Johnny Appleseed and the Burnt Applesauce a/k/a Cooking Disaster #259

My first grader celebrated Johnny Appleseed's birthday today. They took a field trip to a theater where they saw a play about Johnny Appleseed. My son was one of a handful of kids chosen to go up on stage and participate.

This afternoon, I went to the classroom and helped with an apple "taste testing" party. Last night and this morning, I had peeled and sliced two pecks of apples (four little white bags of MacIntosh apples to be exact). It took forever even with my apple peeler. I washed, peeled, sliced and bagged five gallon-size Ziploc bags and carted them to school.

I was put in charge of the taste testing table. I washed and sliced six different apples for the 20 students to test and rate on a sheet of paper.

I was also put in charge of making applesauce in a wok sitting on a hot plate in the back of the classroom. I put one bag of the chopped apples in the wok, and they reduced down to applesauce. My fatal mistake was in not removing the first applesauce. I was in a hurry, so I simply added the next bag of chopped apples and went back to the taste testing table.

A few minutes later, I see the teacher run across the room as the smell of burning apples filled the air. I went over to the wok and started to stir the applesauce but the teacher informed me that the applesauce was scorched. However, it wasn't all that bad, and there was enough unscorched applesauce for each student to try. The teacher is going to take the other three bags home to make more applesauce there and bring it back for the kids. That way there wouldn't be any chance that I would f**k it up again.

I have set off smoke detectors with my cooking. I had to throw away pans when I tried to make homemade candy with a candy thermometer. I can't follow a recipe to save my life as witnessed by this old blog post.

My son saw what was going on, slapped his hand on his forehead and shook his head. All the kids had a good time even if the classroom smelled like burned apples.

I haven't been this embarrassed since last year when I lost a third grader at the Minnesota Children's Theater. I turned my back for a minute to get everyone lined up, and this little snot took off. I think I gave that teacher a heart attack.

Some mothers are like Martha Stewart. I am not. But one of these days a teacher is going to want to teach their class to knit, and then they'll come crawling back.

I'm going to my happy place to try and forget about this day.

The Cat's Throwing up on my Shoe . . . Tales of the First Day of School

And they're off. The bus just picked up my two kids. They are unleashed into the wild.

The morning went about as expected. They woke up early with the anticipation of going back to school. They ate breakfast with no complaints. They grew more quiet as the morning wore on. I made sure they each knew their lunch PIN number and classroom number. My daughter ended up writing her lunch number on her arm so she wouldn't have to worry about forgetting it in the lunch line.

There were some tense moments when we couldn't find my daughter's neon pink arm warmers. She argued about having to wear her glasses again. I reminded her that they are non-negotiable when she is in school. (I'll bet money that she walks off the bus tonight without having them on.) My son refuses to use his new Clone Wars backpack that I bought him. He insisted on using the same Pirates of the Caribbean backpack from last year. It has two holes in it and a stain from the last day of Y Camp this year when it rained all day. I was picking my battles this morning, and that just wasn't going to be one of them. The pirate backpack was reenlisted for duty.

All was going according to schedule when I heard a piercing scream from my daughter. "The cat's throwing up on my shoe!" Sure enough, the cat was throwing up near my daughter's new Rosy Hodgepodge Hi-Top sneaker shoes. The brand new ones with the crochet flower details. My daughter's favorite possession at the moment. I ran down the stairs to the front door where the cat was throwing up all over the floor. Evidently, she had the "first day of school nerves" also. Fortunately, the shoes managed to avoid the cat puke. I cleaned up after her, and all was well again.

I took their pictures. Together. Individually. With their backpacks. They didn't complain too much. Every year I take their pictures on the first and last days of school. It's amazing to see how much they grow each year.

Finally, it was time to be at the bus stop. We were there the requisite ten minutes early. The bus was right on time. The driver was the one from last year who had been hurt last winter when he fell on the ice. The kids were overjoyed to see him again. I stood looking at the kids getting on the bus. I smiled and told them to have a great day. The driver looked at me and grinned. He held his hand up, and I went up on the bus to give him a high-five. Then, in a great fit of grace and maturity, he and I both chanted, "First day of school! First day of school!" I laughed, gave the kids and driver one last smile and waive and went into the house.

It was quiet. The cat came and looked for the kids. I swallowed down the lump in my throat. I told myself it's just not possible to miss them already. I looked around the house at the reminders of the summer that has just passed by all too quickly. There is a Lego creation on a table. One of my daughter's drawing pads is in the living room. I feel like I'm perched on a precipice for some reason. I'm afraid to move. New beginnings don't upset me the way that goodbyes and endings do, but they make me nervous.

I'm sure I'll be nervous all day today and feeling like I'm inching my way around a steep drop-off. Every once in awhile I'll look at the clock and wonder what the kids are doing right this very minute. Are they having fun? Are they making new friends? Are they resilient enough to shake off any disappointments that may have happened? I may throw up myself.

I worry too much. I'm a Mom. And that's my job.

Hating This . . .

I was doing my usual volunteering in the kindergarten classroom this afternoon, and then I stayed and watched the afternoon performance of my son's Christmas concert.  

Usually, Joe is very excited to see me on Thursday afternoons.  Today, he was busy talking with a little girl named Michelle who sits across the table from him in class.  I have been hearing a lot about Michelle lately.  She is a lovely, bright-eyed and personable little girl who smiles all the time.  I observed a certain dynamic going on between the two of them.  There was much goofy behavior from my son along with side-long glances at Michelle.  There was eye-batting, coy smiling, laughing and hair flipping from Michelle.  She came up to me and told me that Joe is so funny and Joe is so nice.  I watched the two of them work on an art project together with Joe continuing to be goofy, and Michelle working the hair flip.  

During the concert, they were whispering together and smiling and laughing.  My son was totally absorbed in this little kindergarten harlot.  And I am jealous.  

I have seen the future.  I know one things for sure:  I will be the mother-in-law from Hell some day.  

At least she's a brunette.  I'm going to go cry in a corner now.  

Sunny Days

This week my son had his first visit with the school principal because he was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself and sitting still and listening to the teacher. I don't know what the principal told him at their meeting, but he has been completely reprogrammed into a sweet, mild-mannered, well-behaved kid . . . at school anyway. I will have to call and talk to the principal about it because: a) I need to know her secret to dealing with this problem behavior; and b) I would like to ask her if she can move in with us so he will be better behaved at home. Whatever she did, it certainly can't be as bad as my grade school principal and her ear pulling and hairbrush. Catholic school was harsh. Kind of like the television show "Survivor" with nuns.

My son's kindergarten class has now adopted a new "classroom behavior philosophy" and a "classroom management plan". The plan is based on weather symbols: sunny, partly cloudy and rainy. Each child begins with a sunny card in a pocket chart. If behavior expectations are not met, the first consequence is a verbal reminder from the teacher.

The second consequence is that the sunny card is removed and replaced with a party cloudy card. The behavioral expectation is stated, and if the child's behavior again meets expectations, the sunny card is put back in the pocket.

The third consequence is that the partly cloudy card is removed and replaced with a rainy card. Behavioral expectation is restated and "think time" is given. A note is sent home or a phone call is made. If the behavior improves, the teacher puts the sunny card back in the pocket.

The fourth consequence is that the rainy card is removed and the child conferences with administration and a phone call home is made. If the behavior improves, the sunny card will again be put back in the pocket.

Whatever your child's behavior was that day, a "sunshine ticket", "partly cloudy ticket" or a "rainy ticket" will be sent home in their folder. We are supposed to give praise for a good day or encouragement for a difficult day.

This sounds like a good system to me. However, I think the best part is that the teacher has also decided that the kids need to work together to reward positive individual and class behavior. If the entire class stays on a "sunshine ticket", they earn a "link". When they have 10 "links", they get a reward like "game day" or "free choice time".

My son is so psyched about this, he is almost killing himself to be good so he gets a sunshine ticket each day. So far, he's gotten a sunshine ticket two days in a row. He doesn't want to let his class down. He's cool like that.

The only bad thing about it is that he is working so hard to be good at school, when he gets home, he has a complete meltdown. Living in this house is kind of like being on a wild rollercoaster ride that just never ends.

I've got no choice but to hang onto the rollercoaster and hope and pray for sunny days.

And So It Begins . . .

The fourth day of kindergarten, my son's teacher emailed me that my son was having trouble keeping his hands to himself and listening.  He had a meeting with the school guidance counselor because he was rough with another child at recess.  His teacher had three "chats" with him this morning.  And she emailed me for my "thoughts" on the matter.  

My thoughts actually consist of a plan to gas up my van, hit the highway and keep driving until I "disappear".  However, since that is not an option at this point in time, I explained what I had put on the school's intake form and her class questionnaire - the kid does not transition well.  When he feels out of control of his environment, he acts up.  She wanted to give him the consequence of having to miss recess when he misbehaves, and I agreed.  I also tried to solicit any ideas for helping him learn to control his aggression, but she didn't have any.  She doesn't want the other children to start avoiding him because he is trouble.  Her heart is in the right place.  

His misbehavior continued into the afternoon.  He refused to line up after recess.  His teacher asked him what happened to his "listening ears".  He told her that "the electricity went out."  He also went on to explain that he "called the man to come fix the electricity, but he hadn't come yet."  

And someday, far in the future, this will all be worth it when I watch him doing comedy routines on television.  

I'd love to tell you that I didn't expect this to happen, but the kid comes by it honestly.  I've got three nuns and a Czechoslovakian lunch lady (who once chased me around the school cafeteria with a wooden spoon screaming "You no damn good!" and swearing in Czechoslovakian) who would testify that the apple does not fall far from the tree.  

It's going to be a long school year.