Back to School Sidewalk Sale

They don't do that anymore do they? shame. I have fond memories of downtown Bountiful, hot pavement, bad selection, picked over sizes, milling crowds and marked down ugly Buster Browns. Oh, on closer inspection, those memories aren't of the fond variety, but remembering the sidewalk sales takes me right back to my elementary school daze. The sixties, nothing like 'em, good times, good times.

Today was the first day (or first of four half days of school, really, why bother?) and the race is back on or, a more apt metaphor would be the gerbil is back on the wheel for another academic year. The only school shopping memories my girls will have will be centered around ripping open the Land's End boxes on the porch. I fear that point click UPS delivery just won't be as evocative 30 years from now of the first days of school as the words "sidewalk sale" are for me, shame really.

However, how do I feel about school starting up again?: If I had half a clue about computer stuff, I would know how to find some zesty graphics or clip art of a tiny defenseless person just about to be swept away by a tidal wave of paper to illustrate how I feel this evening. Having four in elementary school at the same time and keeping track of homework, homework folders, reading assignments, reading charts, spelling lists, menus, student profiles, student supply lists, teacher and classroom supply lists, field trip sign ups, poetry folders, and various ME bags is feeling a bit much right at the minute. So instead, I figure why not update the blog because even though I'm feeling decidedly flat and unamusing this month, writing a blog entry is much less daunting than the pile o' crap waiting for me on the kitchen table. Really, I must be nuts. I really need my head examined because it's not like any of my children were "accidents." This was all planned, I knew exactly what I was doing when I sent in each adoption application, there were no oopsies in the bunch unlike my youngest brother Clark, he was a definite oops, but I really like him so that worked out okay in the long run. So I only have myself to blame, but when Nora's teacher said "I just don't know how you do it?" I replied, "well you're about to see first hand how I don't do it very well sometimes, and only just adequately the rest of the time." I should have added: "Please have patience with me and try not to resent me too much when everything you send home gets lost in the roaring vortex of homework/announcement/half-page permission slip of paper doom," but how do you do it is more of a rhetorical question and I didn't want to overstep my answer.

And it's those half-page sized dealies that are sure and certain to be important as in please mark your calendars or please sign and return before yesterday that are sure and certain to get lost/recyled/used as scratch paper, never fails.

And yes, last spring I made the decision to hold Nora back and within two days, I had changed my mind and let Nora graduate from Kindergarten with her sister. Nora started first grade today. She is tall and competitive and too smart to be held back. I had to process and accept the fact that Nora will struggle to learn and regardless if I made her repeat kindergarten, she would still struggle to learn because that is just who Nora is going to be, a different learner. I can't protect her from the struggle even though holding her back felt like I was protecting her. I wasn't. I was only protecting myself from watching her flail and fail and feel hurt and "less than." And I have to admit that holding her back also protected me from the the extra effort it will take on my part from now on to help Nora do her best in school. It has now become my struggle to find out how to help her learn without so much struggle and tears and shame.

I've had it so easy with the oldest three. They may not ever be Rhodes Scholars, but they won't make me worry about how in the world they will ever make a living or support themselves. I have to come to terms with my Nora, who, in addition to being a child who is an emotional challenge to raise, is also a challenge to teach and learns differenlty than her peers. I can't sit back anymore and just beam with pride like I have for the past five years since Ellie started kindergarten. I have to learn how this whole public education system works and how to make it work better for Nora. And did I mention that I'm lazy? to the bone? and beaming with pride is easy, but learning a whole new language with it's own special jargon and pushing for the right extra assistance is hard and, on the whole, I'd really rather not? But, apparently, that's what other parents do and now I need to do that too. But while I'm doing that, there's nothing says my kids can't look damn cute on the first day of school. Not only do I beam well, I burst buttons pretty good too.

and before you know it, it's August

First, I really must figure out all those slick slide show gizmos because it just took for freaking ever to upload these pics and that will teach me to be a schlump and not update the blog for vast time periods. But here's July is a picture essay.

The Big Dig, SLC version. The whole reason I bought this house was for the proximity to the Jr. High where I envisioned my wholesome teens walking home within minutes of the last bell, cracking the books the second they walk through the door, finishing all of their homework plus the extra credit before starting dinner and tidying up and making me a proud proud mama. It could happen and I bought this house to ensure that it would, but be careful what you ask for because to take my delusions up a notch, the school district granted me a brand new junior high school. Unfortunately, they chose to build right next to the old junior high so the kids don't have to be uprooted during the school year which means the new school is being built in the space that used to be the sports field and heavenly buffer between my back wall and the old school building. No more, they've torn out the playing field and excavated many many feet, I want to say 30 feet down, but what do I know, it could be 20, but however much, it's a ton of dirt and . . .

a great portion of it ends up on the bottom of the pool that shall spurn all covers every damn day. If you can't dope out this picture, those are the tracks in the crud left by the pool vac on a typical day after the diggers have done their damnedest to churn up every piece of grit they could get airborne during their shift. The fellows at the pool supply know me by my new nickname, the Phosphate Lady, and what does algae love to eat more than anything? that's right phosphates. What a big wide pain in my big wide ass this pool has been this year. . .

except for when it's not and the kids are having a blast and frolicking to beat the band and making my heart high.



We drove up to Cache Valley for Grandma's summer birthday although she hasn't been alive for the last two summer birthdays, it's still a great reason to go to my Uncle John and Aunt Elaine's grandkid Neverland (they have a ton of grandkids) to ride Chocolate and Chip, the go carts, the riding mower turned into a wagon train, the little play house, the big amazing water slide built into a gully and powered by a hose dropped into the creek, the girls love love love it up there and I always pick up a great recipe or two from the potluck, so it's a hit for every generation.





Then came Nora's birthday, she turned six this year although it feels like she's still emotionally not quite four yet and I have to admit, my blogging reticence is in large part related to my still not warm and fuzzy feelings about Little Miss Firecracker, it is still hard work to be her parent and it may always feel like this and that's still a hard concept to which I must adjust. But, for her birthday, I sacrificed my comfort and sanity for a day at the local amusement mecca and we hit Magoon (Nora can't remember Lagoon and in 100 degree heat, it feels more like a Magoon) with all pistons firing . . .

with some of this . . .

some of that (click this one to enlarge, does it look like being spun against the outside of the ride over and over and over is a good time?) . . .

a little more of this . . .

and some more of that . . .

and they still were strong after the second log flume ride, the wet invigorated them . . .

until all of the this and the that and the oppressive heat finally wore my Magooniacs down and I convinced them it was time to go . . .

to Grandma's house with all of Nora's gifts in the back of the van and my brother tasked with bringing the cake and ice cream up to meet us. Grandma still too weak and tires so easily that it is by far easier to bring the party to her than to expect her to come to us and it was a good day and I don't have to go to Magoon for a whole 'nother year, yay me.

Alex, what is Provo Canyon?

I can't think of the right category, though, for the question. Potent potables? But that only applies to half of the question: As the sun sets on Lindsay Lohan and my eldest daughter, where are they both laying their heads to sleep? Yep, in scenic but the willies producing Utah County: there's a whole lot of religion and bad architecture going on down Provo way, makes me shiver. The difference is that my chaste and Polly Purehearted daughter is snoozing away at Girl Scout camp where I delivered her excited little GS self this morning and that other gal, the one who is deeply, deeply troubled, sad and self-involved, is sleeping it off a little further on up the canyon in her new get clean digs.

And how about this for a comparison of extremes. Lindsay leaves a drug rehab center after a month of therapy and heads to Vegas to sip energy drinks, wink, wink, yeah energy drinks, with a whole lot of folks who didn't take any stinking sobriety pledge. She so very obviously values her own sobriety and would never take any risks with her career and health, not that Lindsay, she's too much of a smart cookie for those kinds self destructive high jinks.

As opposed to this moring, when I asked Ellie if she had packed her fanny pack, she jumped like she had been shot because she just remembered it still contained two contraband packs of Trident gum that she learned from her last GS camp experience are forbidden fruit and not welcome at GS camp. She tore into the pack, emptied out the gum and cast it away from her, out devil, out. My girl won't even try to smuggle sugar free gum into Trefoil Ranch even without an aspartame detecting ankle bracelet.

But won't my girl get a kick out of knowing that she and Lindsay spent the week just a few miles apart? breathing the same bracing mountain air, both riding horses along side the Weber River, attending group meetings to discuss the principles of beating addiction though a twelve-step program? Oh wait, that one's just for Ms. Lohan. Ellie will be making boondoggle key fobs, whew, what a relief, much better.

And, yes, I agree that I know too much about Ms. Lohan's escapades because (a) you just can't escape the coverage, it's shamefully pervasive, and (b) my girls want to know what it all means, why is she always getting in trouble?, what does rehab mean? what's a DUI? We have some interesting conversations about how Lindsay just keeps forgetting to say no. So we wish Ms. Lohan the best, but since the true human drama is happening about 150 miles south of Provo Canyon, all my best thoughts and hopes for recovery are for those miners and their families tonight. Sorry Lindsay, you're on your own.