What To Do When Life Hands You Orange Roses

There's nothing wrong with orange roses...unless your garden palette is primarily pinks, blues, and yellows and they clash horribly.

But Life--as well as students, their parents and my family members--keeps throwing those oranges (and apricots and peaches) at me. Mini-roses, baby roses, floribunda roses, hybrid tea roses--in all shades of orange from shocking to soft.  Aren't there some sweet pinks and striking whites and yummy yellows out there that people can buy?

 

I know...I'm an ungrateful wretch.  I received this amazingly lovely rose named Just Joey last year and I wanted more than anything to cart it to the nearest nursery and talk them into letting me switch it with All-American Beauty or Iceberg or an Austen rose.  Because although I appreciate the sentiment behind the gift (and it is a lovely rose), mixing those oranges with my beloved pastels just doesn't work. It's not fair to either.

I kept Just Joey.  I believe if someone takes the time to choose a gift for me with love, then I need to accept it gracefully.  So I pulled up my Big Girl Panties and accepted the challenge yet again.

I have a dedicated garden by our mailbox reserved just for those orange hues. They co-exist there in harmony with a few white Shasta daisies and some English lavender. Just Joey joined the group last summer. I have so many oranges that I've also resorted to planting the baby roses in large pots that can be moved away from blue delphiniums or pink petunias as needed.

 

Plants (even orange roses) are my very favorite teacher gift and I like watering the "Twins" rose or the "Class of 2010" rose or the "Neighborhood Boys" rose while I remember how much fun kindergarten is.  I wouldn't be surprised if some of my neighbors think that orange roses are my favorites as they walk or drive by our mailbox.

I admit I got a quick pang of regret when Just Joey started blooming as I thought about the beautiful rose I could have exchanged it for, but then I thought about the cute mischievous freckled grin that accompanied this rose and a real Joey from that same year and I've decided that orange might just be my favorite color of rose after all!

No, not really.

(But I'm learning to appreciate them.)
 

Thanks to Liz at Fresh Cut Friday for getting me out of my posting doldrums and back into sharing!

And come join Cindy at My Romantic Home (talk about a girl who loves roses!) for some Show and Tell without compare!

J.K.

It must be April Fool's Day. I had kids telling me there were spiders in my hair, they were going to Disneyland tomorrow, my shoe was untied, they were getting a new kitten, etc., all day long.

I didn't fall for Disneyland or the spiders, but they got me on all the rest. I am apparently so gullible even a kindergartner can fool me.

I didn't fool anyone. I didn't even try. I usually tease the kids continually so I figured they could use the day off. Hmmmm, come to think of it, maybe my straight-faced daily absurdities might be rubbing off on them. Maybe I'm not as easily fooled as I thought. Maybe, just maybe, I've been teaching them all to become expert leg-pullers!

Then again, maybe not. Because they were also joking with each other about having shampoo in their armpits. And that got the best laughs of all.

Maybe it's something only a six-year-old can appreciate.

Coincidence

Another Kinder-Speak moment:

We were looking at the composite birthday chart for both a.m. and p.m. and decided to make a chart of just the a.m. kidlets' birthdays. We had them stand up, month by month, as we made our new graph.

One little girl raised her hand and excitedly told us, "I was born on my birthday!!!"

Oddly enough, I was too.

Kinder Speak, Rhyme-Style

Warning: Drinking and rhyming can be dangerous to your keyboard.

A little background first: Twenty-some years ago, as a young mother, I had enrolled my son in Joy School. Joy School was a wonderful, parent-run, cooperative preschool. Each of us took turns teaching a weekly unit about a particular "joy" in life, hence the name. We were provided with suggested lessons and pre-recorded songs, some of which I still sing. I loved every second of it as did my sons and we made enduring friendships with the other children and mothers.

I was teaching one unit that suggested we record the children as they told a story. What a great gift for any parent, right? Immortalizing those toddler voices and pronunciations, capturing a precious moment in time, it's a brilliant idea.

One very bright little guy decided to tell a rhyming story. And the word he chose to rhyme was bucket. Yes, he chose to rhyme bucket and fucket. I tried to coax him gently to think of other words that rhymed with bucket. I grew desperate and suggested maybe he could tell a story about a dog or cat. This child was having none of it. He single-mindedly rhymed bucket and fucket frequently and with perfect diction throughout a fairly long story as my mind frantically tried to figure out how to deflect him from his chosen vocabulary. Eventually, it was apparent that I stood as much chance of deflecting the Santa Ana winds so I gave up the fight and made his recording.

Have I mentioned yet that at the time I lived in Orange County, that California bastion of Republican conservatism where I was one of ten registered Democrats? Or that the other mothers in my group were all Mormon and I used to joke that I was the token heathen? Fortunately, motherhood produces a stronger bond than politics or religion and we all not only co-existed but really liked each other. I warned his mom about the recorded subject matter as I handed it to her and I can still hear her hoot of amused laughter. To this day, the infamous Bucket Tape has been a favorite highlight of our Joy School years.

Fast forward to today. Friday is our Show-and-Tell day. Usually the children bring something to share that starts with the Letter of the Week: a snake for S week, a rabbit for R week, a mermaid for M week. Today the children had to share two things that rhymed. Several children brought a cat and a hat. One brought a dime and a lime, another little girl wore a skirt and a shirt, a little boy rhymed his toy car and a canning jar. The kindergartners were enthusiastic about inventing other rhymes to add: they added fat and bat, time and rhyme, dirt and pert, etc.

We also read a book about The Big Fat Hen. You know--nine, ten, a big fat hen. They took turns contributing words, both silly and real, to each rhyme. My favorite was the little girl that rhymed three, four, shut the door, with whore.

It took over twenty years to produce a rhyme as memorable as bucket. Pity we didn't record it for her parents to cherish.

Actually that IS the way the cookie crumbles

How to find a runaway Ginger Bread Man (known hereafter as the GBM):

• first make sure that someone else didn't take him out of the oven
• check around for a trail of crumbs
• ask every parent if they've seen him anywhere
• send the kids home to look for him
• tell the kids to look while they are riding the bus/walking/biking/riding in the car
• sniff everywhere for the scent of cloves, cinnamon and ginger
• ask bigger kids at school if they've seen him
• when the kindergartners come back to school the next day, ask if anyone saw him
• call a mommy when one girl insists that they caught him at her house and he's under Mommy's bed, 'cause who knows--stranger things have happened
• have the kids make a wanted poster with his description which will probably involve the pound and a half of sprinkles they used to decorate him
• make sure the librarian, music teacher, computer teacher, nurse and secretary know their lines before you visit
• visit the librarian, music teacher, computer teacher, nurse, secretary and principal as you track down clues
• tiptoe from place to place so he won't hear you coming
• check carefully in each location in case the GBM is hiding
• keep a straight face
• if you should hear the GBM as he tries to hide in the principal's office, hold tight to the box so he can't get away
• have the kids says the magic words, "turn back into a cookie", before you try opening the box
• make sure the kids go to the bathroom BEFORE you start your hunt--because hunting for the gingerbread man is so exciting that they will try to "hold it" and might not be successful
• wash your hands really well after discovering that the urine has soaked not only underwear and pants but has trickled down into the shoes
• having a kindergartner come up with a "that's the way the cookie crumbles" comment is very appropriate as the class munches on their gingerbread.

There are worse ways to spend 9/11.

Wish List

Could summer vacation last longer, please?

I'm not ready to give up long walks with friends, eating lunch outside, gardening all day long, no alarm clock, no watch, shorts and tees, ponytails, no makeup, a complete lack of stress, more energy than I know what to do with, and days filled with doggie kisses.

Yep, "teacher clothes" come out of storage this weekend. Sigh. I'll iron my long skirts and comfy blouses and hang them carefully in my closet. I'll dig out my watch and replace the watchband. My teeth are whiter and my legs are exfoliated. I've trimmed my ends and colored my roots. My toenails have a coat of Charming Rose Creme instead of a rim of dirt. I'm getting my lap ready to comfort multiple children when their parents leave and they realize kindergarten is for kids.

I've already re-organized my desk, refilled my stapler, and bought some new rollerball pens. The cubbies are stuffed with announcements, book club flyers, and school calendars. I'm memorizing student names so that I can match faces with them quickly.

Our new class is adorable and the parents a joy. We are all excited about their first baby steps into formal schooling. I know I'll wake up with a smile on my face and joy in my heart for the next nine months.

But can I postpone it for just a smidge longer? Pretty please?

Flattery Will Get You Everywhere

It's time for the annual wailing and gnashing of teeth as I stand in front of the mirror and assess what the chocolate-laden holidays from Halloween to Easter compounded by a winter of inactivity have wrought. It's not pretty.

Self-tanner can deal with the pasty whiteness until gardening and the weekly Sunday soccer game, even with SPF 40 slathered on, supplies a little healthy color. My clothes seem a little tighter however and my selection of teacher clothes that fit seems to have shrunk. Worst of all: I. Have. No. Waist.

There will be no photos accompanying today's post.

It's time for some seriously-healthy eating. Lots of whole grains and fruits and veggies. Protein as opposed to white carbs and high fructose corn syrup. Tis time for an end to mindless snacking. Mindless snacking is my forte. I can scarf empty calories faster than a stray dog can clean up a dropped Happy Meal.

It's time to find time to exercise and build some muscle. Once I start exercising and find a routine, I enjoy it. I like challenging my muscles, lifting just five pounds more and improving my time. Once I'm in the zone, if I'm not just sore enough to need an Advil at night before I pull up the covers, then I'm just not happy.

Hopefully I'll be rubbing your noses in my success and flaunting a trimmer figure in the not-too-distant future.

I'm having a hard time getting started on a healthy lifestyle though. Other things have taken a priority. Like a fence to keep Kharma in. Like struggling to save all my favorite plants from the Strong Men With Tools (bless their hearts) that have taken over the backyard while the fence is being re-worked. Like the pile of unfinished Christmas reindeer on the sewing machine and the pile of wrinkled clothes that replaced the bedspread in the guest room (which I am pleased to report have all been ironed and hung away as of the start of the Kentucky Derby yesterday) and the pile of unfinished scrapbook paper and accessories on the other larger guest bed. I could go on, but I won't. It's too depressing.

Too many piles, too much clutter, not enough time.

Exercise is right at the bottom of the priority list and frustration is fertile ground for mindless snacking. Right now I'm feeling old and shabby and out-of-shape and a little woe-be-gone. Still life goes on.

Friday was an early release day (mercifully) as well as the school Jog-A-Thon so I dutifully put on some sporty clothes and braided my hair out of the way and cheered my kindergartners on as they puffed their way around the track. By the time we pinned on numbers, stretched and warmed up, acted as cheerleaders and brought them back into the classroom for fluids and a little rest, it was time for them to go home.

One little guy who is kinda quiet, but very cool in his Spider-Man sunglasses, stopped to tell me something on his way out. I couldn't hear him very well so I bent down closer and asked, "What was that, Marshall?"

"Mrs. P, you look pretty today," he repeated with an admiring look at my braids.

Suddenly I didn't feel so old or shabby. I didn't feel the least little bit woe-be-gone either. "Marshall," I told him, "you just made my whole day."

In fact, he might have made my whole year! He made me feel so good that I've been a bundle of energy all weekend. Several piles are no more and I feel like I've created some breathing space.

That little guy is gonna make a fabulous husband for some lucky girl someday.

Kinder Speak

Truth is powerful.

Announced today in kindergarten--

Allie: Tami is coming over to my house for a playdate. My mom is going to let us Do Anything We Want!! (Pause) As long as it doesn't involve sharp objects.

I'm pondering what the previous playdates might have involved.

*****

Also, we learned that dumping a whole can of fish food into the aquarium for the Really Big Fish that lives in the forty-gallon tank doesn't make your mom happy.

I never would have guessed.

Cheating

I feel like that's what I'm doing.

There are so many things to write about. Endless topics, some serious, some fanciful, some outrageous, some offensive.

That is...if my brain were working, if someone else would cook dinner, if I didn't spend so much time reading other people's blogs and if I didn't type pogonip incorrectly at least once when I comment.

Alas, life just isn't like that. Especially the part about possessing a working brain.

So I cheat.

I'm guilty of posting about the weather. I know, it's lame and uninteresting. I can't help myself though. Maybe it's something about being a gardener. Yeah, that's it! Weather is important to us gardeners.

My favorite cheat has to be photos. Preferably one that speaks for itself. Hey, just label that Easy Button #1.

Today's cheat is the latest from kindergarten. Fortunately, kindergartners never go on strike, will work for graham crackers, tied shoelaces and hugs. Eat your heart out, Jay Leno and SNL! My writers are better than your writers. (Na, na, na, na, na.) You just can't go wrong with the cute and/or inscrutable wisdom of a six year old.

We interrrupt this blog for an official Empty Brain Moment. In the process of writing, your hostess has overused her somewhat limited brain capacity and forgotten what exactly the kindergarner said this morning. It was funny, and involved the word GREEN. If you have information regarding this tidbit, please contact Ms. Pogonip immediately. We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog.

Whoops, my bad. Maybe it'll come to me. Maybe it won't.

Kinder Speak (or why I have the best job in the world)

Me: Good work, Raymond! Now read me your list of words that begin with an "L".

Raymond: Pointing to each picture as he names them off:

• yamp
• yadder

(he's starting to get my attention...)

• yady bug
• yight bulb
• yam

(okay, now I'm just plain grinning ear-to-ear. ROTFL would be my preference, but squashing this adorable budding scholar's enthusiasm would not be nice or professional...)

Henceforth I shall think of lambs not as wooly white critters, but as fluffy Tuscan-gold animals cavorting on luscious hillsides. Kindergartners enrich my life so much.