Back-to-school hoopla
Because we do so love a good hoopla around here.
If you know me at all, you know I had to mark the back-to-school occasion with a bit of kid-approved fanfare. Which of course manifested itself as a weekend packed full of exhausting, memory-making fun.
But first.
Open house day at school, where both boys would find their classrooms, meet their teachers, turn in their $100 worth of supplies (public school is not free, y'all), and very most importantly, see which friends were in their classes and hopefully seated near them.
That last one is crucial.
Both boys strolled into the building like they owned the place, channeling a bit of George Jefferson.
Trey's the old pro, knows everyone, and everyone knows him. He soaks up the attention, cheesing like a pig in slop as we navigate the wham-bam of signup tables formerly known as the lobby.
And Aden's the new guy, but all the grownups knew he was coming and just gush all over him.
Have I ever said how much I love that school? Not just because the adults there love my kids like their own. It is a structured environment so great for learning, but still one of the warmest places in the world. So very many Christians in that place. I love, love my kids' school. So thankful.
Aden & Noah, in the same class! Yay!
Aden at his desk.
Trey at his desk.
This outing proved to change nervousness into excitement. Well, for the most part. There were still some butterflies to come.
With business out of the way, let the fun begin!
First stop: ceramic painting. Always an adventure with Taz along. In the scariest voice I could muster while still whispering, I warned them against touching anything but the paintbrushes.
Trey, my sweet perfectionist, chose a basketball Christmas ornament and painted it appropriate colors, of course. Also chose a small plate, painted it red and blue, and then brushed a Nike check in the center.
He acts like me for sure, but gets a lot of joy out of making his Daddy proud. Well, sometimes.
Aden chose an electric guitar Christmas ornament and chose glittery red and black paints. No perfectionism here, so little that the lady helping us offered to "fix" it for him. And as I am trying to keep my jaw from dropping open, he looked at her like she was nuts and declared, "Um, no thank you. I painted it!"
Yes! That's right, son!
The guitar really is beautiful. Kind of modern. Ish.
Aden also selected an Easter egg. Not sure why. And I ended up painting it because, well, Aden's just a bit allergic to sitting still.
Next up, putt putt. Free putt putt, thanks to a few outings last fall when Aden had to go to the bathroom long about hole 9 and we banked up a few rainchecks.
Gotta love putt putt when it's free. And when it's 136 degrees outside. Rosy cheeks all around.
My uber-competitive Trey, who insisted I keep score on the holes where he did well, then whined his dramatic whine that the score didn't matter on the holes where he struggled.
My curious Aden, taking eight minutes to complete each hole where there was some sort of tube for the ball to travel through - on his knees, peering through the paths, craning his neck trying to figure out exactly how everything worked.
If nothing else, they are consistent in their eccentricities.
And then the pool. A normal pool outing that turned monumental. We made a list of goals for the summer for each boy. And had to that point accomplished none of them. One of the goals on the list was for both boys to dunk their heads under the water, willingly, for the first time. Because they're both terrified of it. Sigh.
Trey. Did. It.
The boy with actual documented anxiety issues faced his fear. And then declared it really was no big deal and did it over and over again until we left the pool.
Um, hello? Your Mama's been saying over and over again that it's no big deal for years!
Trey tried to convince Aden to do it, demonstrating and showing off. Yeah, Aden didn't do it. There is no stubbornness on this earth like his.
Except maybe his Mama and Daddy. Aaaand maybe their Mamas and Daddies.
Anyhoo, it was indeed monumental. A fantastic end-of-summer-playtime blowout.
During devotions that night, I tried to remind them of everything they'd need to know the next day. Raise your hand to talk, say pleases and thank yous and ma'ams and sirs, help wherever you can, talk to the kids who seem lonely or scared, please-oh-please flush the toilet every time you go to the bathroom, defend each other, say a blessing over your lunch, work hard, yadda yadda. The whole time my mind is going, "This is it! The last night of having one kid not in school yet!" And I'm struggling.
We get to the verse I have chosen, which the boys know fairly well already because I pray it over them bunches. Joshua 1:9 - "Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified, do not be discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." Except my voice stopped working round about "terrified" and I whisper-cried the rest of it out.
Mom, it's just seven hours.
That would be Trey, and perhaps the most perfect thing he's ever said in his life. I burst out laughing, and devotions were effectively over because apparently the boys didn't know a person could laugh and cry at the same time.
Yes, I'm a hot mess.
The next morning, school began. Real school. For all of my children. Cried over them in their beds before waking them up, cried tying their shoes, cried putting their lunchboxes in their backpacks, cried seeing them both walk out the door with backpacks on. All while trying to hide it of course, because, well, I figured Trey would put me in my place again.
The very short trip to school was hilarious. Here is the entirely whispered conversation from the backseat.
Trey: Are you nervous?
Aden: No, I'm not nervous one bit. Are you nervous?
Trey: No, I'm excited.
Aden: Me too. This is going to be a great day.
Heart explosion.
They knew I was crying on the sidewalk and wouldn't look at me. Gave us a quick kiss and hug, then marched confidently into school.
The rest is history. They love school, both of them.
At Aden's preschool graduation last spring, he brought home a small plastic cup with a small sprout. It was a sunflower, and his teacher said that if we planted it, when the yellow flower appeared, it would be time for school to start again. Here it is, nine feet tall and the only thing left in our garden:
Beautiful. The flower, yes, but also this amazing life. Fast and happy and sad and scary and exciting and full and confusing and overwhelming and joyful.
Blessed.
If you know me at all, you know I had to mark the back-to-school occasion with a bit of kid-approved fanfare. Which of course manifested itself as a weekend packed full of exhausting, memory-making fun.
But first.
Open house day at school, where both boys would find their classrooms, meet their teachers, turn in their $100 worth of supplies (public school is not free, y'all), and very most importantly, see which friends were in their classes and hopefully seated near them.
That last one is crucial.
Both boys strolled into the building like they owned the place, channeling a bit of George Jefferson.
Trey's the old pro, knows everyone, and everyone knows him. He soaks up the attention, cheesing like a pig in slop as we navigate the wham-bam of signup tables formerly known as the lobby.
And Aden's the new guy, but all the grownups knew he was coming and just gush all over him.
Have I ever said how much I love that school? Not just because the adults there love my kids like their own. It is a structured environment so great for learning, but still one of the warmest places in the world. So very many Christians in that place. I love, love my kids' school. So thankful.
With business out of the way, let the fun begin!
First stop: ceramic painting. Always an adventure with Taz along. In the scariest voice I could muster while still whispering, I warned them against touching anything but the paintbrushes.
Trey, my sweet perfectionist, chose a basketball Christmas ornament and painted it appropriate colors, of course. Also chose a small plate, painted it red and blue, and then brushed a Nike check in the center.
He acts like me for sure, but gets a lot of joy out of making his Daddy proud. Well, sometimes.
Aden chose an electric guitar Christmas ornament and chose glittery red and black paints. No perfectionism here, so little that the lady helping us offered to "fix" it for him. And as I am trying to keep my jaw from dropping open, he looked at her like she was nuts and declared, "Um, no thank you. I painted it!"
Yes! That's right, son!
The guitar really is beautiful. Kind of modern. Ish.
Aden also selected an Easter egg. Not sure why. And I ended up painting it because, well, Aden's just a bit allergic to sitting still.
Next up, putt putt. Free putt putt, thanks to a few outings last fall when Aden had to go to the bathroom long about hole 9 and we banked up a few rainchecks.
Gotta love putt putt when it's free. And when it's 136 degrees outside. Rosy cheeks all around.
My uber-competitive Trey, who insisted I keep score on the holes where he did well, then whined his dramatic whine that the score didn't matter on the holes where he struggled.
My curious Aden, taking eight minutes to complete each hole where there was some sort of tube for the ball to travel through - on his knees, peering through the paths, craning his neck trying to figure out exactly how everything worked.
If nothing else, they are consistent in their eccentricities.
And then the pool. A normal pool outing that turned monumental. We made a list of goals for the summer for each boy. And had to that point accomplished none of them. One of the goals on the list was for both boys to dunk their heads under the water, willingly, for the first time. Because they're both terrified of it. Sigh.
Trey. Did. It.
The boy with actual documented anxiety issues faced his fear. And then declared it really was no big deal and did it over and over again until we left the pool.
Um, hello? Your Mama's been saying over and over again that it's no big deal for years!
Trey tried to convince Aden to do it, demonstrating and showing off. Yeah, Aden didn't do it. There is no stubbornness on this earth like his.
Except maybe his Mama and Daddy. Aaaand maybe their Mamas and Daddies.
Anyhoo, it was indeed monumental. A fantastic end-of-summer-playtime blowout.
During devotions that night, I tried to remind them of everything they'd need to know the next day. Raise your hand to talk, say pleases and thank yous and ma'ams and sirs, help wherever you can, talk to the kids who seem lonely or scared, please-oh-please flush the toilet every time you go to the bathroom, defend each other, say a blessing over your lunch, work hard, yadda yadda. The whole time my mind is going, "This is it! The last night of having one kid not in school yet!" And I'm struggling.
We get to the verse I have chosen, which the boys know fairly well already because I pray it over them bunches. Joshua 1:9 - "Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified, do not be discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." Except my voice stopped working round about "terrified" and I whisper-cried the rest of it out.
Mom, it's just seven hours.
That would be Trey, and perhaps the most perfect thing he's ever said in his life. I burst out laughing, and devotions were effectively over because apparently the boys didn't know a person could laugh and cry at the same time.
Yes, I'm a hot mess.
The next morning, school began. Real school. For all of my children. Cried over them in their beds before waking them up, cried tying their shoes, cried putting their lunchboxes in their backpacks, cried seeing them both walk out the door with backpacks on. All while trying to hide it of course, because, well, I figured Trey would put me in my place again.
The very short trip to school was hilarious. Here is the entirely whispered conversation from the backseat.
Trey: Are you nervous?
Aden: No, I'm not nervous one bit. Are you nervous?
Trey: No, I'm excited.
Aden: Me too. This is going to be a great day.
Heart explosion.
They knew I was crying on the sidewalk and wouldn't look at me. Gave us a quick kiss and hug, then marched confidently into school.
The rest is history. They love school, both of them.
At Aden's preschool graduation last spring, he brought home a small plastic cup with a small sprout. It was a sunflower, and his teacher said that if we planted it, when the yellow flower appeared, it would be time for school to start again. Here it is, nine feet tall and the only thing left in our garden:
Beautiful. The flower, yes, but also this amazing life. Fast and happy and sad and scary and exciting and full and confusing and overwhelming and joyful.
Blessed.
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