Ramona Had an Escort

We get books on CD every time we head out on long car rides. In fact, last time we

went to Stowe we listened to Ramona Quimby Age 8. Admittedly an interesting pick, considering the audience was a 6 year old boy and 3 year old girl.

I introduced the CD with a preface that started, "WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL... I read all about Ramona...."

And then I could see in the rear view that Dec and Nonie had lost all interest in what I was saying.... So, I paused for a second.

I thought for a moment.

And then I RE-introduced the book on CD a different way:

"Nonie, Dec, we've got a long car-ride ahead of us and I'm going to pop a CD in now that I think you'll like. It is about a girl who always has band-aids on her knees. Her name is Ramona."

And without further ado,

They CLUNG TO EVERY SINGLE WORD.

Just so happens that this morning at 9:27am - I get a call from Dec's school that he has gotten sick in class.

Within minutes (no more than 10) I fetched Dec at the nurse's office. From the school's office, I could see into the nurse's room - his legs were stretched out on the cot. I saw his feet before I could see his face. It was then that I noted that his sneakers were covered in vomit splatter.

I entered the nurse's room with a parental guilt level of 100 on a scale of 1-10. I observed Declan was wearing clothing that we did not own.

Nurse's replacement clothing 2 sizes too small.

He looked so, incredibly awkward in these clothes.

Dec looked up at me and said without hesitation, "Mom - it was just

like in the book Ramona Quimby Age 8, I threw up. Then my teacher told all my friends to move to the caterpillar rug while I went to the nurse. Except that when I walked to the nurse, my teacher didn't ask one of my friends to walk me there."

He finished his statement and looked surprisingly relieved. As if, his story had been told and now he could get on with feeling awful.

I made eye-contact with Dec's school nurse at that point. Just wanted to acknowledge that she was there, and listening to his emotional update.

Clearly, he would have preferred to be escorted to the nurse with one of his wide-eyed, and anxious to leave the vomit smelling classroom friends. But this didn't happen for him.

And amazingly enough (I thought to myself), this is what he will remember about this day.

"Do you remember that Ramona's teacher had a friend walk her to the nurse?" Dec asked.

"Yes Dec, I remember, that was a nice part of the story, wasn't it?"

And I put his backpack on my back, and I signed him out of school. I said thank you to all who had helped care for my baby 6-year-old boy in my absence. And then I held his hand and I walked him out of school. I opened the car door for him, watched him crawl inside and closed it afterwards. Once I was inside, I told him that I was so sorry that he felt so sick.

And I told him

that

I love him so much.

How Could I Not? I Laughed.

He may remember that no one escorted him to the nurse. And Ramona had an escort.

He will remember being cheated out of a friend to guide him.

But, I will remember being his guide.

Raising the children.

I made it in to first grade today to help out and was immediately asked to find a comfy couch out in the hall where students would come, one at a time, and read to me.

I picked my spot.

The first tentative reader walked slowly out of the classroom and up to me. We opened his reading bag, spread the books out and he picked one.

It was a startling and beautiful moment, when his tiny voice, stumbled through sentence one.

He forged on, despite his struggle, and made up the words he didn't know.

Reader 1 read bravely and beautifully. And it was by his side that I began to feel so thankful to have carved this time out of my "crazed" schedule to be with him. I was his audience, and I focused on his every word and each colorful page he filled. After a while, he warmed up to me -----by book 3, and even gave me a smile after book 4, on his way back to the classroom.

Between readers 1 & 2, I had a few moments to take in my space. Loud (joyful) classrooms lined this common area. Mothers raced in and out of classrooms with Thanksgiving treats and crafts. Teachers skidded from one classroom to the next, swapping books and folders. Some volunteers sat outside classrooms with students next to them working on quiet tasks. Just. Like. Me.... (I thought).

Reader 2 was another, nervous boy. He opened his reading bag and insisted that he was not able to read any of them. After convincing him that I was so looking forward to hearing the book called "Perfect Home", he began it with a nervous laugh.

It was hard to hear his little voice over the steady hum of the classroom villages around us.

Reading is hard.

I thought.

(Noise or no noise, reading is hard).

His questioning finger scanned over some words and paused over most.

Reading is really hard.

But he read so well. We made it through all 4 of his books. He sounded out and worked through some tough words and I was impressed with his focus and ability to keep working at a word he didn't know.

I told him that I was impressed.

And, when I did, he shyly tucked his neck into his shoulders as deep as they would go.

He made his way back to the classroom to tap the next reader on their shoulder.

And so these readers came to me and left me. Oh, I was sad when they left me.

Each reader was markedly different from the next.

The 5th reader to walk out to me was my son. He had his smug smile on because he just loves to have me in his school (he told me this last night).

I pause right here to capture in word only what a picture can truly show **** Declan's proud smile *****!

Declan read proudly, occasionally looking around to make sure everyone saw him reading with His Mom. He too, made up the words he didn't know, just like the rest of them. It must be a first grade thing.

When we were done we met up with his entire grade in the cafetorium where they were rehearsing their Thanksgiving show and where I, to the tune of happy first grade singing, was to pin colorful corn husks to the curtains on the stage.

On my way there, I couldn't believe how good I felt to have just read with these tiny people. I felt so grateful to the other parents who had spent time in the classroom this year.

AND, of course, I felt a million times more grateful for my son's first grade teacher. I can't imagine trying to teach reading to 2 dozen students with vastly different reading abilities - all at the same time.

It is so cliche to walk the halls of an elementary school thinking that "it takes a village" to raise these children. But, that was my thought as I walked. Because it does, take a village.

My final first grade task was to assemble a book within an earshot of my son while he ate lunch with his pals. By this time, he'd forgotten I was there.

But I had not forgotten he was there.

I watched his every move.

When the lunch assistant came to him and reminded him to eat the rest of his sandwich before he began eating his cookie, I was as impressed with her as I had been with myself earlier on the reading couch.

If it doesn't take a village, I'm a firm believer that it takes, numerous, well-intentioned, people in our elementary schools.

This post is dedicated to all those who have helped me raise my children without me knowing it.

Charlie Brown Wins

We go to the library every week.
Sometimes twice.
Visiting the library has become part of who we are.

I love taking out armfuls of books - 99% of them are easy readers.
I really love when the librarians call my children by name.

I really don't love the way libraries smell. But that is neither here nor there.

In the 6 years that Dec has been with us, we've rarely missed a week
and we've hardly ever had an overdue book.

I'm a bit neurotic about this. I'll be the first to admit it.

So, when we went to the library last week to check out books
and learned that we have one overdue, I was surprised.

Really? I'd asked.

Yes, the computer lists it right here.

Really? I'd asked again. Just to be sure.

After tearing the house apart, pulling everything out of my car
and even searching under the fridge - no luck.

So this is my plea to the family: has anyone seen "It's a homerun Charlie Brown".
Dec claims he never even saw it come out of the library bag.

This is the great unsolved mystery of the summer.

Where the h-e-double-hockey-sticks is it?!?

Charlie Brown, it's not just a home run.

You knocked it outta the park.

Good grief.

Alive in the Books.

K.T.

There is a woman who influenced me. And now she is gone.
I just learned today from Erin that she is gone.

I once worked with her and she had an eye for all things fashion, current, and chic.
The way she flattered customers from the minute they walked through the door, and giggled as she rang up their thousand dollar sales ... that was the K.T. way.

She had the best laugh, and I can hear it as I type.

With no kids of her own, she spent a lot of time with her sister's children.
I really loved and admired the relationship that Karen had with them all.
She would talk about the three kids. Always.

Karen would talk to me about the day they'd all take the library by storm. "Library Day" - she'd call it.
I listened as she talked. She'd tell me about the books the twins had checked out when she went with them.

Sometimes, the girls and their tiny brother would come to the 'Tweed and race around with a new book in hand while their mom re-designed the display windows.
K.T. would chat with each of the kids, and ask them questions about their books. They seemed to glow in their Aunt's undivided attention. Probably because she really listened to them when they talked about their books. Her world would suddenly halt, when the children presented their latest "Library Day" finds.

I never knew how closely I paid attention to any of this, until today.

***

Why do I remember this?
Why do I remember this today, now that K.T. is gone?

***

I was much younger when I knew Karen well.

I was fresh out of college and had my sights set on three things: dating the love of my life, accumulating as much of the gear that we sold in that store, and oh, yeah - figuring out my career....

Now I am older.

I married that love of my life.
I still wear much of the gear amassed during those few years at the 'Tweed.
And my career seems to be moving in the right direction.

But "Library Day" has its place in my world, too.

***

Now, with two children of my own, my weekly "To Do" list includes going to the library with them.
Since Declan was an infant, we'd hit the library at least once a week. Karen was, without a doubt, the inspiration for those first few trips.
Suddenly, we'd established such a routine that it felt odd to not go to the library every week.

***

Today, after hearing the news about K.T., I paused and thought of her while standing with my two kids in the middle of our library.
A tiny hand held each of mine, and for a long time I felt very, very sad.

***

Karen is the reason our librarians greet my children by name.

Karen is the reason our library basket is overflowing with books every day of the year.

And, she is the reason I encourage my children to love libraries and all they contain.

***
There is a woman who influenced me. And now she is gone.

I'm having a hard time believing she is gone.

But in every way imaginable, Karen will be Alive In The Books we cart home in our canvass bag, on "Library Day" each week.

gotta go gotta go gotta go

I got a Kindle for Christmas.
It got shipped to a man in the next town over who happens to have the same name as Briny.
And when he left us a voicemail saying he thinks he has our Kindle I knew Santa had come early.

I am still feeling it out.
Still getting used to flipping with a button.
In our days of an abundance of technology, this new "toy" will take some time getting used to.
I love books.
Booksth, as Xave calls them (his lisp is great). There is something about the weight, the smell and the feel.
And there is an unknown reaction that happens in the body when surrounded by books. For me it is the bookstore.
And for Xave, it is apparently the library. The sudden "gotta go" type urge.

For the past several weeks, as Xave and I pull into the library, he starts shouting, "PEEPEE! PEEPEE THERE!"
Huh?
And the first thing we do is head to the potty seat, pull down the diaper so he can yell and scream at me that he does not, in fact have to do peepee. BUt after about 10 minutes pulling out every 4th book in the children's section asking "firetuck? firetuckbookmom? He gets the gotta go urge. And goes. And tells me after. And no, not PEEPEE.
And I can't say I blame him. There is not a bookstore I have met where the same thing hasn't occured to me.

So I slowly enter the realm of the bookless books.
And wonder about the relationship between books and bowels.
And am happy that at least one of my traits was passed on to my son.
So when people say "he looks just like his dad", I can always come back with:
"yes but he does THIS, just like me..."