What is the first sign of hope after a long, cold winter that warmer weather and sunny skies are on the way? Well, for the eight years we've lived here it's been the same. Usually late in March, on the evening of a day that's been nice enough to infect you with a touch of spring fever, you will hear it. Faintly at first, then loud enough to know you really heard it and aren't just imagining it, then closer and closer until even the kids hear it and everyone shouts in joy and unison..."Mr. Softee!"
For the uninitiated, Mr. Softee is the ice cream truck. But not the kind that just sells overpriced novelty treats you can buy in the grocery store. No, Mr. Softee is different. He has a soft serve machine in the truck and sells cones, sundaes, and shakes. I don't know why we get so excited; we almost never buy anything from him. If I were to count the number of times we have, I wouldn't need to borrow anyone's fingers or toes to do it. But last night, I guess I was feeling benevolent. Maybe I was swayed by how they ate their roasted broccoli, with most of the complaining being confined to the size of the pieces. Maybe it was the serendipitousness of how the siren song sounded just as they had finished asking for ice cream, thinking only of what was in the freezer and not of what was around the corner.
Whatever the reason, I gave in. I said, "Let's get Mr. Softee." Yay, they cried. Then the wait. The interminable wait as he was audible but not yet visible; the torment of being sent to play in the back yard while Mom stands vigil on the porch. Then, the magical moment his truck comes into view and the tangible anticipation as he moves closer, closer, and slides to a stop.
I admit that I enjoyed watching them share their cone, savoring every bite and every second of the experience. When Son #2 had nothing but the point of the cone left I said "Eat it." No, he said. He wanted to save it, so he could always remember the day he got Mr. Softee. I convinced him to eat it and we would memorialize the day on the calendar instead. Hearing him say that touched me in a way I hadn't expected. I thought, do I not do things like this enough? Should I get them Mr. Softee more often? And there it was--I was caught in the trap. You know, the one that snares you as a parent and tells you to indulge your children in the things they like, that more is more and that too much is never enough. I quickly freed myself as I remembered that exactly what made this day so special was that it doesn't happen very often. By only getting Mr. Softee every year or two, I had preserved it as something to treasure, and I'm glad. I'm sure I'll get caught in the trap again, but hopefully I will also remember The Day We Got Mr. Softee and be able to free myself once more.
Friday, July 2
Tuesday, June 29
Tree of Life
While I've still been sneaking in some charity knitting time, my main project over the last three weeks has been a Tree of Life baby afghan for The Mailman's friend, The Kid. Actually, I guess this is technically for The Kid's Kid, who was born on June 7. I enjoyed making this blanket and hope she and her parents will enjoy it also. I particularly love the tree of life motif for baby blankets, with the two trees intertwining to become one. The symbolism is perfect.
Monday, June 28
He's done already?
All good things must come to an end, it is said. The kids are back home from spending the weekend at Grandma's house. Having the house to ourselves for three days and actually missing the kids by the time we got to pick them up was a good thing, and now it has ended. Right about the same time they started arguing in the car on the way home is when I think that ended.
For the last seven years, I have homeschooled all three of my children. On one particularly frustrating day in February, I shouted "That's it! You're all going to school next year!" in exasperation. This is a standard empty threat, in heavy rotation with "I'm running away when your father gets home and never coming back" and "Clean up this room or I'll clean it with a trash bag and a shovel." Son #2 and The Princess issued the standard cries of "No, no! We'll do our work, we promise!" This promise is as empty as my threat. Son #1, however, looked thoughtful and said "I guess I could do that."
What's a mother to do? So, without meaning to, in that moment of frustration, I changed the course of our lives. Son #1 will be going to school next year, starting in the 7th grade. He's registered, the vaccine exemption letter is on file with the school nurse, and the only thing left was for the school to give him a placement test. This was scheduled for June 24th, 8:30 am. The day loomed large on the calendar and in our minds. I felt very much like it was a test of me, of all I had done all these years. Had I taught him well, had he learned, had I let him down and let him fall behind. The principal had said it was a three hour test, half math and half what you may know as English but is now called literacy. We reminded him he must do his best and try hard to do well. Finally, the day came.
It came as the hottest day of the year; it was already 90 degrees when we set out at 8 am to walk the mile or so to school for the test. Once we arrived and met with the principal, he gave us a tour of the school while he worked out some logon problems with the test (all on computers now, apparently). With Son #1 settled, I wished him luck one last time and before setting off for home asked the principal "Do you think it will take the whole three hours?" No, he said, more like two, and that he'd call me when he was almost done. Off we went toward home, playing a game as we went; walking quickly through the sunny spots and lingering in the shade. Once we were home, had our shoes off and had a nice cold drink, we were ready to relax...
Which is when the phone rang. It was the principal, chirping merrily "He's done. We'll let him chat with our counselor till you get here." He's done? Already? It's only been forty five minutes! It was supposed to take two hours! Ack! Shoes back on, let's go get him.
In case you're wondering, he and I did well on the test. I can't believe how quickly it's gone. I hope when we all look back on it, we will think it was the opposite of the walk home, that we lingered in the sunny spots and went quickly through the shadowy ones. The true test left for me now is how well I do in September when it's time to let him go, for me to let go of the way I've done things for the last seven years, to accept that when it comes to being homeschooled, he's done already.
For the last seven years, I have homeschooled all three of my children. On one particularly frustrating day in February, I shouted "That's it! You're all going to school next year!" in exasperation. This is a standard empty threat, in heavy rotation with "I'm running away when your father gets home and never coming back" and "Clean up this room or I'll clean it with a trash bag and a shovel." Son #2 and The Princess issued the standard cries of "No, no! We'll do our work, we promise!" This promise is as empty as my threat. Son #1, however, looked thoughtful and said "I guess I could do that."
What's a mother to do? So, without meaning to, in that moment of frustration, I changed the course of our lives. Son #1 will be going to school next year, starting in the 7th grade. He's registered, the vaccine exemption letter is on file with the school nurse, and the only thing left was for the school to give him a placement test. This was scheduled for June 24th, 8:30 am. The day loomed large on the calendar and in our minds. I felt very much like it was a test of me, of all I had done all these years. Had I taught him well, had he learned, had I let him down and let him fall behind. The principal had said it was a three hour test, half math and half what you may know as English but is now called literacy. We reminded him he must do his best and try hard to do well. Finally, the day came.
It came as the hottest day of the year; it was already 90 degrees when we set out at 8 am to walk the mile or so to school for the test. Once we arrived and met with the principal, he gave us a tour of the school while he worked out some logon problems with the test (all on computers now, apparently). With Son #1 settled, I wished him luck one last time and before setting off for home asked the principal "Do you think it will take the whole three hours?" No, he said, more like two, and that he'd call me when he was almost done. Off we went toward home, playing a game as we went; walking quickly through the sunny spots and lingering in the shade. Once we were home, had our shoes off and had a nice cold drink, we were ready to relax...
Which is when the phone rang. It was the principal, chirping merrily "He's done. We'll let him chat with our counselor till you get here." He's done? Already? It's only been forty five minutes! It was supposed to take two hours! Ack! Shoes back on, let's go get him.
In case you're wondering, he and I did well on the test. I can't believe how quickly it's gone. I hope when we all look back on it, we will think it was the opposite of the walk home, that we lingered in the sunny spots and went quickly through the shadowy ones. The true test left for me now is how well I do in September when it's time to let him go, for me to let go of the way I've done things for the last seven years, to accept that when it comes to being homeschooled, he's done already.
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