Saturday, November 8, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
The Election
Last week we went as a family down to our local polling station for early voting. We've been talking at home about the election and why we like our candidate. The kids have become quite enthusiastic about the election. As we stood in the line at city hall waiting to be admitted to the voting room, the children were full of questions - in voices that were often too loud. But we survived the event and as we all received our "I voted" stickers it was decided that we should go out to celebrate voting. Some people might call me a geek but I am all for eating out and happily agreed to celebrate the electoral process! Hey, this could even be a family tradition in the making!
The next day on the ride to school my oldest is full of questions about John McCain and Barack Obama (Who is the better helper? Who is the better talker? Who is the better winner? Who do we like better? Who is older John McCain or PawPaw? Is Barack Obama smarter than John McCain? Well, my teacher likes Barack Obama and I just know because I saw it in her eyes when I asked her even though she didn't answer me, I know." and on and on...) All the while the youngest keeps repeating "Bawack Obmama" every 3 seconds for the entire 20 minute drive. My knuckles were whiter, my eyes wider and my breathing was deeper than normal by the time we arrived at school.
As we drove home in the afternoon listening to NPR, portions of the candidate's speeches were playing. The oldest continued her barrage of questions telling me that one of the boys in her class says that Barack Obama is the "bestest champion of the world!" while my youngest again repeated "Bawack Obmama" at regular intervals throughout the entire ride home.
On Tuesday, the school held a mock election for students to practice citizenship and vote for their candidate. After voting the kindergartners received "I voted" stickers just like we did at the polling station.
After school we stopped at the preschool to pick up the youngest. He noticed the "I voted" sticker on big sis and was then given the complete "low down" on the voting at kindergarten, who won the election, why she didn't agree with the results and wanted to watch the news to see if that person really wins or not... I was just waiting for the "Bawack Obmamas" to start up again but instead his response was simply a pout and whiny, "But why I not get to bote?"
Trying to comfort my child who obviously wants to be included in the process of selecting our great nation's next president (and who am I to discourage this?!) I pat him on the leg with deep understanding and tell him not to worry that he can vote too. Smiling I ask him who he wants to vote for; realizing that this may be a silly question considering that I really don't want to be hypnotized again during our drive by the broken record of "Bawack Obmama"- but he is an American citizen after all and we have had so many conversations about the election.
I look eagerly into the eyes of my 3-year old awaiting his answer. His little pointer finger lightly rests on his upper lip and his eyes roll to the ceiling as he thinks. A moment later the "ummmm" starts followed by his decision...
"I bote po Auntie Shawen".
Auntie Sharon will be so proud. She was the "write-in" vote of a 3-year old. What a compliment. Sorry "Bawack Obmama".
The next day on the ride to school my oldest is full of questions about John McCain and Barack Obama (Who is the better helper? Who is the better talker? Who is the better winner? Who do we like better? Who is older John McCain or PawPaw? Is Barack Obama smarter than John McCain? Well, my teacher likes Barack Obama and I just know because I saw it in her eyes when I asked her even though she didn't answer me, I know." and on and on...) All the while the youngest keeps repeating "Bawack Obmama" every 3 seconds for the entire 20 minute drive. My knuckles were whiter, my eyes wider and my breathing was deeper than normal by the time we arrived at school.
As we drove home in the afternoon listening to NPR, portions of the candidate's speeches were playing. The oldest continued her barrage of questions telling me that one of the boys in her class says that Barack Obama is the "bestest champion of the world!" while my youngest again repeated "Bawack Obmama" at regular intervals throughout the entire ride home.
On Tuesday, the school held a mock election for students to practice citizenship and vote for their candidate. After voting the kindergartners received "I voted" stickers just like we did at the polling station.
After school we stopped at the preschool to pick up the youngest. He noticed the "I voted" sticker on big sis and was then given the complete "low down" on the voting at kindergarten, who won the election, why she didn't agree with the results and wanted to watch the news to see if that person really wins or not... I was just waiting for the "Bawack Obmamas" to start up again but instead his response was simply a pout and whiny, "But why I not get to bote?"
Trying to comfort my child who obviously wants to be included in the process of selecting our great nation's next president (and who am I to discourage this?!) I pat him on the leg with deep understanding and tell him not to worry that he can vote too. Smiling I ask him who he wants to vote for; realizing that this may be a silly question considering that I really don't want to be hypnotized again during our drive by the broken record of "Bawack Obmama"- but he is an American citizen after all and we have had so many conversations about the election.
I look eagerly into the eyes of my 3-year old awaiting his answer. His little pointer finger lightly rests on his upper lip and his eyes roll to the ceiling as he thinks. A moment later the "ummmm" starts followed by his decision...
"I bote po Auntie Shawen".
Auntie Sharon will be so proud. She was the "write-in" vote of a 3-year old. What a compliment. Sorry "Bawack Obmama".
"Good Morning Mama! I'm Just Helping You!"
I lay in bed for a few extra minutes trying to adjust my eyes to the sunlight peeking through the blind. It was Saturday. Pancakes.... mmm, the aroma called to me as I stretched, deciding whether or not to get up yet. I assessed the sounds of the day... no birds singing sweetly outside my window today. Today it was cartoons. High pitched voices were carrying on and chattering about who knows what as the carnival music cranked in the background. As my ears adjusted, I heard whispers of "Shhh! Don't wake up Mama!" and faint papa-bear-like snores in the distance. It was time to greet the masses.
I paddled down the hall quietly. The snores indicated that my husband had fallen back asleep and that the children had been left to their own devices. Not to worry though the children seems to be sitting sweetly at the kitchen table coloring like little angels. I smiled to myself just thinking of my precious little artists busily creating with their colorful Crayolas and paper.
As soon as I came into view the children's faces lit up and their voices rang with choruses of "Good Morning Mommy!", "Yay! It's Mommy!". I beamed with joy while my heart swelled with gratitude for such delightful babies.
It was then that my daughter raised her hand to greet me and show me her art. In one hand were the green plastic, blade-less Crayola scissors... harmless enough.
In the other hand, a glossy 8 x 10 bearing the smiling image of a little girl in a blue 1st day of kindergarten dress and bouncy brown pigtails. No. No. No. My heart stopped for just a moment. No. It couldn't be. My pulse began to race as my eyes surveyed the scene frantically.
The white "Lifetouch" envelope with the crystaline window had been discarded on the kitchen floor. All of the 5x7s and 3x4s had been cut apart with the precision of a drunken surgeon with a chainsaw. As I crossed the kitchen instantly- my eyes taking stillframe images of the carnage -Syrup. Syrup was everywhere. Pancake syrup drops covered the kitchen table and smeared the fronts and backs of each picture. I felt the blood draining into my feet and the lump forming in the pit of my stomach. In my exhaustion I hadn't checked my daughter's backpack and had missed that school pictures had been sent home. I felt sick.
Kindergartners aren't dumb. They have an uncanny way of knowing when Mommies are going to absolutely lose their minds. At that moment the sweetest little voice rings through the fog in my ears to let me know that she was "just trying to help" me. Her feet hardly touched the ground on the way to her room where she sat silently as I mourned the loss of our first school pictures.
Turning each picture over I evaluated its damage.
Syrup damage on all- check.
Fingerprints left in the syrup- check.
Human and dog hair stuck in the syrup- check.
"CAT " scratched in kindergarten printing on the back of each photo (in ball point pen)- check.
Overly shiny pupils coated with the aforementioned ballpoint pen ink- check.
What could I do but shake my head. I collapsed on the leather chair and just stared at the wall for awhile, the jagged pictures covering my lap. It felt like such a loss.
Just then a thought occurred to me... I can reorder! Yes! I am BRILLIANT! This will work! I will get on the phone right now and call Lifetouch and have a fresh batch of pristine kindergarten pictures shipped to my door in a flash!
But the day went on... the weekend passed... the story was shared and with each retelling a feeling of nostalgia built. The sad event had now become more of a humorous tale to share with a sigh and smile at social gatherings.
Have I reordered pictures? No. I may still, but for now each time I pass the sticky, shiny, scratched, hairy, written on and irregularly shaped school pictures I think of my little independent 5 year old- "helping me" with no clue how much those pictures meant to me. And I think of how much more she means than the pictures.
I paddled down the hall quietly. The snores indicated that my husband had fallen back asleep and that the children had been left to their own devices. Not to worry though the children seems to be sitting sweetly at the kitchen table coloring like little angels. I smiled to myself just thinking of my precious little artists busily creating with their colorful Crayolas and paper.
As soon as I came into view the children's faces lit up and their voices rang with choruses of "Good Morning Mommy!", "Yay! It's Mommy!". I beamed with joy while my heart swelled with gratitude for such delightful babies.
It was then that my daughter raised her hand to greet me and show me her art. In one hand were the green plastic, blade-less Crayola scissors... harmless enough.
In the other hand, a glossy 8 x 10 bearing the smiling image of a little girl in a blue 1st day of kindergarten dress and bouncy brown pigtails. No. No. No. My heart stopped for just a moment. No. It couldn't be. My pulse began to race as my eyes surveyed the scene frantically.
The white "Lifetouch" envelope with the crystaline window had been discarded on the kitchen floor. All of the 5x7s and 3x4s had been cut apart with the precision of a drunken surgeon with a chainsaw. As I crossed the kitchen instantly- my eyes taking stillframe images of the carnage -Syrup. Syrup was everywhere. Pancake syrup drops covered the kitchen table and smeared the fronts and backs of each picture. I felt the blood draining into my feet and the lump forming in the pit of my stomach. In my exhaustion I hadn't checked my daughter's backpack and had missed that school pictures had been sent home. I felt sick.
Kindergartners aren't dumb. They have an uncanny way of knowing when Mommies are going to absolutely lose their minds. At that moment the sweetest little voice rings through the fog in my ears to let me know that she was "just trying to help" me. Her feet hardly touched the ground on the way to her room where she sat silently as I mourned the loss of our first school pictures.
Turning each picture over I evaluated its damage.
Syrup damage on all- check.
Fingerprints left in the syrup- check.
Human and dog hair stuck in the syrup- check.
"CAT " scratched in kindergarten printing on the back of each photo (in ball point pen)- check.
Overly shiny pupils coated with the aforementioned ballpoint pen ink- check.
What could I do but shake my head. I collapsed on the leather chair and just stared at the wall for awhile, the jagged pictures covering my lap. It felt like such a loss.
Just then a thought occurred to me... I can reorder! Yes! I am BRILLIANT! This will work! I will get on the phone right now and call Lifetouch and have a fresh batch of pristine kindergarten pictures shipped to my door in a flash!
But the day went on... the weekend passed... the story was shared and with each retelling a feeling of nostalgia built. The sad event had now become more of a humorous tale to share with a sigh and smile at social gatherings.
Have I reordered pictures? No. I may still, but for now each time I pass the sticky, shiny, scratched, hairy, written on and irregularly shaped school pictures I think of my little independent 5 year old- "helping me" with no clue how much those pictures meant to me. And I think of how much more she means than the pictures.
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