Shamagic Shwords

Just overheard...

Christopher: Courtney, can I have that pen in your hand?

Courtney: What's the magic words?

Christopher: Please.

Courtney: Nope, I said magic wordS.

Christopher: Ummm...Open Sesame?

Courtney: Nope.

Christopher: I DON'T KNOW THE MAGIC WORDS, can I just have the pen?!?!

Courtney: I'll give you a hint. The magic wordS rhyme with "Shmourtney is Shamawesome."

Easter 2012

Saturday morning: Dyeing eggs with Frank and Marie Barone (formally of Everybody Loves Raymond fame, now airing as Grandma and Papa Renaud)

One must have the proper accessories to dye eggs. Bunny ears required.

Easter Morning: Evidence of the trail of confetti left by the Easter Bunny that led the children to their baskets (this seemed like a really cute idea about 5 years ago when the trail of confetti went from their bedside to the next room over, totaling approximately 20 pieces of confetti, but now with older and more savvy basket finderers, we find the flippin' 6,000ish pieces still on the floor in July. But, in our household, a tradition is a tradition...)

Egg Huntin'. EB left a note explaining that he left each child a baker's dozen of eggs, 8 hidden inside and the rest outside (feel free to have fun with the image of Mark running around our property wearing a headlamp and dodging skunks at 10:30 the night before, I know I did.) Christopher's eggs were the shape of carrots and Courtney's were the shape of frogs.

Discovering that the notes from the EB did not stop with ones written to children. A note on the dining room table thanking Cupcake for not barking while he hid the eggs and a special Easter bandana for her to add to her ever growing wardrobe of holiday attire.

Just after I took this shot, Christopher poked his head up and proclaimed, "Nothing back there but dust bunnies!" and then proceeded to point at me and laugh at his own joke for a good 6 minutes. Really cracked himself up. Absolutely NO DOUBT that he IS his father's son.

On to the outside eggs...

"I'm Freezing!"

"Then stand still and smile so I can get a good picture."

"But my teeth are chattering."

"Pretty soon you'll be frozen solid and then I will

FINALLY be able to get a decent picture, so for now just stay put and smile."

After all 13 eggs were found by both kids, there were basket contents to check

out. A fan favorite shown here.

Off to church (without Dad in case anyone was wondering, he bailed the night before which, had I been taking bets, the over/under would have been blown out of the water.)

"It's too bright."

"Then stand still so I can get a good picture and then you can get out of the sun."

"My eyeballs are burning."

"Pretty soon you'll burst into flames and then I will FINALLY be able to get a decent picture of your sister alone, so for now just stay put and smile."

Easter Egg Hunt on the State House lawn following the 9:00 a.m. Easter Service. There were over 1,000 eggs "hidden" - I think it is safe to say that the kids hunting eggs AND the elderly church-goers watching the whole scene had equally as much fun.

Isn't she darling hunting eggs in her pink dress and pink parka? Strangely, the cute factor gets replaced by the sheer panic factor when she is plowed over by a sprinting 8 year old. Good grief. At a church sponsored egg hunt to boot...who allows there child to be so brutish?!?! Clearly only a grieving widow.

Sunday After Church: Pick up Raymond and head to Grandma & Papa's house for Easter Dinner. Here is part of the gang listening to Papa explain his well planned out egg hunt for his 5 grandkids of varying ages. One egg per floor of the house (three total for each child) and each grandchild had a specific color of eggs. He worked really hard on hiding the eggs according to difficulty depending on the age of the child. It was so cute to listen to him explain it...for 20 minutes...and to then watch the kids find their eggs. A special memory made with Papa.

And to round out a fun, family-filled holiday of memory making...Courtney came bounding through Grandma's back door, sprinting into the living room where everyone was napping and yelled, "CHRISTOPHER IS STUCK!" You cant tell from the picture, but he was successfully entangled in the equivalent of kite strings on a windy day of "picky bushes." When discovered, he looked at all of us looking at him and sadly said, "I can't get out." As if on cue, came a choir of, "Well, how the hell did you get in?"s. Nothing says Easter fun like grown men yanking and tugging a child through a mass of mini razor blades.

Easter Night: The true miracle of Easter is upon us. Both kids asleep in the car, successful transfers from the back seat to their beds, and all is quite at the Renaud household by 6:45 p.m.

Although we desperately missed Grammy & Grandpa this holiday (the kids were relieved to hear that the Easter Bunny found them among the sun and surf in the Sunshine State), and it wasn't the same without their favorite druncles, us church folk (and the Dad) managed to have a really nice Easter weekend. Good times had by all.

Completely Unaffiliated Spring Celebration in Kindergarten

We kicked off the Easter Weekend with a traditional Non-Easter Party in Kindergarten, complete with bunny ears, bunny face painting, and egg hunting.

Courtney and her BFF, Maddie NOT celebrating Easter at school.

Courtney being silly with the craft supplies used to create completely random eggs, chicks, and bunnies. No funny holiday goings-on in this classroom...

I love this picture. In my humble opinion, it completely captures who Courtney is. It tells a complicated, bittersweet story of simplicity all in one single frame.

You need some background information: The young man in the red is a second grader with extreme emotional issues. From what I have gathered (probably WAY more than I should know, but every time I am in the classroom the adults that work with this boy, and there are MANY, make a point to seek me out as "Courtney's Mom." The first time I was there when he came to "visit" their classroom, Courtney's teacher yelled from across the room to the accompanying adult, "HEY, MRS. _______, COURTNEY"S MOM IS HERE TODAY" and then Mrs. _______ was instantly by my side most certainly breaking all kinds of confidentiality with the best intentions at heart.) Seems this boy has been, in the words of Mrs. _______, "abused and mistreated in ways that make up your nightmares." Apparently part of his daily program is to "earn" time to visit the Kindergarten classroom, where Courtney's teacher (an angel!) has agreed to welcome him in and provide a safe atmosphere for him for short amounts of "reward" time. Some Fridays when I help out in the classroom, he doesn't show, and then on those days I usually see him in the fetal position on the floor in the office as I walk out of the building. Other days he comes in with an adult. Most recently I have noticed that he comes unaccompanied more often (although if you look closely you will always see an adult lurking outside the classroom door, peeking in with a walkie talkie in hand ready to radio for help if needed.) Lately he seems to stay longer and he seems more at ease. I have interacted with him a few times and although sweet, I couldn't help but notice the obvious "emptiness" in his eyes when I talked with him. This does not seem to be the case when Courtney talks/plays/works with him. I've had the pleasure of watching the two of them many a Friday morning. If he enters the room during circle time, he always squishes his bottom in between others onto the rug next to Courtney. Sometimes he doesn't make it 5 minutes and off he has to go, escorted out of the room by an adult. Other times, if the children are already engaged in their "stations" he wanders around the room, but he usually ends up at Courtney's station playing next to her and along side the others. Courtney mentioned his name at dinner once, and since Christopher is a second grader, he knew of him and immediately said, "He has A LOT of problems." Courtney looked at her brother with a puzzled look and said, "Not to me. And besides, he tries hard not to have them." When I watch the two of them interact I find it fascinating. She doesn't "mother hen" him as I think many a young girl might take on as a role with a troubled boy. She doesn't let him get his way, I witnessed her take a shovel right out of his hands at the sand table one time and I was ready to leap in had it gone bad, but nope, they just kept on playing. She doesn't seek him out or even talk non-stop to him, she just seems to play and learn along side him. And he along side her. In this picture you see them working together to get a twist tie fastened to the top of his non-Easter treat bag. What you don't see is the few minutes before I snapped the shot. You don't see him struggling with it for a minute or two or the adult making a b-line to try to help him before frustration sets in. You don't see her stopping dead in her tracks a few feet behind him when she hears him grumble, "Courtney, can you please help me with this?" You just see two kids working together.

She is gentle that way, and by the sounds of it, he could use a whole lot of gentle that way. I can't help but think of the line from the Martina McBride song when I look at this picture, "I see who I want to be, in my daughter's eyes..."

You might THINK you are looking at 16 Easter bunnies, but you are mistaken. These are actually 16 Pink-Eared Cottontails, a rare form of rabbit found only in the deepest boroughs of Kindergarten classrooms, er...I mean Canadian forests.

Getting ready to go home for the weekend sporting an APRIL Bonnet and whiskers.

Happy 2nd Sunday of April to you and your family!

Bake me up a plate full of sweet memories, that she could do.

My mom was not a good cook.

Pitch endless strikes in a row so you could get in some serious batting practice, that she could do. Bike a hundred miles, get off to pee, then bike 100 more, that she could do. Give signs from the third base coach box like a major league manager, that she could do. Be the first one to plunge into freezing water on a chilly May day and the last one to pull herself out of the pool that same evening, that she could do. Give a look to a naughty child that would have made Hitler confess his wrongdoings, that she could do. Make building a retaining wall, one cement block at a time, such enjoyable family time that no one wanted to put the last stone on, that she could do. Convincing us that a road trip to deliver an old washer to a HS friend in Vermont was a glamourous Girls Getaway, that she could do.

Rounding out her mealtime repertoire of 4 dishes (spagetti and meat sauce, Shake & Bake, grilled cheese, and an unnamed casserole with a Bisquick base) with "Ordering Pizza" as the fifth option, that she could do.

The one thing my mom did bake from scratch was her chocolate chip cookies. She didn't have a recipe, she knew exactly what she needed and how much of each ingredient by memory. She baked them for any activity or occasion that we needed to bring something to share. She became known for her chocolate chip cookies at athletic banquets. Kids used to ask me if she would bring them to school for their birthdays. She sent them out in countless care packages, including the "mother lode" I received while away for two weeks at sleep away camp. We always walked away with an empty plate when "Kris' cookies" were brought to a school function.

I have some wonderful memories of baking these cookies with her. I can not be sure if these memories are "wonderful" because I have no other memories of making anything else in the kitchen with her (except unwrapping the plastic from around a frozen pot pie), but since memories of her are all I've got, I'll take them any way I can get them.

As a teenager I had finally memorized the recipe after being by her side so many times while she made them. I remember a hot summer day when I whipped up a batch with the intention of baking them and then sharing them with some girlfriends later that afternoon while we lazed by the pool. How positively sophisticated we would feel, munching on cookies and soaking up rays. Instead, the three of us hovered around the bowl and ate the entire batch of raw batter with soup spoons. Even the batter is beyond delicious.

My kids now love them as much as I did at their age. On special occasions, they ask with anticipation, "Are you going to make Grammy Kristal's Famous Chocolate Chip Cookies?" (they have added the "Famous" and I think it fits just right.) Then they wait to hear my answer as if they are gauging JUST how special of an occasion it is by whether the cookies will be made or not. When Courtney turned six in January, she insisted on not bringing cupcakes to Kindergarten to share with her classmates to celebrate, but instead, she asked for Grammy Kristal's cookies.

Because it takes longer (just slightly longer) to make and bake these cookies from scratch than it does to say, cut off the end of a pre-made tube of Pillsbury cookie dough, we don't always have the time to invest in making them. On Tuesday evening, Courtney reminded me that this Friday is her Kindergarten Spring Fling (read: an Easter celebration without the politically incorrect Christian terminology.) She asked me if "Please, pretty pretty please with chocolate chips on top, can we make Grammy Kristal's Famous Chocolate Chip Cookies to bring to the fling?" I am not a big believer in fate, so let's just call it coincidence so that I don't have to re-think my whole There Is No Such Thing As Fate Theory at this time, that Tuesday just so happened to be my mom's birthday. She would have been 58 this year. In the moment it took me to connect those two thoughts, I instantaneously agreed that we would bake them Thursday night so that she could bring them to the non-denominational school celebration on Friday where the Spring Chicken hides orb-like treats around the kindergarten classroom.

There are two things I would sell my soul for...A plate of my mom's chocolate chip cookies and just one more afternoon to bake a batch with her.

Courtney making Grammy Kristal's Famous Chocolate Chip Cookies tonight.

Church Update....You taking notes, Nana?

So I have come to referring to myself and my children as "church folk." The way I figure it, we've earned the title...we HAVE gone to church for 5 straight weeks in a row. That, and it sends my husband into a tailspin every time I state, "HEY! WATCH YOUR MOUTH, you are now in the presence of church folk." I try to mutter that statement at least twice a day for my pure enjoyment.

Week #1: Our first week at church was going okay until three-fourths of the way through the service (post sermon, I might add) a pack of elephants strangely appeared at the back of the church. The herd, pretzels and gluey tissue papered popsicle stick crosses in hand, bolted down the center aisle to join their parents for the (short!) remainder of the service. My two children looked up at me (from lying on the kneeler, it had been a long sermon) the way Caesar must have looked at Brutus just before taking his last breath.

Also, received many quizzical looks when I introduced myself, my son and my daughter with no mention of a husband. What better a place to leave them with the unexplained, right?

Week #2: Enrolled in Sunday School.

Wrote only my name on the line after "Names of parents that will be in service while child(ren) are participating in Sunday School" Hey, I want the credit for bringing them. Because someone, somewhere IS keeping score...I CERTAINLY am not, that would be petty, but I surely wouldn't want to botch up the tallies.

Pretty sure I saw the very nice teacher lady bring that paper a tad bit closer to her eyes, squint confusedly, and then sigh sympathetically while reviewing that part of the form before graciously welcoming my kids into Godly Play.

Week #3: Upon the completion of Sunday service, we were making our way back to the sanctuary to collect our coats (read: bribable donut) when both kids stopped to stare at the man playing the large, full organ. He looked up from his sheet music and motioned them to cross the alter and join him on the organ bench. I figured what's the harm in sitting thigh to thigh with a grown man while in a church, right? While playing the hymn, he directed them both to push keys on the organ to accompany the song. When they finished playing the recessional music, he commented on how "steady of a note" they could both play.

Then came the breaking of the 11th Commandment: Thou Shall Not Indicate That Thou Are Interested In Anything That Could Result In Another Commitment For Thy Mother To Cart Thou Around To.

"We both play the piano."

"WHAT?!?! WHY ARE YOU TWO NOT IN MY CHILDREN'S CHOIR?!?!? Mom, have these two here on Mondays from 4:00 - 5:00 pm." For handbells. And chimes. And hymns, oh my.

Week #3, Day #2: Children's Choir Rehearsal, Monday 4:00 - 5:00 pm

That night after choir, the kids ask their dad over dinner if he is going to come to Palm Sunday to watch them sing in the choir. He drills them on what exactly is Palm Sunday? They are stumped. I say, Jesus Christ, they have only been going for three weeks. He says, then if someone at this table can at least give me a good explanation about what happened on Easter, then maybe I'll come. I try to stop the madness by standing up, fork still in hand, and making like I am dying on the cross with my arms outstretched, my head bowed, and my tongue hanging out. He rolls his eyes at my charade-like hint and tells them the "real" story of how Easter is the day Jesus delivers the chocolate eggs. I slam down my hand and glare at him. SERIOUSLY?!?! I yell, AFTER I JUST DIED ON AN IMAGINARY CROSS?!?! He says, THIS is why I don't do religion, you church folk can't take a joke. I mutter that he is the biggest joke I know and take my plate to the kitchen.


Week #4: The dyeing of Easter Eggs in Sunday School and then the herd carrying said eggs to the alter to be blessed. It is announced that the bright, colorful eggs will be donated to the food pantry. For some unexplainable reason, the idea of distributing sparkly pink tye-dyed eggs to Concord's homeless sends me into a convulsive attack of laughter that won't quit and results in me faking a coughing fit to be able to get up mid-service and collect myself. Kids remained in the pew while I tried to employ labor breathing techniques to end my uncontrollable guffawing in the restroom at the bottom of the stairs.

Oh, and pretty sure I felt some glances, heavy and filled with concern, directed my way when the gospel reading from Luke mentioned the persistent widow.

Week #4, Day #2: In case you didn't believe me.

Wondering if maybe widows with young children are the recipients of a church casserole brigade...

Week #5: Also known as Palm Sunday. Grammy & Grandpa attend 10:00 service to see Christopher and Courtney proudly waving palms and singing, 'Oh Glory, Laud, and Honor' (or "Oh Laurie, Lard, and Longer" as practiced in the van on the way in that morning) with the Children's Choir. Thinking their presence next to me in the pew could only have helped my chances of a homemade Mac & Cheese showing up on my front porch real soon.

Week #5, Day #2: Went to the hospital to visit a friend and after circling the full parking lot twice, parked in (one of the five) "Reserved for Clergy" spaces. I mean, we've been FIVE weeks in a row and that pretty much means I could be ordained, right?

Week #6: This Sunday is Easter. Easter service begins at 9:00. Easter Egg Hunt for Sunday-schoolers at 10:00. Kids again asked their dad if he would be coming to church on Easter. He paused, smirked my way and then said, "Yeah, I just might go, that is, if it is okay with all you Church Folk?"

Great, there goes my Mac & Cheese before it even arrived. Do you think I could pass him off as my ever-so-faithful brother?