Labor Day Weekend

When I smell the change in the air on a late August morning, the earthy, robust aroma of leaves and soil and sunshine, I awake.  It's my time.  Summertime, as much as I love it, fades to innocuous, nondescript muzak as autumn pads onto stage like a male lion or a grizzly bear or some huge, warm-blooded, nobel beast stealing the show with it's sheer presence.

Where I'm from September is the time of grape harvest.  Old Man Dale across the canal would harvest his 15 acres of grapes when school started, and the perfume of ripe, purple fruit was intoxicating as we lumbered home on the bus.  Sometimes late at night after the adults fell asleep, we four kids would grab that large Tupperware that Mom used to pick beans in the summer and hold under our mouths when we vomited when we were sick and sneak over to Dale's to Moon Harvest.  Mom didn't need to ask where the bowl of grapes came from the next morning.  She'd scold us and tell us not to do it again.  But every August or September, there would be that juicy aroma coming from Old Man Dale's vineyard, and we would succumb to delirium.  And another bowl of grapes would appear overnight.

And in my heart, Labor Day was the official harbinger of Autumn.

This is the second Labor Day weekeend we've congregated in Tumwater with Aaron's parents and five siblings, their partners and children.  Mario and Jane have an enormous house that manages to fit all 20 of us for three days, some out-of-staters stay a week or longer, and despite the usual and expected dynamics of a massive family gathering, this year was better than last year, and on the cusp of Grandpa Joe's funeral, it was a much-needed time to reminisce and reconnect.

Sweet Melissa and precious little Matthew.

I've been part of the Villanueva clan since 1996, and have watched Aaron's three younger sisters, go from elementary school, middle school and high school girls to married women and moms.  They are fabulous mommies and their children are gorgeous, and they're blessed with partners who complete them perfectly.  And as for Aaron's brother and older sister, I have a special connection with them as well, living closely near them in Seattle for three years.

I know I've mentioned Aaron's family is musical, but it's hard to appreciate unless you've witnessed it first hand.  A gathering usually has an unspoken arrangement to bring your instrument, because spontaneous song is perpetually bound to happen.  These guys were playing real musica here, Aaron and Rita's husband Nic on guitar, and Isaac and Mario on percussions.  It was rich.

Little brothers are always little brothers.  

For the gringos in the family lacking that musica gene, we can get down "Hee Haw" style on the jug.   Here David blows my mind on not one but TWO jugs, and the wine bottle's even empty yet.  

As adults we have all been scattered around the states, and I looked around the packed house realizing to my amazement, that we have all grown up.  And our combined 6 children play together like a crazy mob, all looking like cousins by their eyes or their mouths or some correlating feature, especially Bella and Andres, who in a parallel universe are siblings.

So we spent Saturday afternoon and night chatting, supping, sipping, and making music, as is the Villanueva custom.  But Sunday morning, we knew we needed to get the boys out because without a yard to run in and only the garage as a makeshift playroom, they needed to be able to be themselves, wild and loud,  without getting in trouble.  So we went to Olympia to see what we could find.  We didn't really have an agenda or plan, but just felt spontaneous adventure calling.  We found our state's capitol.  It was like a castle to the boys, and they had a lot of fun exploring inside.  After the visit to the capitol, we stumbled upon a super cool Harbor Day celebration along the marina.  

The garage was turned into a playroom for the kids.

Sunday morning we needed to get the boys out of the house full of stimuli and headed up the road to Olympia. 

I was grateful for the wide open lawns that let them run ferral and free.

Lucky for us the capitol building was open to the public that day.

Picking the found father's nose...generating some laughs from Mom, which in turn caused...

...Andres to pick our founding father's nose.  I fear a terrible statue tradition is starting here.

I love this shot of Andres taking in the massive domed ceiling of the building.  He was impressed.  

We viewed the Vietnam War Memorial.  It was deeply moving to see all those names.

Here on the boardwalk along the docks, Andres spotted tiny fish and crabs, not to mention the mussels covering the dockposts.

We perused the tent-shops and watched Scottish Bagpipers, finally grabbing some grub before making our way back to the car.  

Not before playing a bit on the toys.

Grandpa and Grandma had had a very busy and emotional two weeks, as well.  And yet they managed to find time and energy to read to Andres and  Bella.  

When we got home Monday, I was surprised at how quickly the boys pulled out their capes and masks to play outside. After a hectic end of summer, it felt like things were finally getting back to normal.

Whatever our normal may be.

Summer didn't simmer down for us, it raged to a boil with three weekends back-to-back out of town and the emotional tumult of grief and family reckonings, both done and undone, hard on the boys' schedules and thus hard on us.  In less than a month we've said goodbye to a loved one, attended a funeral, went to a reunion, had house guests from Spokane, and started homeschool.  In a few days Aaron will be back at school and things will continue to change.

Nothing stays the same.  That's what autumn reminds me every year.  And that is a good thing, a great thing, and a sad thing sometimes.  But I relish it.  I pour a cup of tea, and snuggle in with a good book or hunker down at the computer writing my own stories.  I inhale this amazing season of the year and fleeting season of life, and watch in amazement the mysterious and miraculous alchemy of changing leaves.

First Day of School

Andres-Jose's 1st Day of Kindergarten Interview Questions:

1.  What's your favorite movie?  Batman, the one where he's throwing a batarang on the DVD cover.
2.  What's your favorite toy?  This one (pointing to Cars movie toy cars)  I love these guys.
3.  What's your favorite book or story?  This one!  Super Friends Monster Madness!
4.  What's your favorite breakfast?  Granola with milk.
5. What's your favorite vegetable?  Is dragon fruit a vegetable?  No?  Okay.  Carrots, because Bugs Bunny eats carrots and I love Bugs Bunny!
6.  What's your favorite color?  Red, black and yellow.  (Okay, plural works.)
7.  What's your favorite clothing?  T-shirts.
8.  What's your favorite song?  That song that Raph likes, his favorite song is my favorite song, too.  Pumped Up Kicks?  Yeah.  Pumped Up Kicks.  It's cool.
9.  What's your favorite sports?  Football.  Seahawks.
10.  What's your favorite day of the year?  Christmas!
11.  What's your favorite dessert?  Ice cream with rhubarb sauce and cookie crumbs (rhubarb crisp).
12.  What do you want to be when you grow up?  A paleontologist.  I love dinosaurs and want to study them!
13.  Where's your favorite place to go?  Ian's house.
14.  What's your happiest memory?   Going to the dino show with Gramma Pam.
15.  If you could be an animal, which one would you want to be and why?  I'd be a cheetah because I love them and they're fast and blurry.
16.  What do you love the most about your brother?  I love Raph because he's learning to talk and he's very nice and he comforts me at bedtime.
17.  What's the kindest thing you've ever done for someone?  I gave Ian my toys that he wanted.
18.  Who's your best friend?  Ian Votrobeck.
19.  What's your favorite TV show?  Wild Kratts!
20.  What do you want to learn in school this year?  I want to learn about dinosaurs!


It was definitely NOT an ideal first day of homeschool.  I wish I could say that I awoke to early autumn sunshine and birdsong, but rather I jerked out of bed with a nauseating qualm that was oh-so familiar.  As a teacher in middle school for 8 years, the first day of school was always a nerve-wracking day.  Was I prepared enough?  Would the students like me?  Would I like them?  I was hyper-conscientious of unwanted boogies in my nose that may be viewable to the public, triple checking my slack's zipper and blouse's buttons to make sure all undergarments were appropriately concealed, and running several tech checks on the doc-cam or other in class technology items that I would be needing for the day.  I was shocked to have the same feelings on this, the first day of homeschooling.  my.  own.  child.

I called the office that coordinates our materials and curricula for the year yesterday to inquire about the time of the ice cream social three days from then, only to discover to my horror that school started the next day.  I was utterly unprepared.  I suppose I expected an orientation on the curriculum. Or I thought we would have learning plans and teacher conferences first.  I was outraged that 1) no one had notified me the date to start teaching was September 5, the same day as the classes start in schools in our district, 2) that we had not been prepared as to HOW we should use the 70 pounds of books that UPS dropped off a couple weeks ago, 3) that we hadn't even met with his teachers and didn't know who they would be yet, and 4) was completely unaware that 75% of the work in this program is done ONLINE.  My nausea was valid.  This was a mess!  I was up until 1 am trying to log into our account to prepare for the day, and it wouldn't let me in at all, supposedly because school didn't actually start until today.  I wasn't able to even see what I was supposed to teach, and from my materials we received, there were too many gaping holes, too much missing content and directives, that even I--a certified public school teacher with a decade of working with schools and students--could not navigate my way to a lesson plan or daily plan.  I was panicking.

Until this morning.  When I lurched out from my cozy sheets to log into the slowwwwwwest program in modern age and discovered to another horror that the day would require 3 hours of online tutorials in addition to 5 hours of teaching content, totaling eight (yes! 8) hours!

Was it too late to walk to Riverview and register him?  No.  It wasn't.  But it wasn't where I wanted him, either.  Panic and dispair smothered me.

So, I hammered away at it this morning, skipping over most of the tutorials and digging into the books and various manipulatives, {finally having access to badly writ online lesson plans} and once Raph was down for the count after lunch, AJ and I could get to work.  We broke out Handwriting Without Tears, and we did math.  I was very pleased to see that although a little rusty, most of his skills that we worked on from January to May were solid and surfaced after a little grease.  Then he rested for an hour and I watched a DVD about using their phonics kit, which helped a lot, and we ended up really enjoying that piece.  Then Raph was awake and it was time to play outside, while I investigated the History component online.  Okay, great.  The ENTIRE history lesson was online!  Lame!  (We ended up skipping that lesson.  I don't want him logged onto the screen all day.  I try hard to limit his screen time so we think we'll need to invest in a independent history curriculum that is textbook and hands-on based.  But I digress.)

We still had history and language arts (literature) to do, and after dinner we rushed our 35 library books back to the library lest they follow through with the threat to charge us $387.15 for missing or lost books.

But here's where I noticed the difference.  

He reached for my hand as we entered the library, his smaller feet in stride with mine.  He held the door open for me.  We sat with crossed legs on the floor of the nonfiction section of the children's books with 15 minutes until the library closed, flipping through the books around us and chatting randomly about Harry Potter, Sitting Bull, and Sikhs.   Peacefully.  Friendly. Lovingly.

On the way home he and I laughed, genuine light-hearted laughs, about little things and simple things.  When we came home, exhausted from our first day of school and with me (perhaps him as well) very ready to wrap it all up, we charged through our literature lesson (also lamely online) with flying colors to shut down around 9 pm.

And my personal goal this year is not only to teach him to read, but teach him to love learning through reading.  So I encouraged him to read to us for 20 minutes tonight (and nightly from now on) from a book of his choice, expecting a battle to ensue because he's tired and I'm tired and we all just wanted it over by this point.  But he jumped up and grabbed his BOB books, and he read to me.  He read with eager joy, with pride, with focused effort.  He was reading!  And stunned at the sudden fluency he was demonstrating, I summoned Aaron who snuggled in with us to listen to the child read yet another BOB book.   At the end of it, Aaron wrapped his son up and with chins on shoulders they both shut their eyes, silently relishing the moment, soaking it up, breathing it in.  And I, the Mom, felt my own eyes burn and brim with tears at the beauty I was witnessing.

At the end of the day, and it is late in the course of a long day, Andres has been my teacher.  It's not about the best lessons, or the preparation, or the effectiveness of chosen curricula.  Don't get me wrong.  That stuff counts for sure.  But it's  not a deal breaker.  It's him.  And me.  And life skills.  And life.  And love.  And our family quartette drawing into each other and God in stormy times and quiet times.  Working through it.  Together.

And I think I need to remember I'm still just as much a student as he is.

Ceremony

(As published in the Yakima Herald, August 25, 2012)
On Aug. 23, 2012, surrounded by his loving family, our beloved father Jose A Villanueva Sr. went peacefully to the arms of his Savior at Emerald Convalescent Center in Wapato, WA. He was born March 30, 1927, in Edinburg, Texas to Chrisoforo & Juana Cortez Villanueva. He spent his early years in Texas & Mexico and received his early education there. From 1945-1947 he served in the United States Army during WWII, being honorably discharged and was awarded the Army of Occupation medal. After returning to civilian life he met and married the love of his life Beatriz Farias in 1949, settling in Yakima County and finally making their home in Sunnyside WA. As a Latino pioneer of the lower Yakima valley, he engaged in many endeavors; he was a migrant farm worker, heavy construction worker, social worker and activist, and entrepreneur. He was best known as owner and operator of La Fiesta Restaurant in Sunnyside, WA. He was instrumental in establishing the first migrant farm worker early childhood daycare center, and a local food cooperative. He was one of the founding board members of Heritage University in Toppenish, WA, and served in support of many local service entities. Most importantly, alongside his wife Beatriz, he established Ministerio Nueva Vida servicing the Latino Catholic community. As part of this ministry they helped found the annual Congresso Charismatico held in Yakima, WA, and was recently honored for these founding efforts. He was a lifetime Catholic and on his 57th wedding anniversary received the Apostolic Blessing in 2006 from Pope Benedict XVI.

He is survived by his wife of 63 years Beatriz and his 11 children. These are: Maria Sanchez (Armando), Gridley, CA, Mario (Jane), Olympia, Mary Jane Allen (Steve), Sunnyside, WA, Frank (Vena), Lacey, WA, Chris (Ester), Bellevue, WA, John (Marti), Grandview, WA, Suzi Carpino (Greg), Sunnyside, WA, Maria Nena Kresse, Kennewick, WA, Joe (Godeleva), Spanaway, WA, Lisa Erickson (Paul), Kennewick, WA, Maria Scudiero (Louis), Pullman, WA. He is also survived by 35 grandchildren, 47 great-grandchildren and numerous nieces and nephews. He is preceded in death by his parents, two brothers and three sisters, his grandson Jose Armando Sanchez, and his son in law Steve Allen.

He was a man who loved his God and tried to share God's love with everyone he met. 

Aaron comes from a musical family.  It was a moving tribute to witness him playing with his father, a sister, an aunt, an uncle, two cousins, and his brother-in-law to honor Grandpa Jose.

Jose's presence was huge in the community.  Over 400 people attended the service, and seven priests officiated the ceremony, including his excellency, Bishop Sevilla.

The boys and I had a view of the ceremony from our perch in the crying room, but missed the stirring Requiem Mass and eulogy given by Bishop Sevilla.

My dear Raphael lifted his hands in prayer, following Bishop's example through the glass.  He's a deep old soul, our Raph.

After the ceremony Aaron wanted to show the boys the back room where he "gowned up" as an alter boy when he was a youth at St. Joseph's, the church where he was baptized as an infant and raised until he moved from Sunnyside.  It was very sentimental for him to take his own sons there.  Nothing had changed.  The cabinetry where he hung up his robes had the same varnish, and the same ancient aroma of sandalwood incense absorbed in the walls.

Grandpa was honored with a 21 Gun Salute, and carried by his sons, a grandson, and son-in-law.

Grandma Beatrice is hospitalized from her condition with Alzheimer's, and sadly was not capable of attending the graveside service.  It was gripping to see the oldest child of Bea and Jose's eleven children, Maria, honored with accepting his flag in her mother's place.

The Portrait

This image hangs in our hallway upstairs, not a Rembrant piece after all, as it was once believed, but it came from his studio where he tutored his students.  It possesses his influence if not his direct brush strokes.

I got the print in an antique store the first year we lived here, a gift to Aaron because he loves this painting.  When he was little working in the restaurant his family owned, La Fiesta, this image was hanging there, and he thought that it was a painting of Grandpa Joe.  Honestly, the physical resemblance is uncanny, and there is an aire, a spirit, in the expression of this man that has always mirrored Grandpa Joe.  There's something in the downcast eyes, the furrowed brow, the lips set firm, that leads us to realize the man has struggled, and although valiant, he's scarred, he has wounds behind his eyes like a veteran.  Even though his helmet is brassy in the dim, his face in contrast is worn by the tumult of life.  In the conquest much was sacrificed.  To us, this painting will always remain a portraiture of Grandpa Jose.

Yesterday Grandpa passed on, and much as our greif rocks us, we praise God that he's no longer locked down in a broken body, but free and finally at peace.

My husband is the most wonderful man I know, strong and wise, faithful and humble.  Grandpa's essence dwells in him, there in the corner of his smile and the shape of his eyes, the curve of his mouth when he laughs, the way he leans into God's voice, and prays for us in the cool morning air.   I see him in my boys, too, in Raphael's curls that came from Grandpa Jose's grandmother, an African.  In that robust fighter's spirit that Andres harbors with such vivacious energy, and the way he preaches to us about God just like his namesake.  And I'll always be grateful to Grandpa Jose, the scrapper from Texas, the musician, the farmer, the soldier, entrepanuer, and minister, for his strength and courage because it has impacted us all.  Like that painting in our hallway by some anonymous student in Rembrant's studio, we observe the stroke of the master's brush, and carry out his influence in our lives.

Goodnight

On Aaron's baptism, Grandma Beatrice and Grandpa Jose, 1975.

Gpa Joe and Aaron, late 70s.

On Aaron's 30th birthday in 2005, with Grandpa Joe and Grandma Bea.

Andres-Jose Villanueva and his great-grandfather, and namesake, Jose Villanueva, in 2007.

Aaron saying goodbye, August 18, 2012.

*          *         *          *

Good night, sweet king,

you did your part.

You fought and worked, 

now la fiesta can start.

Your labor is done, 

You’ve done your best.

You’ve overcome,

and now you can rest.

Good night, sweet king,

good night, Grandpa Joe

God knows we’ll miss you

but you’re ready to go.

We can hear you now, 

we know what you’d say,

"I’m ready to meet God,

Get out of my way."

Let it pull you out, 

like the ebb on a fishing line,

rock with the music

like a strong base line.

That old truck on blocks

is running again,

get behind the wheel,

take it for a spin.

Find the new day

bright and waiting

don’t let us slow you,

because we’re all fading.

Take off the gloves, 

the fight is done.

You’ve done your part,

And you’ve finally won.

Grandpa Joe was a boxer in Texas as an orphaned kid growing himself up on the streets, and married the cute 14 year old Beatrice when he was 21.  He fired ground artillery at Nazis in WWII, and when he learned I was of German descent he could still drop pick-up lines auf Deutsch.  He worked a great deal of his life as a migrant worker.  Eventually he opened and ran a highly successful Mexican Family Restaurant in Sunnyside, Washington named (appropriately) La Fiesta, where Aaron bussed tables from age 11 to 17.  Jose fathered 11 children with Bea, over 30 grandchildren, and nearly 30 great-grandchildren, and counting.  He was a stern father, dedicated husband, and humble man, always praising God.  And he loved his mariachi musica!

Of Joe's five boys, only Mario had sons to carry the Villanueva name, Aaron and his brother, Isaac.   In 2004 Isaac was blessed with the most beautiful little girl, Mirabella.  And in 2006 Aaron was blessed with a healthy son, and named him in honor of his grandfather.  Andres-Jose, named in the old Castilian manner with the mother's name and father's family name blending, as done since before the Conquistadors arrived in this hemisphere.  

Tonight Grandpa Jose is breathing every four minutes and is no longer responsive after a stroke he suffered last week.  He has opted out of all life supports.  We visited him last weekend in Wapato to say goodbye, and to pray over him.  Please join us in prayer that he is confortable and at peace, and that the massive Villanueva family finds stride with one another other at this difficult time of loss.  

We love you, Grandpa Joe.  

Why the Beans Can't Be Perfect

Last night for dinner I made a righteous batch of Malagasy Beans and Rice (a delicious recipe from my friend Rachel who lived in Madagascar for a year on mission).  This meal is a favorite for each of us for different reasons:  it's fast and healthy, that makes me happy; it's bright and tasty flavor pleases the boys so they often have two or three helpings; and it's inexpensive and satisfying, which Aaron especially likes.

So, while we ate it up last night, Aaron on his second helping, he looked at me and said,"Andria, these beans are perfect!" Before I could say thank you, Andres piped up from his end of the table.  

"No, dad!  These beans aren't perfect, they're good!"

"Well, I think these beans are perfect, I can have a different opinion," Aaron replied with a shrug.  Andres is a master at luring us into trivial arguments, and we're learning how to diffuse the argument before it really gets going.  

"Dad," Andres stressed, "these beans can't be perfect!"  He seemed pretty offended and curiosity got the best of me.

"Why not, Andres?  What's wrong with my beans?"  Even  I was getting a bit distressed about it.  I mean, they were freaky-good beans. 

"Mom, remember?  Perfect is the enemy of good!  That's why I say they are just good."

At that I burst out laughing.  This had nothing to do with dinner table opinions or picking fights, like I thought, but philosophies from Enlightenment Era France!  My son was quoting back to me a quote I say to him frequently as we work on reading or art, or even behaviors and choices.  

I have a quote on my desk just above my computer where I can see it as I write.  I can see it now, in it's simple black frame, and it's handsome French script.  

"Le mieux est l'ennemi du bien."  

-Voltaire

Perfection is the enemy of good.  I refer to it frequently as I hammer away on my novels, because I am my own worst critique, and chasing perfection often backfires in art, as it does in life, ruining the thing which we strive to perfect.  I share it with Andres because he's a Type A personality and comes by that honestly, as I struggle with letting things go when they fall short from ideal.  I wish someone had shared Voltaire's philosophy with me when I was younger, maybe I would have released myself (and others) from unrealistic expectations.  But I know my son and he has the same drive to do things just perfectly, and pummels himself when he falls short.

It enlightened me then at the table, my beans in their spoon hovering in the air over my dish, as I blinked back tears from laughter at my scowling six year old philosopher quoting Voltaire.  After I explained to Aaron what was really happening, I smiled at Andres in a reassuring way and told him that he was right, that striving to be perfect is an enemy.

"However," I said as I took a bite, "these beans can be very, very close to perfect."

Back to {home} school

I've been feeling a lot of trepidation as home school kindergarten is starting up in a couple weeks.  We literally live around the corner from one of the highest-rating elementary schools in the area, chalked full of shiny teachers with many accolades and superb awards across the spectrum.  What luck!  If only...

Deciding to home school has been a difficult one.  And I'm still not fully sure it's something we'll do indefinitely.  I feel really possessive of my time with my boys right now at this age.  I was talking to a friend last year while at a pumpkin patch bale ride, confiding some of my issues about school, and wondering which would be the best fit for my guy, (I process out loud, you know) and the lady on the bale in front of us turned around and said, "I can't help over-hearing your conversation, I'm sorry.  I've been homeschooling my kids for three years.  I just want to encourage you to do it, you won't regret it."  As a person of faith, I have learned not to sniff at encouraging strangers.  There is something sacred in their messages.

Choosing to home school has been very personal, complicated, and for someone who A) was raised in public school and a secular home, B) had parents who bitterly regret corporal punishment being banned from public schools, C)  had parents who firmly believed public school produced well-socialized children and home school children were backwards, and D) has been behind the lines in the education system and knows first hand the realities therein, this choice remains confusing.  There are things my little man will miss this year.  But my prayer is that the gains outweigh the losses.  I have given up trying to explain why we have made this choice, it's heavy.  And by no means disrespect those who have children in public school.  But it's sort of private, I suppose.

We have registered with the school district's alternative education program for home school families.  I would be his primary teacher during the week in all core content areas, then Thursday and Friday mornings he goes to their classroom with other home school kids to engage in hands-on, interactive group activities.  And the part that Aaron likes best is that the curriculum is paid for through the district, so we don't have to buy it!

We have been following the UPS tracking online for five days as the materials for Andres' entire kindergarten year embark on their way here--all 70 pounds of material.  We knew it would be coming today.  Andres was eagerly waiting at the window for the big brown truck with the yellow letters.  When it finally came just before lunch, it was like Christmas.  He knew it was all for him.  I put Raph to nap and Andres and I had uninterrupted time to go through all the boxes, and organize them on the bookshelf in what will soon become his classroom at home.   I let him open the boxes himself and pilfer through all the books and manipulatives that he would get to use in school this year.  When he saw his science goggles, he wanted to bust open a Science lesson right away.

"Can we start school today?"  he asked me as I arranged everything on the shelf behind him.  I was pretty tickled too.  After being a Language Arts teacher for 8 years, I still feel the rush of organizing a classroom for the new year.  It's something I've missed these past two years since I've quit teaching, getting my classroom ready for the fresh new year.  And even when I was a public school teacher, I was a "specialty teacher" who had to scrape together my own curricula for differentiated learning objectives based on individual student needs.  I was never, ever handed a calendar with daily lessons or even a spread sheet with quarterly goals.  I never had box full of text books to pass out at the beginning of school.  So this was as momentous for me as it was for Andres.

He was giddy all about it all afternoon.  When we picked Aaron up from work tonight he said "don't tell Dad about the surprise!"  I had to think for a sec before I caught on to what he meant.  As we were putting him in bed he smiled one of his special deep-dimpled smiles at me with his eyes dancing.

"Mom, I can't wait for school to start!"

That's a good sign, I told myself.

I kissed his little cheek and pulled his Spiderman quilt under his chin and said, "Neither can I, sweetheart."

I pray that the year is a good one for both he and I, that we grow and learn together through this experience, that he's bolstered and buoyed, that he he gains confidence as he gains knowledge.

"Mom, it's here!"

Busting open the boxes to see what's inside.

Books!

He's fascinated with ancient Egypt, and was astounded at the unit full of books on the topic in his history box. 

More science stuff.  He's totally looking forward to science this year!

And at the end of the day, we were even tickled to have the boxes to play in.