Kenna the Kindergarten Kid

Basically, my sister, Amber, doesn't know how I sleep at night because of the supposed guilt I should feel over not yet posting about my baby's first day of school.

Show's how much she knows...I've been sleeping like a log.

But seriously, my baby started full-day real school this year. Wa-hoo! I mean, isn't that wonderful?

Now, you must know that I love my baby as no one else on the earth can, but between you and me, dear friend and devoted reader, the child is a pill. She's bossy, moody, and opinionated. And she loves her mom, a characteristic she shows through her ultra-clingy-ness to me.

Once upon a time, I had another five-year-old who often acted like the kind of kid only a mother could love. Said child happily went to Day #1 of kindergarten but came home disgruntled with the fact that Mommy was not seen for such a length of time. Taking said child to the classroom in the morning on subsequent days of school was met with screams, cries, tears (from both of us), tantrums, physical restraints by school counselors, aides and teachers (just the child this time) and the like.

It wasn't pretty.

Having lived through that, I decided to go about Mackenna's entrance into the public school system with a new approach, one of the hands-off variety. I realized that Marlee, a first grader, had to wait in the same line as the kindergarten kids and that she knew exactly where Kenna's class was, as is had been her classroom last year. You see where I'm going with this?

That's right: I pawned off a potentially unpleasant parenting task onto the shoulders of my six-year-old.

And you know what? It worked like a charm.

Mackenna didn't cry. I didn't cry. It was win/win! We've never had an ugly scene where it's taken 5 adults to hold onto my screaming child while I race, crying, from the building. Because I've never walked in there. She's never expected me to walk her in to her desk because I haven't ever done it.

Now, I know that this decision might make me seem heartless and indifferent, but I am pretty pleased with how it's all worked out.

And Mackenna is one of only two of my kids who hasn't cried for days the first week of school. And believe you me, that is a little miracle in an of itself!

Here's a shot of my new school girl at home before the trek to school:


And here are Kenna and her Teense as they walk:


See? Teensy had it all under control.

Our Little June Vacation

Dear friend and devoted reader, things have certainly picked up here at the Hunter house in the past few months. My Michael left his place of employment of the past 7 years and started a new job. He also applied to, got accepted to, and started graduate school. We thought we were busy before, but things have certainly been crazier than ever these past couple of months.

Allow me to brag a little: My Michael, smartypants that he is, got himself into a pretty good graduate program. He is now working on getting a Masters of Science in the Management of Information Technology from the University of Virginia's McIntire School of Commerce (say that ten times fast--I dare you). The program is geared toward working professionals and is an accelerated program. He'll have his M.S. in M.I.T. completed next August. Wa-hoo!

Now, he doesn't go to class for an hour or two every Tuesday/Thursday or Monday/Wednesday nights; instead he goes a couple of Saturdays a month, a l l d a y l o n g. Usually. In June, he had to report to the campus in Charlottesville, VA for two weeks straight.

Instead of having him drive home Saturday morning and head back to school again Sunday night, we decided to turn a weekend in Virginia into a family mini-vacation. The kids and I had never been to Charlottesville and we thought it would be a great chance to be together without a ringing kitchen telephone and the responsibilities of home.

After Teensy played in her All-Star baseball game, I loaded up the kids and drove to the hotel where my Michael had been staying. We piled into the hotel room and hit the ground running in the morning.

After a yummy breakfast at a little corner deli, Michael gave us a tour of the University of Virginia's campus. I really thought the campus was beautiful. I am a sucker for brick and the red brick buildings with large white columns surrounded by all the lush greenery sure made for a pretty, pretty campus.


After touring the campus, we headed out to Thomas Jefferson's plantation, Monticello. I have heard many wonderful reviews of other people's visits to Monticello, so I was totally excited to go. My kids weren't sure why they were going to visit some dead guy's house, but Mason quickly became a believer. He found the estate fascinating.
Check out how big the stump of this tree is! Our entire family could have fit inside.

It was a super hot day and Mackenna, especially, started to melt (emotionally and physically) but I think everyone had fun. Monticello has a special family-friendly tour and our tour guide was very good at trying to do hands-on activities to interest the children. There is also a children's Discovery Room with all manner of hands-on exhibits that our kids didn't want to leave!

Teensy and Kenna both loved playing house in the slave quarters of the Discovery Room. I tried to tell them that the real slaves had to sleep on the floor, work all day, etc. but the girls thought it all looked great to them!

Maia had fun working on a loom.

Here's Mason writing with a quill. He was supposed to write his name, but he wrote his catchphrase, "I like pie," instead.

I would love to go back sometime with my Michael to do the regular tour and to visit all the nooks and crannies our kids were too pooped to explore. The scenery around the house itself was stunning; I can only imagine how beautiful all those trees are in the fall!

I will say this: I cannot quite figure out Thomas Jefferson. Certainly, he was a genius innovator. And he no doubt had some great ideas and believed in America. I just don't know how to reconcile all that with the slaves and the slave mistress thing. It boggles my mind.

Anyway, I am glad we got to steal this little weekend away. With all of my Michael's church, work, and now school responsibilities pulling him away and me running kids to piano and baseball back in June, it was awesome to just get away from it all and spend time together as a family.

The Room of Shame No More

For years, my Michael has called our bedroom "The Room of Shame." It's always the last room I clean when I clean the house and sometimes (most times/almost all the time--don't judge me) I run out of steam so I don't really do a good job. I have always shut the door to our room when people are coming over because, in truth, I have always been ashamed of anyone seeing what a disaster zone hides behind that door.

My Michael has complained to me, "It just seems like you take anything you don't want people to see and you shove it in our room." BINGO! "That's because that's what I do," I have responded.

In my defense, even when my room was picked up and organized it was nothing to look at--with its four different colors of mismatched adolescent furniture, its flat white walls and its general blah-ness. I never took any pride in my room.

Well, dear friend and devoted reader, I decided to make some changes around here in the master bedroom department.

My Michael had to go away for two weeks and I thought I'd give our bedroom a make-over while he was gone. I thought I'd change everything he hated about our room and even some things he'd never mentioned. In short, I thought I'd play HGTV (one of my favorite pastimes).

When I went to take some "before" pictures, I thought I'd leave things as messy as they were so that the after would look all the more dramatic. Looking back, I see that step was completely unnecessary and I'm more than a little embarrassed to show you the grossness that was my master suite, but alas, that's what I get, I guess.

Without further ado, I present the Before and the After of our space:

Do you like how I didn't even shut the dresser drawers to snap the photo? Cuh-lassy! And do you think we have enough books?

This is my Michael's awesome hand-me-down dresser. The last owner of this small wonder was a two year-old girl, hence, the tulip shaped drawer pulls.


Here is the new view of my side of the room. What? You think this looks better? I mean, it's basically the same, right?



This is my Michael's grown up big boy dresser! Isn't it pretty? And don't you love how Maia's copper embossed art project from school matches the room and looks great in the space? I know I do!

Now, dear friend and devoted reader, please don't think that the Hunter children will not be able to go to college just because their parents now have a decent space in which to lay their weary heads. 'Tis not so!

I'm nothing if not thrifty and I stuck to a pretty tight budget to pull off this spousal surprise. I scored both of the new dressers and the lamps for free, thanks to a friend who wasn't using them to do anything other than gather dust in her basement. I bought the new, slim bookshelf off of Craigslist. I stumbled upon some bi-fold doors at the thrift store and was able to quickly turn them into an easy headboard. Several cans of spray paint made all my "new" furniture match, if not in style at least in color. I got my pretty coverlet (the first bedspread I've ever bought for my bed) on sale at Target and I sewed my accent pillow shams and bed skirt one late night with Kendra (my sewing machine). So, you see, not bad at all. We won't be eating beans until Christmas because of my room redo!

And my Michael? Let's just say that sometimes I catch him up there just staring, enjoying the adult retreat he's always wanted our bedroom to be. (And it's never been messy for even 30 seconds since I did it nearly two months ago. I won't let one misplaced item mar its peaceful beauty.)

Ew! Gross! Yuck!

List of disgustingly gross parasitic and/or viral ailments from which one or more of my beautiful children has suffered:

Warts? Check.

Molluscum? Check.

Toenail fungus? Check.

Athlete's foot? Check.

Pinworms? Check.

Lice? Check.

Frankly, I thought the pinworms were the worst thing in the world. But hand on heart, I'd rather deal with the ick-factor of pinworms every month for the rest of my life than deal with the combo ick- and endlessly-pick factors of lice one more time.

It's nearly done me in, but I am winning. Some little parasites think that they are going to compromise my daughters' heads? Think again, little suckers (no pun intended).

Comics

As a general rule, I don't like comics. I just don't think they're funny.

My Michael loves comics. Early in our marriage he would snuggle with his mistress (The Washington Post) on Sunday afternoons and become amused. Invariably, he would try to share the source of his amusement with me, his beloved wife. Almost without fail the conversation would go something like this:

My Michael: Seriously, Hon, just read this one comic. You've got to like this one.

Me (rolling my eyes): You know I'm not going to like it. I just don't think comics are funny.

My Michael: Come on! Read it.

Me: Fine. (Silently read comic.) Here's your paper back, Jorge.

My Michael: That's it? Come on! That was funny!

Me: I guess I just don't get it.

My Michael: See...this guys does this and then that guy says that. See?

Me: Yeah, I see, I just don't see how it's funny.

My Michael (rolling his eyes): Fine.

Thankfully for my Michael, he has passed the comic gene on to our children and they now chuckle together on Sunday afternoons. I'm fine with that. I, the non-comic-loving wife can happily abstain from comic reading and my comic-loving husband has learned to leave me alone about it (for the most part).

Until now.

Or recently, I should say. My darling Michael has started to write comics. Naturally, I can't politely refuse to read them.

Sometimes, they are a little "comic-y" but several times I have actually genuinely laughed at them.

I even have a hands-down favorite! Can you guess which one it is? Check out the whole she-bang here: http://sticky-comic.blogspot.com

Twelves

Good things come in sets of twelve. Here are my top-rated "Dozen Delights."

#4 Roses
Here in America, we like our thorny friends in neat bundles of a dozen (or a half, but that's only half as good). I appreciate the scent of a bunch of these fragrant blossoms. While one smells good, twelve smell so much better!

#3 Donuts

I might enjoy a Boston Creme from my old pal, Dunkin', every now and again. They go down really easily, if you know what I mean. And in my family of six, getting donuts by the dozen just makes sense.

#2 Eggs
Now, I'm not a huge lover of eggs for the sake of eggs. Once in a while I'll get a good hankerin' for scrambled eggs, but by and large I leave eggs alone. Except when I'm baking. Then, the three dozen eggs in my fridge and I are BFFs. How could I make brownies without them? Or cookie dough? My kitchen without eggs? Perish the thought!

But the Number One thing I adore that has, thus far, come into by life by the dozen, is...

#1 Years of Marriage to My Michael


Last year for Christmas/my birthday he booked us a little getaway at at charming Bed and Breakfast in Hershey, PA. And he arranged for the childcare! While we were in Hershey we went to "The Hershey Story," a new museum and learned all about Milton S. Hershey's life and more about the chocolate making process. We even got to participate in a class at "The Chocolate Lab." Now, I'm not trying to brag, but not just anyone can wear a plastic apron and a hair net and rock the look quite as well as my love and I can.

A Boy, a Pipe and a Wizard

My boy's asthma symptoms have laid dormant for the better part of six years. Until now. Ironically, with the onset of paranoia surrounding The Disease Formerly Known as Swine Flu and the evidence that those with respiratory problems are hardest hit by its devastating effects, Mason has started wheezing again. Last week, our pediatrician told us it was time to dust off the ol' nebulizer and open up this kid's airways. Wonderful.

As a toddler, Mason hated his breathing treatments. It didn't matter that the mask was shaped like a fish or that his mom would hold and soothe him for the duration of time it took to inhale all his steroids, he screamed like a banshee.

Who knew that this tendency for nebulizer-induced drama would not be outgrown by age nine?

Frankly, I could go for some doctor-recommended breaks where I had to sit down and breathe deeply, but Mason doesn't care for his twice-a-day regiment.

I have discovered two ways to ease his grumbling about his time on the couch. First, I tease him about his smoking habit. The mouthpiece kind of looks like a pipe and when he exhales, all the vapor comes billowing out. I playfully scold him that we don't believe in smoking and that it is not good for his body. Usually, this wins me a smirk or smile.

The other weapon in my arsenal is one Master Harry Potter. We've been plugging away through Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix for a while and having to sit down a couple of times a day has given us the chance to make a little more progress each day. Mason insists that the treatment time is shorter when we read Harry Potter. I know the amount of time is the same, but if it makes things more enjoyable for my poor wheezing boy, I'm all for it!

I just hope we can get his breathing under control before that sneaky H1N1 worms its way into our home.