Bring her homemade chocolate chip cookies, evidently.
Jack and I arrived at school a few minutes early today and headed straight for the office. Yesterday he delivered hand-drawn pictures and plates of cookies to his teachers. Today he brought the same to the head teacher, receptionist, school nurse and custodian.
It wasn't what the receptionist was expecting, bless her. She teared up immediately and looked back and forth between Jack and me, waving her hands in front of her face in that classic, "I'm going to cry, I don't want to cry, oh alright, I'm crying" kind of way. She glanced down at the Thank You note I'd taped on top: For all you do, all year long... Enjoy your hard-earned holidays!
Maybe the only day more emotional than the first day of school is the last one. Right now, though, my favorite is the day after that. Matt arrives home tonight! So tomorrow we're going to enjoy the luxury of being together and not going anywhere at all.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
English As A Spoken Language
We had a breakthrough in Sophie's communication today!
The patio door was open on this gloriously sunny day. Sophie was coloring at the table, and I was sitting across from her, enjoying my mid-morning cup of tea and admiring her handiwork. Outside a gentle breeze was blowing. From one of the neighborhood treetops, a little bird chirped out her greeting to a friend.
Sophie looked up and announced, "I hear bird." And then, just to make sure I understood, she elaborated: "Tweet-tweet."
The patio door was open on this gloriously sunny day. Sophie was coloring at the table, and I was sitting across from her, enjoying my mid-morning cup of tea and admiring her handiwork. Outside a gentle breeze was blowing. From one of the neighborhood treetops, a little bird chirped out her greeting to a friend.
Sophie looked up and announced, "I hear bird." And then, just to make sure I understood, she elaborated: "Tweet-tweet."
Friday, July 18, 2008
Snapshot
We've lived here for two years now -- two years this month. The summer of 2006 was incredibly hot, and as we walked up to the high street and back, getting to know the area, we discovered a sweet surprise: blackberries! They grow wild along unexpected paths, and the place we first found them is just before the bus stop on our main road. When they're in season, we stop and pick a few -- one or two for each of us. It sounds funny, I guess, but it enhances my sense of belonging to this community that we intentionally leave the remaining ripe berries for other passersby.
All fall, all winter and all spring as we walk along that road the children will often point to that particular spot and say, "This is where the blackberries grow in the summertime!" In the past several weeks we've been watching the white flowers and subsequent green berries emerge, and today, finally, some of the berries were ready, black and sweet.
Walking home in the drizzling rain, having spent a couple hours at a friends' house after school, I took a mental snapshot of the moment: Jack looking like a miniature Morton's fisherman in his raincoat, walking beside me with one hand on the handle of Sophie's stroller; Sophie taking off her shoes, taking out her hair bands, singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star within her protective plastic shield; me carrying Jack's Thomas the Tank Engine umbrella, having forgotten my own, and all of us tasting the first blackberries of the year.
I like that the anniversary of our arrival in England can be marked by something as sweet as blackberry season. I like that we encounter wild blackberries as we walk along the road. I like that walking is something we do a lot of. I like our little community. And today I didn't mind the rain. Welcome to year three...
All fall, all winter and all spring as we walk along that road the children will often point to that particular spot and say, "This is where the blackberries grow in the summertime!" In the past several weeks we've been watching the white flowers and subsequent green berries emerge, and today, finally, some of the berries were ready, black and sweet.
Walking home in the drizzling rain, having spent a couple hours at a friends' house after school, I took a mental snapshot of the moment: Jack looking like a miniature Morton's fisherman in his raincoat, walking beside me with one hand on the handle of Sophie's stroller; Sophie taking off her shoes, taking out her hair bands, singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star within her protective plastic shield; me carrying Jack's Thomas the Tank Engine umbrella, having forgotten my own, and all of us tasting the first blackberries of the year.
I like that the anniversary of our arrival in England can be marked by something as sweet as blackberry season. I like that we encounter wild blackberries as we walk along the road. I like that walking is something we do a lot of. I like our little community. And today I didn't mind the rain. Welcome to year three...
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Big Hair, Big Deal?
Anyone who knows me knows my hair: BIG. Always has been, as long as I can remember. It took me years to figure out how to work with it instead of against it. Some super-intensely moisturizing hair care products helped, and I used them faithfully. Expensively. I bought the big bottles, salon size, taped over the caps and took them by multiples in action packers to Kenya. Whenever I would run dangerously low, very kind people -- usually family or close friends who understand the plight of having big hair, or maybe they just indulge me? -- would bring them over to me in their luggage when they were visiting. Six years in Kenya and not one day did I have to do without the stuff. Amazing, really.
I took bottles and bottles of these products to Cyprus, too, but the water there was different... As in, real different. Hard, with lots of limescale. And all of a sudden my products didn't work their magic in the same way. My hair had a wiry, much coarser texture than usual, and it took me a while to work out the kinks, metaphorically speaking (because the literal kinks and curls were still there, of course).
And then we moved to England. And my wonderful, adoring, supportive husband said no to filling up our luggage with giant bottles of hair stuff. "We live in London, England," he said. "If they don't have it here, you don't need it." He had a point, in spite of not having much hair of his own, and I knew he was right.
Plus, it turns out the water here is even harder and more limescale-y than it was in Cyprus! And my hair has been even worse in terms of frizz factor. My old faithful wasn't working. At. All. So I started experimenting with different lines of hair stuff and finally found one! That works! Wonders! Truly! And is available at my grocery store!
Or, it WAS... until a few weeks ago. Suddenly the entire line went on sale and now it's no longer being stocked. I'm stunned and, to be honest, a little scared. I've checked a few other places around but haven't been able to find it yet. It's a British brand, but my particular products-of-choice don't seem to be in demand among the rest of the women in this area. Boo!
It's not actually a big deal. I mean, there's a million other, much more important things going on in the world, but if you were here and we were drinking tea together, you can bet we'd talk hair. For a few minutes at least.
I took bottles and bottles of these products to Cyprus, too, but the water there was different... As in, real different. Hard, with lots of limescale. And all of a sudden my products didn't work their magic in the same way. My hair had a wiry, much coarser texture than usual, and it took me a while to work out the kinks, metaphorically speaking (because the literal kinks and curls were still there, of course).
And then we moved to England. And my wonderful, adoring, supportive husband said no to filling up our luggage with giant bottles of hair stuff. "We live in London, England," he said. "If they don't have it here, you don't need it." He had a point, in spite of not having much hair of his own, and I knew he was right.
Plus, it turns out the water here is even harder and more limescale-y than it was in Cyprus! And my hair has been even worse in terms of frizz factor. My old faithful wasn't working. At. All. So I started experimenting with different lines of hair stuff and finally found one! That works! Wonders! Truly! And is available at my grocery store!
Or, it WAS... until a few weeks ago. Suddenly the entire line went on sale and now it's no longer being stocked. I'm stunned and, to be honest, a little scared. I've checked a few other places around but haven't been able to find it yet. It's a British brand, but my particular products-of-choice don't seem to be in demand among the rest of the women in this area. Boo!
It's not actually a big deal. I mean, there's a million other, much more important things going on in the world, but if you were here and we were drinking tea together, you can bet we'd talk hair. For a few minutes at least.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Summertime in England
Last Saturday we had a break from the rain, and it was just long enough for us to join the throngs of people at a nearby village Fun Fair. Bouncy castles, cotton candy, face painting... The kids were beside themselves!
In spite of my on-again/off-again/on-again/off-again cardigan that day and the fact that we've had to turn the heat back on several times since turning it off sometime in May, not to mention that school is in session for a few more weeks yet, it's starting to feel a bit like summertime.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Sugar Is Sweet, and So Is Sophie
You know how, when you join a new group of some kind, the leader will often start off with a question for everyone to answer in their own way -- an ice-breaker, they call it -- to help people warm up toward one another and get them comfortable interacting together. Sometimes the questions are easy enough to answer:
What's your idea of a perfect holiday/vacation?
What's one goal you’d like to accomplish during your lifetime?
If someone made a movie of your life would it be a drama, a comedy, a romantic-comedy, an action film or science fiction?
But the one that always throws me is this one:
If you were an animal (or fruit or car or ice cream flavor), which one would you be and why?
It's a good question, but I'm always in a panic about what to say. I'd do better if I could think about my answer for a while, and usually in those ice-breaker sessions you're expected to come up with something right away. Oh, the pressure! In front of people! To come up with an answer! That doesn't make me sound as geeky as I really am!
In junior high Spanish class, the first thing we all learned was how to ask someone what their name is. ¿Cómo se llama usted? The literal English translation is, "How do you call yourself?" Mind you, Sophie is still working toward using English. My consolation is that Jack didn't really talk until he was nearly three, but when he did it was in complete sentences -- and he's been talking nearly non-stop ever since. So I'm not particularly worried. Plus, I happen to know that Sophie uses rather complex grammatical construction -- she has full-length conversations with herself -- it's just not in a language I can understand.
In Sophie-speak, banana is "dub-dub," baby is "bah-poh," sorry/excuse me is "haw-wee" and Signing Time is "Ih-Ih". (Nope, I don't get that one, either.) Mommy is "Mama," Daddy is "Dada," Jack is "Tack" and Sophie is (drumroll please...) "Sheh-gah".
It must be nice to be so un-self-conscious! But why deny the truth, you know?
What's your idea of a perfect holiday/vacation?
What's one goal you’d like to accomplish during your lifetime?
If someone made a movie of your life would it be a drama, a comedy, a romantic-comedy, an action film or science fiction?
But the one that always throws me is this one:
If you were an animal (or fruit or car or ice cream flavor), which one would you be and why?
It's a good question, but I'm always in a panic about what to say. I'd do better if I could think about my answer for a while, and usually in those ice-breaker sessions you're expected to come up with something right away. Oh, the pressure! In front of people! To come up with an answer! That doesn't make me sound as geeky as I really am!
In junior high Spanish class, the first thing we all learned was how to ask someone what their name is. ¿Cómo se llama usted? The literal English translation is, "How do you call yourself?" Mind you, Sophie is still working toward using English. My consolation is that Jack didn't really talk until he was nearly three, but when he did it was in complete sentences -- and he's been talking nearly non-stop ever since. So I'm not particularly worried. Plus, I happen to know that Sophie uses rather complex grammatical construction -- she has full-length conversations with herself -- it's just not in a language I can understand.
In Sophie-speak, banana is "dub-dub," baby is "bah-poh," sorry/excuse me is "haw-wee" and Signing Time is "Ih-Ih". (Nope, I don't get that one, either.) Mommy is "Mama," Daddy is "Dada," Jack is "Tack" and Sophie is (drumroll please...) "Sheh-gah".
It must be nice to be so un-self-conscious! But why deny the truth, you know?
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