School Days

Despite the summer temperatures, my brain whispers "Fall". Why? Because it's September and back to school time. I still get those pre school butterflies as memories of sweaters, new shoes and backpacks find themselves occupying my mind. My grandson (a.k.a. the Grand Prince) began his third year at our neighborhood elementary school last week. I believe we were both ready for him to begin, having crammed in vacations, educational day trips, play dates, numerous barbecues with family and friends, a few birthday parties, pool parties and a smattering of lazy, couch potato days, the latter of which was deemed a necessity by moi simply to take a breath; all between mid June and August 31st. Whew! No wonder we were starving for a little structure and schedules!


Returning to school takes some preparation, even for the 'seasoned' parent and child. There will be new clothes, shoes, backpacks and lunch boxes to buy. Perhaps finishing up that last book on the summer reading list and reorganizing the child's desk to reflect the transition from 'catch all' to workspace. This is also a good time to sort through your child's summer or fall clothes and deliver the no-way-this-fits-pile to your local consignment shop.


School supplies must fit into your budget as well. Teachers will usually send home a welcome letter to their students with a list of needed supplies as well as any donations much needed and appreciated for the classroom. For your older children, it's best to wait until school begins to accommodate the requirements of more than one teacher. The Marilyn Manson or High School Musical three ring binder your child just had to have would be frowned upon when a plain white one was required.


Those lazy days of summer when sleeping past the alarm wasn't a worry is now a very big deal. We all relax our schedules over the summer break and getting back on track for the fall transition can be a bit of a struggle. I always begin a good week to ten days before the official start of school by regulating bedtime. As with any new routine it's not always well received, however, simply talking about the need for rest and the exciting new year ahead prepares children and allows them the 'buy in'. I give the Grand Prince a little wiggle room with bedtime ("okay bud, you choose. 7:45? or 8:00?) I know, it's a no brainer and he's only 7 and can tell time but the key is HE gets to choose instead of me or the Spouse dictating a time.


The same goes for setting the morning alarm. Give yourself and your child the time you need in the mornings for breakfast, personal hygiene routines, dressing etc.
It's crucial if, like me, you're simply not a morning person or you can't form a complete sentence without three cups of coffee under your belt. The Grand Prince takes his shower the night prior, decides on the day's attire, gets his backpack ready with paperwork and snacks and hung on the newel post while I set a place for breakfast. The less you have to squeeze into your morning, the smoother it goes for everyone.


And on that first day of school, provided your child's not horrified at the idea of being seen with you as their friends look on, you can get a hug, a smile and a "see you after school!" as they exit the car and into the world of academia, happy and ready to meet the day.

Me Time

One of the things I and most parents put aside is 'me' time. There's always an excuse as to why we can't read a book, go for a walk, exercise, take a night out, (a whole weekend!? forget it!) or simply pamper ourselves in whatever ways help us to relax. Yes we all know we should schedule time for ourselves; we all watch Oprah and Dr. Phil who herald the importance of taking care of ourselves first, make YOU a priority they say, but it's the other shoulds that never cease whispering in our ear that keep us too busy.
Should clean that closet.
Should finish that yard work.
Should visit Aunt Sheila.
Should get the dog to the vet.
Should catch up on those emails!
We should ourselves into biting off way too much of the proverbial chore pie and usually end up cranky, irritable and tired; hungry for an hour of ...nothing. And unfortunately our children and significant others sometimes bare the brunt of our good intentions.

With the shift into the Fall routine in our house, I claim Sunday afternoons. The morning is spent first with a later rise than usual, followed by time with the Grand Prince and a special breakfast of some sort. Fried dough brushed with melted butter and sprinkled with powdered sugar and cinnamon. My doctor doesn't read this blog so I toss cholesterol concerns to the wind. Next, we sort out the Sunday paper. Comics to the GP. Front page and sports to the Spouse and I begin with the North Weekly section. As the pre game hour of Sunday football begins around noon, my darling of a husband takes to the kitchen and simmers, roasts, bakes and stews the most delectable comfort foods to be enjoyed for supper that evening; all done in between quarters and during half time of the game. He cooks and cusses at Brady (always out of earshot of course) and does the male bonding thing of football fundamentals with the GP.

Meanwhile, I blissfully write, read, nap, email, play Rise of Atlantis (my current computer game obsession. Hey, I'm on Journey 7!) listen to music or whatever strikes my fancy. Now many would argue this isn't real me time, however I beg to differ. Yes, I could go out for a walk, or a bike ride, or shopping, or visit a friend, or get a pedicure and on occasion I do some of those things. But if me time becomes stressful due to the very definition of it, then it's no longer ME time. See? Makes perfect sense.
I've learned not to overextend me time into a frenetic foray of events that only serves to exhaust me more and leave me feeling like I should relax.

The Grand Prince is learning this important lesson too. When I asked him recently about signing up for fall soccer, rationalizing we could fit it in on Saturdays since karate and tennis were after school activities, he paused and looked at me very thoughtfully and said, "Nan, I have enough things to go to all ready. I'm gonna skip soccer this year."

Out of the mouths of babes.

To Velcro or Not To Velcro, that is the question!

Teaching a child to tie his or her shoes has always been an area of procrastination and distaste for me. I don’t know why. I can’t explain it. Perhaps I was permanently scarred by my own parents when they taught me but I have no memory of the actual act. That in itself convinces me it was traumatic. The idea of the tedious steps to explain the process, the repeated practice runs, the patience and required motor skills (of which my mild arthritis objects!) is enough to send this woman running for the first pair of Velcro sneakers Target has to offer.
My oldest daughter is, in fact, the only child I taught to tie her own shoes and that was using the famed bunny ear method. Of course those of the more sophisticated loop method would sneer at the suggestion of bunny ears, however, to this very day Daughter One continues contently to form her laces into bunny ears and voila! Sneakers tied. She also taught her younger brother and sister. Ha!
Suffice it to say the day came recently, as I knew it would, when my grandson asked the dreaded question. “Nan? Will you teach me to tie my sneakers?” My breath ceases. “Oh no!” I think to myself. “Isn’t he happy with the Velcro anymore?” “Are the kids teasing him because he straps instead of looping!!?” “Just when do I fit in the HOURS it will take for me to teach him without requiring a Xanax before each excruciating session!?” His grandfather, overhearing the request, stealthily moves to the kitchen and out to the back deck. “Coward” I mouth over my shoulder as he smiles back at me.
Taking a breath, I manage a smile, as all grandmothers and mothers do at these moments, and reply with the barest quiver in my voice, “Sure, buddy. We’ll start tomorrow!” And so we did.
We’re still working on it, I’m happy to report. And we are using the bunny ear method. Of course the laces come untied within 90 seconds of his securing them, looking more like limp noodles than neat little bunny ears knotted precisely. But precision will come and my patience is serving me far better than I thought. My arthritis balks, but I ignore it.
Acceptance is a marvelous thing, I’ve learned. My grandson teaches me a new found enthusiasm for things I once found to be a dreaded chore and I revel in his accomplishments and my own.
Soon we will tackle the art of the double knot; how to tie one and more importantly, how to untie one.

A Day in The Life of A GRG* (*grandparent raising grandchild)

The birthday invitation was for two o’clock on a Saturday sent by a classmate of my grandson. I was thrilled he had adjusted well to kindergarten; making new friends, discovering the joys of learning and life beyond the world of our friendly little neighborhood.
Now the next social step presented itself, the birthday party. I telephoned our RSVP while my grandson bubbled with excitement about the prospect of seeing his friends outside of school and having fun at the local roller skating rink. I, on the other hand, was a little hesitant. My memories of roller rink birthday parties attended with my children were on par with my first visit to the periodontist. However, this event wasn’t about me, it was about my grandson enjoying social time with his peers. Off we go to the local toy store, spend 35 minutes deciding and with much negotiation we at last have a gift purchased, wrapped and in hand.
On the appointed day, we arrive five minutes early (teaching children social graces such as promptness is high on my priority list) and the rush of memory hits me the instant the door closes behind us. We’re greeted by blaring rock and hip-hop music, flashing lights, and scores of children flying by in haphazard direction on 4, 6, or 8 wheels. The only order is inside the rink itself. “Skaters in clockwise circle only please” crackles over the PA system. Before us are row upon row of tables with reserved signs; Isaiah’s Party, Mia’s Party, Olivia’s party all forming a continuous domino like line. We find our host’s family table and smile pleasantries and exchange thank yous then off we go to the rental counter and skates that bear the wear of thousands of children’s feet. Would it be paranoid to pour hand sanitizer on the inner soles? Skates are fitted and it’s onto the wooden rink floor, dodging the experienced and blending with the ‘don’t let me’ fall crowd. I, skate less, and grandson on wheels makes a difficult pair. At 5 yrs old he’s coordinated enough but his inexperience on wheels and the deafening din of the music makes it impossible for any instruction so we settle for “I’ll stand still and you pull me Nana” mode. Naturally, his idea, not mine. Needless to say, once around the rink was the limit for me and his frustration was beginning to show so we decided to return the skates and check back at the table for party food.
The usual fare greeted us. Pizza and drinks delivered just minutes before and served on Star Wars matching plates and cups with a cake sporting Darth Vader and Yoda. Who would have thought Star Wars was back in fashion? All gifts are quickly packed up at parties these days which is a blessing and avoids the occasional teary child wanting to ‘help’ open them and several more ripping at the toys to be the first to play and leaving the birthday child in a meltdown.
A little more time for skating or arcade games (we opted for the latter and had a blast race car driving!) and then it was done. Party over. An hour and a half had passed as I glanced at my watch and offered a silent prayer as the birthday Mom handed out goodie bags. (*note, these are a must and require a computer generated thank you note inside) Once more we smiled and exchanged thank yous to kids and parents alike. I sifted through a Mt Helen’s size pile of coats to find ours, congratulated the birthday boy and ran for the nearest exit sign to the sunshine beyond. Hand and hand we walked to the car and my grandson beamed up a smile to me, “Nana? Wasn’t that cool? I had a great time!”
And then it came as I knew it would. “Can I have my birthday at the roller rink?” That sweet face and set of deep dimples almost had me but I managed the age old reply created by and for all grandparents.
“We’ll see.” And then I smiled.