My little girl was about 7 or 8, I think, in this picture.

Today my darling little girl started her last semester in college. In about months, she will have her BA in English Lit, and God willing, will have a job working in publishing. I’m so proud of her.

Here she is at The Londoner celebrating her 22nd birthday.

Going over Noah’s backpack, I see he got marked down in conduct for saying, “What the heck” in class. I asked him why he said it, and he said:

“Trinity was looming over me and I said, ‘What the heck?’”

“She was looming??” He got mad at me and said, “You don’t get it.”

“No, I do and I am so proud of you for knowing the word ‘looming’ and using it correctly.”

He’s nine and said, “She was looming.” Who cares about getting marked down in conduct when my little boy with Central Auditory Processing Disorder used the word looming correctly?

——

Later, we were getting in the car to head out to school. Noah has his own planet, Treenix, and has a made up language, Foo Language, that the people on Treenix speak. It tends to be a lot of baby talk type sounds – merp, ferb, meep, barm – stuff like that.

As we were getting in the car, he said, “Marmer harmer. That means, okay, Mommy.”

I said, “How do you say Mommy in Foo Language?”\

“Harmer. Daddy is Darmer.”

“Why does he get a D and I get an H? Is it ‘harmer’ because I’m mean?”

“There’s actually a G in it but it’s silent.”

——————

So, see why I’m laughing today??

A few days ago, we were all in the car coming home from church. This is a pretty rare thing. Not coming home from church. Or going to church, for that matter.

No, usually the whole family isn’t in the car together. Our daughter has her own car and her own apartment, so usually, she’s driven to church by herself or she leaves with her grandparents because we’re all going to end up there anyway and we just need to go home and change.

This day was unusual. We were having company at the time the rest of the family usually goes to church so we went early.

Anyway, as we were driving home, Noah said that some of the kids in his class at school asked him if he was Italian.

This seems to me, based on my admittedly limited experience, a standard Catholic school question. My daughter was asked if she was Irish or Italian. (Neither – she’s Scandinavian. We’re converts so we don’t fit the “cradle Catholic ethnic mold.”)

So, he asked us what to say when he’s asked that question.

Well, clearly he’s black, but it is an interesting question and not an easy one as he was adopted by us when he was 8 weeks old. He has no memory of his “other family” nor any memories of any “heritage” before ours.

Now, in a diverse environment like his school, which is mostly white but with a decent showing of other races, it should be clear that he’s not Italian or Irish or whatever, but he’s in third grade and how aware are kids at this age?

I said, “Sweetie, your mom is half Scandinavian. Your dad is half Scandinavian, and your sister is half Scandinavian. If you want to tell people you’re Scandinavian, I’m totally okay with that.”

What do you think?

My husband is on a business trip and will be out of town until Sunday. Life tends to loosen up a bit when he’s gone. I suspect some things slide when I go away, too, but he won’t admit to that. More ice cream and pizza in the freezer when I get home tell a different story, however.

Not the point.

Anyway, last night Noah was playing Lego Star Wars on the Wii. He’d been grounded from the game for some time because of grades and behavior but so far this school year he’s got an A in math, so I let him play.

It was bedtime and he was playing. I told him it was time to brush his teeth and stuff, but he did his normal, “I’m almost done, Mom.” I know because I get addicted to games, too, that this means, “Leave me alone for another hour or whatever.”

I sat and watched for a bit and he insisted that he just needed to get to ONE PLACE and he’d finish that section or the game or something.

I decided to let him go for a bit, but it became clear that he couldn’t figure out the last piece to the puzzle and it was getting very late.

I told him Daddy wouldn’t be happy and he’d have to figure out the rest the next day. He was frustrated anyway and as he huffed into the bathroom to brush his teeth, he asked me to find out who made that game and tell him that it was impossible to finish.

I put him to bed and went back to my desk to work for a bit. After a few minutes I heard a random noise or two coming from the living room area.

We have a guinea pig who sometimes chews on the bars of his cage or knocks his dish over so I thought maybe that’s what I heard.

The second time I heard something, I started out toward the living room. I could see a reflection in a window of Noah moving around. He turns the sound down and leaves all the lights off so as not to alert any parents that he’s out of bed.

WHen I confronted him, he said, “I figured it out!” Apparently as he lay in bed after prayers, he’d figured out what the last piece of the puzzle was.

He happily handed over the controller after I told him I’d let his score finish tallying and ran back to bed.

My son, the gamer!

Parents know there are some milestones your child will go through. You might not expect that sometimes they feel like walking through a door that slams shut behind you and you can never go back.

First words.

First steps.

Start of school.

Those are things we expect and sometimes look forward to. They’re signs that our child is growing up and moving from a baby dependent upon us for everything to a maturing child who begins to love us not because he or she needs us but because they CHOOSE to love us.

It’s pretty awe inspiring.

Then there are unexpected milestones that not only slam a door behind us but smack us in the face as we walk right into them, not even realizing they were coming.

I hit one of those yesterday.

It was the first day of school and as usual, the principal said it was perfectly okay for parents to walk their child or children to their classrooms. Noah said he didn’t need us to do that.

I said fine. If he wanted to be a big kid, then I would totally respect that. He did change his mind when we got to the school and no one else was just dropping their kids off.

However, that wasn’t the milestone. That came later.

He’s been going to this school for four years. I get how carpool works. I know when to leave the house to get my favorite spot (someone’s unsecured wifi reaches the street there and I can use my computer to surf or chat or research something for my book). I got this.

I even was so together this year that I had his supplies labeled as the teachers asked and all that. I figured I was going to be able to hold things together this year.

Pride goeth before a fall, baby.

I got to carpool yesterday and sat in my car, a little behind where I usually sit, but it was okay. When the line began to move, I noticed it was a little slower than last year, but I figured new moms and we had to get back into a routine.

I got to the pickup line and they called his name.

He wasn’t there.

The teacher or mom who was helping asked me if he was in third grade. I said yes and she told me he was in the OTHER carpool line now!

The big kids’ line! The one I don’t know how to work.

I drove around to find that the line was extended farther back than I had anticipated and I ended up “butting” in as I came from a side street into the line.

Now, I don’t know when to leave the house or any of that, but the bigger thing to me is, he’s in the big kid line!!!

This school goes from kindergarten to 8th grade, so I had anticipated another year or so before he’d move. I thought they stayed in the “Front” carpool line until 4th grade, at the very earliest.

Nope.

Today we drove to the front line with no problems, but I’ll have to see how it works this afternoon.

I think I hear a door slamming somewhere.

Yesterday afternoon, I “introduced” Noah to a bunch of toys he hadn’t played with since he discovered the “joys” of the DVD player and Netflix Instant Queue, not to mention the Wii.

He went nuts, and I had to put new batteries in a very annoying truck that makes obnoxious sounds when you push buttons, but it was not a problem for me. I would rather have those sounds filling the house than him sitting on the couch watching old Power Ranger episodes over and over.

So this morning, after he finally got his breakfast eaten, he got out his trucks again and came into the room where his dad and I were and said, “Mom, where’s the screwdriver?”

Dad: Why do you want the screwdriver?

Noah: I want to play.

Me: Your VBS shirt is in the dryer. Get dressed.

A few minutes later (he’s not dressed).

Noah: I need the screwdriver.

Dad: You’re not going to play with the screwdriver.

Me: No. He wants it to take off the back of some toy to put batteries in.

Dad: Oh. Noah, get dressed.

Dad headed off to the Y to lift weights.

Me: Noah, did you take your medicine?

Noah: I need the screwdriver. You don’t want me sitting, just watching TV, do you?
( so proud – he gets blackmail at the tender age of nine.)

Me: get dressed.

Noah: I think you have to help me. I don’t know where my shirt is.

Me: (I just got my mouth open)

Noah: Wait. I know. You told me. It’s…

Me: In the dryer.

A moment later, he has his shirt on but hasn’t changed his pajama pants.

I’m glad he’s playing and I think I can tune the obnoxious sounds out. But taking him to Bible School in his pajamas won’t work.

We’re doing Vacation Bible School at our church this week and as always, I am the Drama Leader. I get to ham it up and act totally loony all in the name of Jesus. I absolutely love it. Of course, I’m exhausted when I get home and this year I’ve taken a pain pill each day at lunch as by the time I come home my back, feet and hip are hurting.

Today we did the story of Elijah and the 450 prophets of Baal. I got to tell the kids that I wanted to sacrifice a bull but Father Tom wouldn’t let me. (Yesterday, which was about creation, I told them I wanted to set off explosions and have the ocean roll through the classroom but the principal said no.)

Anyway, at the beginning of my class, the kids meet me outside the room, and I do a little opening to get the ready for the presentation.

Today I asked if they could tell me a character they see on TV that they KNOW is Absolutely Fake. The notes used SpongeBob for instance.

I got Barbie and Iron Man and Spiderman and SpongeBob. My darling son said, “Doctor Who.” I love that my boy knows the Doctor isn’t real!

However, two of the junior helpers, who looked like they were in high school, turned to each other and said, “Who’s Doctor Who?”

That’s just so sad.

This is a busy day for my son.

As a normal 9-year-old boy who had ADHD, summer can be hard on my darling Noah. This is the first year he’s actually had friends who knock on the door asking if “Noah can come out and play,” and for that I’m totally grateful. Last summer was rough as he spent whatever time wasn’t crammed with activity (and only so much he wants to do with me) sitting in front of the TV staring at whatever the video of choice was.

I signed him up for soccer camp which is this week. It’s his third year doing it and he enjoys it. He’s also taking swimming lessons which started last week and are this week, too. AND he’s doing summer basketball at the Y, his second time doing it.

So, today has an unusual confluence of events that he had soccer this morning, and at 4 he has swimming and at 6-8 basketball.

I picked him up from soccer and was actually delighted to see that his shirt was dirty and sweaty and his face had dirt and mud on it. He played hard!

I’d promised him a trip to Chick-fil-a after soccer and as we walked to the car after camp, I asked him if he still wanted to go there. He said he was starving, so yes.

Noah: “Can we get milkshakes after with your money? I’m trying to save up for a Mustang.” (see previous posts about his Mustang obsession)

Me: “Well, I’m trying to save my money, too, you know.”

Noah: “But you have a job and get more money.”

Me: “I don’t have a job.”

Noah: “You should take a job, Mom. Then you can get one dollar, two dollars, three dollars.”

If you’ve read much of this blog, you know that I feel lost most of the time when it comes to my kids’ schools.

Well, turns out that I’m apparently confused in the rest of my life, too.

Every year, I sign my son up for swimming lessons at the local YMCA. He LOVES the water and LOVES to swim. (A neighbor once suggested that we didn’t adopt him but found him washed up on the beach or something.)

EVERY year, I forget to write down the week that his lessons were, so I called the Y and asked. When they told me, I realized that there was going to be a conflict with his soccer camp (which runs from 9-12 every day) next week. I told them that the second week of his lessons would conflict so they nicely said I could keep the same weeks, but change the time to 4 pm from 10 am.

Okay, so the lessons started the day after Memorial Day, Tuesday, so we went to the pool at 3:45 pm. At around 4, the lifeguard asked if we were here for lessons and his name.

Turns out they didn’t have him listed for this week at any time! However, they had a class he could join. I asked the lifeguard if I’d screwed up and brought him to the wrong class. She said it didn’t matter because he would fit right in with a class already scheduled at 4 for his age. She suggested that maybe because the time was changed, that information was never conveyed to the right person.

The woman I talked to a couple of weeks ago did say she was going to have to write a note about Noah changing his time, so maybe, regardless of how this all looks, it wasn’t me who was confused this time!

My son is OBSESSED with Mustangs (the car).

Whenever we’re driving, he points out every single one that passes us.

I drove my husband to the airport for a business trip and our son was in the backseat. I was telling my husband about the bank his father had given The Boy and that The Boy was saving up for a Mustang and had asked me how much one cost.

Me: I told him it was a couple of thousand dollars.

Steve: You mean a couple of tens of thousands of dollars.

Me: It doesn’t matter to him. He’s nowhere close to having even one thousand dollars.

Noah: Well, I will be getting a Mustang soon, you know.

Me: Soon? Really? How do you figure that?

Noah: I am almost 16.

Me: You’re almost 16?

Noah: Yeah. Look, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17…16…see? I’m almost 16.