Denial is a not River in Africa

What better way to procrastinate than to write a blog entry for a blog that I have not kept updated? From what am I procrastinating? Christmas.

Well, not Christmas, but Christmas shopping. Leaving the house to buy gifts that I can ill -afford for people who don't really need anything.

JR is off for the evening - sleeping over a friend's house. Friend's mom e-mailed me "Enjoy your evening." How do I say that I never really enjoy my evenings without JR? Even when being with him means we are procrastinating by hanging out on the couch watching yet another Disney comedy on TV instead of ... shopping, paying bills, cleaning, unpacking, whatever chore I could be doing that arguably is more necessary than spending time on the couch with my son. I still prefer being with him and I never prefer these nights when he is out of the house (no matter how many DVR'ed episodes of Top Chef or Project Runway I can watch uninterrupted).

So I have a free evening and Christmas is no longer weeks or days away but hours. Yet for more than half the folks on my list I have no present. The presents I do have are unwrapped.

Still I procrastinate.

I think I spent the first year or so after Joe's death in denial. Denial about the state of the family finances. Denial about the depth of my grief. I really thought that I was an "expert" in grief, having lost so many family members (nana, grandmother, mother, father, youngest brother). So I never expected that this loss, the loss of my husband, of JR's father, would be so outrageously difficult.

I work so hard at keeping up appearances. Everything is fine. We're doing great. Look at JR. He's happy. He has tons of friends. You would never know there is a hole in our family.

And mostly, I am great at this deception. I have so many friends and such a great social life and yet, tonight, my evening without JR when I should be off shopping for gifts, I am sitting here in tears, with no idea who I could even call.

Tomorrow morning I will go to the office. I will leave early and head off to the stores and somehow finish the list. I will meet up with JR and his babysitter. I will argue with JR about appropriate clothes for the evening. We will go to see the Nutcracker with Joe D's cousins, who care for us and take care of us. We will watch the daughter of one of Joe D's best friends dance in two of the dances. Then I will come home and frantically wrap presents. Christmas Eve will be filled with Joe D's family and with church. There will be lots of food. We will eat many, many dishes of fish. Presents will be exchanged. I will beg off early because we need to go home and get ready for Santa. JR will go to sleep. My co-worker and her son will come and help me set up JR's big present.

Christmas morning will arrive. Santa will have arrived. There will be magic, then disappointment. No dog, no signed Babe Ruth baseball, no hot tub. None of those big ticket items on the list that never did get sent to Santa. Maybe the in-laws will come to see the tree. Then dinner at my co-workers. Then on Monday, lunch at my cousins' house - where JR can play with her little ones and my aging aunt, a religious sister, will have a chance to see everyone.

And everyone I see will think that I am fine. And that this is a Merry Christmas.

But it is not.

Breathing a sigh of relief

I need to slow my breathing and get my heart to stop racing. Late afternoon, at work, I received a frantic phone call from the mom of JR's best friend. Z, who transferred to the local public school this year, did not come home from school. Usually, he walks home with his older brother (5th grade) but the older brother decided to stay for Homework Club. Since they live a mere 4 blocks from school, Z is allowed to walk home and has a key for his front door. Z's mom is home within 20-30 minutes of the boys' arrival home. This has worked well since September.

When she called me, the police had already been summoned and the parents were working their network of friends. I knew he couldn't be with JR because JR is at his school today until 6 (Drama Club and tutoring). She had called JR's babysitter, because she does sometimes do afternoon playdates with the 2 boys (but never without arranging it with the parents in advance). One of the problems is that because this is a new school for Z, the mom does not have the same contacts she had at our old school. It also doubled the number of possible places that Z could be, since he has friends from both schools.

So I started calling the folks I know whose kids go to the public school with Z (there's lots of overlap in our social networks because of sports and church and preschool). My second phone call led to a lead. The mom had seen Z and another public school 3rd grader in the drug store across the street from school. This other kid is unsupervised quite a bit, so my friend wasn't surprised to see him, but did think it unusual to see Z with him. She also knew that this other kid often goes to a local playground after school. So I called the lead into Z's mom, who told the police, who immediately sent an officer to the playground - and there was Z!

I was terrified and ultimately relieved for Z's parents.

It's odd. We live in the middle of a large city, but our own little neighborhood seems so tight and safe that we must project that feeling of security to our kids - so that it never occurs to them that just leaving school and not letting a responsible adult know where they are going and what they are doing.

You can bet I had a long talk with JR tonight.

I'm really glad Z is okay. His mom and I have already started brainstorming other supervised after school options for the days when his big brother has homework club. I am thankful for the prompt, caring response of our big city police officers. I am thankful for the seriousness with which Z's school also addressed the situation (the vice principal returned to school and started calling 3rd grade families). But I'm also very sad for Z's afternoon companion - because no one was looking for him, no one was worried about him. I know that to the extent it is within our power, we will always keep JR and Z safe. But who is watching out for the other little boy?

The Joe D Memorial Tribute Celebration

We're almost 6 months out and Joe D's friends have not forgotten him
or us. Saturday I went to a remarkable event - the "Joe D. Memorial
Tribute Celebration". Several of Joe's buddies are musicians, some
more talented than others. :) Music was a huge part of Joe's life
(although being a pianist, his tastes did not always extend to the
raucous rock and roll that some of his friends liked to play).
Anyway, about 10 years ago, Joe's friends Tom and Jim Z, Lyle and
Allen put together a band called Crevice Tool that made up for their
musical ability in their willingness to be loud and raunchy. Joe D
told them "Most guys like us just sit around and talk about it
(forming a rock band). You guys actually went out and did it. You
should have just sat around and talked about it." They played in
friends' apartments and other spaces where the band was allowed to pay
the owner for the privilege of playing. The band struggled to stay
together when Tom left Philadelphia to go get his MBA and subsequently
settled in NYC. They broke up forever when one of the 4 decided to
vote for GWB and one of the others refused to be in a band with
someone whom he felt was so clueless regarding politics.

After Joe died, Tom and Jim Z decided they wanted to do something
special to honor him. So they convinced Crevice Tool to reunite for a
one-night only gig and thus the "Joe D Memorial Tribute Celebration"
idea was born. Tom came down from NYC almost weekly since July to
rehearse. They recruited another friend, Craig, who is a classically
trained guitarist, to sit in with them. They recruited our friends
Denis and Cammy who have a alt.country rock band called The Knife and
Fork Band that has been successfully playing small local gigs for
about 15 years to be the opening act. One of our neighbors, also
formerly an attorney for the City, had a connection to a local club
called Connie's RicRac Room (a very dark, funky dive bar / performance
space that Joe D particularly liked). He managed to book the club for
a Saturday night. Crevice Tool (well, Tom) started writing songs
about Joe. They gathered up old photos and made a PowerPoint. We
publicized the event to our friends and neighbors. Crevice Tool also
decided they wanted to donate any profits. I convinced them that the
money should go to the Joseph DiGiuseppe Memorial Fund at the Friends
of The Free Library, which is where donations went at the time of the
funeral.

Saturday night, we had the event. We had somewhere between 80-100
people there. Joe's best friend from high school came up from
Maryland. Folks from Joe's office were there. Lots and lots of
neighbors. All of the friends Joe hung out with when we first started
dating. Many of the parents from Joseph's preschool (Denis and Cammy
and Jim also sent their kids there). We raised about $600 for the
library fund.

There were the usual last minute problems. Jim's viola broke so he
had to borrow Cammy's violin. The owners of the RicRac Room didn't
show up to open the place until 8:00 (show was supposed to start at
8), so there wasn't much of a sound check. Denis' sister Meg, who is
the lead vocalist for Knife and Fork, almost didn't make it because
her son had an appendicitis scare (he's okay). Jim's "dancers" bailed
out on him (don't ask me).

The show was a blast. Knife and Fork opened and played a great set.
Then Crevice Tool came out to much hooting and hollering. They played
some of their old standbys from 10 years ago - tweaked to reference
Joe (they have a song called "40 Ounces" but they changed the
reference from beer to Diet Coke). They got me up on stage to sing
background lyrics to a Husker Du song called "The Girl Who Lives on
Heaven Hill" (some of you may know that in my pre-Joe D., pre-law
school youth, I was a bit of a punk rocker and used to house members
of Husker Du and a few other punk bands when they had gigs in Phila).
They played a song entitled the "Ballad of Joe D and Theresa" which
progressed from Joe living with his parents to meeting me on the
subway to our traveling to Kazakhstan and adopting Joseph. Jim Z. did
his best Ice-T imitation and did a rap about Joe. The absolute
highlight of the night, though, was Tom's song "Fanny Pack" which was
a litany of most of Joe D's opinionated rants about life in South
Philadelphia (if you ever met Joe D on a non-work day, he could be
found wearing a t-shirt, zippered hoodie, grey or black sweatpants,
with a fanny pack (he called it his "black thing") around his waist -
he made quite the fashion statement). I laughed so hard I was in
tears.

The obituary, funeral and the outpouring of love we were shown in May
was one thing - but this, this was a send-off! We are so lucky.
Everyone should have such friends.

My Country Western Song Life

So here I am, deep in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky, having just finished a passable meat and potatoes dinner at a national chain, sitting in my rental Chevy SUV in the parking lot, listening to my son practice piano on my cellphone, missing him desperately.

So when I went to create this blog entry, I hadn't realized quite how much time had passed since my last entry. Ironic. It was June. I was counting down to the end of my long commute, fantasizing about the time I would have to be with my family, my neighbors, to enjoy summer in my neighborhood.

A week later, we learned that the back pain that had been plaguing JR's dad was so much worse than that. Our life has been turned upside down. We've moved from our beloved neighborhood and comfortable house to a spacious apartment with a view in a building with an elevator, doorman and all sorts of amenities. We live in a world of doctor's appointments, physical therapists, occupational therapists, visiting nurses, medical supplies, pharmaceuticals.

We have been the beneficiaries of amazing acts of generosity from our family, friends and neighbors, far and wide. We are surrounded by love.

So who wants to draft the lyrics?

In praise of 7 year olds

A few months back, before JR turned 7, I read a post on my friend Moxie's blog that had me quaking in my boots about the prospect of my son turning 7. Well the big day has come and gone and let me tell you, I love 7.

We spent the weekend at our first "travel" baseball tournament. Four games in two days. On Sunday the games were five hours apart, so we had a bit of time to kill. We spent that time with three of JR's teammates (and two of the dads). Immediately after the game, there was the trip to a local playground to let them continue their game of catch without smashing any of the car windows in the parking lot of the baseball field. Of course, their interest in playing catch faded quickly as soon as they realized there was playground equipment to climb and a surface made of ground up rubber that was ideal for throwing at each other. Our next stop was a diner for breakfast (did I mention that game one started at 8:00 and ended by 9:15 a.m.?) In between spilled water glasses and duels with knives, forks and spoons, we played Twenty Questions - which gave rise to the type of silliness that is endemic to 7 year olds. "Is it an animal or a thing?" "A thing" "Is it an elephant?" "No, an elephant isn't a thing." "It is if it's a soft gray toy elephant." And so it went.

The next stop was a local funplex where we parents had hoped to occupy the kids at the driving range and miniature golf. The boys had their own ideas. Their favorite activity was a spirited chasing, piling on, wrestling match that we parents loosely monitored for cleats in proximity to heads. Seven year old boys are all about physical contact. Lots of hugging, shoving, picking each other up, wrestling. There was also a fair amount of throwing stuff at each other - helped along by a room full of foam balls. Oh, and of course, there were the arcade games.

Lunchtime meant more silliness, more hugging and shoving and the chance to watch pack mentality in action. The boy who never drinks soda orders the cotton candy flavored Sprite that the other 3 boys want. The boy who hates all cheese gobbles up the lunch of mozzarella sticks and fries just like the lunch his buddies all ordered. They also schooled us in the fine art of translating burp-speech. I admit, I am far from proficient in that skill.

Being seven also means real baseball, with real uniforms, real pitching, real team spirit. The boys encourage each other. Lots of cheering. "We love pork chops, greasy, greasy. Hitting that ball will be easy-peasy." More chasing and piling on for the homerun hitter (well, okay, that was the other team, not ours). Pats on the back and hugs for the kid tagged out at 3rd base, now in tears. Being seven means being able to sit under a tree at the end of the game with the coach and actually dissect what new things about baseball they learned. "I learned not to be afraid when the ball is hit to me in the outfield." There is an intelligence and thirst for learning that is refreshing and inspiring to me.

Being seven means falling asleep in the car on the way home and lifting one's arms up to be carried inside, as if you were not over 50 lbs. of dead weight.

Oh, by the way, we lost all four games and every kid left the ballfield smiling.

Trying to Regain Perspective

I am a joiner. I am never happier than when invited to participate in a group activity. My hand is always one of the quickest to raise when volunteers are needed. Even this year, nigh on twelve months into a five-hour daily commute and full-time job, I am just now learning to pull my hand back down and remind myself that I don't have to be a helper at every school activity. I'm still teaching children's liturgy at church, I'm still baking and icing ridiculous quantities of cupcakes for my son's "almost birthday" at school, I'm still keeping score and generally corralling the wildness on the bench during my son's baseball games. But believe me, I've cut back.

I am a joiner. In that, I am truly my mother's daughter. My mother, of the five children each spaced barely one year apart, with her full-time job, who still managed to be a Cub Scout den leader, a Girl Scout leader, president of the high school band parents organization. It gives me great pleasure to see that part of her live on in me. I am my mother's daughter.

This leads me to today's meltdown. I had forgotten that my son does not necessarily channel me or my mother. He is his own person. We tend to create narratives around our kids and who we think they are. JR is "kind boy." (This, of course, goes back to that first meeting in the orphanage when the orphanage director described him as "kind" and we thought, "how can an 11-month-old be kind?" Since then, though, every time that JR has acted with generosity and kindness to another we think "Aha! Of course, he is 'kind boy.'") JR is "athletic" (I can trace this to the first parent-teacher conference at his nursery school when the teachers raved about how well he could throw a ball at the age of 18 months. So every time he throws a ball, we think "Look at our athletic boy!") JR is "shy" or "slow to warm up," a description given us by his pediatrician to address his penchant for hiding behind us and not engaging with new people.

So I've created this idea in my head about our little boy who loves to do anything athletic and transformed it into little boy who wants to participate in every team sport available in our city for children his age. So naturally, when we got the email invitation for try-outs for the under 8 travel soccer team sponsored by our neighborhood recreation center, I was all over it. First, I scouted out the other likely participants from our social network (part of the JR narrative is that he only wants to participate in activities where he has at least one friend; making the choreographing of summer camps quite a challenge). Sure enough, one of his best friends, H, according to his parents, was going to try out, as were three of his classmates and a host of other kids he knows from baseball and church. So this morning, I wake JR up. We feed him breakfast, get him dressed, get ready to head down the street for try-outs.

Then the meltdown started. "I don't want to try out for soccer." "I don't want to play soccer" Dumbfounded (how could MY son not want to join something?) I entered into the fray. We battled, each of us becoming more entrenched in our positions. JR was unable to articulate the "why" of his position. "See, if you don't know why, then you have to try," I responded. Then he'd articulate a "why" and I would shoot it down. I put those litigation skills to use. Poor JR's Dad tried to appease both sides. That wasn't happening.

I withdrew, thinking I'd play my trump card. I'd check in with best friend's mom and once he knew for sure H was trying out, JR would cave. Except that H is not trying out today for travel soccer. He (like JR) has a baseball game today. He told his parents he wants a break. His parents are inclined to agree. After all, the boys are only seven (well, in JR's case, almost seven). There will be other, less intense, soccer available in the fall. In the greater scheme of things, the other mom reminds me, does it really matter if they don't do travel soccer this year? Is it really going to affect their overall athletic ability? Their enjoyment of the game?

Dad has taken JR off to visit with his grandmother for an hour or so before the baseball game. I'm ostensibly straightening up the kitchen and doing laundry. Instead, I'm writing in order to sort out my thoughts. How do I teach myself to step back (and to let my son step back)? We don't have to say yes to every invitation. We don't have to volunteer for every activity. And if my son says "I don't want to" and he's talking about playing a game, as opposed to doing homework or eating his vegetables, maybe I just need to let it go.

Finding the Old in the New

JR and I spent the afternoon at the brand new Please Touch Museum - which has moved from a cramped building in town out to the marvelous Memorial Hall in Fairmount Park. We loved it. It was nice to see the new exhibits while reconnecting with some old favorites (the elephant made from toys, the croquet flamingos). I missed the Maurice Sendak exhibits, but was pleased to see Max's boat is still there - newly christened the S.S. Tom Beckett - which brought a tear to my eye. I had just been thinking to myself how sad it is that Tom did not survive to see the new museum after his years as carpenter / exhibit designer at the old museum.

We were also touched to see the artwork by JR's buddy Z's grandfather. Another local artist who did not live to see his artwork in the new space.

JR was happy to run into an old friend (EH, from the same babyhouse in Kazakhstan), a classmate, and another boy who JR said is "new" at his school.

Making History

We voted together as a family last night. I made sure to catch the early train home. JR's dad walked in the door right behind me. Then we grabbed JR and walked the 4 blocks to the Lebanese Catholic church hall that has been our polling place for the last few elections. There were no lines and after JR's dad greeted all the local pollworkers and ward leaders, we signed our names and went into the booths. JR came with me and I let him push the buttons.

JR chose the president (of course, I agreed with his choice) because he went to the same college as Daddy, so he must be smart and because he looks like T, JR's friend of mixed race heritage. Of course, it can be said that JR is also mixed race, with his Central Asian Russian, now Italian/Irish American heritage.

Then we met another of JR's friends, Chinese-Jewish E and her mom, at our favorite local Vietnamese noodle house, for an election night dinner.

This is what America looks like in our 21st century.

Chance Encounter

The family came to Baltimore to visit this weekend, so we spent our time enjoying the Inner Harbor. Technically, though, it is more accurate to say that we spent the past two days enjoying the Maryland Science Center. I seem to recall that this happened the last time we spent more than one day in Baltimore. We presented JR with lots of options; he wanted to go to the Science Center. The next day, we presented JR with all the same options, minus the Science Center. His face crumples, tears start flowing. We end up back at the Science Center.

Today, though, while there we ran into the mother and grandmother of one of the little girls in JR's kindergarten class. She told us that H was upstairs in the Kids Room with her little sister and dad. JR's eyes light up. "Come on, Dad. Come on, Mom. Let's go to the Kids Room." We enter. H and her little sister are immediately spotted. JR looks, turns, and finds somewhere else to play. H sees us. "Hi, H," we say. "Look, JR is here." She looks, their eyes meet, they mutually decide that the encounter is out of context, and proceed to ignore each other for the rest of the visit.

The parents chatted, and since H's parents are native Baltimoreans, we pressed them for some dining options.

JR's dad is now counting this trip as a major success because, unlike his son, he loves to be recognized in out of the way places. While Baltimore doesn't top being recognized in Chicago, or in the Rome airport, it still counts.

New Student

I"m getting back in touch with the range of emotions JR must have felt last September when he started kindergarten. I feel like I've started a new school. New (wonderful, BTW) teachers. Every day new and exciting things to learn. New friends.

There have also been passing moments of desperately missing my old friends. (I had this moment yesterday, standing in line at the deli across the street from the new office building, waiting for my sandwich, where I felt this sharp, stabbing absence of one of my old lunch buddies. When I emailed him later, he reminded me that we'd been lunch buddies for 17 years. We knew each other's routines, we could order for each other.)

There are also the new routines at home. Mastering the new commute. Getting organized the night before with items necessary for the new book bag. New school supplies.

Mostly, it's exciting and invigorating. I leave work every day with my brain feeling like it has been stretched in an entirely different direction. It's akin to the "burn" you feel after working out (okay, okay, the "burn" that I've heard that some people feel when they work out). :)

Life is new.

(On the homefront - last night we had a discussion about mating for life and swans. At camp, they took a trip to a state park with a lake and JR reported that they saw swans. First he described them as "neese" which he eventually acknowledged to be geese, but then he corrected himself. He said the birds were big and white and they saw one (which he described as "totally unexpected") and then were even more surprised when there turned out to be two. So we discussed mommy and daddy swans and how they are usually seen in pairs.)

I'm a Friend of Moxie's

Kindergarten Romance

For a while, JR has told us that a little girl in his class wants to marry him. E.L., a cute little girl with glasses and an interest in Harry Potter, though, is not the girl who inspires longing in JR. That is AM, whose name is always pronounced in a hushed tone with a sigh at the end. So, on this, the day before Valentine's Day, JR came home and told us that "AM says I'm her boyfriend."
"What about E.L.?" I ask. "I thought she wanted to marry you."
"She does. She told me AM is just being sarcastic."

I'm beginning to like E.L. more and more.

Holiday of Playdates

The past few days have been spent in a whirlwind of playdates and events where JR has found friends of every stripe. It has also been just another reminder of how small our world truly is.

Yesterday, before we managed to get out of our pjs, the family across the street called. They had just returned from visiting grandparents in another state and wanted JR to come over to see their gifts from Santa. We made our way across the street until 11:30, when we had to leave to walk over to the home of one of JR's classmates. His mom had put together an awesome New Year's Eve party for the kindergarten set, complete with a countdown at noon, lots of confetti, poppers, silly string, and noisemakers. While there, we learned that C's across-the-street neighbor is JR's friend T, who used to live around the corner from us, and whose parents are active members of our community garden. We also learned that C is in the same ballet class as our across-the-street neighbor, whose home we had just left.

As we were leaving C's party (with a confetti-filled treat bag and a snow globe with JR's picture inside it), my cell phone rang. JR's preschool friend S, who lives in another neighborhood and now goes to a different school, was heading to our neighborhood playground. Would we like to meet up with them? A few minutes in the playground convinced the moms that we needed to be inside, so we invited S and his mom in. JR and S discovered that when his rocket launcher is filled with confetti before being launched, it makes a REALLY AWESOME mess. And I mean REALLY AWESOME mess.

Five minutes after S left with his mom, my cellphone rings again. N's dad was calling - he was taking N and a soccer ball out to the corner park - did JR want to come along. Of course he did. After a few minutes outside, the parents again decided that we needed to be inside, so we lured the boys into N's house for hot chocolate.

We made our way home around 6:00 to prepare our portion of the annual New Year's dinner being held at our friends home. JR was excited, because his friends E and C would be there. The adults ate antipasto, ravioli with sausage and meatballs, venison sausage, salad, another pasta dish and lovely strawberry shortcake and Italian rum cake while the kids rushed their way through a few ravioli so that they could head upstairs to play and watch Happy Feet.

We were home before midnight, but did hear the cheering outside as 2007 ended and 2008 began.

This morning, we headed to E and C's house for the traditional New Year's brunch before heading out to the parade with E and C - where we ran into our across-the-street neighbors, N and his parents, and JR's old preschool friend L, who now lives in the suburbs but had come into town for the parade.

We ended the day at my friend Paul's annual post-parade party - where we ran into one of JR's school friends.

So will the theme for the New Year be: "It's a Small World" ?

The Buddies

One of the most reassuring part of kindergarten has been how quickly our shy little boy has found a new group of friends to play with at school. We were worried about this, as he only knew one of his new classmates from nursery school and the majority of his kindergarten class had been together in pre-K.
It quickly became clear that he has been embraced by a core group of little boys in his class. They share an interest in paper airplanes, sports and playing "chase the girls" in the playground. JR refers to them collectively as "the buddies."
"Mom, the buddies made a fort in the playground today and no one could find us."
"Mom, the buddies were playing chase the girls and R (boy, not one of the buddies) was on the girls side."
"Mom, H brought in 4 bionicles so that there was one for each of the buddies."
"Mom, I don't want peanut butter in my lunch because some of the buddies are allergic."

Trick or Treat

We had a great Halloween. It has never been my favorite holiday (not
that I disliked it, but it just never ranked with Christmas or Easter
or birthday), but this year's was almost perfect.

JR's school had a costume parade and assembly in the morning, which
Dad attended. I picked JR up early from school and we rushed home
to get some dinner in our bellies before suiting up for trick or
treat. JR was, of course, Harry Potter and the little girl across the street (6)
was Hermione Granger. Trick or treating started promptly at 6:00.
The participating families in the neighborhood had jack-o-lanterns lit
and were sitting on their front stoops with bowls of candy. Harry Potter
and I went out with Hermione, her dad and her little brother (Yoda).
We then picked up another even littler guy who lives on the block (Dash Incredible)
and hit the streets. We covered about 4 blocks adjacent to ours in an
hour. Then we headed home, emptied out the bulging bags of candy,
dropped Dash off with his mom and put Yoda into a stroller, so that we
could walk a few blocks over to a neighboring street that hosts a block
party (families not only hand out candy, but have little activity
stands at their houses with Halloween themed arts and crafts or
games). Harry Potter made a bracelet with colored sand, successfully
guessed which of the three moving cups held the candy, visited with
the Indian in the Tepee, and guessed the number of gumballs in a jar,
but drew the line at bobbing for apples, lest he mess up the painted
scar on his forehead. We connected with a few more friends, oohed and
ahhed over a few more costumes and hightailed it home to drive over to
Aunt J's house, where JR's grandmother was holding down the fort.
By the time we got there, though, JR was no longer Harry Potter, having removed his costume, so Memom did not get to see him dressed up. His older cousins were
also out for the night, so we missed them too. (This annual mandatory
trip to my SIL's is one of my Halloween pet peeves, but the rest of
the day was so fun, I'm letting it go).

My favorite costume (which I heard about but did not see) was dreamed
up by my co-worker's 9-y.o. son. He dressed as "Every Kid's Worst
Nightmare"

*
*
*
*
HOMEWORK!

Co-worker dad said the neighbors loved it.

School Days

JR (and his Dad and I) survived our first day of kindergarten. He is a Hummingfish. The other kindergarteners are Barbaloots.

He had a 1-1/2 hour orientation yesterday, and then the full, first day of school today. Earlier this week, he had a total meltdown about leaving his old preschool. ("I don't want new teachers. I miss K and H.") When we arrived yesterday, he looked a bit shell-shocked. One of his wonderful teachers (R) came up to introduce himself. JR glued himself to my backside. R got down on JR’s level and pulled out a guitar pick. After unsuccessfully trying to engage JR in a conversation about what the guitar pick does, he made it disappear. The guitar pick reappeared behind JR’s ear. R was now okay in JR's book. ☺

Today, he was pretty tentative in the yard at drop-off, which was filled with all the returning kids from pre-K to grade 8. He was especially nervous because his best friend Z wasn’t there. (Z also wasn’t there yesterday because he had a later orientation time.) Nevertheless, he walked upstairs and put his Spiderman book bag in his cubby. He then handed me his striped tiger to take with me (“Put it in your book bag,” I suggested. “Noooo, Mom, you take him. Stripey doesn’t want to go to kindergarten.”). Then he scooted over to the circle and sat down right in the same spot he'd sat in yesterday (next to Teacher R).

Z's mom told me later than when she dropped her son off (3 minutes late), JR's whole face lit up. He jumped up, the 2 of them ran to greet each other, and life was good. Z went to this school last year for pre-K, so he already has a bunch of friends. He promised his mom to introduce JR to his other friends.

At home tonight, the stories about his day tumbled out willy-nilly. Apparently, they learned the song for the weekly field trip to the environmental center, they had an all-school assembly at which all the Hummingfish had to stand up together, and they were presented with their official school t-shirts, and they paired off in twos and threes to share their favorite books which they'd brought from home. (JR brought in Book 1 of Harry Potter, which we've just finished). JR was grouped with Z and a girl whose name he doesn't remember. Another boy is already reading Book 3 of Harry Potter and every time his dad reads the name Voldemort, he screams. The class had a visit from the Lorax, who brought them a gift of seeds, which they planted. The whole school learned that "Every day is Earth Day." The "other J" in first grade, whom we met at church on Sunday, had to stand up when his name was called and he also got a t-shirt (all kids new to the school get t-shirts). And on and on.

After all of the agonizing we went through last year - we couldn't be happier with JR's kindergarten. The only downside - after 4 years of walking from home to preschool to work, we are now taking 2 busses up and back. I left my office at 4:00 p.m. to pick him up and we got home at 6:00 p.m. My resolution to use public transit and not drive may not last very long.

Toothfairy Alert

Last night, sitting in a local park enjoying water ice, JR came over and handed me a bloody biscotti (purchased to accompany his dad's coffee) and said "Mommy, my mouth hurts." Peering into his little bloody mouth, we saw that there was no longer a tooth in his bottom front. We searched near where he'd been sitting, but could find nothing. Tears were flowing. Luckily, his friend's big sister had the presence of mind to tell JR that it didn't matter if he couldn't find the tooth; all he had to do was write a note and tell her he'd lost it.

So last night we carefully placed the note under his pillow: "Dear Toothfairy, I lost my tooth. Maybe you can find it near the bench in the park."

By 5:00 a.m. this morning, the tears had dried and the gap-toothed smile was wide with the discovery of the toothfairy's payment in trade for the missing tooth.

Inside Joke

JR and his friend S had a playdate at our house today. On Sundays, our house is filled with newspapers (oh let's face it, our house is ALWAYS filled with newspapers). JR and S decided they wanted me to read the comics to them. This is always a hit or miss proposition with JR as most comic strips are not written to appeal to a 4 year old's sense of humor. They took a particular liking, though, to the "Baby Blues" strip. So for the rest of the playdate I would hear the two of them taking turns dialoguing:
Kid 1: This is all your fault.
Kid 2: You're the one who duct-taped the baby to the TV!
Hysterical laughter.
Switch positions and start all over.

Red Shirt Day

Last night at dinner I learned that today was "Red Shirt" day at the preschool. Friday has been designated Pajama Party day. JR's dad and I marveled at the creativity of the teachers, who have been stuck inside with the rambunctious four and five year olds all week, due to the cold weather.

So this morning we outfitted JR in red from head to toe, inside and out. He even wore his red "Bob the Builder" underpants and red socks.

At school, teacher Kate said "Wasn't it clever of JR to come up with red shirt day?" "What?" "Oh yes, JR and his buddy C dreamed it up and announced it to all the kids yesterday at Circle Time."

My guy, the trendsetter.

Grossology

After JR's music class on Wednesday nights, we often go to dinner with his classmate Sam. The boys are both high energy, so we tend to frequent local burger joints where the fries are yummy and no one looks askance at boisterous behavior.

The only problem with burger joints is that the main vegetable featured on the menu is usually ketchup. And ketchup truly skeeves me. It is the one food item that makes me want to run for cover and hide in the bathroom until the dry heaves have subsided.

JR and Sam, however, love it.

So tonight, there we are at a new local burger joint and the boys are in rare form (of course, with these boys, it's not such a rare form). They have practiced running slides through the tables. They have hidden under the tables. Sam has unshelled a peanut, dropped it on the floor and then retrieved it and popped it into his mouth before I had a chance to say "Don't eat that!" (Sam's mom was over at the condiment counter, filling up little cups of ketchup for the table at the time). JR has stuffed fries in his mouth and Sam and JR have extended fries from their nose and tried to fight like swordfish with them. My cheeseburger, delicious but gulped between "put that downs" and "watch your elbows" is starting to form a solid lump in the pit of my stomach.

And at that point my darling son decides to out gross all of us. He takes his lemonade straw, places it in his ketchup cup and ....

(I'm not truly sure what happened next because Sam's mother kindly covered my eyes and told me when it was safe to look). All I know is that when my eyes were uncovered, the ketchup cup was empty and JR's mouth was unkissably stained with red.

"Not that this matters to you," she said, "but at least it was Heinz."