©Stephenie Freeman
Last week a letter came home from the Cheese Eater's school. It was addressed "To the Parents of...”. As a parent, you can’t help but wonder if something’s up when an "official" letter like that comes home. We figured it was too early in the school year for anything to be wrong. Besides, we had asked the Cheese Eater every single day for the last two months how his day was, always receiving the repetitive answer of "good" so we assumed that it was.
The letter read:
Dear Parents, Your child has been selected to receive a special award at our school assembly. I would like to invite you to join your child in receiving this honor.
Well, you can just imagine how pumped I was to open a letter like this. I immediately called the Golfer at work and read him the letter.
"That's great!” he said. “So what's it for?"
"Um, well, I'm not sure. The letter doesn't say."
I looked over at the Cheese, who was busy enjoying his after-school snack and catching up with Scooby-Doo.
"Buddy? I got a letter saying that you’ve won an award. Do you know what it’s for?"
"What reward?"
"Not a reward. An award.”
"What award?"
I’ve had these sorts of “Who’s on First” conversations with the Cheese before, so I decided to stop before it got any worse and turned back to the phone.
"He doesn't have a clue. Guess we'll find out at the assembly."
So there we sat. With cameras poised and ready, parents lined the school's auditorium. The Monkey quietly sat, munching on a granola bar. He pointed to the Cheese as he told the man sitting closest to him, "That's my brother."
Yes, we were all very proud.
There were to be a total of four different awards given. The first awards were given for Effort. Six children, one from each kindergarten class, we given the award for "always trying their best." The Cheese Eater's name wasn't called.
The next award was given in the area of Scholarship. As the principal explained, this award was given for a lot of reasons. "Maybe you're a good reader, or writing, or good in math," she explained. Six names were called, but the Cheese wasn't one of them.
At this point our award winner started to tear up and put his face in his hands. He has watched two of his classmates go up and receive their award, and suddenly he was afraid that there had been a mistake. He looked over at me, looking for reassurance. I smiled, gave him my best thumbs up, and nodded trying my best to let him know that it would all be okay, that his award was coming, even though I was starting to wonder myself.
Turns out, third time’s a charm. The next award was given for Outstanding Citizenship. The principal explained that being an outstanding citizen meant that you do things to make the community around you a better place. You are considerate of others, you are polite, you use your manners, etc.
When his name was called, I tried my best not to tear up while looking through my camera lens. I was so proud that my young son had been recognized as being a kind and considerate person. To know that when he is out in the world alone he is doing his part to make it a better place, well there simply isn't a greater compliment as a parent.
And every time I look at it tapped up on our refrigerator, I'm reminded that maybe—just maybe—I'm doing something right after all.
(note: originally published 2007, family.com)
Awards, experiments, and games
Don't you hate it when people brag about their kids? They just go on and on and you're like, "Okay, we get it!" but the obnoxious parent just won't stop.
That parent is about to be me.
Last week we received a note in the Cheese's Tuesday Folder. "You child will be receiving an award," it said. So yesterday we headed to the school for the assembly. The Cheese was given an award for Outstanding Work and Study Habits. I couldn't have been more proud (of course, I would have been proud no matter what the award had been for.) But this was an award that wasn't just about him being good at something. It was about being awarded for making good choices and being a good roll model. I'd like to take all of the credit, but I think most (if not all) of the credit goes to the wonderful teachers that he's had.
Speaking of making good choices, this past weekend the Cheese said that he wanted to do some science experiments. The Sooners had already lost and the Bruins were on their way to losing, so a little time away from watching football sounded like a good idea. After a little research on the computer with Dad, he printed off instructions for "Dancing Raisins" that included a clear glass, raisins, and a can of Sprite. I'm not sure what he learned exactly, but he was delighted when the raisins did indeed dance.
So while they were busy experimenting, the Monkey and I were busy playing games. He always asks me to play and I'll be honest--90% of the time I tell him to go ask his brother to play or come up with some other excuse why I can't play. But this weekend I actually got down on the floor and played because I was tired of feeling like such a slacker mom.
Right now he's really into this Scooby Doo Haunted Mansion game; kinda appropriate for the Halloween season. We played and played and I tried my best to make sure that he always won (because he's 4 and I wasn't up for the tears of losing) and I tried to not fall asleep on the floor. I hate to admit it, but the game was actually kinda fun. Does that mean I want to play 10 times a day? No. But fun nonetheless.
There. I'm done bragging about my kids. Done patting myself on the back. That wasn't so bad.
Was it?
That parent is about to be me.
Last week we received a note in the Cheese's Tuesday Folder. "You child will be receiving an award," it said. So yesterday we headed to the school for the assembly. The Cheese was given an award for Outstanding Work and Study Habits. I couldn't have been more proud (of course, I would have been proud no matter what the award had been for.) But this was an award that wasn't just about him being good at something. It was about being awarded for making good choices and being a good roll model. I'd like to take all of the credit, but I think most (if not all) of the credit goes to the wonderful teachers that he's had.
Speaking of making good choices, this past weekend the Cheese said that he wanted to do some science experiments. The Sooners had already lost and the Bruins were on their way to losing, so a little time away from watching football sounded like a good idea. After a little research on the computer with Dad, he printed off instructions for "Dancing Raisins" that included a clear glass, raisins, and a can of Sprite. I'm not sure what he learned exactly, but he was delighted when the raisins did indeed dance.
So while they were busy experimenting, the Monkey and I were busy playing games. He always asks me to play and I'll be honest--90% of the time I tell him to go ask his brother to play or come up with some other excuse why I can't play. But this weekend I actually got down on the floor and played because I was tired of feeling like such a slacker mom.
Right now he's really into this Scooby Doo Haunted Mansion game; kinda appropriate for the Halloween season. We played and played and I tried my best to make sure that he always won (because he's 4 and I wasn't up for the tears of losing) and I tried to not fall asleep on the floor. I hate to admit it, but the game was actually kinda fun. Does that mean I want to play 10 times a day? No. But fun nonetheless.
There. I'm done bragging about my kids. Done patting myself on the back. That wasn't so bad.
Was it?
Weekly Column: Life is muy bueno!
©Stephenie Freeman
My life is filled with memories and most of them involve Mexican food. It is easy to make memories when they full of baskets of chips and dripping with cheese queso.
There was this one time when my mom and I were waiting in the drive-thru at Taco Bueno on 38th Street. It was a warm evening and the windows of her brown Audi were rolled down. We couldn’t help but listen as the man driving a truck in front of us tried to order.
Every time the man started to order, the German Sheppard riding in the back of his truck started barking. The man would stop and so would the dog, but the minute the man started to order again, so would the dog.
From what we could tell, it was clear that the dog wanted his own taco, and as much as he was barking possibly a mexi-dips and chips and a bean burrito too. My mom and I were crying we were laughing so hard, like it was the funniest thing we had ever seen. Perhaps for us right there in that moment it was.
Along with Taco Bueno, I loved going to Salas’s as a kid. Who didn’t? There was nothing tastier than their chips and queso. Knowing it was one of my favorite places, my dad took me there one night to meet his new girlfriend.
As I sat in between them at dinner, I wanted to make it clear that my mother had taught me well. So when the waitress asked me what I wanted to drink, I replied in my snottiest nine-year-old voice, “Milk, please.”
The girlfriend, who later became my step mother, just smiled at me sweetly and tried not to laugh. For twenty-plus years now we’ve joked about my bratty milk order at Salas’s.
Which reminds me of the time that my Uncle Bud made fun of me for ordering milk with Mexican food. “Milk with Mexican food? Yuck!” he teased and then continued to tease me about for years and years. I’m not sure why, but apparently there is something about ordering milk with Mexican food that makes people uncomfortable.
The Golfer and I returned to the Taco Bueno on 38th Street twenty years after the drive-thru dog incident. Out of all of the places that we could have chosen to eat after getting engaged, we decided that cheap Mexican food was the best choice because, well, it usually is. We talked about our future over soft chicken tacos and Diet Cokes. No more milk with Mexican food for me. The teasing had cured me of that. Besides, I was a big girl now.
It should come as no surprise that the night before I gave birth to our first child we decided to eat Mexican food for dinner, this time at Ted’s in Oklahoma City. I nervously ate my taco salad and enjoyed my chips and queso, knowing that the next time that we ate Mexican food together we would be needing a table for three.
Now as a family of four, we have started something called Taco/Movie Night. It’s my boys’ favorite part of the week. We eat homemade tacos on T.V. trays and watch old movies. Mexican food has now become a family tradition.
I’m not really sure why I have so many memories attached to Mexican food. Maybe I eat it much more often than I realize. Maybe the memories are really about the teasing and laughter and loved ones that accompanied the chips and queso. Maybe all of these memories aren’t really about the food at all. But I doubt it.
My life is filled with memories and most of them involve Mexican food. It is easy to make memories when they full of baskets of chips and dripping with cheese queso.
There was this one time when my mom and I were waiting in the drive-thru at Taco Bueno on 38th Street. It was a warm evening and the windows of her brown Audi were rolled down. We couldn’t help but listen as the man driving a truck in front of us tried to order.
Every time the man started to order, the German Sheppard riding in the back of his truck started barking. The man would stop and so would the dog, but the minute the man started to order again, so would the dog.
From what we could tell, it was clear that the dog wanted his own taco, and as much as he was barking possibly a mexi-dips and chips and a bean burrito too. My mom and I were crying we were laughing so hard, like it was the funniest thing we had ever seen. Perhaps for us right there in that moment it was.
Along with Taco Bueno, I loved going to Salas’s as a kid. Who didn’t? There was nothing tastier than their chips and queso. Knowing it was one of my favorite places, my dad took me there one night to meet his new girlfriend.
As I sat in between them at dinner, I wanted to make it clear that my mother had taught me well. So when the waitress asked me what I wanted to drink, I replied in my snottiest nine-year-old voice, “Milk, please.”
The girlfriend, who later became my step mother, just smiled at me sweetly and tried not to laugh. For twenty-plus years now we’ve joked about my bratty milk order at Salas’s.
Which reminds me of the time that my Uncle Bud made fun of me for ordering milk with Mexican food. “Milk with Mexican food? Yuck!” he teased and then continued to tease me about for years and years. I’m not sure why, but apparently there is something about ordering milk with Mexican food that makes people uncomfortable.
The Golfer and I returned to the Taco Bueno on 38th Street twenty years after the drive-thru dog incident. Out of all of the places that we could have chosen to eat after getting engaged, we decided that cheap Mexican food was the best choice because, well, it usually is. We talked about our future over soft chicken tacos and Diet Cokes. No more milk with Mexican food for me. The teasing had cured me of that. Besides, I was a big girl now.
It should come as no surprise that the night before I gave birth to our first child we decided to eat Mexican food for dinner, this time at Ted’s in Oklahoma City. I nervously ate my taco salad and enjoyed my chips and queso, knowing that the next time that we ate Mexican food together we would be needing a table for three.
Now as a family of four, we have started something called Taco/Movie Night. It’s my boys’ favorite part of the week. We eat homemade tacos on T.V. trays and watch old movies. Mexican food has now become a family tradition.
I’m not really sure why I have so many memories attached to Mexican food. Maybe I eat it much more often than I realize. Maybe the memories are really about the teasing and laughter and loved ones that accompanied the chips and queso. Maybe all of these memories aren’t really about the food at all. But I doubt it.
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