The Secret to Good Health

Chris had yesterday off so we picked Timothy up from school and headed to the mountains to go fishing…which for the kids, goes something like this: 1) Have Chris tie the hook while playing with the worms, 2) have Chris bait hook with poor, exhausted worms who are probably thankful for their fate by this point, 3) have Chris cast the line, 4) after being handed the pole, hold for 30 seconds, 5) using process of trial and error, attempt to see how close you can get to water without actually falling in, 6) fall in the water, 7) allow approximately 1 min 30 seconds to pass, then declare loudly that you haven’t caught a fish and fishing is boring, 8 ) chase ducks.

On our way to the lake, we stopped in Idaho Springs, a mountain town along I-70, where we had lunch and walked up to an old water wheel to check it out. A sign said that Charlie Tayler built the wheel in the late 1800’s to power his mining operations. It also said Tayler attributed his good health to the fact that he never kissed women or took baths. Though I’m pretty sure if he followed the second rule, the first one took care of itself.

Star Struck

It’s Day 3 of the Democratic National Convention, and the city that prides itself on not caring about the details of Britney Spears’ fight for her children…or even who her children are (Sean Preston and Jayden James. Thank you.) is starstruck. Chris and I went to the DNC media party Saturday night, which was held at Elitch Gardens…a cheesy amusement park that Chris was warned against by his boss when he first toured Denver. He said the dancers in the stage shows didn’t know their moves and the characters that roamed the park appeared to have mange. So they spruced the park up for the media party, which was actually quite enjoyable except that I made the mistake of eating all the delish catered food before going on the rides. Oh, and I had a beer. Ugh. But while we were there, people kept coming up and saying nonchalantly, “So there’s a rumor that Oprah’s here,” and when I tried to tell them that Oprah was probably holed up in her $50,000/week private house and not wandering Elitch’s eating funnel cakes and riding the Mind Eraser, no one believed me. Of course she was here. This was the coolest party ever. (Note: as far as I can tell, she was not there.)

The local news stations are all breathlessly reporting on the likes of Gayle King, John Legend and Spike Lee and at least one person at Chris’ work swooned over getting to meet Anderson Cooper.

I always knew it. I knew that under the affected indifference to celebrities, the why-should-we-care-about-them-we-have-more-important-things on-our-minds veneer was a city of people who like to hide out in the bath with their trashy tabloids and a glass of wine and an occasional viewing of TMZ. Just like me. Phew.

So Timothy came home with his first homework assignment on Friday. I’m looking it over now and I’m afraid it looks like I did the whole thing. What is the standard for kindergarten homework anyway? Was he supposed to do it all himself? Am I supposed to help? How much?

The kids were each given a different giant cardboard alphabet letter on Friday and were told to go home and decorate their letters with things beginning with the same letter. We (I mean…Timothy) got the letter “P”. So he decided he wanted to make his letter into a giant peacock, with feathers fanning out behind it. It was his idea but I will admit I helped him make his feathers because it was an ambitious project. He also wanted to put things from Paris, a pumpkin, polka dots, a picture of a plant and a present on his “P”. And color the entire thing purple. Is his teacher going to think I put the Eiffel Tower on there or is she going to realize that that was his idea? Was I allowed to help him cut out his feathers? I’m waiting for her to pull me aside and have a talk with me about taking over his homework.

But dangit, we’d better get an “A.”

Hail to the Chief

Timothy and Alexis and I were watching the Olympics the other day when a Barack Obama ad came on and we started talking about the presidential election. Timothy told me he’d vote for Barack first because 1) he (Timothy) thinks Barack Obama is a funny name and 2) he (Barack) has more commercials. Then he would vote for John McCain next because “he has more important commercials.”

He was very mad to learn that he’s not old enough to vote yet.

Getting Schooled

So Timothy starts school next week and Chris is already fed up. Actually, I think the fact that Timothy starts school next week is the first irritant right there. Public, non-year-round school starts August 12. And in a state like Colorado where we already have a limited number of good-weather months, it’s annoying to be in school at the beginning of August. But he really started getting annoyed last week when we read the list of supplies Timothy needs to bring with him. The list was online and launched Chris into a diatribe that began like this, “Kleenex?!?!?! I get buying him new crayons. I don’t mind buying new crayons. I think even I had to buy new crayons and take them to school with me. But KLEENEX????? The school can’t afford Kleenex for the kids — they have to bring their own????” and went on and on. Then on Saturday, we got the letter from the school introducing the principal, talking a little about the school and, at the end, mentioning the school fees we’d need to pay when we enrolled. Which led to another diatribe about bloated bureaucracies and where is our tax money going and ridiculous school spending and ending with, “This year it’s $70. By the time Caleb is in kindergarten, they’ll be asking for $200. Who’s to stop them?” etc, etc.

I think maybe it was the pledge Timothy (who is five, for those who have forgotten) had to sign, promising to use the Internet responsibly that really sent him over the edge. Apparently the district frowns on kindergarteners downloading porn and spamming county workers.

I haven’t really gotten myself off to a much better start. I went to the school yesterday to enroll Timothy and pay the aforementioned fees and sign the Internet pledge myself that I would not encourage my kindergartener to hack in and change his grades (apparently if Ferris Bueller had been caught, he would have been charged with a felony. Now don’t you feel bad for laughing.) I was in the office and asked the receptionist four questions, which, judging from her attitude, was three too many. Since I preregistered, I couldn’t remember if I’d paid the fees already or not and I asked her and she said, “You probably haven’t.” I’m sorry to say I made a pain of myself. Because if there’s one thing I know about giving agencies money, it is that once you have done it — mistake or no — you’re not getting it back. So I made her look me up in the computer. She did and she was right — I hadn’t paid, though I think she could have said so a little less triumphantly. As I was writing out the check, Timothy was looking at her collection of pencils, which had plastic fruits and vegetables on top as decorations. He held one up and said, “What’s this?” and I told him it was a broccoli. The receptionist said, somewhat teasingly, “You don’t eat those at home?” and Timothy said, “No. Mom hates broccoli,” and I was forced to admit, “He’s right. I hate broccoli.” She pursed her lips and went back to typing. When we were finally making our way out the door, I remembered to ask if the Thurs night Kindergarten Orientation meeting was for kids or parents only. She said, “Oh, yes, it’s for the parents so if you can come without the kids, it would be best,” and then I asked her if it was any different than the parents’ meeting they held a few months ago where we learned all about the school and the kindergarten and anything else one could possibly want to know about kindergarten ever. She sighed loudly, shrugged her shoulders and said, (wearily?), “I really don’t know.”

I’ve just enrolled the first of three children going to this school and already the office hates me.