The Monuments

A year ago, on the night before you started kindergarten, I wrote you a letter.
In that letter I told you all sorts of truths and wishes and asked you a favor.
And that favor was:

I know you are going to be so rad tomorrow. I am not worried about you.
I am worried about them.
All the other children who will be your classmates and village and community for a long, long time.
You have your Mama's instinct and sensitivity, so you'll know who I am talking about, I just know it.

And I knew I could have faith in you.
You exemplify stewardship and have such a servant's heart.

When your classroom schedule came out this fall, you were disappointed with a capital D to learn you only have art once a week now, on Thursdays. As a kindergartner you had art three times a week which rocked your face off. We talked about the importance of balance and how as a first grader, your schedule is different. You're bigger, smarter, more capable. You accepted art would be a weekly treat, and you'd be happy to go to music and phy. ed. three times a week each. We pointed out places in your schedule where you could "freelance" art- during morning readiness, free time, Freedom Friday, and of course, at your rad after school program. So much time for art! And of course, Thursdays have quickly become The Best Day of the Week, Ever. Your favorite- just like mine!

I've mentioned before, but I have an antique dresser in a bedroom closet downstairs that solely houses your art projects, paintings, doodles, drawings, experiments, all your heart and soul on paper and various mediums. It's seriously jam-packed and you're just shy of seven. And the collection probably only represents 10% of your life's work. Parting with your artwork breaks my heart, it does. You have read me the riot act on disposing of your stuff for years! Often times, I feel like a Mexican drug lord trying smuggle construction paper and patterned ephemera into the recycling bin like they're drugs I'm trying to get into Texas. It's serious. It's on my Mama-resume, this highly felonious and never-ending task of deciding what stays, what goes. It doesn't help that I'm extremely OCD about order and an advocate for anti-hoarding. I tell you not to take it personal; you always take it personal. It's hard to not involve the heart in the matters of things you love.

That being said, art is arguably the most important thing to you. It goes without saying your people, faces, Village, Beagle are truly first. But art is a hair's width behind.

On Friday's at your after school program, they clean out the Art Cart. Sounds so simple, but it's an act you take very ceremoniously. Throughout the week, the kids are constantly creating projects and baubles and pieces on display that require ample time to dry, set, heal. There's a giant baker's rack that houses the week's art, and at closing time Friday, the kids stash it or trash it. And when I show to claim you, your first concern is A) have I interrupted the second installment of art leadership time (and I usually do, so I just find a chair in the corner & let you do your thing- I know better than to get between my girl and her art) and B) have you assessed your Art Cart slots yet?

Last week, when I went to find your purple unicorn backpack and striped fleece at pickup, I noticed a large trundle of stacked art projects by your things. I walked back to find you. You held up one finger to me to indicate you needed a minute and ran. You came back with the trundle of artwork under your arm, saying you were ready.

One of the program's staff commented, "Thanks again, Lil' Dude. You're a good friend, and I appreciate your help, and your friends will too."

I asked you what she meant- and you explained you noticed so many of your classmates were absent when they emptied the Art Cart, and it positively, 100% devastated you to see their hard work and creativity being subjected to the garbage. So you raised your hand time and time again to save piece after piece of glitter and gold and felt and Elmer's love for the people who were not there. Like a tiny soldier in the Monuments Men army, rescuing condemned art to return to its rightful owners.

Now, I'm used to my heart exploding with love and pride when it comes to you, so Friday was no different. You're making a difference each day, kid, in the lives of the people around you. I hope you know how good that feels, how natural it feels to think of others before you think of yourself.

Keep that shit up.

Mama loves.

Radio Personality

Monday night at the dinner table, I asked Kid Rock about her day.
She reveled us in her usual tales, mouth full of food.

Oh and I'm gonna be on the radio and I got free pancakes for doing it.

Well, double score!

The local AM station in our city runs a "Kids Speak" program that includes its morning deejay interviewing select students in first grade all about their summer vacations, what they like about school, and various other topics. The segments run on-air later that week.

Behold, baby's first radio interview!
Paraphrased, obviously.
9/15/14
Age 6 years, 9 months, and 8 days

Deejay: Lil' Dude. Ok. That's a great name! I bet you don't know anyone else with that name!

Lil' Dude: Ha. No!

DJ: Okay, okay, (laughing). Did you do something fun with your summer vacation?

LD: I did. I did go to the Black Hills.

DJ: What did you do after that?

LD: I did go to a Little Red Cabin, and I also went to my Grandpa and Grandma's for the whole entire week.

DJ: Wow! What did you do with Grandpa and Grandma?

LD: I had a few sleepovers with my friends from down there, and I went swimming with my friends.

DJ: Ok. Did Grandpa and Grandma give you a lot of sweets?

LD: No, no! I just only had ice cream.

DJ: Ice cream! What kind of ice cream is the best?

LD: Ice cream sandwiches.

DJ: Oh those are good. Do you like chocolate ice cream?

LD: Silence

DJ: How about ... ice cream with chocolate chips?

LD: Silence

DJ, obviously segueing way off course: What do you think it means to be a good person?

LD: I don't know.

DJ: You don't know? So if your mom says, 'Lil' Dude, be a good person today', what do you think she is trying to tell you?

LD: Be good and be yourself.

DJ: Be yourself? That's a good thing. And nice to other people? Yeah. Have you ever thought what a cool job to have would be? What do you want to be when you grow up?

LD: A teacher. At this school.

DJ: What would you have the most fun teaching?

LD: Math! And reading, too.

DJ: Who do you think is smarter: boys or girls?

LD: Girls. 

DJ: Why are girls smarter, do you think?

LD: Because they like to learn about horses, and lots and lots of girls like to learn about fairies, and ponies, and they like to learn about more stuff than boys.

DJ: Yes, boys are that way, aren't they!


So she already knows being a good person simply means being yourself, and that girls are smarter than boys. My work here is done. Fistpump; parenting.

Try

Today is School Picture Day.

When I was about the Lil' Dude's age, my own Mama permed my bangs.
Permed.
My.
Bangs.
You see, each morning my own Mama curled my bangs- you know, the 1980's Mall Bangs slash The Claw Bangs slash That. She used deductive reasoning to conclude that she could save us both time and AquaNet if she just permed my bangs. My mullet (that's right) was long and stringy and the perfect dishwater blonde so it was always always Party in the Front.

Permed.
Bangs.
So much WINNING.

That being said, today is school picture day for my first grader. I let her choose her own outfit, right down to the accessories, which because she is a female and also because she is my daughter, she knows are the best part of any outfit.

Speaking of so much winning. Can't wait to see her yearbook photo! Neither can her Grandmas!

Her teacher asked students' parents to write out "Hopes and Wishes" for their child's academic year. The Hope stars are hung prominently in the classroom. Such a cool continuity for kids to see- home to school- and back again. I love her teacher for the inclusion.

On Kid Rock's star, the Dad and I wrote;

We hope you continue to be the happy, secure, proud and amazing girl you are today all the way through your year!

And until she's 85.

As a parent, you can't teach self-acceptance. But you can foster it. You can be the example.

And because someone else said it first, here's the perfect new song that empowers the whole self-acceptance gig straight into outer space.

Try
By Colbie Caillat

Put your make up on
Get your nails done
Curl your hair
Run the extra mile
Keep it slim
So they like you, do they like you?

Get your sexy on
Don't be shy, girl
Take it off
This is what you want, to belong
So they like you, do you like you?

You don't have to try so hard
You don't have to give it all away
You just have to get up, get up, get up, get up
You don't have to change a single thing

You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try
Yooou don't have to try

Ohh

Get your shopping on, at the mall, max your credit cards
You don't have to choose, buy it all
Do they like you? Do they like you?

Wait a second,
Why should you care, what they think of you
When you're all alone, by yourself
Do you like you? Do you like you?

You don't have to try so hard
You don't have to give it all away
You just have to get up, get up, get up, get up
You don't have to change a single thing

You don't have to try so hard
You don't have to bend until you break
You just have to get up, get up, get up, get up
You don't have to change a single thing

You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try

You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try
Yooou don't have to try

Noooo
Oooh

You don't have to try so hard
You don't have to give it all away
You just have to get up, get up, get up, get up
You don't have to change a single thing

You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try
You don't have to try

Take your make up off
Let your hair down
Take a breath
Look into the mirror, at yourself
Don't you like you?
Cause I like you

Little Mercies

Consciously, I have plenty of thoughts and feelings as my daughter, my only child, enters first grade, and turns seven in a quarter of a year. Plenty. Mostly, I am excited. I am confident. That's new ground- to not have my heart beating rapidfire against my ribs. To not wring my hands in emotional misery. To not want to punch time in the face for being an asshole. I'm growing up, y'all. Right along side my child.

I didn't write her a letter the night before she started school this year. I didn't ... feel ... like I had to. She doesn't need a operator's manual. She should, technically. As I readied her for her first day, I whispered All Of The Things to her;

Your room number is 214.
Remember to take bus T28 home! Because it's actually Tuesday, not a Monday!
Your lunch code- do you remember it from kindergarten? 9 7 2 6 1 1
I will see you at 2:30pm
I love you 1,000 times.

And then I shoved her out the door and waved goodbye from the porch.
That's a lot of data for a tiny human who still can't pronounce thirsty correctly.
But damn if she doesn't nail life on the head all damn day long.
In fact, when she came skipping down the road from the bus stop at nearly 2:50pm yesterday (no panic here, swear), a neighboring Mama texted me to ask the Lil' Dude where her son was, as he no-showed the bus. Oh, he went to KidStop, for sure. And she was correct, my little mayor of social town. She always knows.

As I said, I didn't have a whole lot to say to her this year. She knows everything I would say.

Do your best.
Do no harm.
(but take no shit)
Be courteous.
Be grateful.
Have fun.
Be yourself.
Don't forget to be rad.
Be kind.
Be patient.
Make good choices.
Talk a little less.
Eat a little more.
Remember where you came from.

But I had a moment this morning when I read this paragraph from author Heather Gudenkauf from her novel "Little Mercies";

Motherhood is a procession of goodbyes. Some bittersweet and filled with promise and hope, some gradual, a gentle prying away of your fingers from something precious, some more violent, unexpected.

Motherhood is a procession of goodbyes. It sure is ... I hadn't thought of it that way until right now. All of those big, huge messy emotional things that live within- are simply goodbyes being processed at their own times. There's a name for what I'm feeling, experiencing each day. The goodbyes have ranged from her no longer needing help at bedtime as she showers, to her extended biking privileges to a further stop sign, choosing all of her own school clothes (oh, the battles we've raged in the name of fashion, Lord help us and maybe little baby Victoria Beckham or Anna Wintour while we're at it), to the evident self-soothing she administers herself as her first line of defense when the wheels fall off. It's all one great big, giant goodbye.

But, it's motherhood's goodbye, not my own. I feel a certain peace when I break it down that way- this godawful knowledge is every single Mama's rite of passage. I am armed and surrounded by villages and legions of women who do this every day. It's my baby niece spending her first night her in her own crib this week at the age of four months. It's three of my Besties sending their kindergartners off on a big, ol' bus this week. It's my aunt as my Goddaughter started her senior year of high school yesterday. It's three other Mama friends who chose to hold their summer babies back from starting their school days for one more year. It's my Grandma's wracked heart as her daughter submits herself to Chemo each week while she's 100 miles away. It's new daycares, new pregnancies, hearing aids fitted at five, Mamas seeing their beautiful baby girls walk down the aisle to the rest of their lives, and driver's ed.

It's all part of this incredible journey I have been so, so lucky to be on.
So in the famous words of Kid Rock herself ... PEACE OUT!
The leavin' here is all good.

Mama loves.

1st Grade Diaries

1. What are your favorite foods?
Chicken drumsticks, sausage pizza, and BBQ ribs.

2. What are your favorite toys?
Barbie dolls, (especially Anna and Elsa), swing set, Legos, and Saige.

3. Who are your favorite friends?
E., B., A., (my neighborhood!) Big T. and Little T., B$, and Gdub!

4. What do you like to do in your free time?
Watch Netflix (LOL), enjoy my family, doing wood projects with my Dad.

5. What were your favorite things from the summer?
Little Red Cabin, The Black Hills, camping, and my Fairy Godmother's wedding was my BIGGEST, FAVORITE one.

6. What are you proud of doing after you finished kindergarten?
I learned how to remove old nails from wood. I can also read!

7. What are your favorite books?
The chapter books.

8. What are your favorite TV shows?
Netflix- Scandal, CSI, Grey's Anatomy, Sophia the First, Peppa the Pig, Jessie.

9. What is something that makes you happy?
My family.

10. What would you like to be when you grow up?
Good question- I don't even know yet! Starbucker, mailman, Old Navy girl, a Vet ... The boss of the vet.

11. What are you most looking forward to in first grade?
Learning how to read more and do math!

Where We Were

#thesummerofyes

11 roadtrips
4 tubes of SPF
1 new bike
6 pounds of coffee beans
7 new bathing suits
1 fairytale Fairy Godmother wedding
1 new Village people
13 ice cream cones
4,000 songs
7 growlers
900 cucumbers
90 good night kisses

109 Selfies

22 pounds of fresh cherries
73 bike rides
5 wishes made on shooting stars
9 quarts of pickles (and counting)
23 sunfish caught
3 buckets of ice water
3 face paintings
1,000 I Love Yous
8 airplanes
2 more baby teeth
5 gallons of coconut water
125 limes
1 happy family

That was the recipe for our summer. It was epic. It was tiring. But as someone mentioned to me over the course of the season, how lucky we are to have so many opportunities to love, and be loved. How lucky we are to have a datebook full of people, places, and things. I never took one second or one morning waking up in a different place for granted. If we could cram, we crammed. If we could show, we showed. If we could do, we did.

You, my best sidekick, grew up this summer. Your face is lean. Your legs are long. You pulled out more teeth, learned how to tie your Nikes, graduated to a bigger bike, and ponytailed your own hair. You stopped using your hooded baby towels and learned how to make a turban with your hair towel. You willed time to fly so you could get back to school- you miss math the most. You adopted vocabulary like frustrated, chaos, chemotherapy, and irate. There is no shortage of communication where you're concerned. You fall asleep talking, and wake up in the morning to finish your sentence.

When I was pregnant, your Auntie H. gave me the best advice of my life- put your baby into your life, not your life into your baby. Best. Advice. Ever. We've always done that, this summer was true testament. Baby, this life is one wild ride. I'm so glad you're here to share it with us.

Mama loves.
(Mama is TIRED)

The Summer of Yes

If this spring has me taught me anything, it's that life really is too short.

So I am embracing that this summer, and declaring it The Summer of Yes.
Less thinking, less rules, less contemplation.
More freedom, more flexibility, more fun.

We were on our way to my parents' at dusk last Friday.
They live in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by quiet woods, lakes, ponds, hills.
As we sped past a Painted turtle tucked into its shell in the middle of the highway, the Lil' Dude begged her Daddy to stop. Too late, we dodged it and flew past.

I told her how it seemed like when I was a little girl, I was always harboring a turtle or two. The perks of growing up in the middle of nowhere. She has already dabbled in some turtle-raising of her own; she mothered a 50-cent piece sized baby Painted turtle last winter named Florence.

RIP, Florence the Machine. You weren't long for this world. We won't forget.

So I told her as we left that turtle in our rearview, we would most definitely stop for the very next one we saw.

And of course we did. The Dad stomped on his brakes, and I sprinted back to the creature holding the Puke Bucket from the car. Car sickness; the struggle is real. I grabbed the turtle, allowed it to pee as they always do when a predator threatens, and stuffed it the bucket. Painted turtles are great pets because they are sweet, lumbersome, docile.

False. This particular Painted wanted to eat my face. Mean ... the remaining five minutes to my parents' seemed like forty as our beloved new pet clawed and hissed and clawed and scraped up my shins and arms as I tried to keep it contained.

The Summer of Yes. Hashtag; parenting.

My Dad always supported my creature-finding habit and this time was no different. He got down the kiddie pool and together he and the Lil' Dude set about arranging the turtle- a boy named Clem by now- in its forced habitat. Home sweet home.

It turned out Clem the boy turtle was mean for a reason- SHE, now renamed Jewel, had eggs to lay.

Oh Mama, I'm so sorry about the little adventure I just forced you to take as labor was imminent. How rude of me!

So we explained to Kid Rock that this particular turtle was not going to be part of her Summer of Yes. She could spend the night in the blue plastic pool, but the next day needed to go to a pond to let nature continue its course. She understood, however sad it made her. Some days I swear her bravery about does me in.

So that's what we did. Drove two miles to the nearest pond and furthest from traffic with Jewel tightly secured in a brown grocery bag. No more bucket turtle management for me. Hell no. I walked with my girl, her hand in mine, and the bag in her other, and we shimmied Jewel out of her cargo hold and she slid on her belly like a penguin directly into the water. Go be a Mommy! We shouted.

When she left, the Lil' Dude made her Papa promise pinky-swear he'd look for other turtles, and hopefully baby ones, for her to adopt since Jewel didn't work out so well.

Imagine our shock when my own Mama called tonight, asking to speak to her granddaughter. She had some news.

"Guess who is back? Jewel."

OMG SERIOUSLY SHUT UP HOW DO YOU KNOW OMG

Sure enough, that Mama turtle hoisted herself approximately 34,987 turtle miles, literally up hill both ways, back to where she was forced to temporarily reside thanks to The Summer of Yes. Two miles in real life. Without getting smashed on the road or eaten alive. She's currently furiously burrowing her nest right in my parents' dirt driveway to lay those eggs. 3 days after she left the premises.

And because we asked with incredulousness in our voices, how do we know it's our turtle?

She's marked- probably forever- with some doggie toenail marks right on the top of her shell. That poor girl is probably permanently terrified of dogs as the Beagle and my Dad's dog batted her around a bit when the Lil' Dude wasn't supervising Jewel's territory.

Now the Great Turtle Watch 2014 is underway, and someone way over here (135 miles) is already preparing to become a mother herself to however many babies a Painted usually produces in a ... what? Litter? Gaggle? Posse? of turtle eggs.

I could easily use this amazing tale to spin an analogy of mothering and sacrifice and resolve to protect our offspring, uphill both ways. But I won't.

Sometimes all it takes is one little Yes.