Dumb and Dumber

Just when you thought it couldn't be easier to go to school here in Hawaii...Not only are most schools a year behind the mainland, most months rarely have 5-day weeks, and Wednesdays are half days. This week, an agreement was settled between Governor Lingle and the teachers' union in order to cut back $117 million from the state budget. (They are hoping to cut a total of $227 million). The teachers get a 7.9% pay cut and will be furloughed for 17 days throughout the remainder of the school year. What it shakes down to is that there will be 4-day school weeks for the rest of the year, with the exception of 2 full weeks in April. In return, the teachers are guaranteed not to get fired for the next 2 years. Quite an upheaval. Parents are scrambling for child care on furlough days, rounding up some independent study groups, and otherwise wondering how to make up for the loss.

Why do I feel like I'm getting pushed closer and closer to the edge of falling into the Great Schooling Abyss?
With apologies...

When Mommy Was Nice

Lately Trevor has been telling random strangers, "When I was a baby, my Mom was nice to me. Jamon told me that." I jokingly add, "Those days are over!" But I was a little stumped the other day when we were checking out at the grocery store. He had been unusually and exceptionally cooperative. A model child. I was planning to reward him from the candy selection at the check out to reinforce the behavior for future shopping trips. So we were waiting our turn:

"Can I have a treat?"
"Were you a good boy at the store today?"
"Yes."
"Did you scream?"
"No."
"Did you run?"
"No."
"Did you stay by Mom?"
"Yes."
"Yes. You did. You were a very good boy, so you can pick a treat today!!!"
"I didn't cry!"
"You didn't."
"And I didn't yell!"
"Nope, you didn't."
"And you didn't hit me!"

"Uh..." My reflex was to quickly scan the periphery. Surely all the people who had been grinning at this interchange hadn't heard that last part, had they? Cause there was no way I could answer the accusation in a believable manner.

If I said, "What are you talking about?" as my eyes are flicking side to side to ascertain who is going to report me, I have guilt written all over my face.

If I said, "What, sweetie? Why would you even suggest something like that? We don't even know what hitting is! Did you learn that at preschool?" it would be an obvious cover.

So I stood there saying nothing, feeling the guilt I had not in fact earned. A grown woman at the mercy of the vocabulary choice of a three-year old.

Jamon's First Decade

He came to earth smelling like a boy. When the doc told his mama he was 11 pounds 3 ounces, she died. Laughing. But it was no joke. As an infant, he snacked on an entire quart of peaches cause his Grandma couldn't resist his charms. He drank his gallon of milk every day and grew so fast, he barely had a chance to wear a sportin' pair of overalls to the Kindygarten. By first grade, strangers were recruiting him for pro football, but he was busy kissing girls to make them cry. By the time he learned to play soccer, it only took one powerful kick for the ball to go from one end of the field into the goal. He was still so big that the creek would run out of water before he could soap up in the bath. Most days, he'd go on smelling like a wet dog. He was so big that he was called to be the Preacher on his second week in the chapel at the ripe age of 9. So big that the top bunk bowed clear down to the ground till his baby brother could barely breathe and slide out the side. He's learned to sit still enough to do his homework (Yay for 5th Grade!). And every year, his hugs get bigger and better.

And even though he's out of diapers, he's still a BUNDLE OF JOY!

Love you Jamon!

The Common Housewife

A well-intentioned missionary asked during a recent goodwill visit: "So, Sister Jex, do you work?"

"I'm not working right now," I replied coolly, mentally shifting him over to the Dark Side.

"Soooo...." he foolishly continued, "what do you do during the day, then?"

Choose the best response:

a) "Why, I'm a lady of leisure, don't you know? I follow every fancy."

b) "Oh I keep busy now that I've got the DVR up and running--and let me tell you, it is hard work plowing through 100 hours of TV. Want some bon-bons?"

c) "I will graciously disregard that last question, in view of your youth. But Sugar, I must forewarn you never to ask your future wife what she does all day when she's sitting in a pile of children as you see me this evening."

Mind you, my grandmother raised 2 kids...10 years apart in the 50's. I can guarantee you, she never got the "do you work/what do you do all day" treatment, even if she did have free time. She did what women did. Now, the balance is off--it's not enough to be a mother raising babies anymore. I love that we have more options than the 50's mom, but in some ways, I think motherhood might have been embraced and respected a bit more then.

Here's a favorite quote from the movie, Mona Lisa from a student who chose to get married and focus on family over her career to her teacher: "You stand in class and tell us to look beyond the image, but you don't. To you a housewife is someone who sold her soul for a center hall Colonial. She has no depth, no intellect, no interests. You're the one who said I could do anything I wanted. This is what I want."

Hopefully one of these days we'll get it right.

Trevor's Day on Pleasure Island

Trevor had a big day. We went with some friends to the mall for a clown show. There was juggling, there was unicycling, there were balloon animals. We ate lunch out, the kids were noisy and had a great time. And he finagled a playdate once we got back. He played from 1:30 until 7 p.m. And when Mother came a knockin', a sinister look crossed his face.

"No! I don't want to go to our house! I can sleepover! I can sleepover!" The gauntlet was down. He had a nerf gun in his hand. He meant business. He was surrounded by boys. Boys entering and exiting at their leisure, a constant flow of neighborhood friends. With guns. And Star Wars action figures. In a house with a new puppy. And big chocolate cookies. There was no way I or anyone else could convince him to leave all these pleasures behind. I gave him the 5-minute warning.

Five minutes later, he was braying, "I'm NOT going home! I HATE our home! I can take this gun home with me. " Mom channeled her SWAT team tactics and manhandled him into his carseat. There was kicking. Screaming. Threats. And a very final, "Don't TOUCH me!" upon arrival to our boring abode. "I don't want anyone touching me!"

In the end, the spectacle dissolved into apologies, hugs, and kisses. What a transformation. But if boys will be boys, we're headed for trouble...

Congrats To Aedan

Aedan received her Faith In God Award on Sunday. Jamon made her a giant cookie to celebrate. She is counting down how many more Sundays till she's in YW...only 4 more!

PS: Kristy...it'll fetch a higher price, you can be sure. wink wink.