Moments such as these

On my way out of the Bunster's preschool, there was a big sign "Graduation and Make-up Photos are Here!" I vaguely remembered there being a picture day a few weeks back, so I stopped to check if we had a packet to pick up. Sure enough, there was a thick envelope with a horrendous photo of the Bunster peeking out.

At the Bunster's old school, school pictures were done just as I remember them from my elementary school years. There was one picture day per year. A few weeks later, you got a proof sheet and an order form that featured a variety of options, none of which were exactly the combination of photo sizes and numbers that you wanted. You bought the assortment you compromised on and it arrived not long afterward, along with a copy of the class photo. If your eyes were closed, you got one chance to retake the photo. And that was it.

Not at the Bunster's current school, though.

We've now completed the fourth "picture day" of this school year and I'm not sure we're done yet. We had the Fall photos, the Spring photos, the Graduation photos, and also a Natural Poses photo day, which we skipped (I think Natural Poses means positioning the child awkwardly with his hand curled under his chin in front of a cutesy backdrop, then photoshopping the image to make it look as much as possible like those fake vintage greeting cards. At least, as far as I could tell from the samples.).

With all this practice, we've gotten to know the drill. Each photo shoot involves several poses, some with accessories like wicker chairs or baskets of fake apples. A few weeks later, we receive a large packet with multiple photos of each pose. We select the ones we want to keep and return the rest along with payment for the prints we kept. The Spring photos also include the option to buy a class photo. And of course, each time we are also solicited to buy additional prints and miscellaneous photo-related keepsakes from their handy web site.

The Graduation photos, however, turn out to be a little different. There is only one pose, which they printed in various sizes. It shows the Bunster grimacing in a white gown and mortarboard, while clutching a white diploma tied with a gold bow. If you swapped out the mortarboard for a halo and the diploma for a cardboard harp, he'd look like a little boy who really doesn't want to play the angel in the Christmas pageant but is putting up with it, having failed in his struggles to break free. The photo is certainly a keeper, but not in quite the way they intended.

In addition to this, they included a handy ready-to-fill-out "Graduation Certificate" and photo holder, with gilt lettering (presented to ______ for successful completion of study and active attendance), and a pre-scrapbooked photo, with little mortarboard-and-diploma graphics and the slogan "Moments such as these only happen once."

Mmm-hmmm.

"Moments such as these" aren't going to only happen once. The photos seem to happen at a pretty steady pace. And as for the graduation, if this early start is any indication, moments like this will happen five more times. Maybe more, if he heads for grad school.

Why is there is such a thing as pre-school graduation at all? Sure, leaving preschool and heading off for Kindergarten is a milestone. But it's one that should be celebrated with cupcakes and juice. Perhaps a Spring Concert for parents to admire their kids as they sing and do a little play. Maybe even a bounce-house if you're going all out.

Instead, the Bunster's graduation involves the following:

• Six weeks of almost-daily rehearsal.
• Photo in cap-and-gown, with diploma and little blue "Class of 2007" tassel.
• A $25 "graduation fee" to the school.
• A requirement that we send the kids to school on graduation day in black pants (which is, of course, about the only color the Bunster does not already own).
• A special graduation tee shirt (nice, except that he has about 47 tee shirts already).
• The presentation of a fake diploma, so that the real one can be handed directly to the parents afterward, to preserve it in pristine condition.
• And worst of all, missing his brother's high school graduation, because the ceremonies are, by awful coincidence, on the same day, one hour and 56 miles apart.

I thought, briefly, about skipping the fake graduation in favor of the real one. And then I remembered the six weeks of preparation, the new songs, the constant hype the kids have all received. I thought about how I'd have felt, missing a party all my school friends were going to. And so the Bunster and I will be there, fakely graduating, while big brother G, J, and the grandparents will be doing the real thing.

At least we're sure to have plenty of photos.
 

Completion, explosion, coughing, and vamping

Apparently, I don't post often enough. So, quick update time:

1. The kitchen is done, pretty much. We have one additional shelf to install inside a cabinet, but that's about a half-hour of work for J. next weekend. No big deal, he says. Here's how it looks now:
2. The brand new Blue Star stove exploded. During a dinner party, even. We're the most gracious hosts...we made the guests bring the main dish and then we blew it up.*

3. The Bunster has a slight cold. Enough to stay home from school yesterday and today, but just barely. So he's going stir-crazy in the house and we're both getting royally sick of playing Chutes-and-Ladders. It helps that he likes to play it backwards once someone wins (counting down from 100 to 1, so chutes are now good and ladders are bad news), but not by much. Does anyone make a strategy-based game for preschoolers? I'd pay good money for one. Probably willing to fork over way too much good money, if you catch me on a day like today.

4. I have no actual subject to blog about today, except maybe the kitchen. I'm just vamping desperately so I can post anyway. Can you tell?

5. Hey, here's a Meez!



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* Okay, actually, only the grill exploded, the rest of the stove still works great. And it's under warranty, of course, since it was just installed in December. And we finished the meat under the broiler (appropriate, since it was London broil). But the story is better without those pesky details. Can't grill with it looking like this:

Nice hole in the gas line, hunh? At least no one was hurt.

We just got the replacement parts from Prizer-Painter (who make the Blue Star range) and are waiting for a repair to be scheduled. Since simply getting the parts into the mail took 'em three weeks, we're just hoping to be grilling again before the weather gets too warm to do it indoors.

At least they didn't call it an iPod

We got a Macy's lingerie catalog the other day and I found this while flipping through it:



Because everything can be marketed better if you steal whatever's trendy and reapply it meaninglessly to your product...

What on earth is an iBra? I don't even want to hear about interactivity. J. wanted to know if it has a USB port or Bluetooth (ouch!). And, of course, I can't pass up wondering whether it becomes SCSI after too many washes.

p.s. no Meeze today, maybe soon, though.

Good News!

Last week, J got a call from his mechanic at the Mazda dealership. "Good news!" the guy said, "Your brakes are shot and various fluids need flushing. It'll be only a thousand dollars, on top of the $300+ for your 30K service."

No kidding, he started this with "Good news!"

Apparently, everything can be good. It just needs the right spin.

Keep reading...

So:

"Good news! People are dying and threatening death over a few stupid cartoons they haven't even seen."

"Good news! We're in an unwinnable war in the wrong country, while leaving our main enemy free to wreck further destruction for years."

"Good news! Our president has spawned a whole cottage industry of tee shirts and refrigerator magnets with cute phases along the lines of "Like a rock...only dumber."

Yeah, it didn't work with the car either. J took the car over to our regular mechanic, who did a great job for a lot less. He'd only taken it to the dealership in the first place because he thought the brake problem might be warranty work. If only the other problems were so easy to resolve when spinning doesn't work.

I'd originally intended to write something lighthearted about comics, or maybe agree with Marie that the correct response to an offensive cartoon is to return fire with your own cartoon. But I made the mistake of reading the news before writing.
 

Midnight hurl

I went to bed kind of late last night and was awoken after perhaps an hour of sleep by a little voice calling, "Mommy, my tummy hurts."

I think you can guess what's coming next. But at 2:15 in the morning, I didn't have a clue. Even though the Bunster has been recovering from the flu.

So I staggered down the hall, scooped him out of bed, and initiated soothing Mommy conversation #12: "Tell Mommy Where It Hurts." And some little lizard brain thing started propelling me away from the bed and slowly toward the door as he said "Right here" while pointing at his abdomen. "Do you think you're going to throw up?" I asked. "No," he said, snuggling closer and burrowing his head against my shoulder. And then he vomited in my hair and down my back. Plus a little on the rug and a miniscule amount on the hall floor, which is wood and easy to clean.

God, I love parenting!

I have so much more sympathy now for all the hurled-upon teens that Steve draws.

Keep reading...

So...J got a towel and I stood on it to strip off all the barfy pajamas. I wrapped up my hair in a beyond-gross barf-bun, and then washed up the Bunster and strategic bits of myself while J cleaned the hall. J took the Bunster and got him into dry pjs and snuggled him in our bed while I scrubbed the rug. Then we tucked the Bunster back into his own bed, where he slept peacefully. I rinsed off everything that needed it and J tossed the load of wash into the machine. Then I took a shower and scrubbed my hair. A lot.

After this flurry of activity, we finally got back to sleep at 4 am.

This morning, the Bunster was fresh as a daisy and none the worse for wear and every other cliché along those lines. And J and I looked like we'd had the flu for a week and might not get over it anytime soon. We brewed a giant pot of coffee. It helped a little.