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…landisdad and I walked into a hospital as a couple of adults, and walked out as parents. (All right, that was actually 10 years from two days from now, but that’s somewhat less poetic.)
Happy Birthday, darling Bee.
I never thought that you would be almost as tall as I am, by the time you were 10 years old.
I didn’t know that you would be the kind of kid who eats her dessert as slowly as possible, in order to wring every bite of enjoyment out of it.
I knew that you would be a reader (how could you not be? you’re my daughter!), but I never knew how awesome it would be to see you reading at your safety post, every morning.
I never knew you would be such a good singer.
I didn’t know that you would love soccer, even this year when you have to be on a team with boys.
I never knew that I would worry about you every single day of the rest of my life.
I didn’t know that I would be proud of you every single day for the rest of my life.
Thank you for being the best 10-year-old girl in the Western Hemisphere. Have a wonderful birthday, Bee, and may it be followed by a wonderful year.
The Bee achieved a lifetime ambition this week, by being appointed to the school safety patrol. This is her, looking proud, but also irritated that I am publicly demonstrating that we are related, by taking her picture while she’s trying to be cool. Note the bright yellow belt, sign of maturity and imminent promotion into the fifth grade. Not every incoming fifth grader gets to be a safety–but most of them do. I wonder how it feels for the four or five kids who don’t get to do it. Probably, it sucks a lot, though I’m sure the pain is eased by the first bitterly cold, rainy morning in the fall.
When the Bee entered kindergarten, the safeties looked so huge to my eyes. Now that I’ve got an almost-fifth-grader on my hands, it’s a little overwhelming. She’s only got one more year of elementary school, and then she’ll be off to the middle school, where she’ll again be one of the younger kids.
She has to be on her post by 8:05, and for the last couple of days, she’s stood in the kitchen, fully dressed, with her book bag and her lunch box over her shoulder, waiting for the clock to hit 8. I’m not sure what would happen if she left the house at 7:59, but she’s clearly not willing to risk being early.
I’ve had a sort of laid-back week, so the Potato and I have been walking to school. He’s been chattier than usual, since he’s not competing for airspace with his big sister. I’ve heard all about the caterpillars that they have in kindergarten now—which will build cocoons, morph into butterflies, and be released by the kindergarteners—including the one that he named, “Mr. Thousand.”
It’s nice to have the time with the Potato, time that reminds me of when I walked the Bee to school every day, when he was still in daycare. Reminds me how she would tell me things, and make up games, and generally just have private time with mom. I’ve struggled, with both my kids as they’ve grown older, to find one-on-one time to be with them. It’s nice that the Bee’s new independence gives me a little time alone with the Potato in the morning.
This year, the Bee’s class has a real gender imbalance. There are 14 boys and only 4 girls in her fourth grade class. She’s been coming home and complaining about the fact that ‘the boys’ are constantly getting the class in trouble–and knowing the energy of the 10-year-old boy, I don’t find it that hard to believe. For the most part, I think it’s been good for the Bee to be in this kind of environment, although there are some difficulties about it, from her perspective.
She’s gotten a lot jock-ier this year. She played soccer all fall, and she’s quite a good defensive player, very aggressive in her attempts to take the ball away from the other girls. She’s also gotten involved in a bunch of extra-curricular activities, including writing for the elementary school newspaper, and playing the drums in the band. I think it has definitely helped her to have the ‘norm’ in her class be the boy norm, not the girl norm. At least two of the other girls in her class are athletes as well–the Peony plays three sports a year, and the other girl is the daughter of the guy who coached softball last spring.
We’ve also not had a recurrence of the your-socks-don’t-match-your-outfit moment from last year. I’m happy to report that that girl moved away over the summer. The Bee has been wearing sweatpants and t-shirts every day, with the same pair of sneakers, and yes, the same stained sweater, every.single.day. She’s also refused to get a haircut for weeks, and just tonight I had to practically hold her down to cut her bangs, because I couldn’t stand to look at them for another minute.
I know that it’s just a matter of time before she gets all pre-pubescent, and starts preening herself for a half-hour every morning before school. I know that she and the other girls in her class will start to worry more about getting sweaty, than about how far they can kick the ball in the endless game of kickball that her class plays every single day at recess.
I’m pretty comfortable hanging on to my grubby, stained, awesome daughter for right now, though. If it takes a world of boys to keep her from acting like a girl, that’s okay with me.
That was the outcome of the election at the kids’ school today. When I walked in the door tonight, both of the kids were wearing their “I Voted” stickers, and the Potato came running up to tell me that he had voted for Barack Obama.
Five kids in the Bee’s class (including the Bee), and one fifth grader administered the election and presented info on both of the candidates, so we had a pretty interesting dinner conversation about it. Two weeks ago, she and the Peony had to write up a couple of paragraphs about where the major-party candidates stood on health care–the other kids did education. Last week, she and the other kids in the gifted & talented program registered everyone to vote, and decorated the ballot boxes.
It should come as no surprise, to regular readers of this blog, that the Bee had strong opinions, not just about the candidates but about her classmates’ voting patterns. Apparently there was one kid who said he was voting for McCain because he’s white–which the Bee thought was ridiculous. We also talked about how it isn’t okay to base your vote on age, gender or whether the person is gay or straight.
Four years ago, when I was working to elect John Kerry and the Bee was a tiny kindergartener, she was devastated that her school voted to re-elect Bush. I’m happy that it worked out in her favor this time, since she was so much more involved in the actual process of the election this year.
Yesterday, on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, the Bee turned 9. We didn’t let her stay up till midnight to see the ball drop, but it did have a kind of doubly-celebratory feeling.
It’s so hard now to remember back to what life was like 9 years ago, especially when I think that 9 years from now, our day-to-day grind of parenting the Bee will be basically over—because she’ll be a college freshman (god willing). It’s funny to think that parenting has a half-way point—of course, I don’t actually believe that I’ll ever stop worrying about her, or loving her, or being her mom.
I am hoping that 9 years from now I won’t be dragging her butt out of bed every morning to get her ready on time, though.
In some ways, that day 9 years ago was the happiest day of my life. Having gotten through 36 hours of labor, I foolishly thought the hard part was over. And while none of the parenting that’s occurred over the past 9 years has been QUITE that physically taxing, you couldn’t really say it has been easy, either. Certainly not emotionally.
I was happy when the Potato was born too, but it was a happiness that was mixed with more worry—worry about how the Bee would deal with becoming a big sister, worry that I would have a hard time adjusting to being a mom of two (and knowing somewhat better what becoming a mom entailed than I did the first time). When the Bee was born, I was awash in happy ignorance. By the time the Potato came around, I knew better.
We had a relatively quiet day yesterday. Picked the kids up right after school for once, went out to dinner, saw my brother. But the Bee’s now-annual sleepover is being held this weekend, and she’s saving up her real partying for that night.
I remember, from my own childhood, that the older one gets, the less attractive it is to spend one’s birthday celebrating with one’s family. I don’t think she’s quite at that point yet, she’s still interested in having us around (although will utterly ignore us, I’m sure, when the 9-year-old posse arrrives, except to ask for food). But the day when we’re quietly irrelevant to her birthday is a little bit closer than it was last year.
It will never just be her birthday to me, though. It’s the day I was born as a mom.
The Bee cried tonight when we turned off the TV, knowing that this is our last day of having cable. I cried a little too, especially after we tried to turn the TV back on after the kids were in bed, only to discover, in some kind of cruel cosmic joke, that our TV now only receives Telemundo with any clarity.
I cried earlier tonight, when I was paying the bills, and wrote the very last daycare check I will ever have to write. Those were tears of relief, though. Hello, extra $9K per year! (Well, except that we do have to pay for aftercare. And summer camp. But even then, we’re still saving a hell of a lot of money.)
It’s hard to fathom that, after this Friday, we will never again drive up the road to the daycare where we’ve been dropping off both or one of the kids every single work day for seven years. At this point, I don’t think there’s a single institution that I’ve had that long a relationship with in my entire life, unless you count the public school system that I grew up attending.
This summer has felt like one long transition to me, and it’s hard to believe that a major part of that transition is coming to an end this week. I took the kids shopping for new school supplies yesterday, and the Potato promptly came home and filled his backpack with new notebooks and boxes of tissues, and then put it on and walked around the house triumphantly.
The Bee, of course, was too cool for that (although she did effect the same transfer of supplies to her new bookbag). But isn’t that the best part of being a big sister? Getting to be cooler than your little brother?
he’s 5 today.
Happy Birthday, Sweet Potato Boy!
Does anyone else have an almost-five-year-old boy who just can’t sit still?
I’m starting to really worry about how the Potato is going to do when he starts kindergarten in less than a month (ulp!). He is just not a kid who can sit still for any length of time. It’s not that he can’t concentrate on things–if you give him a pile of legos, he sits there (with his tongue sticking out–a sign that he’s focused) until he’s built a huge stack of whatever it is he’s dreamt up to build that day.
What he can’t do, however, is sit still while he’s doing it.
Or while he’s watching tv.
Or while he’s eating a meal.
Or while he’s listening to a story, or playing a game, or having a conversation, or even sleeping.
The kid is just a wiggler. A fidgeter. A squirmer.
He twitches, he jiggles, he’s basically a big bundle of energy that needs to keep moving.
The only thing that gives me hope that he’ll be okay in kindergarten, is that I know that the kindergarten teacher has three sons. Surely one of them was a wiggler too?
Also? the Potato will not have the same kindergarten teacher that the Bee did. I don’t think there’s anyone left reading this blog who read it back when the Bee was in kindergarten (with the possible exception of MetroDad–can’t remember–can you, MD?). Here’s a refresher, if you want to catch up.
When I turned 25 years old, I had a huge party out on Ocean Beach, in San Francisco. I had two other friends with birthdays near mine, and we shared joint festivities. There was a bonfire, and a couple of kegs. I have a hazy memory of the rest of it–most likely, illicit substances were consumed*.
Yesterday, I turned 40 and, though it’s trite to say, I don’t feel that much different than I did when I was 25. I’m having a party tomorrow night, and again, I’m celebrating with a friend (landisdad being the one to turn 40 today). Somehow, it won’t seem like the right party, since the friends I had when I was 25 won’t be there. The friends I had when I was first really succeeding at being an adult have always felt like my ‘real’ friends, even though I haven’t spoken to some of them in 12 years or more.
I’ve had a couple of people tell me, in the past week, how they didn’t really feel like a grown up until they turned 40. I confess, I don’t really feel that way, but maybe it just hasn’t hit me yet. I mean, when I was 32 I had a kid, a husband, a mortgage, a real job–what’s not adult about that?
At the same time, I don’t feel bad about turning 40–it does feel like a significant (but not significantly awful) milepost along the highway of life. I think it’s safe to say I’ve achieved a certain modicum of wisdom, without really having given up the ability to make an ass out of myself.
I guess there’s not too much more than I could ask than that. I don’t ever want to be the kind of person who takes my knowledge and experience too seriously. I mean, after all, my life could just as easily gone in a different direction, and I could have ended up in a different place, with a different guy, living a much-less satisfying existence. It would be beyond foolish to ascribe the modest success I’ve had–as a parent, as an adult, as a worker–to anything other than good luck and good timing. I can’t say I’m hoping for 40 more years of that like–it seems too hubristic–but I can say I hope it will go on as long as I have to enjoy it.
*note to my children, if you’re reading this in the future–of course, they were not consumed by me!
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