Sunday Citar: Sisters

"Citar" is Spanish for "quote."  Sunday Citar is a time to share your favorite quotes and images, and to celebrate the memories of both.

This week I'm sharing the powerful love of my girls.  Sisters.  They love their parents, their friends, their baby brother.  But most of all they love each other, and no bond could be stronger.

“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together, there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart... I'll always be with you.”

"If you live to be 100, I hope I live to be 100 minus 1 day, so I never have to live without you."

"It's so much more friendly with two."

"My very best, best friend."

(All quotes from the great bear himself, Winnie the Pooh, a favorite of my girls.)

School Daze

On Thursday, I registered Julia for kindergarten at the school down the road.  I cannot possibly put into words how torn my emotions are about this.
(But I'll try.)

I have a love/hate relationship with public schools. 
When I was in elementary school, a public one, I loved just about every moment of it.  I looked forward to getting out of bed, shoveling my cereal into my mouth, and hopping in the car to have my mom drive me the three minutes to my school.  Admittedly, I was more than a little bored with the work and finished way ahead of schedule, but that didn't bother me.  I looked forward to chatting with my teachers while the other students worked, and I ran errands and went to the library and wrote stories...I filled my time.  My teachers?  The BEST.  I'm still in contact with some of them today.  The worst thing about school was getting in trouble for talking to my friends, and I had a lot of those.

Until Middle School.  Grades six through eight were hard on me.  Being smart went from being something about which to be proud to being something that made me different and disliked.  And if you're different in Middle School, it's apparently not a good thing.  Again, my teachers were spectacular (::waves:: Hi, guys!), as were a core group of my friends in our school's gifted program.  But talking with these people and my one day a week in gifted classes was just not enough at that point.  I dreaded getting out of bed in the morning.  Glasses.  Braces.  Kids hated me for being a "teacher's pet," when in actuality I talked to the teachers all the time because they were the only ones who were nice to me.  (Also, they were the only ones who could hold an interesting conversation, in my opinion.)

I thought high school would somehow be different.  I was wearing contacts.  My braces were removed.  New students from a school across town would be merging with our school, and they wouldn't know that they weren't supposed to like me.  A week into school, they knew.  I never realized how fast a label can carry; it's like I was wearing a big sign on me that said, "Hey!  Hate me!  I'm different!"  I did enjoy the classes more than I ever had in the past.  I was able to take honors and AP classes, and I was actually challenged more than I had been in the past.  Classes were more fun.  My social life, however, was not.  I learned things I should not have been learning and did things I should not have been doing, and in the end I spent most of high school depressed and moping.  What a waste.
College was more of the same.
And then?
I started teaching.  In a public elementary school.

You know how people say that schools today aren't what they were like when we were kids?  True.  For better or for worse, that's true.  Now I was the teacher with the one kid attached to me at the hip, begging for conversation, pleading to help me sort papers or run errands.  Now I was witnessing kids being ostracized for being different from an age much earlier than what I experienced.  Too smart.  Not smart enough.  Too  much money.  Too poor.  Looks funny.  Talks funny.  Is funny.  I tried to help students work through their differences.  I tried to teach to the various skill levels in a class.  And in the end, I decided that I just couldn't make this a perfect environment.  I was agonizing over something that just doesn't happen.  It's impossible to make everyone get along.  It's impossible to make sure no one falls through the cracks--you can't put all your energy into helping one person write a thesis AND put all your energy into helping their neighbor learn the alphabet.  A teacher's energy is halved, at best.  Or at least mine was.
And that's the thing.  Many teachers are AMAZING, whether they teach in a public school, a private one, or at home.  They are much better teachers than I was and somehow never seem to be spread thin.  But the reality in today's school systems, with huge class sizes, and pressures of THE TEST, is that lots of teachers are just like me.  Lots.  They want to be all they can be for every student, socially and educationally, but realistically there's never enough time in the day or money in the budget.  That's the teachers that want to be there and do their best--what's scary is that not all of them want to be.

When Brynn was born and I decided to become a stay-at-home mom and hang up my ruler and grade book, Julia was just a few months past turning two years old.  Already I could see that she was a smart cookie.  She knew her letters and letter sounds, could count to at least a hundred, and had a better vocabulary than me.  Already, her creativity knew no bounds.  By three years old, she was reading books on her own.  And at age five, she's reading chapter books.

This started to worry me a couple of years ago.  If she goes to school, will she be bored?  What will she do when all the other kids are learning their letters?  Is she doomed to a life of trouble for talking and fidgeting and being a social outcast?  How will they possibly challenge her enough?  She began to remind me so much of myself, so I instinctively went into protective mode.

I decided that we would home school.  After all, I have a teaching degree, a little bit of knowledge, and we were already basically doing "unschooling" anyway.  The days passed, she learned more and more, and we had sort of a learning groove.  I knew how to challenge her.  I made sure she had activities so she could be around other kids.  And this was just for preschool!  YAY!  We were doing this!  This is working great for us!

Then a few months ago, she dropped a bombshell on me: "Mommy, I can't wait until August so I can go to REAL school!"
What does she think we're doing here?  Is this pretend?  And where did she even learn about an actual school building, much less that it starts in August?  Either someone had been informing her, or she read about it.  Either way, I was more than a little upset.  How do you explain to a preschooler that a school doesn't have to be an actual building?  That it doesn't matter where you're learning, as long as you're learning?  How can you say, "I know what's best for you, and that's being home with me so you're challenged and don't fall through the cracks?"
As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I had my answer.

You don't.
We are firm believers in letting our children form opinions about things in life on their own, as long as it's not something that will harm them.  Julia was so excited about school and all the things she thinks will happen there, and I knew it was something I should allow her to experience.  But being away from her for hours every day--yikes!  I wanted to send her to a half private/half home school here, but our family's one income, though my husband works very hard for it, won't support the cost.  She may go to a traditional school, realize it's not for her, and ask to home school again.
Or (gulp.) she may go to school, love it, and thrive.  She might have one of those teachers like I had in elementary school, one who seems to be able to find extra time for her, no matter how hectic the school schedule.  Maybe they'll be able to accommodate her learning needs.  Maybe she'll make lots of friends and feel like she fits in.  I hope so.  I really, really do.
And if not, I'm here for her.  We'll do this until it doesn't work anymore.  If Brandon and I sense that she's losing out academically or she's becoming bored and frustrated, we'll try other options.  If she starts learning or doing inappropriate things constantly, we'll try other options.  There are always other options, but there's just this one time to start kindergarten.

She was so thrilled to be at "real school" on Thursday to register.  As I filled out her paperwork, she was literally bouncing around that cafeteria.  They did a quick skills assessment on her (knocked it out of the park, of course), and she became fast friends with a teacher who shares her first name.  She pointed out the lunch lines, the ice cream machines, the Girl Scout registration table.  She didn't stop smiling for the entire hour we were there.
PleaseOhPleaseOhPlease let her keep that smile.  Please let her keep that love of learning.  Please let this be okay.

After all, who am I to say I know how she'll learn best?  Who am I to think that my experience will be hers?  Who am I to think I can keep all the negative out of her schooling?

I'm her mom, that's who.  And I'll be here to help guide her through this, no matter what happens or what she decides.

Please let this be a good thing.  Please.

Wordless Wednesday: Shark Attack!

Nice to meet you.

I had a plan, and this was definitely not it.  I'd be at least thirty.  I'd have multiple degrees and a successful career.  I would have been married for years and spent time touring Europe (again) and driving across America (again).

But now I was sitting in a tiny room wearing a paper gown, giving Brandon updates over the phone while he worked.  Just days ago we had celebrated my twenty-second birthday and were making plans to attempt a thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail.  And now?

I was pregnant.

That flu I thought I had was obviously something more.

I would have waited until he got home from work to take the test if I had actually thought it would be positive.  I took it kind of as an afterthought and set it aside.  By the time I washed my hands, there was that word staring back at me on the digital test.

PREGNANT.

I couldn't breathe.  I took a walk.  I took a drive.  I took another shower.  I took another walk.  My head was spinning.

OHMYGOD.  This is not happening.  This is not my plan.  Ten years from now, sure.  But now?  Not now.  I'm in college and my first degree is still a year away.  I have no career--I'm a career student.  We're going to Boston next month, and there goes that trip; we'll need the money.

NOT NOW!!  Please.  PLEASE!

Brandon came home and I couldn't tell him.  I just showed him the test, and then he took a walk.

And now here I was in this little room and they were putting cold gel on the wand of the ultrasound machine, looking to see just how pregnant I really was.  Did I know how far along I might be?  No, not a clue.  This wasn't supposed to happen, so I wasn't keeping track of things like that.

Up on the screen was gray and black fuzz, circles, moving lines, and numbers.  The ultrasound tech was really quiet.  I got dressed, and she led me into the doctor's office.  He sat down and looked solemnly at my baby face.

"It looks like there's nothing there but a sac.  We think we should be seeing something by now."

My head started spinning.  I was crying immediately and shaking my head.  (But isn't this what I wanted?  Didn't I want it all to go away?)

"Come back after the weekend if you don't miscarry on your own.  We'll take another look, but chances are that we'll have to do a D&C to get rid of what's left."

What's left.
He handed me some tissues and left me alone for a while.  After I cried (what was wrong with me?) my first round of tears, I walked out of the office, sat in my car, and called Brandon.

Those few days were some of the darkest of my life.  Guttural sobbing, no food, no sleep.  I could not figure out why I was so upset.  Life could go as planned now, right?  And I could finish college, hop on a plane anytime I wanted, grow up before I had to raise someone.  Why did the idea of these things seem so wrong now?

Brandon's mom drove me to the appointment.  He was working his minimum wage job and they fired people who didn't show up, no exceptions.  I never miscarried over the weekend, so I cradled my belly on the way to the office, thinking it would be the last time I'd be pregnant, even if it was with just a sac that never developed into a baby.  I kept thinking that I still felt pregnant and was already mourning the loss of that feeling.

At the office, the OB showed me to the ultrasound room and left me with the tech while he prepared for the D&C.  My mind was trying to be anywhere but here.  Those gray and black blobs popped up on the screen again, and I closed my eyes.  My chest ached as I tried not to cry.

"Why did the doctor say he needed to do a D&C?"
Why was she asking me this?  Couldn't she look at my chart?  So cruel.
"The baby didn't develop."  Tears.

"Really?"  Silence.  "See that right there?"  I opened my eyes and looked at the screen.  What was I seeing?  That infamous empty sac again?
"That's definitely a heart beat."

I stared at the screen, and I was crying more.  My hand flew up to cover my mouth as I just kept staring at that blinking on the screen.  From the seat next to me, my mother-in-law asked me, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Good thing.  This is definitely a good thing.  I'll never forget that question, because it's the first time I realized the answer.  This baby was a perfect, good thing.

And this baby was supposed to happen.  I want this.  I want this for my new plan, and I want this for us.
As I called and told Brandon the good news, I could tell that he felt the same.  When I showed him the picture of our little baby with a heartbeat (and the words the tech typed, "Hi, Mom!"), he beamed with the pride I'd grow accustomed to seeing on his face.  This is what happiness feels like.

Our first family photo.  January 2006.

Six years and three beautiful children later, our lives are full of more adventure than we could have imagined back then.

College?  I finished my degree, taught fifth grade, and made another important decision--to stay at home with these kids that are my life.

Travel?  We travel often, as a party of five.

My age?  I have three children at an age before I thought I'd have even one.
And I couldn't imagine it any other way.

Our family today.  Julia, Brynn, and Sawyer (each one a miracle).

I will never forget those days of agony when I thought the baby I didn't even know I loved was gone.  I'm sure that this has something to do with the intense anxiety I feel throughout my pregnancies.
Brandon and I are overprotective parents now, admittedly.  We know that nothing in life is guaranteed, and we know how much our family means to us.  At least this experience helped us to make this realization.  The most we ever leave our kids is to run an errand, and we worry about them the whole time.  People joke with us about it, but nothing is more serious to us than the closeness of our family.

This is the family that might not have been.  This is the life that almost wasn't.  And we will cherish each child, each moment, each gift.

ETA: Each pregnancy has had a moment similar to this.  I had a subchorionic bleed/threatened miscarriage with Brynn at 8 weeks, but it resolved itself within a couple of months on its own.  I was on bed rest with Sawyer for pre-term labor.  With each pregnancy, I've learned even more to cherish the blessing of a healthy child.  I have come close to losing them, but thankfully have not had to experience what so many families have to endure.

Julia's Princess Room

My firstborn baby girl just turned five a couple of weeks ago.  As if that didn't feel bittersweet enough, her request for a new "big girl" room did.

The conversation went a little something like this:
"Mommy, I want a new big girl room for my birthday."

"Oh, you don't like your fun butterflies and dragonflies?  You're room is so pretty now!"

: : blank stare : : "Mom, this room is for babies.  I am not a baby."

{Insert my realization of that fact and subsequent emotional breakdown here.}

She's right.  She's definitely not the baby who wanted bugga buggas to decorate her room three years ago.  Her butterfly bedding was fraying from washing it constantly.  Those pastel curtains were starting to fade.  And five year olds apparently do not need mobiles hanging in the corner.  Silly mommy.

What kind of room does a big girl like Julia need?  A Disney Princess room, it seems.  That's grown-up??  She assured me that all cool kids have Disney Princesses.
Now, I love those princesses as much as the next Disney addict, but plastering Cinderellas as big as my child all over the place is not really my thing.  I discussed this with her and we decided to go a more subtle route, just having touches of princessy things here and there.
By subtle, I mean she chose purple walls and pink bedding.  I have proclaimed since I was I was pregnant with her that I would NOT be a mom who would turn her daughter into a girly-girl, surrounded by girly-girl colors and dressing up in tutus and dresses all the time.  But you know what?  I didn't turn her into this.  She has chosen this.  And I just gave in big time.

We're tight on cash (who isn't?), but I was determined to give her the room of her dreams.  We bought her purple paint for her birthday, and her grandmother bought her pink bedding.  We reused the pink curtains from our upstairs playroom (it will be turned into a room for Sawyer eventually, and I doubt he wants pink curtains...you never know, though...).  I took the castle decal from the upstairs playroom and slapped it on the wall in Julia's room.  For artwork, I turned her existing decorative frames into Princess art using scrapbooking paper and more decals.  It is all very girly, and she loves it.  Here it is, in all its pastel glory:

Pink and purple Princess room (butterflies above bed stayed).  Night when I took this, so sorry it's dark.



Lamp also stayed...she couldn't part with it.  Cinderella's Castle wall decal and toy.




Her armoire.  Disney snow globes.  Stolen towel animal from Pop Century (he's a hitchhiker).




Wall art I crafted out of scrapbook paper, old frames, and wall decals.




Her stuffed animals.  I want to remember this forever.




Another view of the room.  Note the 80s Barbie house, which is AWESOME.  Also, her memories board and messy toy bins.



Princess tin we got at Walt Disney World.  First thing you see upon entering.




Princess throw pillow.  And, yes, she still sleeps on her converted toddler bed.  She refuses to allow us to turn it into a full bed as of now.  She could grow a foot or two and still fit.

 So, all in all, we spent $30 for paint and supplies, and her grandma gifted her sheets and a comforter.  We owned or created all the decorations, and her sentimentality (or mine?) allowed us to keep a couple of things from her old room.

Is it overwhelmingly purple and pink?  You bet.  I totally failed at preventing that.  But even I have to say that it doesn't just SCREAM tacky princess decorations, though it does speak it loudly.  She got enough of the characters to make her happy, but there are few enough of them to keep me sane.

It comes down to this: it's her room, not mine.  While a color like that would lead me into some sleepless nights, she loves it.  She picked the theme, and she owns it.  As if she weren't a princess enough already, now she has a room fit for her royal status.

The Day Our Lives Began

Dear Julia,

Today you turned five years old.  You are so excited to be five, but already you've told us you just want to stay five forever.  Trust me, sweet girl, I wish I could freeze this moment, too.

Five years ago at this time, I was sitting in the hospital room, nursing you constantly, and staring at you for hours on end.  I could not believe that you had just come out of me.  You were so perfect and so beautiful.  I watched your daddy change your first diaper and saw you try to hold your head up right from the start.  You've always been precocious.

I had never known love like I felt the moment I first saw you.  You were a surprise baby, and you were the best surprise your daddy and I have ever had.  The moment we became parents was the moment that we became a family instead of just a couple.  The bond that your birth started has just gotten stronger as we've added more siblings, but you started it all.  Before you were born, life had no real purpose; as soon as we met, I knew my purpose in life was to be the best mommy I could be and give you back all the love you make me feel.

I was so nervous when I was learning to be a mom.  I laugh now thinking about how scared I was to give you a bath, how I anguished over dressing you, and whether you were getting enough food.  Or sleep.  Or tummy time.  I must have done something right, because you are simply wonderful.

I want to remember forever that you were just like this at age five:

As a big five year old, you love to read.  You started reading small books when you were three, and now you're up to chapter books.  The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh is what you're reading to us at night right now, and we've decided to throw a Pooh party when you finish it.  I love that you take the time to read to your sister and brother, and books are constantly scattered around our house because you read so many of them a day!

Your favorite movies are any of the Disney Princess movies (sing-a-longs or films), Gumby: The Movie, Muzzy, and all Strawberry Shortcake films.  You watch "Yo Gabba Gabba!" with Brynn and you sing and dance together.  You also enjoy any of the shows on PBS Kids ("Dinosaur Train," "Sid the Science Kid," "Word World").

At night, you listen to The Magic Tree House books on CD, and you have about a million of them!

Playtime for you usually includes Princess figures and your toy Cinderella's Castle.  You come up with elaborate stories for them, and you shout, "Dreams come true!  Dreams come true!," just like you saw them do at Disney World.  One of your scenarios includes every character bringing a gift to the one having a birthday or getting married.  And there are hundreds of them.  You are very dedicated and will not allow us to clean up the mess until you are finished, which sometimes takes days.  Most of my time is spent trying to pick up your figures so I don't step on them.

For Christmas, you got a pink Barbie house, which is another toy getting thrown into the rotation.  You have decided to name your Ken dolls Speeder, John Handsome, and Nickel.  I've only heard one Barbie have a name, and that was Sylvia.

You play Wii games with your dad, and you both yell at the screen, though you have no idea what you're yelling or what it means--you just want to be like him.  Games are some of your favorite things.  We've played Candyland, Chutes and Ladders, Pretty Pretty Princess, Tic-Tac-Toe, and more.  However, you're infamous for scattering pieces all over the house, so we rarely have all the parts we need to play!  Recently, you've started playing Scrabble with us in a modified way.  And you win, because you're definitely a better speller than we are.  Or at least better than your dad, for sure.

I keep thinking that you're growing out of the dress-up phase, but then you see Brynn dressing up and your interest is high again.  The two of you play together and fight together.  I enjoy watching you girls play your made-up games (like "Gifts" and "Princess Party") that have rules only the two of you understand.  And you love your baby brother so much, too.  You're constantly telling him, "I'm right here, buddy.  It's okay, I'm right here."  He calms down when you talk to him or rub his head.  Since he was born, you've spent hours reading him books and giving him toys.  You're such a big help to me.

When you grow up, you say you want to be a chef, a nature photographer, a veterinarian, a doctor, a teacher, a scientist, and a dancer.  You spend lots of time cooking, taking pictures, exploring, experimenting, and dancing, so I have no doubt that you could do all of those things.

You're in a phase of making up jokes, too...except that the punchline is almost always, "Because he was eating beans!!!"  And then, there's your famous one of, "Why did the flower die in the spring?  Because he wasn't a flower at all; he was candy!" 

Uhm...you might might want to work on those.  Not sure you're quite getting the concept of a joke.  And you're funny enough without trying.

You give us so much joy and make us laugh all the time. 

"Reach for the stars, but watch your head!"

"God said, 'Wake up and eat marshmallows.' And we woke up and ate them.  And it was good."

"Oh, really?  I just moved here  from Botswana!"

Pineapple pizza, celery, carrots, apples, peanut butter sandwiches, and chicken nuggets are foods I can always get you to eat. I still water down your juice, but you remind me that you don't want to drink much of it because it has sugar...though you don't seem to mind sugar in the form of candy or cake.

You're a wonderful artist, and your various drawings (especially of rainbows) cover our fridge, art display board, and walls.

I want to remember you as you are at this moment, but I am also excited to watch you grow and accomplish all the things I know you will.  You are kind, funny, thoughtful, compassionate, creative, and determined.  You are the most precious five year old I know.

When all this ice and snow melts, we'll have a Strawberry Shortcake birthday party for you on Sunday, and everyone there will love you and tell you that these five years with us has been the best five years of their lives, just like they have been for your daddy and me.  May you have many, many more years of living life to the fullest.  I am proud to have given birth to you, and I will spend my life in awe of all that you are.

I love you more than you'll ever know.

Love,

Mom

Wordless Wednesday

I've seen several blogs lately doing "Wordless Wednesday," which is where you post a picture that pretty much sums up your week.  So I decided that today, since I don't have much to say, I'm all over this.  But you know me, I can't be completely wordless!  I'll just say that this is my eldest, Julia, at our recent parents' night at her ballet/tap class.  And I am the proudest Mama in the world.