he existed last year was the pictures that Sandy took as well as a perfect digital rendering of what Carson looks like when constipated that Lifetouch had the nerve to charge $26.00 for.

But I digress, back to Emme. She is three now and no closer to being potty trained than the last time I posted (which was a million years ago, I know, but I've been really busy). On Sunday, she wore panties all day with only one accident. Just when I started thinking that maybe we were making progress, she came strolling out of my bedroom wearing a Pull-Up. Somewhat befuddled, I asked her why was she not wearing panties. She explained, oh, so matter of factly, that she needed to poop, so she changed. Uh, are you seeing the problem here? My 3 year old daughter has the presence of mind to take off her pretty panties so as not to mess them up, go get a Pull-Up, pull them up, promptly poop, and come on out so that I can change her. But, this same child, cannot expend one ounce of effort to simply go sit on the potty. I am bewildered on what to do next. I think that I may have missed the window of potty training opportunity and now it has just become a battle of wills. A battle which I am woefully losing.

In other Emme news, she is growing like a weed and is in the 75% in height and 10% in weight. She still loves the Disney Princesses and all things girly. She loves to dress up and have tea parties with anyone who will oblige. Her favorite movie is still Spiderman and her favorite cartoon is Spongebob. She likes dancing and music and the color pink. She paints her fingernails about 10 times a week and loves to capture people and stick them in her "booty shop" chair. She has made one friend, "La", and has even enjoyed one real play date.

Potty training aside, I think we may keep her.

Once upon a potty

Emerson has decided she's ready to start potty training. Of course everyone else in the world knew she was ready months ago. Perhaps it was the fact that she would regularly go get her own pull-up, take off the dirty one, wet wipe herself, put on a clean pull-up and take the wet one to the trash. Or perhaps it was the fact that about two seconds after she "dirtied" her pull-up she would have a nervous break down if I did not immediately drop everything, run at break neck speed to get her diaper and do a dive roll back to her in order to get her all cleaned up. My family kept telling me that she was ready and I in turn, kept telling her, but true to form, she wanted to do it her way.

So, here we are. Emme has made up her mind that she has to get potty trained so that she can go to school like Carson. She is a great big social butterfly and loves the busy, hub-bub of the school every morning. When we had to leave Carson at school on Monday with all those cupcakes, she begged me to leave her there too. I had to explain to her that you have to poop in the potty before they will let you go to school. Sobbing in her car seat she explained to me that she "od-a-ready diddddd poop in her potty." Which is true, but she only did it once, by accident, about two weeks ago. I re-explained that you have to do it everyday and you have to wear panties before they will let you come in. "I got panties momma, I wear my panties, I pom-ise", she said. I had to break the news that you have to not pee-pee in the panties while you wear them. "Oh", she said and that was that.

So, on went the panties and deep breath, she's doing pretty good. Oh, there's been plenty of accidents and Dobie and I have taken to traveling with an extra set of clothes, but I think we are making progress. I have taken to offering "potty presents" if she goes for long spells without having an accident. And today, I offered up an eye shadow kit if she pooped in the potty. I meant it to be an incentive when she needed to go later. But she wanted it so badly that she kept trying to make herself poop so that she could get the prize. I swear I thought she was going to give herself a hemorrhoid from pushing so hard all day. At one point, she came running to Dobie and I and announced that she had pooped- so hooray, clap, clap, give me the eye shadow. When I asked if I could see it, she said that she had already flushed it. It was a total lie of course, and she stomped off, eye shadow-less. She did eventually produce the world's tiniest poop-ette and received her prize as promised.

As this is my second time around the potty block, I am pretty relaxed about the whole thing. She's not even three yet; she still has plenty of time. If all else fails I have a pretty good Plan B. See, I have this theory that if you go buy the biggest box of pull-ups that you can get your hands on, your child will magically be potty trained in less than 72 hours. It's one of those Murphy's Law things.

And if I must confess my most deepest, darkest secret, then the truth is, I'm not in any hurry for this to all to end. I know that being potty trained heralds the end of babyhood and that all too soon I will miss the familiar swish-swish sound that only a diapered bottom can make. She is the last baby I will ever have and soon she won't be a baby at all. Of course, potty training aside, she is already well on her way to growing up. Whether I like it or not.

Carson K.- Second Grader

And so begins another school year with fresh new hair cuts and squeaky clean shoes. Carson has begun the second grade (oh, where has the time gone) and seems to be enjoying it thus far. He is placed at a table with the class genius (please let her work habits rub off on him) and his best friend, Samuel. Not a bad start I’d say.

I can also happily report that he actually likes school this year. And if I have to pinpoint what changed from all the years past, I believe that the credit should go to Sylvan. I don't know what they did over the summer, but it has made a tremendous difference. He has lost that choppy cadence in his reading which seemed to stunt his ability to comprehend what the heck he was supposed to be reading in the first place. It has really changed everything. Listening to him get through a 12 page reading assignment literally brought tears to my eyes. I knew that we were no longer going to have to fight that demon that had Carson convinced that he was just not smart enough to do the work.

Also making the transition to school a bit easier was the fact that Carson turned 7 on Monday. I brought cupcakes for the class and regaled them with tales of Carson’s crazy antics as a baby. I have told these same stories to the same kids for years now, but I guess some stories never get old. They never get tired of hearing how when he was two, he found the scrap of umbilical cord I had saved in his baby book and immediately popped it in his mouth to eat it. I suppose that umbilical cord humor is just gross enough to hold their interest over time. Another favorite tale that they always beg to hear about is when he went up in the play tubes at McDonald’s completely dressed and came down stark raving naked eating somebody else’s chicken nugget. That is always sure to gets them going. And I can always finish big with the time that we were getting ready to go out and I looked up to see Carson riding the garage door all the way up to the top. He was, and still is actually, such a hoot to be around.

When I asked him if he felt any different now that he was seven, he said, "I think I 've changed alot. I used to like grilled cheese and hate reading and now I love reading and hate grilled cheese." Well, there's that.