Summer of Fun: Day One

It was a good day for the start of Summer of Fun. Even the kids are calling it "the Incredible Summer of Fun," which I think is great. You'd think it would be a lot of pressure to keep up with a name like that, but I laugh in the face of pressure. What could be more fun than summer?

We went to Tunnel Voyage and had the place nearly to ourselves. School was out at noon (or 10:30, if you're a high schooler, and likely not headed to Tunnel Voyage), so I think we beat the rush. After just 20 minutes or so, it looked like I had doused Sam with water—he was drenched in sweat by the time his girlfriends got there. I was so embarrassed/disgusted, but it didn't seem to bother him, or the girls at all. Go figure. At least he's not smelly, someone told me. I guess. How could that be? Even Kate was playing hard with her new friends. Afterwards: Mexican food. Yum. I am pretty sure that the staff at La Fuente will be happy if we never return, but all in all the kids did really well. Next up: OOF for us, and Deanna Rose for the big group in 2 weeks.

As if that wasn't enough fun for one day, we also went to Chuck E. Cheese. Really, it was a day full of parental sacrifice, neither Tunnel Voyage nor CEC having a lot to offer the mother set. The kids had a great time though, and it was good to finally use those coupons that they put in the paper about every 2 weeks, as if anyone goes that often. Okay, I hope no one does. Some guy came in just to get the pizza to go. Seriously? Is it that good? I'm sure someone else delivers pizza without the extra $10 charge for tokens and general kiddie craziness. Whatever.

It's officially summer for the Matthews' kids. Woo!

Graduation pics!

Sam and Kate before the big graduation.
Sam and his graduation cap: He wants to be a firefighter when he grows up.

Liesl & Sam

Future Grads: Kate and Piper

Sam and his ladies. Check out Grace's kiss... :)

Notice Kate trying to sneak in the class pic

Walking down the aisle. Pomp and Circumstance of course

Sam's signature move

Miss Jaime and her graduates

Miss Diane "graduating" Sam

Miss Jaime and Sam

"Look! There's my mom!"

Sam and his classmates

BMB: Mom's Perspective

This week we reached an exciting milestone for Sam: preschool graduation. I'll admit that before having children, I mocked these teeny commencement exercises with great vigor. I mean, really? Do we want to convey the same measure of congratulations to a kid who's managed to attend 3 days of morning classes and learned his ABCs as we do someone who's completed 12 years of schooling or has completed the work required to obtain some sort of valuable career? And those tiny little caps and gowns? Come on.

But, as a mother of a preschool graduate (class of 2022—woo!), all of the sudden, I see a reason to celebrate. The end of preschool and beginning of Kindergarten is a real milestone for these little graduates—they are leaving the safe confines of snack time, mommy pickup and morning songs and are headed to the big bad word of daily expectations, monotony, standardized testing. It's a step that we've been waiting anxiously for since Sam was born—the move to Kindergarten. He's so ready, I know that, and yet, I get emotional when I think about the end of preschool.

I've never been particularly nostalgic, at least I don't think of myself that way. And though we've been blessed to attend a terrific preschool the last three years, I've never thought about missing it or the comfort and familiarity it offered. But preschool was a proving ground for Sam—where he made his own friends, followed directions and achieved things that he'd never do for Mommy (coloring!), and navigated the complex world of schedules and projects thrust on the 3-5 year olds in attendance. We learned that Sam has an uncanny knack for memorization, particularly when set to music. He's graduated from the love of Thomas the Tank Engine to the much more sophisticated world of Legos, Wii, and Star Wars. We thought he was so grown up when he started in the Red Room three years ago, but I look at him now and see a totally different Sam. He's a big kid now. No remnants of baby remain. He doesn't need me to dress him or write his name or brush his teeth (though I still help with the shoe-tying and the lunch-making).

As excited as I am to buy school supplies (real ones, that will be stored in a desk with his name on it) and begin the 12-year journey through the public school system, I am mourning the friends and familiarity to which we're saying good-bye. Maybe that's the reason parents take these milestones so much harder than their children—because we are not only seeing the moment in time, but the big picture of the changes that are coming, the things that will never be again. We are remembering how much life changes from one phase to the next, instead of eagerly awaiting the start of the next big thing (grade school, high school, driving, graduation, college, marriage, parenthood…). I know that Sam will have so many fun times and new friends and great things to experience in the days ahead, but I also grieve just a little bit for the things we're leaving behind, knowing that, though with good intentions we promise to keep in touch, get together, that our paths are separating for now.

In saying all this, I also need to apologize to my own parents for never really understanding the emotion that accompanied these big events in my life. I couldn't wait for the end of high school, college, etc—if anything, I've short-changed times in my life by putting too much value on the next phase down the road. I remember at my last high school choir concert, the alumni were asked to come on stage to sing the alma mater. My mom, an alum, came up on stage for the first and only time during my high school years. She was emotional, and made even more so by the fact that I wanted her to stand on the other side of me so I could be by my friends and her. I didn't get it. I didn't understand why the event was important to her, because I saw it as my day, my last song. As is typical with kids, my perspective was all about me, and I didn't really appreciate her gesture or her feelings.

I think I'm starting to get it now…

The Night Before the Last Day of Preschool

Name: Sam

Where do you go to school? Stepping Stones.

What room are you in? The blue room.

Who's your teacher? Miss Jaime

What's your favorite thing about Stepping Stones? Singing songs like "We Made Friends at Stepping Stones" (he's singing it).

What's your favorite thing about the blue room? I like the house center. And my favorite video game That's not about preschool. I know I just want to say it. My favorite video games is Lego Batman.

Who are your friends at school? Liesl (she's actually my girlfriend), Brooke, Fletcher, Nathan Shoesmith. Grace. Miss Madeline.

What will you miss about school? Seeing some of my friends. And I'll miss seeing Miss Jaime. And I'll also miss all the teachers there and Miss Diane.

What do think about Kate going to Stepping Stones? Amazing.

What do you think she'll like? I think she'll like everything I liked.

Is anything you didn't like about Stepping Stones? No! I liked everything about Stepping Stones.

What school will you go to next year? Cedar Creek.

Are you looking forward to it? YES!

Is there anything else you want to say about preschool? I'll sure miss it and I hope Kate will have fun. And that's it!

Kate's words

This morning, in final laps of readiness for church (you know what I mean), we were putting on shoes and Kate looked at Stuart and said: "What's your occupation?"

"What?" Neither one of us understood what she said. So she said it again:

"What's your occupation?"

I don't know that she knew what that meant, but we told her, and so she went around the room asking our occupations. My goodness. Occupation.

Kate is Amazing

Every mom thinks that. I know. Still, she's amazing.

We went out to dinner Saturday night, just the three of us. Sam was with friends (argh- he's so big!). Stuart ordered this dessert with donut holes and two dipping sauces. I tried one and dipped it in each sauce to see which I preferred. When we gave one to Kate, she wanted to dip too-- first in one, then the other. It was really gooey, so instead of just bringing the donut to her mouth and making a huge mess like most kids would do, she actually wiped off the long strand of sauce on the rim of the glass and then brought it to her mouth. I was so impressed. What two-year-old does that? I'm sure she was mimicking something one of us had done, but still. That's pretty amazing.

That same night, as we were getting ready to leave, she stopped us on the way out the door for "one more suck" on her blanket. She grabbed the purple blanket, sucked her thumb for a minute, and then said, "Okay, ready."

That Kate.

BMB: Reckless (and I don't mean my driving)

Parenting is such a mysterious thing. I feel like our days are totally unpredictable. Not for lack of schedule-- in fact, we often have too much schedule to go around at my house. Unpredictable because I can't accurately forecast the mood of the house from one moment to the next. One minute, the kids are playing and having a great time, and the next there is a major breakdown because K changed the tv channel or threw a sword down the stairs or bit her brother's back. (Yes, Kate is often the instigator of such destruction.)


Last Wednesday, I felt like we'd had a pretty good day, yet I also felt like I'd gone through the wringer at least twice by the time I plopped into bed. Like a good Christian role model, I save my quiet time for the very end of the day, when I'm good and attentive (read: nearly asleep, but trying hard.) I pray that God will make something stand out of the chapter I'm reading, but I admit I don't always anticipate lightening. It struck, however, when I read these words:

"Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing." Proverbs 12:18

So often, I instigate drama, or at least fan the flames, by using words that are not necessarily hurtful, but aren't very well thought out. In the heat of battle, I often say something that, while logical, isn't very helpful or healing. Later, I regret these words. Not because they were violent or profane, but because they were exactly as that verse put it: reckless. Not wisely chosen. Not helpful. Just convenient.

Last night, for example, I left Kate playing in the bathtub long enough to get Sam started on a project. I could hear her playing, and was making progress with Sam's kindergarten info sheet (did you know they gave out homework before a kid has even attended class???!!!). But when I went to help her wash, there was water all over the floor, soap everywhere. Lots of soap. "Kate," I snapped, "What were you thinking?! The water has to stay in the bathtub! This is a TOTAL mess! I'm so disappointed in you!"

Now, that isn't a tryable offense, but it wasn't at all what I wanted to say, if I would script the moment in advance. I calmed down a minute later and apologized and told Kate that messes are easily cleaned up and that we need to try to keep the water in the tub next time. Those words were the right ones. The first set: reckless. I spent lots of time and energy trying to fix the careless words I spoke initially, and dealt with the guilt of those words for the rest of the night.

Kate's resiliant, and was fine after a few minutes of some rather soggy snuggling. But my prayer is that next time, I'll forego the reckless words for the healing ones.

www dot sam dot com

When I was putting Sam to bed last night, he told me that he was going to build airplanes when he grew up. I had some sort of non-committal mom response (like, oh, that's nice honey). He continued to tell me all about the cool things on the plane, most of which sounded like they were inspired by Star Wars. Then he added, "And each plane will have a bomb on it. That way if there is a war going on down below, they can just drop the bomb and wipe out all the droids and the frozen droids below. See?"

"I see. Okay, good night," was I'm sure my response. I was thinking we ought to read a book on World War 2 sometime so he would know this wasn't entirely a unique thought, but he seems a little young for that kind of correction.

"And I'm going to have my own company, called the Sam Company. And we'll have a web site, www. sam. com, and people from all over the world will look at my web site and see the planes and they'll come volunteer to help me build them!"

A five-year-old with a marketing plan and a plane cool enough to get people to volunteer to build it. Watch out, Bill Gates. We've got a young entrepreneur on our hands (heaven help us!)

Circles of Change

I'm in the process of redoing my bathroom. By redoing, I mean changing the shower curtain and towels. I know, it's hardly earth-shattering, but I think it looks nice.

Sam was talking to me as I was folding laundry and he was sitting on the toilet last week. (That may sound odd to you, but in mommy world, it's totally normal). He said, "Mom, I really like the new bathroom."

"Good, honey. I'm glad you like it," I replied.

"I like these circles [on the shower curtain]. They are pretty neat. It's hard to see that one [the brown on brown] though," he continued.

"Yes, you have to be in the right light, I think," was my reply.

"You know, this shower curtain. It's kind of like the circles of change. Or something like that," he said.

Where he came up with "the circles of change" I have no idea. He's such a philosopher.