Six Months. Sixth Grade.

Do you know how sometimes you read something… a chapter in a book, an article in a magazine, a blog post, a news story… and you think to yourself, “Wow.  That introductory sentence was really something else”?

Yeah.

That’s not something that’s going to happen HERE tonight, because I have literally stared at a blank computer screen for over twenty minutes now and thought to myself, “I don’t even know where to start.”  I think it’s because PE beat me up today, and I’m not sure that I’m going to survive nine months with my kindergartners.  Oh, they’re cute.  That’s the problem; they’re entirely too cute.  I’m smitten with them.  But, y’all, they wear me out with their energy and their talking and their energy and their stories and also their energy.  Today, I had a guest soccer coach come in for gym class.  He’s from England, and he has the very best British accent of EVER-NESS.  I could have sat in the grass on the soccer field and listened to him talk all day long.  He came in and ran a little soccer clinic for my classes, so… you know… TOTAL BREAK FROM TEACHING.  As soon as the kindergarten class got themselves situated in the grass, I announced, “We have a very special guest today, from clear across the ocean… in England!… and he’s going to do some fun soccer drills with us today.”  And before another word could be uttered, one little fellow jumped to his feet and yelled, “Oh, man!  I’ve seen that guy before, and he’s an Indian!”

What?!

I looked at my royal soccer coach.  He shrugged his shoulders.  I looked back at the little guy and said, “Um, I don’t think he’s an Indian.”

Little Man raised his index finger and said, “He IS actually an Indian!  I saw him once, and he has a teepee and he had a bow and arrow, and I’m afraid he’s going to shoot us with it.”

The soccer coach just grinned and said, “I left my bow at home.  Clear back in England.  So no shooting anyone today.”

And PE continued.

(We’re not always politically correct in PE, either.  Don’t judge us.)

When the soccer-drilling commenced, a little girl came up to me and said, “I was just inspired by something in my brain, and my brain told my mouth to talk about it.”

I had to pick my jaw up out of the grass.

After shaking my head to clear it a bit (Because INSPIRED??  Coming from someone who is as tall as my left knee?),  I asked, “What were you inspired to say?”

She sat down on her soccer ball, completely giving up on kicking it around, and announced, “Well, my mom does yoga with a DVD on our TV every night, and I just remembered a great stretch from there that we could do in Bill class.”

Bill class?

I leaned in close to her and asked, “Honey, what are you talking about?”

And she replied, “Well, you know how you have us do stretches before we start?  I know a brand new one that we don’t do in this Bill class.  My mom does it in yoga, and I can teach it to you.”

Okay.  I understood the I KNOW A NEW YOGA POSE THAT COULD BE A POSSIBILITY IN HERE, IF OUR PE TEACHER WAS FLEXIBLE ENOUGH TO… YOU KNOW… ACTUALLY DO YOGA.  It was the Bill class where she was losing me.

I said, “Sweetheart, this is PE; not Bill class.”

She sighed and said, “Oh.”  And I told her that she could demonstrate her yoga inspiration to me later, but right now she needed to go kick the ball with the guy from England.  So off she went.

When PE was finished, I told the kindergartners, “Wasn’t it fantastic to learn some new soccer skills in gym class today?”

And my little gal was PLUM INSPIRED to jump to her feet and yell, “Jim!!  Jim class!  I knew it was either Jim or Bill, because I have an Uncle Jim and an Uncle Bill, and I got the wrong one!”

The soccer coach is scheduled to come back next Wednesday, too.  I hope we didn’t scare him off.

So there was all THAT today.

And do you know what else?  Well, today Thing 2 is officially six months old.

It has been six months since we saw his little body enter this world.  Six months since I bawled my eyes and heart out over six pounds, eight ounces of sweet perfection.  Six months since his birth mama sobbed and wrapped him in a blanket and handed him to me and Hubs.  Six months since Jesus gave us such a fantastic blessing.

Thing 2 has more energy than my kindergarten Bill class.  He screeches.  He hollers.  He laughs constantly.  He growls.  He just learned to suck on his bottom lip a bit and make a “lip smack” sound, which pleases him enough that he has done it close to one hundred times tonight.  He eats more food than the boy does.  He sleeps all night.  He lights up our life.  We are still head over heels in love with him.

AND…

…I have more pictures from last week tonight.  I’ve been sitting here, trying to get an inspiration from my brain, and then have my brain tell my fingers to type it, in the way of a TRANSITIONAL PHRASE, where I could easily tie HEY, THING 2 IS SIX MONTHS OLD into HEY, THE BOY HAD A BIT OF A PARTY ON THE FIRST DAY OF THE SIXTH GRADE.

Sadly, I came up with nothing, except that there was the six months and the 6th grade.

Pathetic.

Bear with me.

Don’t judge.

So yes.  The boy started junior high last Monday, which has been seven entire school days ago, and I’m just now getting around to putting pictures of the big day on my blog.  I think that’s what is commonly referred to as ENORMOUS SLACKER.

The boy was so excited for junior high, because of LOCKERS.  That’s it.  That’s all it took to jazz him up about school.  He loves having a locker; he loves twirling the dial and tapping out the combination several times a day; he loves throwing things in there and slamming the door.  He also loves changing classes and teachers… he loves that he has Kellen and Enzo and Carter and Quinn in several classes… he loves science and the experiments that they have already done…

Yes, it has been a great seven school days.

And it all started last Monday morning, with a few snapshots of the boy and Kellen together, because we picked Kellen up for school that day.

These goofy boys met in the swimming pool during lessons when they were both three years old.

Three.

And now they’re twelve and in junior high.  That’s what happens when a mama blinks her eyes once.

I drove the boys to school, and we met most of the gang outside on the sidewalk.  Naturally, I had my camera in the Suburban with me.  Naturally… I yelled out, “Scrunch together!  We’re preserving a memory here, boys!”  It’s what they’ve all come to expect from me.

And that group?  Oh, people!  That group of boys has been Jesus’ blessing to our boy.  Hubs and I have been diligently praying that Thing 2 will have a wolf pack exactly like this one, when he starts kindergarten in twenty-six years.  This group has grown up together.  They’ve laughed with each other… they’ve pushed each other… they’ve punched each other… they’ve wrestled each other… they’ve high-fived each other… they’ve slept on one another’s family room floors in sleeping bags… they’ve lit things on fire together… they’ve compared scabs and scars together… they’ve been to swimming pools and carnivals and parks and shopping malls and polo matches and baseball games and soccer games and the golf course and dinner together…

I want to freeze time right there.  I want them to remain SORT OF little forever.  I love these boys.

After school last Monday, we collected almost the entire gang, and we met in the park.  We pretended that it was FOR THE KIDS, but mostly it was for the moms, so that we could all hug one another and sigh and cry and say, “We have survived the first day of junior high.”

I made them all SCRUNCH TOGETHER ON A PICNIC TABLE TO PRESERVE ANOTHER MEMORY.  They knew I’d do it, too.

On the bottom row is Ellie, Gracie, Carter, Kellen, Patrick and Bek.  Up top is Quinn, Enzo and the boy.  We had a few missing from our pack.  Ciara had cross country practice.  Isabella had an appointment.  Nichole and Mikayla were at the eye doctor.

We brought an enormous watermelon and cheese and crackers and chips, and the kids attacked the food like hungry bears.  A full day at the junior high had taken its toll on these guys.

The gang all got together and decided to play Kick The Can.  They ran.  And ran.  And chased one another, tagged one another, and cheered one another on.  They argued over ridiculous rules; they lobbied to change rules; they democratically voted on rule changes.  In the end, they had a blast, which was evidenced by the amount of red, sweaty faces.

Throughout the afternoon, I kept yelling out, “Smile!”  And they did.

The boy even took a break from all the running to field a phone call, because his dad called to ask him how his very first day at the junior high went.

And there it is.

6th grade has kicked itself off, and we celebrated the first day in style.  We moms sat and listened while the gang told us all about their classes over mouths filled with watermelon.  We heard about literature and WE HAVE TO READ TWO BOOKS A MONTH!  We heard about science and advanced math and band and I HOPE I GET TO PLAY THE SAXOPHONE.  They told us about locker combination mishaps and who tripped on the stairs and who has art before lunch and who has Bill class.

Yes.  Bill class.

I hear it’s a pretty fun subject.

Y’all have a very happy Wednesday night.

1 thought on “Six Months. Sixth Grade.

  1. I thought you were going Janet Evanovich on me with the blog titles with numbers…hahaha.

    Speaking of junior high lockers — Did you ever dream about forgetting your combination? Talk about nightmare…

    And congrats on a great summer! Kept reading and looking at your pics — while I spent my days in the Antarctic cube farm. I need to go back to school to teach Bill class.

    Keep bloggin’ along Jedi Mama! Lovin’ every word of it! Here’s to more picnic lunches…

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