Growing up is hard to do

Kaes has been going to second grade for a total of six days. She likes her teacher well enough, but she was still less than excited to go to school this morning. I asked her what was wrong.

Kaes: It doesn't feel like school.

Me: What does it feel like?

Kaes: Learning.

engaging children

I tried to play a game of Qwirkle with Kaes (seven), Elisse (six), and Dono (four). The object is to make lines of tiles that either match in color or shape, but not both. Colors and shapes are a pre school/early elementary skill. All three have mastered those concepts (though Dono called one of the shapes 'slash' which seemed appropriate enough). The game said it was for ages six and up and I figured I would have to help Dono a bit, but like I said, it's shapes and colors. How hard can it be?

More than half an hour later, there were still tiles in the bag to be drawn, but the game was over. I basically had four turns each round while the kids made shapes out of their tiles, and stacks, and sat on them, and (thank you Kaes) held them up to their eyes like possessed dominoes (a red circle and a red square). I added up our scores (that I had essentially worked on all by myself). I didn't even win.

Now the kids are watching a movie. Enough of exercising their brains and interacting with them. My brain hurts, and if I hear their angelic little voices sing about monkeys one my time, I'll explode. Or maybe they will. In any case, it's healthier for everyone if they turn into vegetables in front of the TV. I'm going to go clean the garage.

'the talk'

Today while walking Kaes to school she asked me if you could tell Lwcus was a boy by looking into his eyes (I think this came from preschool when she learned that male and female turtles have different eye colors--one is red and the other is something else). I told her no, that wouldn't work with Lwcus, so she asked me how you can tell. This is not the conversation I want to have first thing in the morning (8:50 is first thing in the morning around here) and I had a very quick internal debate. I could tell her you know he's a boy because he never brushes his hair, or he's always getting into things, or he takes off to go explore every chance he gets, but honestly, the same can be said of Kaes, so that wouldn't really work. So I decided to stick with the truth (at 8:50 in the morning, walking the child to school on a public sidewalk). Really, the answer is anatomical, so that's what I went with.

"You have to look at their belly. If they have a (insert correct term), they're a boy."

"What's a (insert slightly-mispronounced correct term)?" asked Kaes.

"It's where they go potty. If it's like your brothers, they're a boy. If it's like you, they're a girl." (Yes, my daughter has seen her brothers. One bathroom, no privacy, though I promise you we try.)

"Oh," she said, the light bulb audibly clicking on. "They have a thing they squirt. Sometimes they stand up to wet in the toilet and they don't make a mess. Girls can't do that, though. We would make a big mess."

Yes, we would.

I can't help but wonder what kind of conversations she will be having at school today. I'm kind of hoping she doesn't decide to share her new-found knowledge with her friends. Especially any of her boy friends. They probably already know.

The real irony is that Duncan is having his maturation program today. He's going to learn all about this stuff. Maybe I should take Kaes too. I'm sure she'll have lots of questions.

how to argue with a seven-year-old

Kaes is lying in her bed, at night, lights off, reading a book.

Me: Kaes, what are you doing? It's dark.

She leans over and pulls back her curtains.

Me: Not outside. In your room.

She looks at me as if I am in fact an idiot.

Kaes: It is too dark outside.

home improvements

The swatch of color that looks coral in the store is actually pink when painted in the bathroom. And it glows. Into the hallway.

However, washing walls is even better than painting them. It has the benefit of giving your home a new look, without the devastation of realizing that you bought the wrong color. And it doesn't cost nearly as much. And if you don't like the color you find under all the fingerprints, just wait a while and it will disappear again. I fully admit washing walls is farther down my list of household chores I engage in than washing windows. And dusting. But when forced to wash walls so that pink paint will stick to them, and looking into the hallway at the no-way-did-anyone-pay-money-for-that-color-and-the-walls-did-not-look-like-that-when-we-moved-in walls, I can be found to wash walls instead of painting (that didn't get going until after 10:00 later that night). I spent an afternoon magically turning my walls from black to white and the water in my bucket from clear to...not. And when I was done, my disbelieving eyes told my disillusioned brain that our walls looked great. Like they had just been painted. Better, even, than the freshly painted pink bathroom.

(Duncan's reaction the next morning, as he tried to walk past the bathroom, was stop in the hallway, his face awash in the pink glow, and say, "Whoa.")

Awesome in a bucket

First, I must point out that Kaes and Duncan have an insatiable need to correct/contradict each other. That being said, here is the conversation overheard from the backseat Saturday night.

Duncan (having asked something and getting the answer he wanted): Awesome in a bucket!

Kaes: You can't put awesome in a bucket.

Duncan: *mumble mumble* awesome in a bucket *mumble mumble* You can put me in a bucket, Kaes.

Star Students

At Duncan's school they give out Noble Knights to kids (ahem, scholars) who are being particularly good. Earlier this week Duncan almost got one. One of his teachers noticed that he was trying very hard not to laugh (apparently something very funny-but-inappropriate had just happened). Just as she was complimenting him on his self control, he let it all out in a huge guffaw. To which his teacher said, "Well, I guess you're not going to get one after all."

On the exact same day, Kaes came home with a note for me, that she had written herself. Unfortunately, I had to sign it and return it to her teacher, so I can't give you an exact transcription, but here's the gist of it (inventive spelling not included):

Dear Mom

I missed rotations today because I came in from recess fifteen minutes late. I was very sad. I am still very sad. I promise I will never do it again.

Love
Your dotr (Okay, I remember that particular spelling very well and I just love it)

I asked her why she was so late coming in and didn't she notice that everyone else had gone inside. Well, the kindergartners were outside playing, so it wasn't like she was all alone. Didn't she notice that nobody from her class was still outside? Yes, she did. That's when she went inside (FIFTEEN minutes late). Then she told me about four boys in her class who were going to have to write notes to the other teachers because they were being obnoxious. I asked her if she was being obnoxious too (I recognized some of these boys as kids she plays with and it made me a bit nervous). No, she hadn't been obnoxious. Was she sure about that? Yes. "I wasn't in rotations today, was I?"

I believe that's what they call an alibi. She was innocent of being obnoxious. Thank heaven.

I know how I rank...

Me: Duncan, get ready for school.

Duncan: Why?

Me: Because I am your mother and it is the joy of your life to do what I say.

Duncan: No, the joy of my life is marshmallows covered with melted chocolate.


Who knew?

She has a future in the U.N.

Kaes: (Wishing it was recess so she could chase people.) He used to hate me, but now he's afraid of me.

curses

I've heard there is a Chinese curse that goes "May you live in interesting times." Well, here's one for you: May you have intelligent children.

Duncan: I got my math homework done at school today.
Me: Really? That's awesome. Did you remember to bring home your lunchbox?
Duncan: . . .
Me: Duncan!
Duncan: Mom, remember to focus on the positive.
(Duncan can sometimes have a negative outlook on things, so we are constantly telling him to focus on the positive. I believe I called him a turd after that little exchange.)


Jonathon (running out to the car as I'm leaving to pick up his brother from school): Mom, I have to tell you something. You starting the car reminded me.
Me (sitting in the middle of the road): What do you have to tell me?
Jonathon: This time next year I'll have my learner's permit.
(I believe I also called him a turd at this point.)