Hopefully the Baby Didn't Notice

That Patric was as uncomfortable holding a such a small package, as I was once again taking a picture of him doing so.

We're still a little close to those days, and those utterly sleepless nights.

Benjamin Goes to Kindergarten

And my little guys took off for Kindergarten a short 9 weeks ago.

And immediately, like the first day, they were bringing home warning notes--yellow, red, "W" on the calendar.  We became quickly acquainted.

 But Ben's didn't relent. 

And the notes said things like, "Ben is twirling in line."

And after about the third, baddest of the bad red notes saying Ben twirled in line, I started to ignore them. 

But then they started to say that Ben twirled in line AND he put the teacher's aide in danger with his twirling and it was "witnessed".

When that happened, well, then it got interesting.

 I responded in the daily note home, or was it the "Behavior Documentation Chart," or maybe it was straight on the red note, perhaps the weekly report, that Ben would now have strict consequences at home for these notes, so please help us know what is being done to help him stop the blasted twirling in line.

So the teacher called the principal.
And I started meetings with the principal.
And the principal seemed quite normal.

And then the neighbor girl started giving us daily reports on how awful Benjamin was.

And so we had parent/teacher conferences, which were really parent/teacher/principal conferences.
And I expressed that I hoped the smiles Ben had that week on his daily report didn't have to do with this conference coming.
And we expressed that we didn't appreciate getting reports on Ben from the other students.
And we expressed that the whole note system made no sense, and was over the top.
And we expressed that until she gave us an indication that there was anything said to help Ben get better, I would continue to tell him how to get better, and I would continue to write her a note every day telling her my expectations for Ben since none were being provided that we could back up.
And we expressed that the "Behavior Documentation Chart" that she didn't tell Patric about in orientation should have been explained to Ben's father when he asked about it.  That was just a lie.
And as the egg timer beat down its 15 minutes, we got in our last words.
And we expressed all sorts of things in a very calm way.

And he seems to be coming to an understanding with the teacher, which is good, becauseI don't think putting him a different class would be an option.

And yesterday, Ben brought home his very first report card.
He is failing 5 of  7 categories.

But, I feel encouraged because it turns out that the neighbor girl is failing all the same things.

And so I remain convinced that this is not all a Ben problem.
Maybe Ben and neighbor girl and our girls will all go to Kindergarten together next year.

Oddly enough, I have every intention of siding with the teachers throughout my children's education.  But I also learned quickly that sometimes the quivering chin and the huge tears over twirling in line are worth taking a stand for.

Tangled

The plastic trailing out behind her headband, which I had to tape on there after she came up with the idea but it just wouldn't stick is her Rapunzel hair. It would help if she would just stop clopping big chunks of hair off of her head. While a little trim seems to stimulate a little growth, Elaine just can't keep herself from taking big chunks out of her hair with the scissors. She currently looks like she stuck her head in the lawnmower.

Then, she just puts plastic on her head and flies away in a cardboard airplane.

Oh, to be four.

The Game

Wrestle while trying to kiss each other's hands.

The the girls laugh until they can hardly breath.

Eek out this phrase between gasps: "Are you hungry?"

Roll on the floor laughing.

Repeat.

Until you draw blood.

I failed to get a picture of Nicholas' scabbed nose.

The game: brawl.

The Week: Let's Review and Forget

Next week we'll have some long overdue randomness, for now let's enjoy a re-cap of this week...

Being the good mommy that I am, I dismissed Nicholas Monday night at bedtime as delaying when he told me his stomach hurt. I told him if he didn't feel good, he needed to get some sleep. Five minutes later he was in the bathroom throwing up. We were up several times during the night fighting the good fight. Tuesday we hung out together. It was refreshing to have just one four-year-old in the house. I ignored my own swelling throat and got a million things done as he watched cartoons in my bedroom.

Wednesday Nicholas was better, really. I, on the other hand, left work at 11:00 because I felt like junk. I was home and in bed by noon. I got a solid three hours of sleep before daycare called to let me know that Ben had thrown up in the library. I gathered him and we hung out and felt awful together for a little while that afternoon before getting everyone else.

Wednesday night, we hunkered down to bed with little formality, no baths, no stories. Ben came to bed with me in case he got sick during the night. Nicholas said he was scared to sleep alone but passed out quickly and the girls went down fast. Then around 11:00 Alida found me and complained that her pants were wet. Yes they were, wet with throw-up. Cleaned her up, got her back in bed. Two hours later, the same thing again. One hour later a magnificent storm blew through and rocked the house waking us up again and blowing two breakers. Ben looked over at me and asked, "Mommy, what's that racket?" He still hadn't thrown up.

Thursday morning and Elaine was the first out of bed, as usual, but at a late 5:45. She had throw-up caked in her hair. The poor thing had thrown up during the night and didn't even get out of bed. (Oh, yeah did I mention that I'd had my own round of this during the night as well?) I toyed with the idea of taking Nicholas in to school just to get him out of the sick house, but gave up when I realized I could barely move. I laid around half coherent Thursday morning while most of the kids did the same. Nicholas, I discovered later, had found Halloween and Christmas decorations somewhere, unraveled an entire roll of scotch tape, taken off all of his clothes, painted his face like a warrior with my eye-liner, lined up some toilet cleaner and bubble bath in the shower. He had drug out the toilet plunger (did he use it? I don't know), and drug a stool into the extra bedroom and found my one last Chapstick the girls hadn't previously destroyed that I'd hidden high.

By Thursday afternoon we were feeling somewhat better if not still puny. Today, the kids are good--as far as I know, and I'm home licking my wounds. Grandma and grandpa may be re-thinking their weekend visiting plans right about now...

Twin Sympathy

When one is hurt,

another acts hurt.

All because a third is hurt.

Ben's stitches didn't stick. Plastic surgeon people said they wouldn't stitch it back up because it likely wouldn't stick, and then there would be an even bigger mess. So Ben can start creating his story about the knife fight when he was 3 that left the mark. Pathology does claim they got all of the abnormal cells, so we have that going for us.