Called Up From the Minors

It's a new year, a new school semester, and Joseph has started Pre-K. He's been getting ready for weeks, finding school supplies and a backpack, practicing his letters, and learning the rules he'll need to know. Yesterday was his first day, and he was so excited to meet his teacher and get started.

(He wants you to see the monkeys on his backpack.)


I dropped off Elena first, then went back to get Joseph, since our appointment with his teacher was after the first bell had rung. Jonathan made sure he got a good breakfast and his coat on, so he was ready to go with plenty of time.


He got to explore the classroom while Ms. S. and I went over a few things. He found the play food and put things on the balance scale to see what was heavier. He didn't get to see Pablo, the class guinea pig, until later because Pablo was sleeping when we got there. His teacher took a picture of him to put on the letter board.


Here he is, ready to start his day!


After school, I picked him up and Ms. S. said he settled right in, followed all the rules, worked well with the other kids, and had a good day.

Elena's day? Not so good. She refused to do any of her work and thus lost the After-School Party on Friday that she'd earned by turning in her Christmas Break homework on time and got sent to the principal's office. Her report card was not too snappy, either. We've had serious discussions about getting our work done and doing what the teacher asks us, when the teacher asks us. She will not be starting the next Harry Potter, as we had planned, until she can show us she's doing a better job. And you know what my immediate thought was when her teacher told me what had happened? "Oh sweet gravy, I've spawned myself." Mom? How did you not kill me? 'Cause seriously, I want to know.

Snicker-snack

A new parenting milestone has been reached. Elena got sick of pushing her hair out of her eyes and decided to do something about it. Daddy found her in the bathroom, this morning, cutting chunks from what we will now be forced to call bangs and dropping the pieces in the toilet. I had left the special hair scissors out from trimming my own fringe, the other day, I guess, and she remembered that only the special scissors can be used, but not that only Mommy can use them. I'll get a picture later when It's not rewarding her for her actions.


Photo Update: I know this isn't the best angle to see the full glory of the 'do, but she's sleeping so what can you do?

So Not Cool!

I went out to my mailbox, this afternoon, and found this:


With dawning horror and suspicion, I opened the nearest edge of the envelope.


That's right: it's a book. A hard-bound book, at that, which my local postal employee bent in half in order to cram it into my tiny mailbox. A normal person would have left it in the office, or possibly on my door step (where the last hard-bound book mailed to me was placed), but no, he was absolutely determined to fit it in the box. Now, those of you familiar with the modern metal cluster boxes will remember that there is a lip at the front of the box, around the door, to keep strange people from slipping random papers into someone else's box. It also makes the front of the mailbox smaller than the back, where the postal worker puts things in. Right again: I can't get it out.

I have called the USPS and lodged an official complaint, since someone will have to come and unlock the back of it to get the thing out, but I, unfortunately, doubt that they're going to repair, replace, or make restitution for the valuable piece of property that one of their employees willfully mangled.

Rythm and Blues

The other half of my musical duo has an affinity for percussion. Here we see Joseph with two of his favorite instruments--drum and xylophone. He's getting pretty good at them, too.


We had a bit of trouble getting the pictures, though. Elena kept getting sent to time out for taking things away from Joseph and then hitting him with them.

Fit to Scream

All the experts say that a toddler throwing a fit is a sign that she loves you. Does she have to love me that much, though? There were no less than four screaming, sobbing, fall-on-the-floor tantrums today--a personal record for her. It's usually an average of one every 5-8 days. Maybe. So what is a mom to do? I can't let her fling Joseph's food onto the floor, and we really didn't yell that much--just an exasperated "Elena!" and a lot of disapproving "you can't do that" while she panicked and flailed at the Cheerios until they were all on the floor. Was it worth the fifteen minutes of screaming and contortions that followed when we took her to the stairs to reap the rewards of her actions and sit still for a bare two minutes? I can't let her play with the knives in the dishwasher, either, even if it was only a butter knife. And do I not give her the cheese that I was going to hand her anyway, just because she sobbed like her best friend had died when the cheese didn't come *now*? And what do I do when she whines that she wants more bedtime songs instead in praying, then screams all through the prayer because she didn't get to say it? Well, that one, at least, was easy. I let her say a second prayer after I scooped each of the kids up into their respective beds. But the original question remains. What do you do when a screaming fit leaves you fit to scream?