WanderingAmylessly 2.0

The camera wasn't readily available this a.m. So you'll have to picture this in your mind. Yesterday, we started preparing for Halloween -- and Henry's wish to be Obi-Wan Kenobi (you're our only hope!) -- by trekking to K-mart to buy a pair of lightsabers. He spent much of the rest of the day playing with them (and alternately bugging us to do battle with him). I was slightly concerned that he might want to sleep with them, which I imagined wouldn't be comfortable for anyone, particularly when the spring-loaded saber shot out of the handle and glowed in the dark at 2 a.m. But he opted for a more sensible solution. He found a special secret place to prop them up and store them for morning. Fast forward to the a.m. I was getting ready for work and heard him jump out of bed and patter down the hall to our room. I turned to say good morning and was greeted with a knee-slapping sight. If I'd been drinking my coffee, I'd have spewed it across the room. Henry swagg

The last time I picked up any scrapbooking materials to design picture pages, Henry was 3 and I was working on his 2-year-old book. Now, I can't even remember which of the pictures I have stuffed in my folders are from which year(s) of his life. What a mess. It all feels very overwhelming. So I decided I'd take a different approach. Instead of solely working the chronological order method, I'm going to start on a "Kindergarten" scrapbook and work on it throughout the year, as Tim prints pics for me. In between those pages, I'll work some on catching up with the past three or four years. My new approach begins in earnest tonight, when my friend Dena and I head to a Moms Club crop. Last night I prepared by reorganizing all of my scrapping supplies. I didn't sort paper down to colors or organize my stickers according to theme...yet...but I at least got a sense of what I have to work with. I also have photos from preschool graduation and the first day of kinde

I knew there must be some reason why I frequently read the People-magazine-produced Web site "Celebrity Baby Blog." Today on the site I learned that a company called Sonoma Lavender Shop (alternatively, Sonoma Chocolate) has created a line of stuffed animals. What's so whoopiedoo about that? They are scented and can be warmed in the microwave for warm, bedtime cuddles. Among the choices are Spunky the Lavender Monkey , which has a soothing scent, and Cocoa the Chocolate Teddybear , which smells like, well, chocolate! (His eyes are the color of Hershey kisses, too.) They're $30 each. I'm sure they'd be great baby/kid gifts. But I think I want the chocolate one for myself!

Mommy's heart is breaking a little today. Tim sent me an e-mail this morning, relaying the fact that Henry cried when Tim dropped him off for school. That news, in itself, wrenches the old ticker. What really got me was the e-mail I received from his teacher late this morning, just giving me a heads up that Henry's been sad today. (As an aside, there will be another post soon on how different parenting and communicating with teachers is compared to back in the day.) She also informed me that he stayed inside at recess to make us a picture. That sentence made Mommy sad. In fact, that bit of information prompted Mommy to run to the bathroom and bawl her eyes out for 10 minutes. I'm better now. I hope he is, too. He's just overwhelmed, I'm sure. You know who I really feel sorry for? Tim. He's the one who had to leave a tear-stained face and go to work.

I've been going off and on for a couple years. Several months ago, I joined a discussion group. Last December, I made a monetary pledge for 2009. Most recently, I volunteered to teach the preK-K class on Sunday mornings. So I went ahead and made it official: I'm a member of the Unitarian Universalist Society of Iowa City. H and I got our picture taken on Sunday for an upcoming newsletter. I had to sign some paperwork and shake some hands. Later in the year, they'll have a membership service to welcome us in. Nothing has changed, really, except that I'll be a VOTING member. I'll have my say about the new minister they're searching for and, perhaps, about whether we should build a new facility. One with, say, AIR CONDITIONING! But hey, if people at the food pantry are being fed and Habitat for Humanity's building a house for someone who can't afford it...maybe our money's already going somewhere more important. What's a little Sunday morning sweat

Before we sent our big kid off to Kindergarten, we had to do some pomp and circumstance at Apple Tree Children's Center. Yes...preschool graduation. It's sort of silly, but at least they didn't get decked out in caps and gowns. The ceremony was fairly short and very sweet...each kid got a special, very personal award that said something about his or her interests, character, or abilities. Henry received the "Remarkable Reader" award. Indeed! He also did lots of hugging and striking poses with his teachers, Brittney and Christine, and his buddies (including those you see here -- Carter, Donovan, and Bella). I'm so very very happy that he got to spend two valuable years at this center. I credit the preschool and its loving, talented staff for helping to prepare Henry so well for his public school adventures.

I always dreaded the first day of school. The first day of anything, actually. Still do, as a matter of fact! So my heart was breaking a little yesterday when Henry said, "Oh, I don't want to do this." It's so tough to send our little man off into the big world of public school. He didn't cry though. Mommy sure did, off and on all day. Just writing this, my throat's constricting and the screen's getting blurry through my tears. I'm really proud of him for being tough and brave. It'll get better soon. For everyone. Tim labeled these pictures "Proud kindergartener," "Independent kindergartener," and "Scared kindergartener." Mixed emotions. That about sums it up.

We're hitting milestones left and right at our house. Yesterday, Henry met his teacher -- Mrs. Ryan -- and toured his classroom. Today, he's having a graduation ceremony at preschool. And tomorrow's the first day of kindergarten. Henry and I are doing our best to curb the anxiety and try not to cry. I think he's more successful than I am. I had a moment last night, sitting at the table, reading through a packet of papers, when the tears flowed. I'm sure it won't be the last time. But I suspect that, after a few days, kindergarten will seem not all that much different from his very structured, highly educationally focused preschool. Plus, he informed me with glee after looking at the daily schedule on the board, he'll get THREE OUTSIDE TIMES (recess)!!! Score. Henry will get lots of opportunities to meet kids who have very different backgrounds. He is one of the only caucasian kids in his class, a complete change from his preschool. I'm excited about it.

This isn't going to be witty or insightful or clever. It probably isn't even going to be coherent. I spent much of last night at the animal hospital, trying to figure out what my wiley Westie managed to do to her left front leg. She started favoring it early in the evening. By bedtime, she could not lie still on the bed. She would lie down and try to get comfortable, then immediately pop up and try again. She kept making little snorts and groans. And the panting! It was like she'd run a little doggie marathon, except she hadn't been outside in hours. Because Tim and Henry are out of town visiting grandparents, I had to make a decision. Tell the dog to suck it up. Or tell my wallet to prepare for a hit. I decided that I wasn't going to get any sleep with this wimpering, fidgety dog next to me in bed. So off we went to Bright Eyes & Bushy Tails Animal Hospital (after calling and talking to the nice, cheery-at-11:15 p.m. woman on the phone -- who, as an aside, warn

It's our boy's last day of preschool. He hugged me goodbye at home this morning before I left work work, snuggled his face into my neck, and said, "Mommy, I don't want it to be my last day." Then the tears welled up. For both of us. Being 5 is hard. Hell, being 37 is hard. I told him I understood why he was sad and that it was perfectly understandable he'd be sad and miss his friends and teachers. I told him it was OK to be sad. And that on the first day of kindergarten, it was totally OK to be nervous and excited and a little scared. If he accepts the fact that he will have this flood of feelings, I hope that he will find it easier to make the change. I also pointed out that these preschool friends of his aren't moving away, and even if they aren't going to school with him, we can still keep in touch and get together for playtime or a movie or whatever. But I let him be sad. I encouraged him to embrace that feeling, because I know it won't last. O

I've immersed myself in spring cleaning...a few months late. Tim and I have both vowed to clean up our acts. Literally. We've promised we will each take at least 15 minutes a day to focus on one area of the house, decluttering, scouring, organizing, etc. We're tired of living in a pit strewn with dirty dishes and Happy Meal toys. (Remember that labeler purchase I made? Part of the new-and-improved, organized me.) I find that I'm much happier and less apt to fall into a depressive state when I'm not neck deep in clutter and household chaos. It's easier to keep a brighter outlook when the view in front of you isn't covered in a half-inch of dust and Chinese take-out boxes. Last night, I spent multiple hours removing everything from the bathroom cabinets, tossing out of date over-the-counter ointments and shampoo bottles with only an eighth of an inch of product left. I scrubbed everything, bleached the tub, Windexed the mirror...domestic bliss! What sparked al

I have a recommendation for all those out there who love sausages, but not the fat and suspect byproducts they might contain. Al Fresco brand chicken sausages come in 14 different gourmet flavors, including Roasted Pepper & Asiago, Spinach & Feta, Jalapeno, Sundried Tomato, and Sweet Apple. There are several different styles, too. Fully cooked links, links ready for grilling, breakfast-style links, and something I haven't tried yet but think sounds intriguing: Bistro Bites Buffalo Style cocktail franks. All of the products have 70% less fat than pork sausage and are free of nitrites, nitrates, preservatives and artificial ingredients. We've sliced them up with pasta. We've put them in quiche. Tonight, I had a link with fresh tomato slices and 7 grain bread. My fellow weight watchers should rejoice in the fact that 1 Spinach & Feta sausage, I learned tonight, is a mere 3 points. Check out the web site for more info, a complete listing of available flavors and st

When I was pregnant, I never once thought about this weekend. I thought about onesies and diapers and breastfeeding, first steps, potty training, Christmases on Santa's lap, babysitters, sticky fingers, giggles, Legos...not once did I think about shopping for school supplies. In denial? When I think now about shopping for school supplies, I want to throw up. Not because I'm apprehensive about Henry. He's a strong, adaptive, smart boy who makes friends easily and charms most grownups. No, my anxiety about Henry starting school is directly related to my own feelings about new school years when I was growing up. I hated not knowing who my teacher and classmates would be. I worried about whether I would understand the lessons. I fretted about recess and whether other kids would play with me. I lamented the fact that other kids always went cool places for summer vacation; I usually didn't. I was a bundle of nerves, way back when. No wonder I'm a psychological disaster ar

I keep seeing headlines that make me go, "Ewwww, ick." They're the ones about how Ryan O'Neal mistakenly hit on his daughter during Farrah Fawcett's funeral. This is just oogey on multiple levels. One, how old is Ryan O'Neal? How unfamous? How non-popular? How early-1980s? The man is a Trivial Pursuit answer. He has very little significance in today's pop culture. Plus, he's sort of puffy and generally unattractive. Did he really think if he flirted with some young woman, at a funeral, after he'd just put down the coffin he'd been carrying as a pall bearer, that she'd be all hot and jazzed to jump his osteoarthritic bones? Back up just a bit. That woman he flirted with was young enough to be his daughter. Oh. Wait. It WAS his daughter, Tatum! I know they do things different out there in Hollywood, but incest tends to be frowned upon in most regions of the United States. Then he explains it away by saying he hadn't seen her in a while.

I just bought a label maker. And I was nearly giggling with glee. Imagine the possibilities. This little machine could change my life. Well, let's not go overboard. But I am envisioning the labels helping me to get a handle on my organization...or lack therof...in many areas of my world. I used to be organized. No joke. I made lists of my to-do lists. I probably color-coded them and put them in alphabetical order. I once thought my life would cease if anything ever happened to my Franklin planner. Now, I'm lucky to get out the door in the morning with matching shoes on my feet. I'm not going to blame Henry for my disarray and my sheer laziness. I just think that somewhere along the way, I had to prioritize. Playing with my kid and snuggling with my hubby on the couch (and a little knitting just for me) came before arranging the pantry foods in perfectly straight rows or hanging the clean laundry in neat sections -- shirts, then pants, then skirts, then jackets. Don't ev