I don't believe in Coincidences (Part II)

The Back to School Bash itself was only an hour and a half.  But it felt like forever. The worst part of parenting might be the knowledge that your kids will face heartbreak, and sadness and loneliness and there is nothing you can do to prevent them from feeling those things. The only knowledge that's semi-comforting is that you can help them weather it.

As I pulled up to the school for pick up, I could see my eager girl bouncing up and down on the curb. I couldn't tell if she was happy to be leaving, or happy about how the night went.  She bounced into the van and pronounced "I MET A FRIEND! And her name is RYLEE TOO!!"

Relief swept over me. "Tell me all about it. How did you meet her?"

"Well, I was sitting by myself eating pizza. That part was really sad. I mean, it's so sad to eat by yourself."

Me, still smiling, barely able to keep my heartbreak from rolling down my cheeks "And then what happened?"

"Well, I saw this girl sitting by herself too. So I inched down there until I was sitting next to her and I said hi and then we took pictures with the principal and now we're friends and we have the same name!!!"

She was gone an hour and a half, of which I cried for 45 minutes. She's come back with a brand new friend and a triumphant victory in being brave.  And with all of that, she had one run-on sentence of details to fill me in with.  That's it. That's all I got. But it was enough.

With a week to go until the start of school, she had two friends. Things were shaping up. And, in the meantime, we had a BF playdate.  The playdate (aka, BF's little sister's birthday party) was a success. It was a beach party and there is no better setting for Rylee to be her best self than when there is sand and water.

As we were driving there, I came to my senses and realized that I would be staying for the duration of this event. Immediately, I got sweaty armpits. Partly because it's summer in South Carolina, and partly because I had been so focused on Ry and her exciting day that I forgot to brush my hair or put on a clean shirt. The good news is that what I lacked in hygiene I totally made up for in charm. And for that reason alone, I am taking credit for Rylee's invitation to BF's back to school slumber party!

(This is the part in any story I tell where Troy starts to wonder why I've said anything about Coincidences and how long it's going to take to get there. That's when I roll my eyes and tell him to calm down, I'm getting there.)


So Joy Joy Joy! we still have one more event at school and a slumber party!!    Two more chances to meet kids before the first day of school.  We just might be able to breathe the first day of classes.

The last pre-season event was Meet the Teacher / Parent Orientation night.  The kids were dropped off in their homerooms with their other classmates while all the mom's and dad's got a the low down on things like "how to not be a moron in the drop off line" and other assorted threats...I mean information.

We dropped off Ry with her class and I got a sharp elbow in the rib cage. "Mom. That girl next to my teacher is also in my Sunday school class."  I tried to not to vomit glee all over her.

"Oh cool. Try to find out her name, ok?"  And off we went to find out about truancy.

(Ok, Troy. It's finally time.)

Fast forward now one night. It's time for the slumber party.  I am a jumble of nerves. But I've met the parents and they are solid people, so I'm not worried about any freaky business. I just have your run of the mill nerves. You know, where you send your kid off into a new friend situation and hope to high heaven that she remembers your advice about not singing made up songs about nipples this soon in a friendship. (Seriously, you gotta find out if your crazy is the same as other people's crazy before you start sharing some of your talents- i.e.: operatic style lyrics about body parts.)

Anyway. I walk up to the door and there in the entryway is BF and a girl I recognize.  I try to keep cool again, but on the inside I'm screaming like a 12 year old at a Bieber concert.

"Hey. Are you in Rylee's class?"

"Yeah. Just so you know, we don't have to bring backpacks the first day."

"Good to know. Aren't you in her Sunday School class too?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Sweet. Have a fun night!"

I walked back to the car like a normal person. But again, on the inside, I'm 12 and The Biebs just touched my hand.

See. I don't believe in coincidences. I don't believe that one kid showing up in the same church group, then school class and then a random slumber party is a coincidence.  I believe that months ago God heard our pleas for friends in this new place. I believe that He orchestrated the meetings of these girls. I don't know if they'll all be friends in six months. But I do know this- God will send me reminders that He hears us, that He provides for us and that even though there will be sad and hard days ahead, He is preparing and orchestrating situations for our good.  

In the end, the first day of school was a success.  I asked Ry if she ate lunch with anyone she knew and she said "Yeah. Church Girl."   So I breathed a little easier.  Now we just need to work on getting that kid's actual name.


Much Love
Nikki

I don't believe in Coincidences (Part I)

Today is the first day of school here in South Carolina.  Our Tazmanian Princess is less tazmanian and more princess than when I was writing last. She's headed into 5th grade today. She's complex, but not complicated. She's so grown up, but still a little girl. She loves having her hair and makeup done, but she won't suffer for fashion. If it itches, it's out.  She's fearless on a bike or a tube, but has to be reminded of her bravery when meeting new people.

That's why I've had people praying for her for months. We are in a new city, and her fourth school in her 10 short years. I knew this move would be her hardest (but Lord willing, our last).  Here in our new city, 5th and 6th grade are in an intermediate school. It's like prep for middle school. She'll have three different teachers throughout the day and rotate on a schedule different from her homeroom classmates.  I've been the new kid in a small town where everyone already seemed to know each other going into middle school. It may have been 100 years ago, but I still remember the jumble of fear and anxiety. So I had people pray.

A few weeks ago, my outlook for our Ry was very bright. We had just finished a week of gymnastics camp where Rylee came home claiming she had met a BF.  (I think she may have been leery about adding the last F as she's had a handful of BFF's that haven't lasted the Forever she promised because her parents are gypsies.)  I knew it was for real because Ry had gotten her actual name (instead of a made up one like "Bun Bun" because she wasn't brave enough to have a conversation with the person but really enjoyed playing with them sans words.) AND! She brought home her phone number!  Huzzah!

I texted the mother and asked if new BF was going to the Back to School Bash for 5th graders.  It was a drop off situation and so far, BF was the only face Ry would recognize.  Sadly, no. BF would not be going. I was confident this was must attend event prior to the start of school, so off we went anyway. And we went with great attitudes because BF's mom invited Ry to BF's little sister's birthday party. It would be all about the sister, so Ry would be the only friend BF's age to paly with. WIN!

As we pulled up to school the night of the Bash, I watched as groups of children clustered together. Little girls in groups of  3 and 4 piled into the gym.  Ry's grip on my hand was sweaty and tight and there was no masking that both of us wanted to turn around and run back to the van. But neither of us wanted to let the other one down, so we walked in.  I tried staying close, but she was whisked away and I couldn't get to her. The 5th grade class has close to 400 students (the entire size of her last school) and suddenly I was pushed to the parent line being told about pick up. 

I got my chin to stop quivering long enough to tell a volunteer that the kid in blue is new and doesn't know anyone and could she make sure she wasn't alone. I was given on over confident reassurance that she'd be fine. But my whole heart was crushed and I cursed myself for not finding a way to stay.

I did the only thing I could do next, and that was to pray.  "Lord, don't let her be alone. Be by her side. Help her be brave. Bring her a friend."  Then I called my mom and cried.


To Be Continued.....

My Prayer for Maggie before the start of 3rd grade

At the end of this past school year, my girls asked me to visit them for lunch.  I love eating at the cafeteria with them. It makes them feel special, and I get a not-so-subtle opportunity to grill their known associates.

In the months leading up to this particular lunch, we were hearing more and more about a boy named Jason.

"Jason thinks I look like the blonde girl on Girl Meets World."
"Jason likes the Vikings."
"Jason and Vianne and I played this game on the swings today."
"Jason got his hair cut really short. He looks very fast."

After the likes of Emilio, I was ready to set my sights on this Jason fellow.  I arrived a few minutes early and sat down at the lunch table with a big bag of Subway and waited for the looks of envy from the stream of 2nd graders that were about to flow through the doors.

In bounced my happy little lady. Her hair that started out smooth and pulled back into a ponytail now looked like she'd been in a cage fight with her sister; it was full evidence that she'd just finished a successful recess.  She plopped down at the bench while the rest of her classmates got in line for a hot lunch. It was the end of the year so Mommas across the country had raised the white flag with regards to sending in organic, non-processed lunch.

Apparently the hot topic this day was a new joke. 

"Mom. George Washington called."
"He did?"
"He wants to know if your refrigerator is running."
"He did?"
"Yeah. Is it?"
"I suppose it is, yes."
"Well, you better go catch it. Bbbwwwwahahahahah."

One by one, students started filling up the table. Each time, sweet Maggie would say to the them "Hey, George Washington called."  And each time her joke would be returned with blank stares or a blatant change of subject.  This didn't stop her. 18 students passed her by, each one giving her renewed joy at retelling her ill received joke.  She gets that from me.

There was an open spot on the other side of my Fozzie Bear leaving her with one last opportunity to grace someone with her stand-up routine.  The final victim, err, I mean classmate, fell clumsily into the last space.

"Hey.  George Washington called!"
"Ring Ring. George Washington here!!"
"Is your refrigerator running?"

Simultaneously, they started gut laughing.  Suddenly, I was on the outside looking in. I asked the girl across from me what that boy's name was.

"Jason" she replied.

Chicken nuggets and sandwich bits were flying out of their mouths as they roared.  It was the most disgusting display of pure joy I have ever witnessed. Two 7 year old idiots, gasping for breath in between glugs of chocolate milk because of a joke that was worn out and lame.  

But I will admit, my heart swelled because their joy was contagious and there is just nothing like seeing your child with Their Person.  Your person is someone who gets you. If you're as lucky as me, you collect a bunch of Persons along the way and all of a sudden you have My People.  And if you are really lucky, you'll have My People In Florida and My People in Minnesota and My People in Kansas.

So my prayer for Maggie, on her very first day of 3rd grade, is that she finds Her Person right away. That she doesn't have to go very long before plopping down to lunch, all sweaty and disheveled, with someone she shoots milk out her nose with because "Knock Knock, George Washington called."

Emilio

The First Incident:

"Mom. Today at recess at boy came up to me and Ms. Dorso and he told her I was his baby."

"What did you do?"

"I ran away. I don't enen know that guy."



The Second Incident:

"Mom. Today at recess Emilio put his arm around me and called me his bae."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. But I don't enen know him."


One Week Later:

"Mom. Emilio kissed me at recess today!!"

Being all too aware that as a mother of daughters, this is a teaching moment, I calmly say: "Did you like that he kissed you?"

"Noooo."  (As in ick, boys have cooties)

"Well, just know that if you do not want him to kiss you, you say STOP or NO. And if he persists in trying to kiss you, you run to tell a teacher. No one has the right to kiss you if you don't want them to."  After this statement, I probably beat the horse carcass until everyone in earshot was blue in the face.

Then Maggie says "I just ran away from that guy."

"Do you want me to talk to your teacher about this boy?"

Maggie: "Well, I don't want him to stop chasing me!"

Unwanted comment from the peanut gallery (aka Troy): "Sounds like your mother."


One More Week Later:  (After what I gather was a week of Emilio chasing Maggie, but never actually catching her.)

Crying on my bed one morning: "Mom. Emilio told me that I'm not a Vikings fan because my snow pants are blue. And I tried to tell him that just because my snow pants aren't purple doesn't mean that I don't like the Vikings.  I wish I never enen met that guy."

I just consoled her and told her she can like whatever football team she likes.

Troy (finally chiming in with solid advice): "Practice this saying with me Mags: Whatever Emilio."

The Lifeguard

She stands about 5 foot 11 inches. Her tan is bronze. She likes the golden shimmer of her skin because it makes her look skinnier than when she's pasty.  Of course she's not "fat", she's only 22. But she is "thicker" than most of her friends and won't truly appreciate the shape she's in until she's let it all go at the ripe old age of 36.  That's when places like Weight Watchers and The YMCA will take her money like candy from a baby.

She walks around the edge of the pool with her arms swinging out from her body like she has on an invisible utility belt worn by State Patrol's finest. You can sense the power she has with her seniority. She's been working this municipal facility for 2 seasons longer than any of her co-workers and she likes to remind them of it often.  "Back when I started..." was your cue to leave if you didn't want to hear a story about how the bureaucracy of city management has made it so easy to get your whistle and red flotation device. 

Secretly, the children call her The Pool Nazi.  Her whistle sounds long and loud right before she points out the offender for all to see.  "No Running!" she bellows in a voice that is unmatched by prison guards manning The Yard.  Her chest puffs out each time she makes an infraction public.

She seems invincible, but her reign of terror is about to end.

I watched as my tiny 5 year old climbed the stairs to the slide. She has knock-knees and pigeon toes so when she walks her booty sashays left to right. It only accentuates her youth and her very squishy tooshey.  In her frilly bikini she reminds me of a puppy with a belly full of milk.

The Lifeguard is at the top ensuring that no one is under the height requirement. Her tool of choice is a metal pole that swings out from the handrail. If it clears your head, you're too short and get shamed into taking the stairs back down.  My baby knows she's tall enough, this isn't her first rodeo.

The Lifeguard lowered her mirrored aviators as my baby approaches. "Feet against the post" she barks. She swings the metal post out, positive that she's judged her height correctly. Only she was wrong and that metal post swung into my puppy's head like a wrecking ball.  I consoled my baby until her sobs subsided and then I sent that brave little thing down the slide.

The Lifeguard tried to apologize, but I wasn't having it. Any tender emotion I had went down the slide with my baby.  I wasn't going to need words for her to understand that she was about to be demoted. She took her sunglasses off to look me in the eye and I held her gaze.  I cocked my head slightly as if to say "you've been warned." I could see her shoulders slump and her chest deflate.

No other lifeguard was watching, they were too busy doing their jobs. But in her lofty tower she felt exposed and on display for all to see.  She was not perfect, and now she would have to act accordingly.