The Graduate

What a week!

The convergence of finishing the last week of school, buying and baking teacher gifts, dealing with Terminix (termites having been swarming in my kitchen on and off for two weeks, which has been totally awesome), coping with the stress of summer camp cabin placements, and suffering from some crazy-ass PMS (my apologies) has been about as traumatic as when I went for my 37-week checkup when I was pregnant with Dylan and my doctor told me I had preeclampsia and needed to go straight to the hospital for a c-section, except that Mike and I were supposed to go to his office holiday party that night, I was supposed to get a haircut the next morning, I hadn’t stopped working yet, I’d just eaten a turkey sub (epidural would have to wait 8 hours), I had no bag packed and no birth plan whatsoever, Harry was at Petco getting groomed, and there was a full moon (and thus every Tom, Dick, and Harry was going to have a baby that night).

It. Was. Nuts.

This week has been pretty nutty, too, but in the middle of all the chaos (and PMS-related crying), Dylan, my first baby, graduated from Kindergarten.

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It’s been a monumental year of learning for Dylan.  First and foremost, he learned that recess is the best part of the day.  Less significant (to him, anyway), he learned to read, spell, and add and subtract, and he even knows a little bit about vertices.  That’s right, there’s geometry in the Kindergarten math curriculum.  I predict that I won’t be able to help with his first grade math homework by Thanksgiving.

It’s also been a big year of growing.  Literally.  On graduation morning, I discovered that his pants were a smidge too short.  (Oops.)

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And figuratively.  Dylan has grown this year in ways that will help make him a decent, caring, and giving adult.

A few days ago, Dylan told me about a boy at school who played soccer too rough at recess.  He purposely kicked kids in the legs and threw the ball at Dylan and his friend’s faces.  I said, “That kid sounds like a real piece of…a real piece of…”  I paused for a moment to choose my words wisely when Dylan piped in with, “…shit.  He’s a real piece of shit.”

Isn’t it adorable how we finish each other’s sentences?

Yes, shit is a bad word.  Yes, Dylan said it.  Out loud.  But, we have an understanding.  Helping him recognize the qualities of a good friend – kindness, honesty, trust, empathy, and responsibility – in others and within himself has been backbreaking work this year, and if a little bit of tough (or “shit”) talk helped me get through to him, then so be it.

Dylan had a tough time with one particular boy in his class this year.  I did everything I could to intervene, but no matter what I said or did, Dylan repeatedly made himself vulnerable and got hurt over and over again.  He just didn’t get it.  He didn’t understand that the kid wasn’t a good friend, and it was infuriating!

Let’s face it.  Dylan’s going to encounter mean people at every age and stage of his life.  I’m all grown up (or an “Old Lady” as Riley so lovingly calls me), and I still meet mean people and struggle with friendships – with knowing when they’re authentic (or not), knowing when they’re healthy (or not), and knowing when to hold on to them (or not).

I want to empower Dylan to make smart decisions about with whom he makes friends (and, thankfully, he has some fantastic ones), but that’s a lot for a six-year-old to handle, especially after spending his toddlerhood in an “everyone is your friend” bubble.

A few weeks ago, Dylan came home from school upset because a kid tossed one of his Ninjago swords into the bushes.  I told him that I felt really bad about the situation, but I reminded him that, in the end, he was responsible for his own toys.  I asked him, “Why did you let this kid play with your toys in the first place?”  Silence.  Then crying. “Is this kid a good friend?  Does he care about your feelings?  Does he care if you get hurt?”  More crying.  “Does he care enough about you to be responsible with your toys?  Does he look out for your best interests?”  And more crying.

I lost it.  I said (or perhaps shouted), “Dylan, I have a secret to tell you.  Some people in this world are mean.  I’m all grown up and I meet mean people all the time.  So does Daddy.  It’s sad and it’s disappointing, but some people are just not nice.  Some people are just…they’re just shitty, and this kid at school who threw your toy in the bushes seems like a real shit.  You’re going to meet mean and shitty people all the time, so you have to try your best to surround yourself with nice people who truly care about you.”

Did I go too far?  Probably.  Did I curse a lot?  Yup.  Did I break his innocent little heart?  I think so.  But, did I finally get through to him?  The look on his face told me Y-E-S.

It took almost all of Kindergarten, but Dylan is finally beginning to understand what it means to be a good friend, and I can’t think of a more important lesson for him to carry through his life.

This has been a year chock-full of changes for Dylan, including his pants size!  Fortunately, he’s held on tight to his passion, imagination, and irrevocable ability to live with his big, beautiful, beating heart on his sleeve.  Last year, Dylan announced on his Pre-K graduation video that when he grows up he wants to be a popcorn maker.  (He does love popcorn.)  A year later, he’s a few inches taller, a lot smarter, and gobs wiser, but he’s the same little dreamer, only now he occasionally says “shit,” and per his Kindergarten graduation ceremony slide show, when he grows up he wants to be a sticker book seller.  (He does love sticker books.)

Dream big, Pickle!

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Mama In The Picture!

Off to first grade…

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(And off to Pre-K for the little guy…)

Congratulations to all of your graduates – big and small!

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Rainbow Loony

We arrived fashionably late to the Rainbow Loom party. I don’t why. Or maybe I do.

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When I saw that all of a sudden everyone wanted one, when I began to notice Mamas buying it in bulk, when the looms were banned from school, and when I began receiving emails from toy stores proclaiming “RAINBOW LOOM BACK IN STOCK! HURRY WHILE SUPPLIES LAST!” I wanted more than anything not to have a Rainbow Loom. It should also be noted that it awakened some long-forgotten PTSD symptoms related to the Cabbage Patch Kid invasion of the early to mid 1980s. The lines. The anxiety. The rush. The grabbing. The pushing.

The frenzy.

And then about a month ago, our OT told me how great the loom would be for both boys’ fine motor skills. Yeah, yeah, whatever. And then a few weeks ago, my six-year-old began coming home wearing bracelets that his friends made for him. Aww, how cute. And then a week ago, he said, “Mommy, can I have a Rainbow Loom?” Bugger.

After several days of begging and good behavior (no potty talk for 24 hours!) and after confirming that our local Learning Express had 4,000 looms in stock (WHILE SUPPLIES LAST!), I bought the infamous Rainbow Loom. Actually, I bought two – one for each kid because the thought of them sharing it (i.e. clawing each other’s eyes out over it) was too much to bear.

When we arrived at the toy store, there was a mob of people hovering around an enormous stack of Rainbow Looms. What was the fuss when there were freakin’ 4,000 of them?  Then I looked closer and realized the fuss had nothing to do with the looms. The fuss – the frenzy – was over the rubber bands, the teeny-tiny slingshots that reminded me of the four long years I wore braces…

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Not my mouth…

…and had to be purchased a la carte when the 600 that came with the starter kit ran out, which I naively assumed would take a really long time.

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The whole scene reeked of Cabbage Patch Kids, but the good news was that the starter kit only cost $16.99. Compared to what most piece-of-crap toys cost these days, 17 bucks seemed like a pretty good deal. Oh wait. The rubber band and c-clip refills cost $3.99 per pack, the glow-in-the dark rubber bands cost $4.99 per pack, and I have no idea how much the plastic storage/carrying case cost (PERSONALIZATION AVAILABLE!) because they were OUT OF STOCK! (Thank God.)

After spending a (very) long Memorial Day weekend with the boys’ my new Rainbow Looms, I know a few things for sure:

I’m all in favor of toys that offer a physical, intellectual, and creative challenge, but when a toy requires my constant participation, it earns a spot on my Toys That I Loathe list. The Rainbow Loom, which is geared toward children ages 8+, is difficult for my six-year-old to operate and nearly impossible for my four-year-old to even attempt. Yes, this makes the Rainbow Loom wonderful for their fine motor skills, but it also makes me crucial to the looming process while they develop the strength and coordination to do it on their own. Or not. Why bother if Mommy will do it for us?

On the contrary, being the only human being in the house who can loom a bracelet hasn’t given me any power or leverage. Instead, it’s rendered me a helpless servant. I’ve been propositioned to loom at least a dozen times while sitting on the toilet or handling raw meat, and I’ve been woken up twice before dawn (on the weekend!) by a little person holding a loom and whispering in my ear, “Can you make this bracelet? I’ve been waiting all night.” Really? All night?

While we’re on the subject of ill-timed looming, bracelet making before coffee (a.m.) and before wine (p.m.) should be illegal. Oh, and I should’ve been a surgeon. My hook work is impeccable.

In all honestly, the boys – my older son especially – can do some of the work with a little bit of help. Regrettably, though, “help” is a four-letter word in my house. Me “helping” them loom or them “helping” me loom is about as fun (i.e. infuriating) as letting them “help” me crack eggs.

In addition to my new grueling looming regime, I’ve been ordered to learn how to loom beyond the single pattern bracelet. Yes, my friends, if you want to loom the really cool stuff, you have to watch video tutorials on YouTube or attend in-store workshops (SIGN UP TODAY! CLASS SIZE IS LIMITED! FIRST COME FIRST SERVE!).

Now, as if I don’t have enough crap to hold on to and/or know the whereabouts of, I’m also in charge of keeping track of everyone’s fakakta bracelets. “Where are my bracelets, Mommy?” How the hell do I know!

Speaking of the bracelets, my six-year-old wore at least ten of his my creations to school after the long weekend. When I picked him up at the end of the day, his arm was bare. “What happened to your bracelets?” I asked. “I gave them away,” he said.

He gave them away.

Now we’re back to square one, and we’re dangerously close to running out of the 600 rubber bands that came with the starter kit, which means we’ll need to go back to the toy store and fight the crowds for refills (WHILE SUPPLIES LAST!).

This too shall pass, but, in the meantime, all this looming is making me feel positively loony.

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Filed under toys