A Poem for Tuesday on Wednesday

Here's a poem for my little niece who turns one today and is not named Pippa although perhaps she should have been.

Pippa's Song
Robert Browning


The year's at the spring,
And the day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hillside's dew-pearled;


The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in His Heaven --
All's right with the world!

Preschooler D Goes to Preschool

We knew this day would come.  I did not have to take to my bed.  It was very, very, very quiet here this morning, though.

All went well.  He was happy to be dropped off and happy to be picked up. Fellow Preschooler Mommy Emily said of her twins, "They didn't cry.  Why should I?"  Very good advice indeed.

But we can be a little melancholy, can't we?  Just today?

Crayons at Last

Remember how I was wondering why D didn't need crayons for preschool?  Well, he and I went to preschool open house yesterday and discovered we had been given the wrong supply list.  Argh.  The first five things on the preschool open house scavenger hunt had to do with putting away items we didn't have. So after getting our flu shots at the local clinic (argh again), we got back in the car to head to our local Target.

I don't know if you've noticed, but the school supplies are GONE.  No, not gone if you need to buy a plastic ruler or some double sided sticky tape or a folder in a basic color or a small Spanish dictionary, but if you want a pencil box or a fun wide lined notebook . . . GONE.

Also crayons are back to their normal price.  You know how at the height of school supply time they are 59 cents or something?  Not any more.  And here's another thing.  Our list said 12 crayons.  Crayons don't come in 12, do they?  They come in multiples of 8.  I bought the 24 pack because it's a multiple of 12.  It seemed logical at the time.

Do you think I got frustrated because I am a little nervous about sending my little buddy off into the big, bad preschool world?

I am open to that idea.

The Day After the First Day of School

He came in yesterday with a heavy sigh.

*sigh* "That was the longest day ever."

And so began Colin's seventh grade year.

"How many days left?" he asked on his way out the door today.

His encouraging father who seems to have forgotten Colossians 3:21 answered, "Thousands."

A Poem for Tuesday

Here's a nice number by good ol' Emily D in honor of the Great State of Minnesota taking our children back today.

Autumn
Emily Dickinson


The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.


The maple wears a grayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.

School Eve

Last week was spent filling out school forms and double checking the supply list.  My sister, Cyberspace Sarah, had "48 sharpened pencils" on one of her lists.  Really?  That's 5.3 sharpened pencils a month for third grade.  We didn't have anything that exciting on either one of our lists.  Colin must be going to a loose leaf system.  His list didn't come out until last week.  I'd already bought a pile of wide lined notebooks and then panicked because I thought he'd need college rule.  I bought another pile.  He doesn't need any of them.  He needed loose leaf.  I used to prefer loose leaf myself, but now I have a huge pile of notebooks.  We'll need them eventually.

Preschooler D (who is going to become an actual preschooler next week!) needed two jumbo glue sticks and a bottle of glue.  Apparently there is a lot of gluing in preschool . . . but no coloring.  He didn't need crayons. Go figure.

Brent has just been giving a pep talk to Colin.  "Seventh grade is going to be great!  You're going to be doing all kinds of new things!"

"Like what?"  asked Colin.

"Well . . . ah . . . um.  All kinds of new things!!"

No, Colin.  We fear that seventh grade is just going to be sixth grade with harder books, shorter recess and no study hall.  Of course, that's no way to send your child into a new school year. "Whoo-hoo!! Who's ready for seventh grade?!"

These conversations are just hard.  The other night Brent asked D what he was most looking forward to at school.  His answer was, "Learning math."

Oh, son. There's no math at preschool.  Just gluing.

For a little perspective on first day trauma, head over here to Rachel's blog on buying school supplies.  Rachel has lived in Africa many years.  This is the first year her kids will be going to American school.  She also has a great entry yesterday about going to open house.

The Flaming Grocery Bag

I think at this point we have established that ofttimes I find myself in situations other people just don't encounter . . . and so it was Saturday.

I found myself alone at the grocery store.  I have sort of mixed feelings about this.  When we go as a family it takes a long time.  If I go alone, I risk hearing, "What did you get that is good?"  Well, this Saturday I was enjoying my time in the grocery store.  I was texting friends and studying olives.  It was quiet and lovely.

I got home and set my reuseable shopping bag on top of my flat top stove.  Do we see where this is going?  I went back to my texting conversation until I smelled something hot.  I looked up and saw that my groceries were on fire because someone had knocked the burner on.

Now . . . instead of calmly grabbing the fire extinguisher, I grabbed the hot bag intending to throw it in the sink.  Alas, the bottom had burned through the bag sending melted groceries and bits of flaming hot bag to the floor.  I ran to open the doors and windows and when I came back into the kitchen I stepped on a piece of melting reusable shopping bag.

Now. . . instead of calmly calling my husband  and explaining how my foot was on fire, I did this, "BRENT! BRENT! BRENT! BRENT!" And I sort of held up my foot.

Now . . . my husband is a thinker.  It's one of the many things I love about him.  He doesn't leap into things which provides the stability our relationship needs when I want to jump in head first.  Alas, it took him a moment to assess the situation and analyze the options.  I felt it took too long.  I want him to grab my foot and stick it under the kitchen tap . . . but . . . well . . . that was the eventual choice he made.

This all took seconds, mind you.

At any rate, all turned out all right.  Everything cleaned up just fine.  I have a blister shaped like Delaware on the bottom of my foot and I fear by the time it heals flip flop season will be over BUT -- really -- this all could have been so much worse.  I (or the house) could have gotten really burned AND Chuck Taylors go with everything.  Who needs flip flops?