A Missed Feast

John and John-Heath in line to eat.

We are not off to such a great start to this Thanksgiving week. John-Heath is sick. Just as Ren and I arrived at the Opryland Hotel yesterday to cheer on my school in the state's Junior Beta Club convention and contests I got a call from John who had just received a call from our son's school. Stomach pains and temp. Luckily, my mom was able to watch him. Her diagnosis at the time (based on his activity at her house) was that he was most definately NOT sick. :>)

With his buddy Wyatt.

When I picked him up, and throughout the rest of the evening, he acted as if he felt fine. But, low and behold, this morning at 5 he climbs in to bed with John and me running what appears to be a fever - a high one. So, he and I stayed home today.

All smiles at the thought of a good meal.

I did think about juicing him up really good with Motrin and sending him on so that he could stay, at least, long enough for the kindergarten feast. But, my more mature, motherly side took over and I knew that would be the wrong thing to do - both to him and all the others in the class. I was sooo looking forward to his little feast, though. I still remember Ren's.

Checking out with Ms. Kim.

Parents send in items for the makings of lunch and the little kiddies in kindergarten make homemade vegetable soup, hoecakes, and fruit salad. All the tables are taken from the individual classrooms and put together in the hall for one long banquet table. Then students, wearing their Indian costumes (made out of pillowcases and construction paper headdresses) or dressed as pilgrims, partake in their bountiful feast. And my little boy missed it. Oh well! At least he was able to be there the day last week when the school held it's annual Thanksgiving lunch.

He began with his chocolate cake. And ate every... last... crumb.

P.S. Had to park AT the hotel yesterday ($18. plus tax). Thanks to the flood that came through in May and a giant chain-link fence we were unable to do as we have done in years past and park at Opry Mills and walk over. And, of course, Opry Mills is still closed (again due to the flooding) so there was no shopping to be done, as well.

The Value of a Handprint

You see this little trunk? You can find these pre-decorated at any crafting or unpainted furniture store for about fifteen bucks. However, their value increases exponentially when adorned with a little primary paint.

This past weekend was the fall carnival at John-Heath’s school. This event is a major fundraising affair for the school and has been done so long it is now tradition. There are games, concessions, hayrides, barrel train rides, an auction and, sometimes, a king and queen contest.

We got there a little late (surprise, surprise) One reason for this was that John-Heath was adamant that we take quarters and so we had to scrounge around for these. “No!,” he said. “We have to take quarters. It takes quarters to buy the tickets!” Now you and I know that they’ll take money in any form or fashion. But when a five year old is told to bring quarters then quarters it must be!

Anyway, he had a good time riding the rides and playing the games (he was quite good at corn hole) and eating a cherry snow cone with one of his best buddies Cooper. I walked with him and John for a while before heading on my own to the cafeteria for the auction.

This year, in addition to all the donated goods from local and not-so-local merchants and citizens, each class had made or arranged for an item to donate. The fourth grade classes made quilts. My nephew’s wife, who happens to be one of the 4th grade teachers, had her students bring in swatches of fabric from home from their old clothing, etc. She gave each one a 10” square and, with the help of parent/grandparent volunteers, she allowed the students to sew their square using her sewing machine. It was a large quilt and turned out just beautiful. It also happened to be the top-selling item at the auction.

The kindergarten classes contributed the aforementioned trunks to the sale. Each child in a class pressed their tiny hand in paint and then stamped it somewhere on the trunk. Each handprint contained their name. To be honest, when I first arrived at the sale I held no pre-conceived notion of bidding on it. I had not even looked at it up close. But the more I stood back and examined it from a distance the more I thought that it would make a sweet storage box for all the little mementos from this, his first year of school. I made my way around to the side and summoned a teacher who was helping with the sale. I asked if she would 1.) check and make sure his print was on it and 2.) tell me where it was located. If his print was on top I would just have to buy it. She did. The imprint of his left hand was on the right side of the trunk. Hmmm. What to do?

The first of the trunks (Ms. Amanda’s class) went up for sale. It brought $76. By this time, I had already convinced myself that I should try to get the one from John-Heath’s class. If I didn’t I would surely regret it, especially if I could get it for $76. Yes, $76 is way too much money to spend on such a cheap little piece of wood so I would just consider this as my donation to the school. The trunk would just be icing on the cake.

As the bid crossed the $100 mark I was beginning to rethink this donation thing. I consider myself a generous person but, as the trees in our yard yield only leaves and nuts, my generosity must have limits. My sense of fiscal responsibility should come first.

I have heard that going to auctions can be addictive. There’s no doubt bidding at auctions can be highly stimulating. I know I felt a certain amount of nervous energy flowing through my veins with each nod of my head toward the auctioneer. I did not look around the room so I had no idea with whom I was competing in this bid for that little white trunk. I told myself that I was being really silly. Quite ridiculous, in fact. I should just go buy a trunk, invite all his class over for a party and paint one myself. But those ole heartstrings kept tugging. I would go to $200 and not a cent more.

At $160 I turned to my dad and asked if I should just up the bid to $200 and try to scare off the other bidder. No, just stay slow and steady. At a $190 bid by the other party I felt a little heartsick (for two obvious, but different reasons). I made my final nod at $195.

Ren thought it was neat that people clapped when the bidding was over and I had won. John told her that people did that because they were thinking Wow! What a dummy! Better her than me. I don’t care though. Yes, economically, it was a poor choice of a purchase. But one of these days, when his hand is much larger and wears a class ring, I’ll still have that little white trunk with his small left hand stamped in green.

And should I ever start to feel too much guilt or be reminded of my purchase by my husband I will kindly remind myself or him that it could have been worse. I could have paid $725 for a quilt.

John-Heath's First Visit to the Principal's Office

Today, when I went to pick up John-Heath I was greeted with some news. As I put my car in park and sat waiting in the car-rider line for him to arrive I saw two of my friends, assistants at the school, walking towards me. These ladies were on a mission. They had a certain gleam in their eyes and a pep in their step. I was certain they had some juicy gossip to lay on my ears. I live in a small town. There's always gossip about something being spread around like fertilizer. And, yes. I have cultivated many a field too. Like I said, it's a small town.

I was mistaken. Oh, they had a story to tell. It just wasn't the type I expected to hear.

Apparently, only one week into his 13 year stint as a student, my son now knows what the inside of the principal's office looks like. No, he wasn't sent there (though that may be in his near future if he doesn't learn to settle his little hyperactive tushy down and pay attention). My son decided to take a tour of it on his own. I'm still a little unclear on all the details but the gist of the story is this...at some point today, as his group was lined up walking somewhere, my little Marco Polo decided to detour from the pack and enter a back door to the office. His little trip took him inside Dr. Stafford's private office where John-Heath located a restroom. Upon opening the door, my son proclaims, "Mr. Principal, you sure do have a nice potty."

I am unsure where the head of the school was when this comment was made, but I am somewhat afraid to ask.


P.S. John-Heath has now decided he wants to be a school principal when he grows up. I guess when he crossed over to the other side today he liked what he saw

Twas the Night Before Kindergarten

'Twas the night before kindergarten...
and as he prepared,
John-Heath was excited and not one bit scared.
He tossed and he turned about in his bed,
while visions of school supplies danced in his head.

-adapted from the book by Natasha Wing

John-Heath is now officially "phased in" and will have his first FULL day of kindergarten tomorrow. His backpack is loaded to the brim with supplies along with two other shopping bags to boot. I know that there are some who complain about shopping for Back-to-School supplies but I have always enjoyed it. Of course, I am one of those people out at 4 in the morning the day after Thanksgiving too.

Here's hoping my little guy - and all the other little guys and gals - have a great year!

Kindergarten, Here He Comes

All smiles - and in need of a haircut.

Greeted by smiling teachers Ms. Debbie and Ms. Kelly.

My sweet baby boy,

Today you started kindergarten. You wore a pair of blue plaid shorts and a white t-shirt with an American flag on it and you were the cutest little boy in all of Tennessee.

One of these days I wonder if you will remember the story I read you last night as you snuggled under your covers, all nice and clean from a bath. In case you don't, it was The Kissing Hand. I bought it for you in honor of this newest milestone in your young life. You listened quietly while I read and enjoyed the story, but you were more excited to finish watching your Shrek DVD.

One of these days I wonder if you will remember how I took your picture in the foyer just like I did last year on your first day of pre-school. You were wearing the same backpack - but it looked a little smaller this year for some reason.

One of these days I wonder if you will remember how we went to daddy's and my school for a few minutes this morning waiting for your day to officially begin. You went to Daddy's classroom, saw inside the nurse's office, and prowled inside Ms. Angie's closet (where you found legos!) before trying on one of her 7th grade desks for size. You still have a few years to go before it fits.

One of these days I wonder if you will remember how you and I sat at one of my library tables where you wrote your name (JohnH) and drew a person and some shapes. You drew the most beautiful oball I have ever seen.

One of these days I wonder if you will remember how you and I drove to your new school and you pointed out just how close our two schools are to each other. And I told you to remember The Kissing Hand if you got nervous or scared (not that I thought for one moment you might).

One of these days I wonder if you will remember how I picked you up at then end of your phase-in session and you proclaimed that you were "so good today".

And will you remember how Pa Gene and Ma-Ma were waiting for us at the middle school after your school day was over and how they took you home, fed you lunch, let you take a nap and then watched you play with your legos the rest of the day?

Today you started kindergarten. You wore a pair of blue plaid shorts and a white t-shirt with an American flag, chocolate milk, pizza, and green beans on it and you were still the cutest little boy in all of Tennessee.

(a.k.a Mommy)

P.S. This post is linking up as a participant in Kevin and Layla's Favorite Blog Posts of 2010 Party over at the Lettered Cottage. It's one of my three most favorite posts I wrote in my first year to blog.

John-Heath's Big Day

John-Heath (center) and two of his buddies. That's Cooper on the right. Until about a year ago John-Heath called him Pooper. They've been together since they were 1 and have what we all like to call a "love-hate" relationship. Their play always turns to fights and when they were small and separated because of this fighting they would cry for each other.

Today I registered my baby boy for Kindergarten. Let me pause for a moment to get a Kleenex. Okay. You still there? Good. Anyway, my baby boy will start kindergarten this upcoming August.

Having scooped out the center of his sausagedog John-Heath finds another use for it - a new nose. I foresee the potential for notes coming home that begin something like..."Mr. and Mrs. Creasy: Today in the cafeteria...."

A quick side story...whenever I call John-Heath my baby or baby boy he replies, "There you go again. You keep calling me a baby boy. I not a baby. Why do you call me your baby?" and I, of course, tell him, "You will ALWAYS be my baby boy".

Each year to welcome the incoming "little fish in a big sea" the school hosts a breakfast for the new arrivals and their parents in which everyone is introduced to the kindergarten staff, expectations, and a school breakfast. John remarked that he wasn't really hungry and I said, "Eat. It's free. Enjoy It. It's free. There's a $60.00 supply fee coming up soon, followed by new school clothes and 13 years of buying magazines, candles, chocolate, and wrapping paper from the school and PTO. This meal? Free. So eat it". Okay, all I really said was, "Eat it. It's free." But I did communicate the rest using my awesome telekinetic powers. Here. I am sending you your very own message right now. Just open your mind to receive it.

Trying to be a good boy. As grace was said over the breakfast he promptly bowed his head and put his little hands together. Then I guess he decided it would be more fun to look around and see what everyone else was up to. I don't guess snapping a picture of him during this time was setting a very good example - although in my defense I didn't even pick up the camera, just slowly moved my hand over on top of it and pushed the button.

For his big day I went equipped with my camera, just as I had 10 years ago when I took Ren to hers. As a two-time veteran of Kindergarten Registration Breakfast Day I can pass along two pieces of advice to you.

*

1.) Make sure the battery in your camera is charged. If this winds up being a problem you have three options...

A. Become ticked off or cry (depending on your personality).

B. Make your husband go tell the newspaper man who is there taking pictures of the event to take a picture of your son and send you a copy (this could work out to your advantage and get your son featured in the paper).

C. Realize you once taught at this school and go find your teaching buddy who always has her camera on hand.

*

In case you are wondering, I am an all-of-the-above kinda girl.

*

2.) Boys and girls are two totally different creatures when it comes to posing for pictures.

Here's how they are different. Girls will. Boys won't.

When Ren registered I was able to take all kinds of pictures of her that day. She and a little friend just hugged and posed. They were two sweet little camera hogs. Today, I'm not sure if I even got one really good shot of John-Heath and some of his little buddies.

Later this evening I asked John-Heath what his faaaavorite part of signing up for kindergarten was and he was quick to say, "cinnamon rolls."

It was a very nice day. Some other things worth mentioning - but it's late so I'll save that for another day. Goodnight, friends.