It's been a wild week and a half as Bella adjusts to life as a kindergartener and I adjust to life as the mom of a kindergartener. I'm learning many things about both Bella and myself as time passes, so I thought I'd outline a couple of them here. Maybe we'll focus on Bella for today. (Cop out...)

1. My child has the memory of a hammer.

I send her to school with everything she needs: Lunch bag? Check. School picture envelope? Check. "S" object for letter of the week activity? Check. What happens as soon as she arrives at school? All functional knowledge disappears. "Bella, where's your 'S' object?" "I don't have one." This Mrs. Ramaker's recounting of the exchange she had with Bella on Monday. But you did have one!! We even rehearsed! There it was, right in her backpack where I had tucked it away that morning. Oh Bella. She lost her bus pass on the second day of school, her daily take-home folder on the third, and her jacket on Monday. Yet on our drive home last night, she said, "Mom, remember when we went to Minneapolis?" This a reference to our trip three and a half months ago. I say, "Yes." She then says, "I wonder if that lost dog from the poster at the train station has been found." Seriously?

So maybe it's not her memory as much as her idea of what qualifies as worth making room for "upstairs." Still, she's killing me.

2. My child takes the hot lunch/cold lunch decision far too seriously.

I can appreciate thoughtfulness when deciding what you'll eat on any given day, but getting my child to choose between hot lunch and cold lunch is like moving a bill through Congress. First of all, this is brand new to her, and there are questions I hadn't anticipated. "Mommy, what's a chicken patty?" Hmmm, well... "It's like a huge chicken nugget on a bun." She wrinkles her nose. "Yuck, I don't think I'd like that." Wait, was that a bad sell? Not that I believe she should necessarily eat a chicken patty, but my influence in this process is starting to freak me out. Tonight I mentioned that she had one more day of cold lunch and then would have hot lunch on Friday. A grey cloud crossed her face: "What is it? What's hot lunch on Friday?" I tell her mini corn dogs. "What if I don't like them? Can I bring a cold lunch just in case? Oh no, that will never work because we have to take lunch count in the morning. Oh Mooommmmm... can we have a test run tomorrow night?" I think that when I have to orchestrate "test runs" in anticipation of the next day's hot lunch, things have run amok.

3. My child makes my heart crack wide open with pride.

I'll be the first to admit that my sweet girl has things to work on, but there are moments when I watch her and am reminded that she makes life better. I had a moment like that yesterday, and I lay awake in bed last night running the scene through my mind again because, when I think about what people may remember about me one day, I realize it may be my children and I can only hope I'll be worthy of them.

One of the drills at soccer was to kick your ball from one goal to the other. Since there were so many kids, the coach would send a couple of kids out to get started, then send a few more a minute or so later, and so on so there wasn't a huge clog on the field. One little girl who was practicing must have barely made the 4 year old requirement, and she was struggling with every exercise. The coach sort of let her do her own thing, which I understood, but your heart still went out to her when she was always step behind or completely out of the loop.

She had started this drill ahead of Bella, but it didn't take long for child after child to catch up to and pass her on their way to the other end of the field. As Bella approached her, Bella slowed down and appeared to be "checking in" with her to see how she was doing. After an exchange of a few seconds, Bella carried on to the goal, made her shot, grabbed her ball, and sat down in the growing line on the edge of the field. After just a moment, Bella got back up and headed out to be with the little 4 year old in the middle of the field. Bella didn't take over or kick the ball for her, but instead she shadowed the girl all the way down the field, demonstrating how to kick and encouraging her with things like, "That's right! Over here! Good--good job!" It was a painstakingly long journey to the goal, but once the little girl made it, Bella resumed her original place in line and carried on with the rest of her practice.

Maybe it's the teacher in me, but I wanted to catch her in my arms right then and congratulate her on seeing the important stuff. Instead, I simply told her at dinner that I liked the way she took care of her own business on the field and then went back to help that little girl. She didn't seem to think much of it but did check to see if it was enough to earn her some extra dessert. (So enterprising.) Perhaps all she saw was a surrogate little sister to "mother," but it was sweet either way.

For all the moments of frustration I've had in the last week and a half, last night reminded me of my favorite Story People. Perhaps I should hang it in my bedroom as a reminder of what to be loud about.

And to temper the sweet moment from last night? She came home with a Yellow (Caution) slip today. According to Bella, she kept playing "when Mrs. R's voice was on." Yeah, gotta work on that.