Quite a few people have been asking us about the twins transition from Hand in Hand Montessorri to Hope Academy. We had such a wonderful experience at Hand in Hand, but it was always the plan that for elementary school the kids would join Dan at Hope. I knew it would be a big transition for the children, but I didn’t anticipate how different it would be for me. In addition to their private school, Hand in Hand has a “homeschool academy”. The students spend half the week at school, and half learning at home. Because I work there, I was around them quite a bit during the school days. It felt like an extension of our time together at home, and really didn’t feel like they had left me at all. I was not prepared for how “gone” they would be as full time students at Hope. At Hand in Hand parents were involved in most everything. Even school pictures! Below: Here’s what you get when your mom comes with you to get your school picture taken.
And here’s what we got this year, when I was not involved in the school pictures:
I suppose it’s a good thing that they don’t seem to miss me a bit. Nor have they noticed the suspicious mini-van cruising slowly back and forth by the playground during recess, with a familiar mother hunkered down behind the steering wheel.
It’s no wonder they are so happy at Hope Academy. Click here to see how happy.
Elisabeth’s little Tib, who (she reminds us regularly) hatched from an olive green egg, has unfortunately turned into a rooster. This is our fourth rooster! Rooster one: Davey went to live with Patty’s son Steve in Madison, Wisconsin. Roosters two and three: Nini and Dumps went back to the farmer from whom we procured the original four hens. We are loathe to part with the ever docile rooster number four. For a while he didn’t crow and we held onto the slim hope that he was just a long-legged hen. But once the crowing began, it began in earnest, and can be heard at six o’clock sharp from one end of the block to the other. And last week Elisabeth happily reported: “Tib is playing with Ella Lehmer and Ella Wang (or Ella Wing as Annie calls her). Tib is jumping on the Ellas and they are giving him piggy back rides!” Piggy-back rides: a sure sign your hen is a rooster.
Although I know we can’t keep him forever, I have been dragging my heels because I have grown strangely fond of the little-big fellow. In effort to postpone the inevitable, each night I reach into the dark coop, drag out the reluctant Tib (not at all pleasant), carry him through the backyard, and put him to bed just inside the door of the garage so his morning crowing won’t wake the neighbors.
As unwieldy as this process is, it paid off big time last night. When we came outside this morning, we realized our van and garage had been broken into. A couple of small things were taken from the van which was parked outside. Strangely, nothing was taken from the garage, even though Dan’s power tools, and several people’s bikes are quite valuable. We have only one explanation: the watch-rooster.
Can you imagine creeping into a completely dark garage only to encounter a large rooster scurrying around by your feet. I think the hooligans left in a hurry, because the door was swinging open as was the gate to the backyard. I use the word hooligans, because the kids overheard me informing Dan of the break-in, and, not wanting to scare them, I thought hooligan sounded more naughty than sinister.
Charlie immediately informed Miss P, that our garage was broken into by hula-dancers last night, but our rooster scared them away. Beware the roving band of hula-dancers, breaking and entering and hula-ing all over Minneapolis. And beware the watch-rooster! You never know what a rooster is capable of when protecting his family.
Ours is not the first watch-rooster. Papaw tells me that he recalls a gas station in Samson, Alabama that was known to be guarded at night by ferocious roosters. I highly recommend it. But if you don’t want to actually keep your own watch-rooster, you could still consider buying a “Beware the Rooster” sign strategically placed near your garage, or garden gate, to scare off opportunistic hooligans.
Also, note-worthy, we found our first three eggs in the nesting box yesterday. Dan refers to them as hundred dollar eggs, since that’s about how much our coop and chickens cost. I am pleased to report that, with Tib saving us from at least a thousand dollars in tool and bike theft, the chicken farm has more than paid for itself.
Oh, how will I ever give him away now?
Last week Miss P and Annie had there first day of school. They are at Hand-in-Hand Montessorri again this year, enjoying a one day a week “family preschool” program. They were most proud to be headed out the door together in uniform. They look sharp in spite of their mother, who has lost a little steam along the way. I remember putting great thought into shoeing the twins when they were two…ensuring that they had both fashion and support for their developing stride. Poor Baby Dear just dug some out of the pile on the way out the door.
The twins are cruising right along in first grade. A focus of Elisabeth’s education seems to be the various means she employs to get seated directly across from Mrs. Watkins at lunch. Elisabeth has discovered that sitting across from someone, rather than beside them, is the best way to “visit”. Elisabeth reports that she and Mrs. Watkins just love to visit over lunch.
I sure hope Mrs. Watkins loves it. If not, I will encourage her to seek the counsel of Elisabeth’s kindergarten teacher, Miss Myra, who last year found herself eating her lunch in the shadow of a little stalker. There’s nothing like someone who’s been there.
Things are, for the most part, going smoothly for Charlie as well. He looks quite dapper headed out the door in his stiff-as-a-board dress pants. He is having a little trouble, in his words, finding his “fly”. Yesterday, he lost his fly for a whole day, and, unable to pull his stiff pants up and down, he had to “hold it” for eight hours until he got home and I could assist. Oh, the fly. One of the many things taken for granted until it is lost.
On Wednesday, Charlie proudly unfolded his self-portrait, drawn with oil pastels. I could see he remembered me telling him recently, that the human head is really more egg-shaped than circular. I did not think to specify that, when drawing a head, the pointy part of the egg goes at the bottom.
But we love him, just the way he is!
We are rounding the bend and the end of our first year of Moms4Moms is in sight. Moms4Moms is a place for younger mothers to connect with more seasoned mothers, explained here: Asking for Money. We are grateful for the relationships formed, and that moms (younger and older) keep coming together for supper, games, and teaching. A high-light of the year together was a six week cooking class (pictured below). A low-light was running out of money in approximately January. I guess we underestimated how much we eat. But we got by with a little help from our friends, this whole outer ring of mom-friends we kept rounding up to help with cooking, child-care etc. Cari (one of ‘em) dubbed them the Moms4Moms4Moms.
In spite of our budget shortfall, we press on by popular demand, and are planning to kick off year two with another weekend retreat. Last year’s retreat was really an introduction, and now, with deepening relationships and trust we are ready to go a little deeper.
So, here I come again, hat in hand. If you know ANYONE who might be interesting in sponsoring a young mom to come away for the weekend for 75 dollars, or participate for whole year 200 dollars, (tax deductible) please email me: Lucycolson@gmail.com. Thanks for spreading the word.
The twins made it through the first week of first grade at Hope Academy with flying colors! Both are very happy heading into school each morning. Elisabeth (note that due to a maturing understanding of the letter s which can occasionally make a “z” sound, she has returned to the original spelling of her name), has had a little case of cold feet at the door, primarily due to her red folder which must each day be placed in the red folder box. For some reason each morning, just as Mrs. Watkins’s door comes into view Elisabeth experiences red folder amnesia, convinced that she does not know where to put the red folder.
Being the bearer of a red folder is a whole new level of responsibility, the weight of which cannot be underestimated. Fortunately, Mrs. Watkins is a paragon of patience and with a smile and, “Let’s see if you can remember where to put the red folder,” Elisabeth’s confidence comes rushing back, and she is good to go.
Both twins have struggled with a little case of not-sure-what-to-do-with-myself on the playground. (For me it was a chronic condition.) The situation improved when Charlie’s teacher, Mr. Crowl, joined the soccer group inviting Charlie along.
“So now,” Elisabeth explained, “Charlie plays soccer and I am the cheerleader for his team. I stand on the side and yell, ‘Goooo Cheaters! Goooo Cheaters!'”
“CheeTAHs,” Charlie corrected her, exasperated, “We are the Cheetahs.”
According to Elisabeth, the other team does not have their own cheerleader. Apparently, they do not have a twin.
The highlight of Elisabeth’s week (other than cheering for the Cheaters) was being asked to demonstrate to the class how to read silently, or, as she corrected me, “Read to self.” I wonder if this demonstration was as exciting for her classmates as it was for her. As Elisabeth told it, “I read until Mrs. Watkins said, ‘I’m sorry to have to cut you off, Elisabeth, but it is time for us to move on.’ ” I can’t imaging why Mrs. Watkins wouldn’t want the whole class to continue watching Elisabeth sitting silently, staring at the pages of a book, indefinitely.
The highlight for Charlie is being taught by a man. According to Charlie, Mr. Crowl is a thrill-a-minute. Math, for example, is much more suspenseful when your teacher tells you that your math book is a stick of dynamite, primed to explode if you don’t answer the question. That scenario would never have entered my mind, but for a six-year old boy it takes math to a whole new level.
Dan got an email from Mr. Crowl the second day of school wondering if anyone had suggestions for how he might help a little girl in the classroom, who limps a little, to navigate the long halls. I didn’t hear any more about it, until Friday when Charlie marveled, “Mom, there’s a girl in my class, I think she has a disability, and Mr. Crowl pulls her around in a little red wagon. And each time we line up, she gets to pick someone to ride along. I hope someday I get to ride with her!”
If that isn’t the the sweetest thing since Pa made that tall shoe for the little girl at Laura Ingall’s birthday party, then I don’t know what is! I have now joined Charlie in the Mr. Crowl fan club. Maybe I will be the cheerleader.
Below, my big kids, sittin’ on ready:
Everywhere I go, I hear mother’s saying, “The summer has just flown by.” For some reason, this has not been my experience. Our summer has crawled by on little turtle feet. It has been nice, though. Just sittin’ around eating peaches mostly.
And, unfortunately, potty training. Potty-training never gets easier. It is terrible terrible terrible every time. The method I use is particularly harrowing, as it requires never putting a diaper or pull-up on, once you’ve begun. (Except during sleep times). This was not so bad with the first few children, because we were at a stage of life where we could stay home for three or four days. But with number four, that is just not possible. I could use pull-ups, but the method has worked every time, and in less than a week, and it is hard to deviate from the plan.
So, we more or less go back and forth between sitting and staring at Annie’s bottom waiting for action, and careening around town in our big van hollering, “Hold on! Hold on! We’re almost to the potty!”
It’s like driving around with a lady in labor. By the time we arrive we are all exhausted. And sweaty.
While sitting very still, waiting for potty action, we’ve all had time to reflect on Annie’s appearance. Charlie commented, “Annie’s head is very large.”
Me: “Yes, it is.”
Charlie: “Would it take a mouse a long time to walk across it?”
Charlie: “Dad’s head is much bigger. Imagine how long it would take a mouse to walk aaaall the way around Dad’s head!”
I can’t. I can’t even imagine. Deep.
Annie has by far been the quickest of my children to catch on. But she has also been the most unpleasant to train. For three days, every time I cheerfully announced, “Time to sit on the potty,” I was met with a blood curdling scream, “Noooo!” I would have considered the possibility that Annie just wasn’t ready, except that, unlike her predecessors, she got the hang of it on day one with nary an accident. But for three days she continued to scream bloody murder every time; then sit down, quickly take care of business, and turn to me with a nervous laugh, saying, “Now let’s put my diaper back on.”
Historically we have potty trained in the yard. But I have discovered a new and preferable venue. The playroom at Children’s hospital, where we spent two days last week on Annie’s ears and Miss P’s speech therapy.
I had forgotten Annie had an appointment at the ear doctor on day two of potty training (follow up from tubes). I was initially concerned, but once we got there I realized that if Annie did have an accident, within minutes a crew would be on the scene to clean it up. We spent all of Monday and Tuesday afternoon in the playroom, where the other kids were entertained and I could focus on the task at hand. Not only did I appreciate the thought of a cleanup crew (we didn’t end up needing one), but it is not half bad to potty train with a flock of helpful adults clucking sympathetically. It’s preferable to chickens…who do cluck sympathetically…but do not clean up accidents.
By the end of day three, I took to my bed, crying that I could not potty-train one more day, due to all the screaming, and crazy driving, and lack of getting anything else done. But it is always darkest before the dawn. On day four I nervously suggested Annie come sit on the potty, and was greeted with a cheerful, “Okay.” And just like that, potty training was done. I’m glad we did it. I’m glad it’s over. I’m glad to return to purse carrying after a week of potty carrying.
Below: Annie giving it a little try at the park on Thursday.