The Farm Report

Category: mumbling

  • I hear it’s called “snow”

    I hear it’s called “snow”

    It is clearly not going to be a winter of snow drifts and cozy days off school.

  • December 8th

    December 8th

    If I continue to not change the calendar, time stands still, right?

  • Winter

    Winter

    This was our week to talk about winter at school. We were going to catch snowflakes, put ice under the stereoscope, take macro snowflake photos, and all sort of other neat things.

    Instead we discovered that there are bulbs coming up in the side yard.

  • World 8

    World 8

    A certain 6-year-old just finished Super Mario 3D Land. The whole thing.

    I can’t decide whether to be proud or super afraid. 

  • Spa bliss and the Dark Side

    Spa bliss and the Dark Side
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    The kids got haircuts today.

    Ellery crawled into our bed sometime in the middle of the night. At around 6:00am I awoke to someone excitedly whispering in my ear, “We’re getting haircuts today!”

    This girl was born for the spa. She’s been excited about this day for a week. I think haircut day trumped both Thanksgiving celebrations. When we arrived, she settled into the chair like she owned the place, and never stopped smiling.

    In between haircuts and the Muppets (YAY!) with Chris, we killed a little time at the Lego store. On our way through the mall we ran into the Dark Side. A certain six-year-old was impressed.

    As for the movie, I got a bit teary-eyed as they sang the opening sequence, my own children the same age as when I first dicovered the Muppets. That’s all kinds of full-circle awesome.

    (Unlike this post, which is all kinds of scattered and disjointed.)

  • Crossing over

    Crossing over

    I looked up this evening, and saw a teenager sitting a the kitchen table, earbuds in, listening to her music while drawing.

    We’re leaving those baby days behind, aren’t we?

    (Crappy, no-light photo saved by B&W.)

  • Please remember

    Please remember

    I often think about what advice I will pass on to my children. Of course, I have plenty to say, but I don’t want to be that overbearing mother, so I’m trying to whittle it down over the years to just a few choice nuggets.

    Today I’m offering up one which applies if my children choose to go the road of parenthood. But it’s kind of a doozy, so you might want to get a strong cup of coffee or a glass of wine or something.

    Ready?

    So here it is: your child is not perfect.

    Your child, more than likely, is not in the 99th percentile—of anything. Your chances of that are slim. Take a moment to do the math.

    Some of us have children for whom this is obvious.

    They look different. Or sound different. They don’t say or do the right things. They struggle when everyone else is effortlessly flying by. All their Stuff is painfully worn on the outside for all the world to see. And the world sees, yes, they do.

    But most of us have the other kind of children.

    They’re as cute as a button. They do well in class. They usually remember their homework, even though they have to be reminded some of the time. They say please and thank you. Sure, they make some mistakes, but doesn’t everyone? We smile and call these teachable moments.

    If you are the parent for whom your child’s Stuff is on the outside, I wish I could hug you all the way from here. I wish I could tell you it’s all going to get better, but the truth is there’s a chance it will be like this forever. While that’s a hard pill to swallow, it’s not as bad as you might think. For you, many of the cards are on the table. You’ve already made peace with the fact that the child you hold in your arms is not the one you imagined back when you were simply anticipating their arrival. But I’m going to bet that you fiercely love the child you have. And odds are, they are wonderful in ways you never would have imagined. You just have to admire the view from a few steps to the left.

    If you are one of the other parents—you have some hard work ahead of you.

    Yes, you.

    We all think our children are perfect. We know they are beautiful. We firmly believe they belong in the gifted program. We suspect they just might be the most talented player on the team.

    But when the test scores come home, and they don’t meet our expectations, we wave our fists and complain about the schools. When the basketball team doesn’t do well enough, we grumble about the bad coaching and the disorganized program. When your child makes bad choices, or doesn’t get enough attention, or veers down a path of which we don’t approve, we blame those Other kids. You know, those ones with their Stuff on the outside.

    But the thing so many parents don’t realize is that all kids have Stuff. And it will take you some time—decades maybe—but you will realize that the child you hold in your arms is not the one you imagined back when you were simply anticipating their arrival. They might be a mediocre student or a terrible basketball player. They might not agree with your ideologies. At some point, every child is going to lay their cards on the table, and I guarantee, some of them are going to be real zingers.

    Even if it takes some time, I hope you will love the child you have. I hope you will allow them to be miserable at one thing but outstanding at another, even if it’s completely upside down and backwards from the way you had imagined. I hope you will hug them and hold them and tell them that, while you might not understand, you will always love them. I hope, before you blame someone else for your child’s missteps, that you consider the idea that maybe, just maybe, the crux of the problem is that your child is not perfect.

    And you know what? That’s okay.

    It’s really, truly okay.

    I promise.

  • Simplifying

    Simplifying

    When we had our third child, people would ask if the addition made things much harder. My honest answer was that the baby was a challenge, but it was the laundry that was killing us.

    Now that I’ve gone back to work, I have a similar answer. I feel as though I’m getting into my groove at school, but, again, the laundry might do us in. When we get behind, the laundry accumulates in depressing piles in the kids’ bedrooms or in the mudroom. When we’re all caught up, their tiny closets are bursting at the seams.

    As I contemplated the switch to fall clothes, I hatched a plan. We would provide each child with five pairs of pants and ten tops. Pants would be neutral and tops could offer color and fun. As the kids are still at the age where they let me do the shopping (those days are numbered), I would take into account everyone’s favorite colors and styles. This should be plenty as, just like adults, kids tend to wear only a certain percentage of their wardrobe.

    I won’t even begin to go down the road of commenting on the state of the children’s fashion industry, as enough folks have done that recently. But let me just say that in order to complete this task, I had to shop at seven different stores. Mostly online. And that factored in several hand-me-downs and things that still fit from last season.

    Today, I pulled the trigger on the plan, and purged and restocked the closets. I left a few short sleeve shirts and shorts for the occasional summer-ish days that remain. But otherwise? Things in their closets are deliriously simple.

    Now if only I could look at my own closet through a similar lens…

  • Back

    Back

    Whew. That was quite a month.

    We passed the state inspection, the paperwork ducks are in a row, all the furniture was moved in, decorating occurred, pencils were sharpened, and the first week has come and gone.

    I’m officially a preschool teacher.

    I’m tired, but it is good. I think it will take a while to get into the groove, both at school and at home. There’s a new rhythm to be established, and routines to be learned.

    In the meantime, I’m miserably behind on blogging. I did take a few photos in the past 40 days, but it’s going to take me a while to catch up. Expect some backposting, but also moving forward. On all fronts.

     

  • Weeklong hiatus

    Today begins a weeklong blog hiatus, where I desperately attempt to finish my last Montessori assignments, allowing me to go on vacation guilt-free.

    It’s kind of like finals week, but instead of drinking or sleeping during my breaks, I take care of small children.