Kindergarten Musical Program

Jack's kindergarten musical performance was last night. I have been a veteran of fourth grade performance after performance, but this was my first time witnessing a kindergarten "event."

Let me back up. I should start by saying that this evening program was not always at "major event" status in our minds. The day before yesterday, we simply referred to it as a singing program. A simple and very non-stressful appointment on the calendar. But then, Jack woke up yesterday morning, and the world was suddenly different.

His first words upon waking were, "I'm scared. I don't feel good. I don't think I can sing tonight. I don't think I can take it." He then proceeded to get himself SO worked up that he took on the "Jack's gonna puke" look. We rushed to the toilet and huddled there over it for a bit until he composed himself. I reassured him that the singing program would be fun and that it was nothing to worry about at all. He would do great. It would be fine. After a few heave-free moments, he decided to face the day, evening performance and all.

My workday progressed as usual and the kindergarten performance faded to the back of my mind... until I picked up Jack that afternoon. Earlier at school, Jack and his classmates had been issued the specially colored t-shirts for the evening show. Jack's t-shirt was green, but... it was also missing. His teacher had searched high and low. He had laid it down by his cubby, and it had just vanished. As a temporary bandaid, she scrounged up a replacement t-shirt, but this replacement was hot pink.

Boys don't wear hot pink. Jack was sure of it. Jack did not want to wear the hot pink shirt.

And so I talked to him. I reassured him that pink would be fine. He agreed to wear the shirt.

My phone rang later in the evening. It was Jack's teacher. She had called every single child's home in order to see if someone carried off the t-shirt by mistake. She was able to reach all but one child, a little girl named Sydney Mae. While listening to her story and reassuring her that she didn't need to go to these lengths of calling every household, I began to wonder exactly how much of a meltdown Jack had had earlier at school to warrant these extensive attempts at regaining what seemed to be a now chronically important green shirt. I am barely listening to her anymore, too busy casting sideways glares toward my child.

An hour later, it was time to leave for the performance. Jack was now happy in his hot pink shirt, and we were en route when the cell phone rang. "It's already over! We missed it!" said Grandpa (who was already at the school). For a brief second, I allowed myself to panic and question the time. But no... they've just arrived at the tail end of an earlier performance. The kindergarten class is outrageous in size, requiring four DIFFERENT performances. "We've not missed it. It's okay, Grandpa. We're good. Jack's show is at 7, and it's only 6:34," I assured him.

We arrived at 6:45. Upon entering the building, we were greeted by a beautiful little girl with long brown hair, ivory colored skin, and freckles scattered across her nose. She was almost three inches taller than Jack as they stood next to each other, and she fawned over him like a mother. "Jaaaack, I had YOUR shirt in MY backpack! Were you looking for it?!!!" she squealed.

No response from Jack. He must still be nervous. His eyes were scanning, clearly overwhelmed at the throng of children and parents. Some kids were crying. Some kids were jumping up and down for no reason. Many kids were yelling. Parents were fussing with ponytails and hair ribbons. Teachers looked like they could yank their hair out at any second. I glanced down at Jack again. His eyes were glazing over.

The little girl had given up on a response from Jack. She laughed delightedly and tugged on his shoulders, pulling him toward the line up of squealing children. I walked beside him, stripping off his hot pink shirt, and yanking on his green one.

With a quick kiss delivered, I rushed to back to the auditorium to find my seat next to Jim, Emma, Grandma, and Grandpa. On with the show!

In the end, the performance was extraordinarily cute. Kindergartners, as a mass, don't sing. They SHOUT. And the more offbeat and loud the shouting is, the more the audience responds with emphatic applause at the cute factor.

Jack and family survived the event, but let's take a moment to remember the beautiful and fawning little girl. Had you forgotten about her? I had too, but as we made a beeline for the school's doors when the program was over, I noticed that she and a smiling line up of accompanying adults were waiting to meet me after the performance. I shook hands with them when it became clear that they were anxiously waiting for me to. "This is Sydney Mae, Jack's girlfriend." The girlfriend he's scheduled to marry, apparently. It suddenly becomes clear that I am presently meeting what must be the future "in-laws."

What?! Jack has a girlfriend?! Since when? I am nodding, smiling, and shaking heads like crazy despite my shock. I am absolutely sure that, this time, it was my own set of eyes that were glazing over. (For your future reference, kindergarten musical program = major event.)

Jack - middle row

Sydney Mae - top row, beside 'tiara child'

Gallery Walk

What do you do when Daddy's had a bad business trip? Surprise him with his own personal art gallery, of course! You're welcome to take a gallery walk with us. We call this collection of cheerful pieces "Jrivwa Art". [Driveway Art] As an aside, why do beginning readers always hear the "dr" blend as a j?

"Hi, and welcome home!"

"Mr. Heart Man"

"Untitled"

"Super Duper Huge Wall-E"

"Collateral Damage"

"Jack and Cookie Missed You"

"High Five for a Job Well Done"

Happy Earth Day!

Earth Day was yesterday. This year Jack is a member of the Earth Day police, minus the badge. I feel like a criminal in my own home.

Yesterday he guilt-tripped me, "We need to recycle, Mom. It's good for Earth."

He reminded me more than once that "We need to turn off all the lights in the house for one minute. Everyone else will do it too, Mom! We can't be the only ones not to!"

He also shamed me for walking away from the kitchen faucet as I left it running to clear the table. "DON'T leave the water running hard like that, Mom. It's wasting."

Tonight he took it upon himself to make a poster showcasing the following to-do list for all mankind:

We haft to pik up chrach.

We haft to pik up canz.

We haft to pik up papr.

We haft to pik up plastik.

Unless you'd like to be on the receiving end of Jack's admonishing looks, featuring his very furrowed eyebrows, I'd start checking off these items with enthusiasm. Me? I'm out of the doghouse because I drew the nifty "recycling arrows" on his poster. You're welcome, Earth.

Spring Pictures 2009

What a Crack Up!

Yeah, we don't know either. She's weird. She really likes these old Halloween costume Buzz Lightyear wings. She would wear them anytime and all the time, if she could. She would wear them infinitely... and beyond.

Ok, that's enough, Whitney. Put the blog away now.

In Trouble

Surely everyone has a memory of being in trouble as a child. Not just the "didn't finish all of my peas" or "oops, I forgot my homework" kind of trouble... I mean, in SERIOUS TROUBLE. Sick at your stomach, tail between your legs, can't bear to look at the adult who's disappointed in you, cheeks on fire, TROUBLE-TROUBLE.

I know I had a handful of moments like these as a child. I can still TASTE the sensation of embarrassment that I felt when my seventh grade English teacher once stopped abruptly mid-teaching, stood up, pointed at the door, and yelled in the loudest voice I'd ever heard out of the quiet and proper woman's mouth, "Whitney JONES! Shut UP or get OUT of my classroom.... NOW" in front of all of my peers. I can still remember how I had been whispering and entertaining my tablemates with the latest in Whitney-facial-contortions just seconds earlier... a regular comedy routine that was always guaranteed to provoke desperate and uncontrollable laughter from my friends (as well as myself) at times we were not supposed to be laughing. I deserved this moment. I deserved the follow-up, after hours conversation in which she and my mother discussed the inappropriate and clownish behavior that had occurred during her English class. I knew I was in trouble with Mrs. White, and I didn't get over it quickly. I'm certain that my eyes never met hers again for the remainder of the school year, in fact. The moment is permanently etched in me.

I wonder if we all have such a memory. I bet we do. I wonder if one of Jack's memories was formed just today, in fact. Let's ask him (in twenty years) if he remembers the story I'm about to record. Jack is IN TROUBLE tonight. TROUBLE-TROUBLE.

Lately, Jack has thought up a game that he finds cute and hilarious. If this game had a title, it would be called "Remove the Car Key From the Ignition and Hide It When Mom Is Not Looking." This game has been played by Jack a total of three times, and this game has ALWAYS been played while the car is still at home, not having yet left the garage. The best time for play has historically been when his mother belts the kids in the car, realizes she's forgotten something in the house, and goes back inside, leaving him and his sister in the car for the briefest of moments. It's a perfect opportunity for play. Jack's mom doesn't like this game, but she hasn't fussed a great deal because Jack has always been barely able to contain his laughter as soon as she reappears, ready to drive the car. He reliably delivers the key within seconds, bursting with giggles. It even made his Mom laugh the first time he decided to play it, and if that's true, then this MUST be a clever game worth repeating. This game surely was the best and funniest idea Jack's ever had! It clearly requires a taking to the next level.

The next level:

Today at the gas station, I return to the driver seat after having filled my tank with gas. I put my foot on the brake and reach for the key. Hmphf.... the key is not there. I turn to Jack with an exasperated sigh. "Wheeere's the key, Jack?" Jack, who was in the middle of fiddling with Emma, stops fiddling with Emma, and looks at me... stricken and frozen in place.

He immediately starts bawling when it registers with him that I'm now DEMANDING the key, forcefully, and he is unable to produce it. He doesn't know where the key is. He thinks he took it out of the ignition. He thinks he had it in his hand at some point. He thinks he put it in my purse. No, wait, he thinks he may have dropped it somewhere. He may have dropped it somewhere inside the car, but he may have even dropped out the window. I feel the anger rising as I recall that the windows have been UP the entire duration of my gas-pumping. "JAAAACK. THINK HARD. WHERE DID YOU PUT THE CAR KEY?"

After a few more minutes of searching and interrogating, Jack's memory has actually WORSENED under stress. As vague as his ideas were to begin with, he now has progressed to complete and total memory-dump. Did he touch the key, or didn't he? He can't be sure. Either way, He is IN TROUBLE. No, actually Jack is in SEVERE trouble. We have searched every obvious spot of the car. We have caused Emma to join in with Jack's stressed sobbing. And better than that... we are stranded.

Fifteen minutes later, we are still searching the car. One searcher is EXTREMELY ANGRY. One searcher is still in trouble. All searchers (six and under) are crying.

A few hours have passed now since "Remove the Key..." was played today. We were able to drive the car home, I'll say. What ever happened with the hidden key, you want to know? Well, it was not in my purse. It was not thrown out the window. It was discovered, actually, wedged deep in the space between the console and the passenger seat. "Remove the Key..." is now a FORBIDDEN game to all Hoodenpyles. Jack is in trouble. He is so very, very sorry. Jack voluntarily promises NEVER to play this unfunny, not cute game ever again. He is quiet and solemn tonight. Each of his footsteps have been careful and quiet through the house. He has made a lasting memory, I believe. I know the feeling. His stupid key-hiding is my stupid face-making behind a teacher's back.

I love you, poor boy. I wonder if you'll be able to tell me this story years from now. We'll see. Chuckling.

Ant Farm!

We have a newly acquired Ant Farm at our house. I know a lot of random facts about things, but I've discovered that I didn't at all know much about ants before now.

Here's what I think I've learned correctly in my observations of our little farming establishment:

Setting up an ant farm is complicated. There are lots of "rules." You must order all of your ants in one single shipment so that there is absolutely (and under no uncertain terms) ZERO chance of introducing/mixing ants from different colonies. Ant wars are serious matters. You will note that this fact is repeated again and again in your "Guide to Running a Happy Ant Farm."

Ants go to sleep when put in the refrigerator. You will feel some guilt when you do this. However, it is a necessary step that must be taken prior to introducing the ants to their new farmlike surroundings. As you pour the motionless and clumpy mounds of entangled ants into your farm, just keeping telling yourself that they will be so happy to "wake up", look around, and find that they've suddenly acquired ownership of a silo.

It is extraordinarily difficult to know if one should be worried about an ant's health. When they curl up in a fetal position, of sorts, and don't move for a long time, they could be sleeping. (They could also be dead... and actually, they probably are unmistakeably dead if the process of heavy shriveling begins...) But then again, they could just be sleeping. Even if they are curled in a ball, "nose" to "rear end", and the other ants begin to bury the body, they could STILL just be sleeping. Watching and caring for your ants is a bit of an emotional roller coaster. I would advise NOT to have premature funerals.

Ants are easy to maintain as pets as they only require feeding ONCE per week. So far, they've consumed a Ritz cracker crumb (week 1) and a speck of strawberry (week 2) during their stay.

They seem to not mind the one loony ant who hangs out on the weather vane a lot. He's aloof, but still, no less a part of the farm than the others. (I'm just kidding. There is no loner, brooding ant... but it would be fun if there was.)

The tunnel system is intriguing. It must be a little more intricate than I really realize. Sometimes I search and search and can only find three visible ants on the whole farm. At these times, I'll look around on the counter beside the farm, in a cold sweat, because there is no doubt in my mind that a troop of particularly crafty ants has somehow managed to escape. But if I look again the next day, they will all be there. And so I settle down... But I do wonder where they hide. I am a little suspicious of them. They seem to be a little too organized.

I also have learned that legs go rogue frequently. There are ant legs scattered EVERYWHERE on our farm. Despite this, I don't see any ants who are missing their appendages. It's a mystery.

The ants are teaching me a lot. When this farm goes under, we have sea monkeys waiting in the wings as our next project. I hope the ants are resilient and hearty as the sea monkey prep work looks even more complicated than that of the ant farm. Groan. I'm a consumer, but I'm certainly no fool. Despite the blazing propaganda on the backside of the sea monkey package that shouts, "never be lonely again" now that you have sea monkeys, I'm not at all deterred from noticing that this toy comes with a thick set of directions, step-after-neverending-step. All this and they're not even monkeys. Another groan.

Come on, ants. Live long and prosper.