Weekend

Saturday was time for the lengthy un-do-ing of the old 'do atop Anna's crown, and washing with special olive oil shampoo and deep-conditioning.  With family pictures in two weeks, she agreed for a simpler design right now since we'll rework it fresh in just 14 days.  Having her hair pulled up and back from her face so nicely highlights her cheekbones and eyes; so, I went for a quick and easy on-the-fly five ponytail pattern, using french braids to fashion the top/front hair back from the forehead before binding it up into the puffs.

I awoke Sunday morning feeling "on the wrong side of the bed"-- clowds in the sky, sinus pressure and swollen lymph nodes in my head/neck, a lot to do to be ready for the new week (my first week back to school!) -- but we paced ourselves.  I quietly prioritized my chores; it turned out to be alright. 

The afternoon found the girls in a bit of artist's heaven  .  .  .

And having found Hunt & Bay's old Leap Pad, I made available to Jameson a new, electronic (!) way to review phonics.  (He did some web sites weeks, ago, but the novelty wore off after enough repetitions.)

Hunter in sloth bliss!

Need I say more?

Yeah, we actually facilitated the kids' whole checklists -- from homework, to lunches, to toy clean-up, to "ISAT is tomorrow" talk.  It wasn't all leisure, but my organizational freakishness does serve a purpose -- it buys us much-needed time for restfulness, playfulness, abstract-randomness!  Oh, the curse and the bliss of a Mommy who's a creative, type-A hybrid. 

20 minutes until teacher nigh-night time  .  .  .  clothes are already ironed, and alarm set -- all so I could sneak a few minutes of blogging fun to clean out the ol' brain. 

Balance is good.

 



Four Days And Counting

No, not my study --
(I could only dream such) --
it's Thomas Jefferson's Monticello.

Okay, so, it's late Wednesday night, and that means only two days left of kids-at-school-getting-used-to-things before Mom-is-back-at-school-and-crazy-busy-too.  I think we're ready, though.  No, I'm never a fan of eating breakfast in the car, waiting to eat, again, until a bell tells me I can, or feeling low on patience in the evenings because I'd already dealt with far too many kids not listening to me .  .  .  but generally speaking, my teaching job is a great gig, and I miss it. 

The tag on today's tea bag quoted a "Wise Saying from the Orient" -- "The tribute to learning is teaching."  Hmm.  Is this first cousin to reading tea leaves?  Time to do more teaching?  (But, hey, I thought it was no longer correct to refer to "the East" or Asia as "the Orient?"  There I go, again, doing that thinking thing.  Definitely time to start torturing students with my musings!) 

I'm also starting to notice that I'm gettin' my "summer" der-my-brain-is-mushy-an'-I-dunno-how-ta-talk-ta-nobody thing goin' on.  When grocery speed-shopping at Wal-mart earlier this week, I ran into (figuratively, thankfully) a neighbor, one of my student's parents, and one of the great fellows who mentored me years ago during my student-teaching days.  I was all like deer in the Wal-mart lights, fumbly over small talk, stupid-brained.  It's typically a hot-weather, seasonal disease, prominent in the teacher population.  Okay, so, two teachers I know get this oatmeal-brain syndrome in the off-season -- my sister and I. 

Then, today, whammo -- I've got my groove back.  After I dropped the kids off for their whole sitter-to-bus-to-school thing, I allowed some time for a Starbucks run (decaf, mind you) and had time (a blessed thing) to listen to some world news.  You know, actually listen to some depth beyond the headlines and occasional article in which I'd indulged via Yahoo.  Sorry, MFHS kids, but Mama Cluver's already got the first-day-I'm-back work conceptualized, typed, and printed.  Booya, baby!  And, yes, I've got my wits about me enough to remember those peoples in the student desks won't be all "Golly gee, we can't wait to think and write."  Too bad, youngin's -- ready or not  .  .  .

And our four kiddos at home are making progress with school routine and home routine and growing closer to us and with each other.  In fact, the boys got into some trouble together last night, when 2 hours (TWO HOURS!!) after bedtime (they are usually asleep -- for good -- within minutes), Chad found them wide awake playing dsi.  So, Dad acted all serious about it, and then came downstairs and we chuckled.  For consolation Jameson wanted to slumber party in Hunter's bed, and the older brother agreed -- for the first night.  Tonight, however, Hunt thought some stretching room was in order; so, li'l bro' settled for his own, top bunk once again.  They are just too funny together -- already have their own relationship completely separate from us, parents -- just like what Hunter and Baylor have had for years.

The girls are talking WITH each other and joking and listening far, far more than even just a week ago.  They seem to be building some empathy and warmth, finally!  I know, it's been less than 2 months  .  .  .  In the big scheme, they're really doing very, very well.  For there to be noticeable progress for all four kids as sibs and for the two newbies academically and in adjusting to familial norms in such a short amount of time is a blessing! 

Dear Anna continues to be quite nervous and shy at school, but that's nothing that time won't help.  (She's got an amazing teacher and wonderful classmates!)  And, yes, the dress-wearing every Sunday (and some days in between) continues.

Hunter's request for "Haitian Spaghetti Day" went over smashingly in the kids' classrooms today.  We listened to konpa music, viewed some Haitian images via SMART board, and read together a fact sheet I'd created.  More kids than not enjoyed the food sample, and my four seem to have enjoyed the visit from Mom.  (Out of respect for children's privacy, I did not take photos of the other kids in the room, and the 5th grade time slot went so quickly I forgot to get a pic of Anna and Hunter.)  And at bedtime prayers Anna included, "Thank you, Jesus, for Haitian spaghetti"; her bedtime ritual is part prayer and part messages to Mom who sits bedside.  Despite her utter shyness over my visit, it turns out she felt validated by seeing her new 5th grade friends enjoy one of her favorite foods and show genuine interest in her native land.

Good days, good days, indeed.

Four-Day Trial Run

Well, tomorrow begins the four-day school week (Presidents' Day allowed us time at home today)  .  .  .  and it's the kids first go at the whole shebang of Cluver family routine -- out the door by 7:20 to Colleen's, then the bus to school  .  .  .  the bus after school back to Colleen's, then picked up by Mom or Dad around 4:00.  It's worked for years for Hunt and Bay.  Colleen (formerly known as "Tah-yeen," and most recently as "Co-co") is amazing and calm and my hero.  It's simply a few more steps in the day for the kids to make their own and about an hour and a half less time at home; so, home time will be a bit busier than it was up until now.  They're ready, and I'm pleased with the pacing we've used.  This will be a good dry run as I take this last week to get caught up on some of the remaining important matters before I, too, am at full throttle on the 28th returning to my own classroom.  Phew!  I am so, so, soooo glad we've taken this one thing at a time.  They're ready.  I'm ready.  But it's still daily work.  And reflection.  Livin' in the moment.

Boys and Girls

It's been a good couple of days for the children of the Cluver house.  A casual dinner out with my friend, Jill, and her three boys at La Fondita led to an impromptu, day-after-birthday celebration (sombrero and whipped cream in the face) for Jameson (Thursday), and a successful (phone lines were open) call to the kids' birth mom in Haiti.  We had a chance to speak for the first time with another of their brothers, as well.

Today (Sat.) Jameson was asked to step off the bleachers and into Hunter's soccer game as a sub on a day we were short some players.  And the sun is shining, again, A LOT!  On our way out the door to go to the afore-mentioned soccer game, Anna and I failed to pick up her dsi game from the counter, and so, she was pleased to entertain Baylor's commentary and demonstrations on the young one's baby-wild-animal dsi game  .  .  .  better to be an on-looker than to be bored.  The girls talked and asked each other questions and listened -- playfulness and warm, on-going communication!

Bay had a birthday party this afternoon, and she and Jameson have another one tonight -- social calendars far better than mine -- and it's an "easy kind of busy" that is great fun for the kids and allows for some variety and one-on-one time with Mom or Dad for whichever kids aren't the party-goer of the day/eve.

With a pre-teen fashionista now under our roof, Bay is taking notice of the big sister's wardrobe, and use of accessories, and matching .  .  .  sometimes.  Anna very much wants to look nice all of the time, and when uncertain as to how best to pull it together -- Which tights?  Which shoes?  Which necklace and hairbow?  She asks me.  Yep, that's right, for the time being, she asks my advice, and -- wait for it -- follows it!  Grab your chest and gasp, and then laugh, "Yeah, just give it time."  I know -- the teenage-know-it-all-parents-are-clueless-nerd-morons phase is just around the proverbial corner.  In the meantime, we're having some girl fun with attire, as they tickle their fancies, and I attempt to teach them some basics (a stylist I am not) before they snub ol' Mom entirely. 

And then Ramona, er uh, I mean Baylor gets distracted before she's finished dressing, because the snippets I cut from the tips of her hair bow make perfect beds for two of her four butterflies:
 Rainforest, Tiger Lily, Orange, & Gluey.
 

(And the only way to properly secure a microscopic hangnail is dual-coverage -- one bandaid around
 the finger locked down with the second, over-the-top wrap.  Bay's directive.)

And then, there's the almost-finished-but-no-we-can't-really-match finale of the socks.

 (In real life the outfit is turquoise and the socks are royal and powder blue.)

Somewhere in Oz there's a witch who wants her hosiery back.

Coordinated!

 Ready for an all-girls birthday dance party.

Sadly  .  .  .  very, very sadly, I wasn' this hip as a senior in high school.  I so would have liked to sport the Madonna glove and a ribbon headband.  Might have foregone the socks, however.

And then, the boys chimed in with feigned jealousy, "Hey, what about our picture?"

Yes, Tiger and Monkey -- tres chic.

 Friday, the day between La Fondita fun and soccer-game-relaxation, the kids had a full day at home without any electronic games.  They played -- like, together.  I love it when they're grounded from hand-held gaming devices, or when I simply pull the plug because I'm an ogre-mother. 

(And the night was capped off with visits from the awesome, non-ogre grandparents!)

Hunt and Jameson began Leggogeddon 2011  .  .  .

And Anna played on the floor with small "non-girl" toys, at length, in the presence of siblings for the first time without being self-conscious.  She usually entertains herself quite well, but with painting, writing letters, listening to music, dancing; so, it was a joy for me to see her let loose enough to engage in what some might call "little kids' play" -- a true sign, to me, that she is utterly, totally, and completely "at home."

I don't know, exactly, what this set-up of hers was all about, but I know these little peices were named in alphabetical order, as she came to me repeatedly asking for ideas for words starting with particular letters.  We'd go through ideas until she was pleased enough with one, and she'd scamper off to do voice-overs as the little toy with the newly-minted name. 

The questions -- never-ending, exhaustive questions -- are amazing to me.  How a person can learn so much of a new language and culture and continue to have an insatiable appetite for knowing more, and more, and MORE is  .  .  .  lovely. 

"He drive car?"  Jameson is AMAZED that "kids" drive vehicles.  One night on the way out of the school following one of Daddy's games, Jameson watched the players get into vehicle after vehicle and drive off.  "What?" (wide-eyed, open-mouthed, a quick shake of the head -- disbelief)  "How they drive?"  "They have money?"  "How old?"  "So, when I 16, I can drive?"

And Anna wants to know about every building she sees.  "Is that a hotel?"  "Have we been to that store?"  "What's an apartment?" 

And every sign she sees.  "What is 'taxes'?"  "What is government?"  "You pay everybody in government?"  .  .  .  "Is it 'groop' or 'growp'?" (group)  .  .  .  "Have you eat at that restaurant?" 

And how things work.  "Do you pay police when they come help you?"  .  .  .  "How they make the hole in the (Starbucks) cup lid?"  

And then, there are the English questions.  "When you feel 'scared?' or 'scary?' right now, how do you say it?  Like, is 'scared' when it's in the past?" 

No wonder she is tired by nightfall.

Running errands with Anna is a favorite new activity of mine, because she is curious and we have great talks.  She is delighted (for the time being) by anything I buy, and okay (while it lasts) when I decline to purchase a requested item.  And she doesn't even complain about the "ballet music" from my stand-by classical music radio station. 

We're all definitely starting to "get" each other.  And have fun.  Another step into the "new normal." 

 



Nine Years Today

The new nine-year-old awoke early, eager to see what his birthday would bring.  For starters, balloons (not helium, just good ol' Mom's hot air), internet printouts of Star Wars images, and large "9's" hung in the boys' bedroom and in the kitchen eating area.  Heading out to school, Jameson had in his backpack stretchy little animal thingies to hand out to his classmates (at Ms. Stout's discretion as to timing, I reminded).  

Unfortunately, our attempts to get through to his birth mother's cell phone after school and before supper were unsuccessful.  We will try, again, tomorrow evening.  I so wanted for Jameson to speak with the woman who gave life to him -- ON the anniversary date of his birth.  I wanted it for her, too.

Realizing it was beyond our control, we shifted attention to dinner, which was the choice of the birthday lad -- Haitian Spaghetti.  (Thank you, Mary Ann, for the practice.)

Gift-opening then commenced  .  .  . and he was all smiles.  We were all chuckles after he opened the Star Wars vehicle doohickey toy thing and out came his long-standing mispronunciation of "clones" -- "Are there clowns in here?"  Okay, so if you're a Star Wars fan, or even if you've just been privy to some parts of some of the films by association or bad timing (I kid, I kid, they're fun movies), you should be able to smirk (at least) at the idea of a young boy playing with his brother and repeatedly calling the intimidating, white-plastic-armor-clad soldiers "clowns." 

And the family celebration was topped off by his choice of white cake with white icing.  (Icing courtesy of my Grandma Jones' fabulous recipe!  And "icing" being a term that sounds ridiculous to the kids, as they imagine, yep, you guessed it -- frozen water; so, I often have to repeat icing-related statements and substitute "frosting" as to reassure them that there will be a gooey, sugary coating on the dessert item being discussed.)

Neapolitan was the closest I could come to his request for ice cream, 'cuz their ain't no banana ice cream or coconut ice cream to be had in any of the three stores to which I ventured this a.m.. 

I was on to his third choice, which he whispered to me last night,

"Strawsberry (2nd 's' not a typo), what Hunter like (w/out strawberry pieces)."

The kid loves his new, older brother, and sheepishly and secretly wanted to please him.  And it dawned on me later that Hunter mentioned several days ago about coconut popsicles being super yummy.  (I think the banana was inspired, perhaps, by Jameson having had some banana popsicles last summer?)  So, at my final grocery stop, I bought both kinds of popsicles (for future after-dinner treats); the big tub of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry was my only chance at scooping up some plain, pink strawberry flavor without any fruit bits, and that gallon became the frozen celebration confection for the night.

No, this Mama doesn't usually travel around on a sugar quest (quiet, Archana!) -- what store #1 has is what we get.  But today was different, and so was the motivation for a kid's request -- it's all sweet.

I Heart February?

I've always hated February -- I know, I know, the "h-word" is a strong one, but I've always hated February.  My brain needs sunshine, and by the time we get past the chaotic fun of December and the quiet and calm of crisp January, I've had enough of the dark and the gloom and the cold.  A lot of folks despise March, but for me, the third month starts with my birthday (the 2nd), and so, February is the last thing standing in the way of birthday-followed-by-spring.  And t w e n t y -
e i g h t days can feel so darned long!  This year, however, the groundhog is our friend -- early spring -- and boy, is this week awe-some (oh, yeah, oh, yeah).  What a colossal temperature shift, and SUNSHINE -- yellow, bright, beautimous rays from the giant orb of fire.  Love it.  Love IT!

With the homecoming of the kids right at the start of the new year, we'd been celebrating staggered and belated Christmases with our extended families, and so, today I finally got to the task of taking down and storing away our gluttony of holiday decorations.  And the sun was shining.  And we're getting into a "new normal" with the kids.  I felt sorta, kinda like myself for the first time in 13 months. 

Not enough time today to clean and get out the spring flowers and candles and throw pillows; that will have to be for the weekend, as tomorrow is full of meetings and Jameson's birthday!  (pics of the bday tomorrow!) 

Today, however, was a soul-cleansing as much as it was a house-emptying.  Down with the greens, and I remembered that Baylor is out of shampoo.  Into the boxes with the ornaments and strings of lights, and it dawned on me that I need to prepare to call Haiti tomorrow (to try to reach birth mom on the birth day).  Stockings stashed, and three more important and funny things came to mind that I forgot to record that the kids had said.  Apparently, it was a good ol' brain-organizing, too. 

In the open randomness of progress, I came across evidence that speaks to yesterdays' post about Ramona-Baylor, and I have to say that one of my favorite things to see over the years has been the remnants of the kids' play.  No, not the mess -- that annoys me, just like it does you, but you know, those times when they've unwittingly left behind physical markers of their creative meanderings.  Like, the whole farm and zoo of plush animals clustered by animal type in the living room, all lined up in front of toy plates and plastic food from the kitchen set.  (There's a miscellaneous gathering on one cushion for the UIC Dragon, hot pink Beanie Baby bear, and several additional softies that don't fit the other taxonomic groupings.)

Today, this is what caught my amusement  .  .  .

Do you know WHY Fancy Nancy is wearing a party hat?  Because, (said in teacher voice) "Mom, every day that there is someone in my class who is having a birthday, I'm going to put this hat on her to recognize their special day." (Prance gleefully on tiptoes).

 The new mailbox has become a home to "Nurse Supplies in here (for playing nurse)."  I guess the parentheses are needed because someone sued after finding nurse supplies without clear instruction on how to play with them.  

The montage of chaos crammed into this pencil holder isn't what tickles me.  It's that this isn't a pencil holder, but an old, nasty toothbrush holder that I was forced to scrub and preserve. 

(God forbid that anything is ever put into the trash.)

 THE paper cell phone that received homage in the last post.

Yes, the desk, again -- already viewed several posts ago.  But, really?  Isn't it worth another look -- just like a river:  always the same, and always changing.  Empty candy hearts box, old practice spelling test, the still-dead corn plant, and an old (and dead) phone.  (And her dsi belongings in a freezer bag because I put everything in baggies).

 And her "ways" have even infiltrated a nook in my office -- top shelf of the SW nook.  My "Holding" box began as a place in which to keep non actionable items that I would need to access at some point in the relatively near future -- not yet file-able.  99% of the contents are now post-Baylor-material.  "Mom, keep all," she says to me each day as she hands me a fist of papers from her back pack. 

Every day. 

THIS, then, is the fermentation chamber.  After sitting undisturbed for the appropriate amount of time (several months to be safe), a percentage is skimmed out and, um, carefully filed in the garage toter.

 Extraordinary, my dahlin'!

Terrifical!

If you haven't yet seen the 2010 movie "Ramona and Beezus" (based on Beverly Cleary's series), it's worth a watch.  And if you've got a little Ramona living in your house, it's a must-see!  Quite frankly, it brought tears to my eyes.  That little Joey King who plays the ever imaginative and oft misunderstood Ramona is amazing -- I've seen those same expressions of exuberant joy on the face of my Baylor, delighted immensely by the simplest of things.  And the deep, genuine hurt when misunderstood -- utter frustration and bewilderment.  How a child can act those highs and lows so convincingly is beyond me (talkin' actress Joey, here).  (I'll even forgive that the fellow playing Aunt Beatrice's boyfriend was not so convincing.)  Oh, it made my heart ache for Bay's frustrations; and love her circuitous way of getting from A to B, the dead (and cherished) corn plant upon her desk, and her on-going mourning over the trade-in of the old mini-van. 

Granted, Bay gets along smashingly at school and has adored every one of her teachers, and she tends not to get into precious objects around the house without first asking permission.  The looks on Ramona's face, however, and the intensity of the emotion, magnitude of the imagination, and overall sensitivity -- hit the soft spot in my heart that has Baylor written all over it.  Oh, dear girl, you're going to really be somethin' when you're grown up.  We just have to survive together the years from now 'till then. 

Love you! 

And your rain boots  .  .  .  and homemade paper cell phone  .  .  .  and your love of "spy gear"  .  .  .  and that your LL Bean backpack sits in the closet while you use the old, torn bag left by the good friend who moved away last year  .  .  .  and your hidden rock collection (sh!)   .   .   . 

Forward

Ah!  So, with some bumps in the daily road identified, I've adjusted (with some insight from the hubby) how we go about our evenings, as well as pinpointed for each child one (1) behavior focus (yes, for each of the FOUR children), and have a positive reinforcement plan in place (easy, simple, and somethin' the kids will like).  Of course, any plan is only as good as its execution and the mindfulness of the troop leader.  Anywho, Tuesday pm was soooo crazy hectic (including the cheer performance at Dad's ball game), that I did most of the kids' evening list for them (and all went well), and so, Wednesday eve brought our first attempt at four kids taking responsibility for ALL of their own "to do" tasks.  And, um, it led to far more chaos than this newbie had anticipated.  Tonight, however, we struck an orchestrated balance of me being the Grand Keeper and Monitor of the Lists while each child performed jobs according to my timing for them (ie. "Girls, go upstairs to get done the clothes-picking-out, Bay's piano practice, & Anna's graph-coloring," and this allowed for me to check in with the boys -- just 2 kids -- on their backpack contents and homework load for the night).    Reminders were still necessary about waiting turns without (loud) interruptions, and this took a lot of reinforcement, reminders, and PATIENCE, but  .  .  .  much, MUCH more manageable.

And the girls got a whole new supply (ample!) of new hair ribbons (just for wardrobe fun), and they each also got (courtesy of Target's $1 aisle) a little desk-top mailbox, which Mom is hoping will motivate some fun note-leaving between the girls  .  .  .  subtle steps toward sisterly intimacy.  I tried to jump-start it by leaving a scrolled message for each girl tied up with pink, sheer ribbon.  As of mid-eve Bay had taken the bait -- two pictures drawn for Anna and folded secretly into the mailbox; maybe big sis' will find them tomorrow evening.

And in the daytime hours I try to crawl out from under the pile of ovewhelming backlog -- adoption documents and processes, bills, taxes, appoinments -- as well as take care of mundane business that would otherwise add to the nighttime hecticness  .  .  .  because right now the evenings are so full I feel a new dimension of time, space, or kiwi birds might explode or implode or somethin'.  Admittedly, it's because I am unwilling to give up staying/getting connected with the kids -- not only monitoring their health, nutrition, hygiene and other BASIC parental stuff, but you know, fellow parents -- going beyond helping with homework and packing lunches to have at least a smidgen of time to actually LISTEN to each child one-on-one.  Presently, we have the added challenge of still getting to know, really know, two of our kids while assisting with what is more challenging than typical homework sessions. 

Anywho, this is why I am home. 

And during the full and busy, but quiet, daytime hours I've allowed myself quick snippets of things that help me feel like the pre-earthquake me  .  .  .  like buying this frame for the Haitian card my sis' and bro'-in-law gave to Chad at Christmas.  Blogging, albeit done late at night, has been a good therapy, too.  It hasn't been until the kids are finally home AND I have some still time that the magnitude of the stress and trauma is hitting me -- so, so, exhausted.  I swear it FEELS like even daily massages, trays of bon-bons, 23 hours of sleep, and the purest bottled water in the world wouldn't be enough to do the trick.  In reality, time will.  (And in reality, those other things would leave me poor, fat, and bloated.)  So, I proceed with gettin' stuff done and attempt to pace myself, allowing for some breathers. 

Back to the frame -- it reminds me of the gorgeous wood panels in the lobby of Port-au-Prince's Hotel Karibe.  Odd.  I don't know if the styling is at all Haitian; I suspect more colonial.  And only the upper class Haitians and foreign travelers stay there.  For our own safety and to access comforts that would best allow for our focus to be on the children with whom we were visiting, we took the advice to book at the Karibe.  Simple association -- gorgeous wood panels means "Haiti" to me, even though a mere second of thought reminds me that I clearly know much, much better than that.  A few more seconds, and I remember one random news headline among many about the return of "Baby Doc" Duvalier to Haiti that mentions his stay at the Karibe  .  .  .  and current headlines about the potential return of Aristide  .  .  .  and a run-off election scheduled for March between the current top two candidates from the contested and protested November presidential election  .  .  .  and endless speculation about what Duvalier's presence and Aristide's possible landing might mean for the current political unrest.  A ravaged nation faces mounting uncertainty. 

I contemplate it from afar, worry about the two kiddos still in Haiti and their parents, and fear for the safety, health, and future of the birth family of our new children.  I think about others I know in that land. 

I fret from within my warm, comfortable house -- complete with a fancy wooden picture frame.  

Our healthy, typically happy, usually thoughtful children clamoring for my attention seems oh, so pedestrian a concern.  Hmm.  I think I can deal.  Get a grip, Cluver Lady.

What do you get

when you cross one mom with four school-aged kids who interrupt each other for over an hour and a half -- each interjection beginning with "MOM"  .  .  .  like, "Mom, can I pack Cheetos in my lun," shouted over with "Mom, I can't do this math homewor," stepped all over with "Mom, I need someone to go upstairs with me so tha  .  .  ."  

SOoooo what do ya get? 

Utter brain explosion -- a late-30's-ish introvert that makes that girl from the Exorcist look relaxed.  Something that would make my friend, Becca, laugh hysterically.  (Not really, she can just picture this from our days together at the JH.)

Now, mind you, I did good 'n' all, holding up a calm hand to the interrupter as I maintained attention on talking child #1, and then moved on to child #2 and pausing only momentarily to tell children #3 & 4 "wait a minute," without looking away from child #2, and so on, and so on, and onnnnnn.  All was calm on the outside until the inside began to short-circuit from the nonstop modeling, teaching, and reinforcing of waiting and taking turns.  Then, it got to be toooo much, and I've realized that my hyper organized evening organization of organized lists of organization needs some additional rearranging and tightening.  And that all seems like a lot, but golly gee -- I don't really want them to see any steam roll out of my ears or my head pop off.  Wouldn't be pretty, not pretty at all.

Hmph.  Feelin' silly and stupid, but really, such intense and constant stepping all over each other to get at me was not difficult to redirect and about-face previously, when we were merely doing clean up around the house or engaging in leisure activities.  I guess lunch-packing, homework, and clothes-picking-outing are adrenalized, take-no-prisoners kinds of business for them.

Or maybe it was the Kashi granola.  I know that's healthy, nutrient-rich stuff  .   .  . and I was generous with the crunchy topping on the fruit-yogurt parfaits I made for the vital after-school snack  .  .  . 

Hmm.  (rub chin with thumb and opposing forefinger)  After contemplation of no scientific data, I blame the Kashi.  But, just as back-up, I'm revamping how we go about our evening "to do" lists.

Bon nwit!  (crash into smooshy pillow of heaven with a sigh)

Two New Trojans

All required appointments accomplished, and the initial, in-home, "basic training" complete, Anna and Jameson attended their first day of school in their new community of blue and gold. 

Donning their new back packs, they tolerated my request for photos and seemed more excited than nervous.  They've visited their classrooms, met their teachers, and briefly met their classmates -- all of which helped in preparation.  Additionally, we'd arranged for them to arrive early so as to get to their rooms and unload their supplies before the rest of the kids were on the scene.

Jameson was pretty relaxed, and reassured to have Baylor with him.  She's always MORE than ready to mother anyone who's willing to let her.

Anna, who had been the most nervous, seemed less hesitant, now, that she'd met some 5th grade classmates at the previous dance clinic (hosted by the HS dance team) and at the mini cheer camp just last night.  To know that there would be familiar, very friendly faces awaiting her made a big, big difference.

Also, Hunter is with her in the same class, and he's always a steady, reassuring, thoughtful presence.

The day went very, very well for both children, thanks to some amazing teachers and staff who have been most accommodating, intuitive, hard-working, and just plain wonderful!  Jameson's most favorite part of the day was square-dancing with Ms. Stout, and Anna was thrilled that she got to show off her jump-rope skills in PE, and all the friends, and music class, and  .  .  . 

Another reason for things going so well is that I am blessed to be able to have a healthy, appropriate amount of time to see that their needs are being met  .  .  .  To keep their first week simple with only school -- as I drop them off in the a.m. and then pick them up right at the end of their day to come straight home.  It is proving a wise choice.  They are all back home, in our kitchen with snacks of fresh fruit by 3:15.  And, I am available -- completely, utterly available without distraction of my own teaching duties, bills, phone calls, errands, mail, email, voice mail, figuring out dinner, and the overall hectic rush that is typical when I am "on the job." 

One transition at a time.  Once they are in the full swing of things, including the before-and-after school sitter, riding the bus, the morning routine, the evening checklist -- once it is comfort zone, habit -- then, I can trust that the whole Cluver machine is on-line and ready to roll.  Only then will I be in a place to give to my students the proper dedication they deserve.  I will not compromise my children's mental-emotional security, nor my students' education.  So, I'll be watching my kiddos at home and reading their cues, and then, watch out, students -- you will eventually have to deal with the return of "Mrs. Cluver" (deep, evil cackling laugh).

 To cap off a positive day, the girls performed their new cheer-camp lessons at 1/2-time of Daddy's game tonight along with an army of their little friends, and boy, were they ready!



                                         
                                                     (Photo background courtesy of brothers' bedroom.)

Nurture

So, the very belated Finch Family Christmas allowed for my sister to create a devil-traitor-demon of my youngest daughter.  "THE pillow" of many elephant gifts past resurfaced in my closet via conspiracy of Aunt Remy and Bay; and the girl now LIKES the pillow (that's the devil-demon part) and actually wants to sleep on it tonight!  Oh, the pain!

HOWEVER, it also bred that wonderful feeling of nurture -- family, food, and these great gifts, which I am enjoying tonight (and/or in the morning -- yes, in this order):

LOVE Galena Cellars wine -- sweet, smooth, yummy!  I know, this clearly gives away that I am not a connoisseur, because fancy expert people like the dry stuff  . .  .  and they don't call wine "yummy." 

Seriously, people.  When we had the luxury of a night at The Drake in Chicago I could not stop talking about how totally awesome the pillows were.  I copied down the company info from the tag before we left and later stuck the note in my "wish list" file.  Feathers on the inside, down in the outer portion.  It smooshes luxuriously without flattening.  The awesomest pillow ever.  (Stop laughing; I do have a file -- for everything.  Come on, our moms start Christmas shopping in January -- for the next year -- and

we are expected to give them ideas; I draw a blank otherwise.  And if I'm not sounding any

more sane, then, well, I have cool pillow and you probably don't.  Or maybe you do. 

But, well, blptblpt (childish spitty-stick-out-tongue noise).

And, ahhhh -- an alarm that will wake me with a chosen nature sound instead of that heart-startling, horrid, nasty BEEP - BEEP - BEEP - BEEP that has been the bane of my existence.  I know, either my life is pretty cush, or I just need to step back the melodrama.

Anyway, I'm tickled with these little pampering items, even if they came (via super sly ninja kin) with an evil dose of blue-needle-pointed-gold-stitched-icon pillow.  And if I was Oprah, you'd each have all of these lovely items brought to you by my people in elf costumes.  But I'm not.  I don't have people.  Or costumes  .  .  .  unless a really bad '80's prom dress -- hi-low style hemline, puffy Napoleon D. sleeves -- in teal green counts as "costume."  Bad images of the past will have to wait for another post, another day.  My wine glass is empty -- time to smoosh to sleep on a pillowcase of heaven.