Kylie's first day

So now that school has started, Kylie won't have her big sister around to entertain her. I think that this means she'll be getting into mischief a bit more often. Keilana wanted watermelon for an after-school snack, so I was cutting up a giant melon and had to turn my back for a minute to rinse something off in the sink. While my back was turned, Kylie helped herself to a big piece of watermelon that I hadn't chopped up yet.

And she ate the whole thing. That's how she rolls.

She's a builder. She loves blocks, giant Legos, etc, etc., and frequently proudly shows me her creations. But apparently when I'm doing dishes and there are no Legos in sight, stacking paper towel rolls and Ziploc containers will do:
Oh, toddlers. They're my favorite. This age is when I could just eat them up for all their scrumptiousness, and find myself constantly laughing at their antics and discoveries.

School!

Yesterday was the first day of school in Lindsay!! Everybody was very excited and ready to go (no one more than Mommy, after a very long Monday with the kidiots). So after a Monday night blessing from Daddy and Tuesday morning oatmeal and bran flakes, we headed out the door.

Keilana is in first grade this year. She was a little bummed that none of her close buddies from Church/Mom and Dad's social circle are in her class this year, but she knew quite a few of the kids, so it was OK. She told me she had a really good day, practicing writing and making a new book, "Que?" Her teacher sent home a little handout and she asked me what it said. I replied that I wasn't sure, since I was only getting parts of it because I don't know enough Spanish. "Let me help you," she said, and crawled up to the counter and proceeded to translate it successfully, sentence by sentence for me. I'm more grateful all the time that we decided on dual immersion. My little social butterfly was definitely ready to get back to spending six hours a day with other kids.
Dylan started preschool. I wasn't sure I was going to send him to preschool (I only get them for 5 years before they're off to school everyday, after all), but he started asking halfway through the year last year when he got to go to school and really wanted to go. Though they didn't tell me this when I signed him up (have I mentioned that our school system is not great at the whole communicating with parents thing?), he was put in the special needs class. One of the preschool classrooms is set aside for kids who fall under the ADA/Special Ed umbrella and then once they have those kids covered, they fill the rest of the class up with "normal" kids, for much-needed socialization in both directions. We laughed when the teacher told us it was the Special Needs classroom, and she looked at us quizzically. We explained that while he's very bright, that seemed somehow appropriate for our "unique" little guy. Based on our brief conversation yesterday, I think I'm really, really going to like his teacher. And since its a special needs class, its very small--about 10 or 12 kids. And Dylan was very excited that Lulu is in his class!! Miles is, too, so he has some good buddies with him.

Here we go. . .

A new school year starts tomorrow. The kids should have no problem with the schedule, since the latest they ever sleep is 6:30 anyway. I'm never thrilled about the 6am wake up hollers, though, so I'd better adjust.

Dylan will have Mrs. Sanchez, and Keilana's class/teacher have yet to be posted (and yes, I am very annoyed that I can't find out because they haven't posted it or sent a letter and trying to call the office is a joke, as all their lines are so busy that trying to stay on hold that long just makes me want to shoot someone). Dylan is not nervous at all, of course, since he has been asking, "Is it time to go to school?" every morning for the last two weeks and has always been very annoyed when I reply, "Not yet, still a few more days." Keilana is a little nervous, since she doesn't know who her teacher will be or what kids will be in her class, and she always feels a bit of trepidation mixed with excitement when it comes to new social experiences. But I'm pretty confident that by the end of the day she'll have 10 new friends and love her teacher, so I'm not too worried about it.

Tomorrow, I'll post some pictures and let you know how it went. Dylan will be going to preschool in the afternoon, right at the time Kylie usually naps, so its a very realistic possibility that I will have somewhere in the vicinity of 2 hours every afternoon where NO children are demanding my attention. Its sort of an amazing thought. *happy dancing*

The Daily Vent

School starts in Lindsay a week from today. Today I registered Dylan for preschool. Yes, I'm that on top of things. At first I was told that Washington Preschool (the one attached to Keilana's elementary school) was full. I was not about to do drop-offs and pick-ups at two different locations every day, so I pleaded for sympathy, pointing out that I already had a child in school there, and the nice woman who was getting him registered found one afternoon class she could squeeze him into. God bless her. I had wanted him to go in the morning, and knew what teacher I wanted, and got neither, but that's the prices of procrastination.

I have a procrastinating problem. But in this case, it isn't just a laziness or time management problem. You see, I've had his physical and TB test done since March. March--I could've registered him at any point since then. Though it wasn't really conscious, I realized I'd been avoiding getting it done.

I am a pretty conservative person, in many, many respects, by nearly any definition of the word. But all other social, personal and religious habits aside, I would probably still be conservative just because nearly every facet of my personality revolts against nearly every aspect of bureaucracy. I hate paperwork, I hate impersonal, I hate inefficient, all of that. Bureaucracy is so antithetical to my nature that its difficult for me to deal with when I have to. Every time I have to deal with large school systems, the DMV, the brief period of time where my kids were on Medicaid, or anything else of the paperwork-and-statistics government monolith, I very briefly become an anarchist. It only lasts a minute or two before I come back to my senses, but I never stop feeling and thinking that I'd like to move to Wyoming or Alaska--some of the last places on earth where people understand that there's a good way to live that's somewhere between lawless anarchy and tyrannical, life-wasting bureaucracy.

Though I don't know I'll ever truly be a Californian in my heart (Montana isn't easily displaced for those of us in whose hearts she reigns), I do understand why California lured so many people, why it seemed like a western Eden. Its rather sad to be watching a place so blessed with human and natural resources collapse in on itself.

Ah, life

So I sat Kylie on a stool

at the island in our kitchen

with a handful of raisins

while I went upstairs

to clean up some toddler-mess.

When I came back downstairs

15 minutes later,

I found that she had removed her diaper

and thrown it on the floor,

pooped on the stool

and then climbed up on the island

and fallen asleep

in a pudgy, squishy, adorably naked

little ball.

Unfortunately,

the boys woke her up

before I could forever capture

this disgusting hilariousness

on film.

Motherhood.

Isn't it interesting?

Serving

A couple of days ago, a sister called me and asked if I could take dinner to a family in our ward that night. I hesitated. Not necessarily because I'm unwilling to help--granted, I was quite tired and had had a rather long morning, busy constantly while accomplishing little, but that wouldn't have stopped me from doing a lot of other things. I don't think of myself as much of a cook, so I always feel like I should apologize when I take someone dinner. I quickly realized that this was ridiculous--cooking may not be one of my specialties, but I'm certainly not bad at it. They're not looking for a gourmet meal, its just a bunch of kids who have a sick mom and not a lot of food in the house at the moment. My chicken stir fry is probably much appreciated. I was tempted to have her keep making phone calls, certain that someone else would do it. I was the only person she'd reached all morning, getting nothing but answering machines and voice mails all day.

It made me wonder how many opportunities to serve I've missed in life because I didn't feel adequate and/or was sure someone else would do it. How many times was service not done at all because I noticed a need and decided someone else would be better at meeting it?

When I think back on the acts of service that have meant the most in my life, they don't seem obvious or huge on the surface--there was no overt reason that that person gave that act of service to me at that moment, yet it made all the difference in my life. An unexpected phone call from an unexpected person, a well-timed question from someone who wouldn't seem to need to know, a couple of hours spent sitting on my couch and talking to me. These are acts of kindness from three different individuals that had a monumental impact on my life, and there was really no way that they or I could've guessed that at the time. How grateful I am that they didn't ignore that impulse because it seemed like a small thing, or because they didn't feel like they were the right person to do it.

How often do we miss opportunities to shine a light in someone else's life because we feel inadequate, or overqualified, or tired? Its easy to forget why we serve sometimes--be it in an official calling, or in little everyday acts. We don't serve to demonstrate our skills (though hopefully we are willing and able to use our talents in the service of others), or to be stretched and humbled (though hopefully that's a side effect of service). We serve because there's a need to be met and for whatever wise purpose, the Lord has asked us to be the one to meet it. Its easy, particularly in the Church, to just say, "Someone else will do it". But will they? And if you've been asked to do it, perhaps someone stepping into your shoes won't have the same insights you would have if you had stepped forth willingly.

The Lord tells us that we can be instruments in his hands. What we often don't realize is that on any given day that can mean anything from first chair violin to back up snare drum, and anything in between. Perhaps we are tempted to feel overwhelmed and under-qualified for our current position in the orchestra, or perhaps we feel bored or insignificant. The Lord is trying to create a world-class symphony using rank amateurs. But the absolutely amazing thing is that if we really try very hard and the play the notes he asks us to play when he asks us to play them, it can be glorious and near-perfect. He really is that good a teacher, that skilled a conductor. In order for it to work, we have the trust him, trust that the part he is asking us to play at any given moment, if played with all our hearts, is the best place for us to be, for the whole symphony, and ultimately, for each of us.

First Carjacking

Oh sure, he looks like an innocent, happy passenger here. But don't let that fool you.

On our way home from Montana, on our lllllooooooonnnngggg day of driving from Salt Lake City to Sacramento, we stopped in Reno to visit my uncle and have some dinner. We grabbed some fast food and took it to this awesome park next to the marina to have a little picnic.

It so happened that at said park on this beautiful, breezy evening, was a couple and their young son, who had brought along a very cool truck. Dylan had asked several times if he could drive it, and responded with distressed moaning when I explained that it wasn't our truck. The kids played while I ate my dinner and conversed with my uncle and husband, only half paying attention to them. Suddenly, Uncle Kenny starts laughing and points out that Dylan has found a new ride. Apparently, the little boy who owned the truck was occupied by some playground equipment and his parents' backs were turned to the vehicle, so Dylan simply hopped in the driver's seat and began to drive away. The elfin little creature who owns the toy started yelling and chasing the truck. (A few other kids saw him doing this and thought it seemed fun, I guess, because they started doing the same thing).

Fortunately, the parents who had brought this cool toy were quite cool themselves, and let Dylan continue to drive for a little while (once the chasers were safely seated as passengers), and then let him ride along as passenger while other kids at the park got to take turns driving the truck.

This experience, with generous and understanding parents at a public park, has almost rehabilitated me from my fear of "park parents" that developed when I lived in SLO. There, I watched older mothers look down their noses at me, the obviously young mom who had a toddler, was already pregnant and letting her toddler run free on the slides and ladders. It was hard to continue looking down their noses at me, since they had to stay within 3 inches of their 4-year-olds at all times. But my favorite was when an older child was choking my not-quite-two-year-old and I dared say, "Hey!" to him. His mother was furious at me for reprimanding her child. Now that I look back on it, it was rather selfish of me to regard my toddler's ability to breathe as more important that her child's desire to bully.