Light Refreshments Served

We’re off to school, the schedule, and all of it, so it’s time to reflect on our fun summer.  I looked on the list we made at the beginning of the summer, and all things considered, I think we did a good job.  Like I predicted, there was a lot of “going to get ice cream” and we didn’t really ever “go hiking.”  I’m proud that we did “try to catch snakes,” but wish we would have “looked at the stars at night through a telescope.”  Since Topher’s been gone, the kids have been going to bed earlier and earlier in the name of getting ready for the earlier school schedule, but stars or no stars, self-preservation is self-preservation.

I’m glad my kids like school.  For the past two weeks, Phoebe has asked me, by tapping me on the arm and whispering in my ear, “Tell them I’m going to kindergarten soon!”  or “Tell them I’m going to school–a real school–for the first time!” to everyone from the bank tellers to the grocery checkers, to the random lady at Target today.  When I do, the strangers give an appropriate response that leaves her satisfied.  I thank them for that.  I pretend I’m just humoring my five year-old with a roll of the eyes and an apologetic “Oh, she’s just so excited for school!”  but I love it that she’s so excited and wants to tell everyone.  I can’t put my finger on it, but it reminds me of someone.

Back to School Night at the local elementary school signals the end of the season.  My kids go back to school on Monday, and it seems a bit early.  I’m having a hard time convincing Phoebe, a sparkling new kindergartner, that wearing wool tights, a long-sleeved black tee under a knit shift dress is probably not the best idea.  While I admire her commitment to fashion, I don’t think heat stroke is the best way to introduce her to the nurse’s office.  She should save that inaugural visit for something important:  a “headache” when there’s a substitute teacher, a “stomach ache” when the novelty of going to school wears off, or on “sloppy joe day.”  It should mean something.

I get really excited about back to school shopping, but I never learn.  I’m always genuinely bewildered that they boys aren’t as excited about picking out new clothes to wear.  A couple of days ago, completely seriously, I said, ”Hey guys!  I have a fun idea!  Let’s go through all your clothes and see what still fits and make a list of what you need and then go and get some back to school clothes!!!  Wouldn’t that be fun!?”  

Miles, my 10 year-old said, dryly,  ”Uh, Mom, I think your idea of fun and MY idea of fun are completely different.”  Owen, my 8 year-old and Miles’ cohort in all things, nodded in agreement.  

After the list was made, we went out in a forcible search of a few items.  The boys wanted this:

Which caused me to wince.  I tried to talk them into this:

But they made it clear that money spent on these shirts would be money crumpled in the back of their drawers until that money no longer fit.  So I used my expert skills of logic and reason.  I gave them the “dress for success” lecture.  I gave them the “girls like a well-dressed man” lecture (that argument actually backfired.)  I gave them the “well, tough–it’s my money” lecture (my personal favorite), and ended on the “compromise” lecture.  They don’t want “collared shirts” and I don’t want “tacky video game tee shirts.”  We can agree on tee shirts with “artistically interesting designs.”  

In the end, I’m trying to raise boys with a strong sense of self.  I want them to know who they are and what they like, but I torture myself because I also want them to have good taste.  I freely admit it’s a pride issue, too.  I don’t want other parents (mostly mothers) to see my kid and assume that all they do is play video games, or that they’re lazy and sit on the couch all day drinking soda and eating trans fats.  I don’t really care, but I do a little bit.  

But now my daughter, Phoebe, is starting kindergarten, so it’s a WHOLE NEW GAME.  We went to shopping and instantly agreed on a couple of dresses, sweaters, and shoes to match (”fer cute!”).  It satisfied my shopping for school clothes cravings and let the boys completely off the hook.  There was no plea for a tee shirt with the logo of “Camp Rock” printed all over it, or “Hannah Montana,” who my daughter thinks “is nerdy.”  (I know, how did I get so lucky, right?)  It was simple.  So, for positive reinforcement, she got the “we’ve really stretched our budget shopping here” lecture and ”building your wardrobe” lecture, ending with the ”isn’t this a fun tradition to have” lecture.  The lectures I’ve been waiting five years to give.