Two Kids. Same School.

As I've mentioned before, my two children have very different views of school.  So, it's fair to say that the mood in our house on the first day of school was a range of emotions.

You would have thought that Cara's first day back was Christmas. Ever since summer began, she had been waiting for this day. She's had her backpack ready for two weeks now. Her clothes for the first day week of school are all lined up and ready to go. She had trouble getting to sleep the night before and was up before her alarm, so eager was she for school to resume.

And this year, Connor will be going to the same school as his sister, which added a whole other level of excitement for Cara. She kept talking with Connor about how much fun the school is and describing all of the things that he might get to do while there.

Anyone who knows this blog or, better yet, knows my children, should know what's coming next.

The Donkey Factor.

With all of the energy and excitement my daughter was putting into talking up the school experience to her brother, he was using the same amount to dig his heels in about not wanting to go. He groused and grumbled about not wanting teachers to tell him what to do. When Cara would build the school up, he would try to hypothesize loopholes into her story. He even resorted to suggesting that he might just be "too sick to go to school" the night before. (Heaven help us when he learns to fake illness for longer than his normal attention span will allow.)

Tuesday morning came and both of the children were up and ready to go a lot quicker than I had expected.

We made it out the door in record time, which put us at the school early. A little too early. Their school does not really want kids to be dropped off earlier than 8:20 and here we were, 5 whole minutes before then.  We all sat in the car, waiting behind a few others for that magic time to arrive. This prolonged anticipation was too much for my son.

Connor announced that his throat hurt. Sometimes, this is code for "I'm gonna hurl". This time, I chalked it up to the cough he had from allergies. Until he spelled it out for us. "I feel like I have to throw up," he insisted. Craig suggested that the whole waiting game was allowing Connor's nerves to get the best of him. So, rebels that we are, we let the kids out of the car at 8:18 and watched them head off to school.

I waited most of the day, thinking that I might get a call from the school to come pick up my cookie-tossing son, but no such call came. And as I tend to do after a summer of thinking "I can't wait until they're back in school", I missed those two tremendously and counted down the time until I got to pick them up.

Pickup time came and my kids came towards my car. Cara had a huge smile plastered on her face and her donkey brother had a scowl. Great. As I prepare to hear how horrible this experience was just as he had predicted it would be, my son sternly asks, "Why do you have to be here so early? Why can't I stay for after school care, too?"

Bubble Bath

Connor has recently discovered a love for bubble baths. Honestly, who can blame him? 

So, I take 1/4 c liquid hand soap, 1/4 c of his shampoo, mix them together, and add to the tub while it's filling. Voila! A tub FILLED with bubbles.

"That's why they call it Mister Bubble. Because it's bubbles the size of misters." 

Peek-A-Boo

Yesterday, Connor had an hour long orientation at his new school. I was talking with him later that evening about this experience, when I started questioning him about his teachers.

"What did you think of Julieanne?" I asked.

"She was nice."

"And did you like your other teacher?"

"Yeah. She was kind of shy. I guess that's why she's named Heidi."

Lego Nerdlets

Cara and Connor were playing with Legos in Connor's room. After a short time, they both came out of his room to proudly show us what they had made.

"It's the Tardis," Cara proudly declared.

I asked Connor, "What did you build?"

Since he's got a Master's in Little Brother, of course his answer was "A Tardis Destroyer."

Teacher Trouble

Next month, Connor will finally be attending the same school as Cara.  While Cara has thought of school as one of her favorite places since she was about 3 (and still does at age 11 1/2), Connor would beg to differ.  Actually, he never begs to differ. He just differs.

As the summer ends and we approach the start of this new school year, I've been wondering how well things will go.  My worry is centered around whether Connor will have a hard time adjusting.

Before I attended the spring parent/teacher conference at Connor's old school, I asked my son what his teacher might say about him.  His thoughtful reply was, "My teacher thinks I'm challenging but actually, I'm the master."

I'm pretty sure my concerns should focus more on the well-being of his teacher.

Headless Loon

Cara and I were out for a walk in her grandparents' neighborhood and we passed by this mailbox. We've seen this thing several times before, but on this particular trip, I decided to verbally point it out by saying "Headless Loon".  

I should mention that Cara was in the midst of talking about her father's current preoccupation with classic cars when I blurted those two words out.  She stopped talking and looked at me quizzically. Assuming that she just didn't hear me, I repeated myself.

"Headless Loon."  An equally perplexed look from my daughter followed.  Again, I persisted, "Headless Loon."

"Okaaaaay," she finally responded and continued her discussion about the antique automobiles.

"Do you even know what I was talking about?" I asked.

"Not really.  When you say things like that, I just assume that it's old people slang that I just don't understand. I thought Headless Loon was code for convertible or something."

Butt Wipe

My son was not potty-trained until he was 4 years old.  I must confess, I blamed myself for his delay. Arguing with a child about excrement and cleaning up accidents during the learning curve did not sound as easy as changing a diaper.  And I do like easy. But we honestly tried to get him out of diapers and into underwear earlier than he did.  Connor just wasn't going to budge until he was ready. Once we made peace with that fact and stopped forcing, things went fairly smooth. When he was ready, the transition to using the toilet was remarkably quick.

The transition to using the toilet all by himself, however, has taken a bit longer.

This is a boy who gags at the smell of his own pee.  Because of his smell-sensitivity, he became an expert on one-handed toileting.  One hand was used for the unsnapping/unzipping/flushing/etc and the other hand? Firmly holding his nose shut. And when you only have one hand available to you, you often require additional assistance.

Enter Mom, aka, the Butt-Wiper.

I've had this task since the day of his birth. I've become an expert. But just because someone is good at something, doesn't mean they want it as a lifelong career.

Connor and I have had quite a few dialogues about him taking this job over for me. I've discussed the benefits and he's fairly happy with keeping the status quo. When I have dug in and refused, I've gotten very creative responses designed to sway my stance.

He's tried: "When you wipe my butt, it makes me better at it." (Sounds like Craig telling his mom that the sandwiches taste better when she makes them.)

Another time, he started listing off all the times he wiped his own butt. In his whole life. "Once at school, two times at my friend's house, a couple times at home."

Then there was the comedic approach. He sing-songed, "Will you please wipe my buuuuuuut........of the tiger." (That Survivor song will never again be associated with "Rocky" in my home)

He's also tried guilting me into it. "I'm just going to sit here forever," he explained. "Then there's going to be a skeleton on the toilet!"

Connor has finally gotten to the stage where my assistance is rarely needed, though he would prefer that I be reinstated at my previous level of employment. And every now and again I can hear his plugged-nose voice calling "Mooooooom! Could you please wipe my buuuuut?"