Sage becomes Mrs. Sage

Today was Sage’s first day in her school’s dual immersion program.  As soon as she got home I grilled her about the details of all-day first grade and the Spanish half of the day and how she found her carpool without me having told her where to go (whoops).  Trying to get information out of her was like pulling teeth…aided by the fact that I’m not above bribing with candy to satisfy my own curiosity.

The only information Sage volunteered enthusiastically was which girl had the same lunchbox as her, and which of her friends had also brought a ham sandwich to eat. (There were three, by the way. One had no mayonnaise, though.)

Sage did tell me proudly about how she “translated” for her class when her Spanish teacher asked Sage what “favorito” meant.  That’s my girl—rockin’ the cognates. 

In spite of Sage’s reluctance to give me a play-by-play of the previous seven hours, I know the day must have been a success because she and Eliza shut themselves in their bedroom and organized “School” for a bunch of stuffed and furry (but oh, so attentive) pupils.

By eavesdropping on the bedroom session of “School” I found out that Eliza was the appointed “Teacher of Washing Hands” and Sage (I mean “Mrs. Sage”) was the teacher for all other subjects.

Oh, and for the record, Sage didn’t appreciate it when I put Lily’s dress on my head (think hairnet) and pretended to be the lunch lady calling them to come for snack time. (I'm glad she didn't think to make me a card that I could turn from green to yellow for my little stunt.)  That Mrs. Sage sure runs a tight ship.

My green-thumbed confession

When I was in junior high my sister gave me a shirt that said, "Help! I'm on the phone and I can't shut up!"  Now I need an updated version: "Help, I'm obsessed with my garden and I can't stay out!"  I can't get enough of the garden.  Oh, sure, I’ve got zucchini up to my eyeballs, and my arms always smell like tomato vines, and if I never saw another weed again in this life it would be too soon.  But I keep going back out—several times a day, and always on the pretense that “I’ll be back in just a second!”

Sometimes it’s to admire the pumpkins (but, oops, there’s a few weeds…I’ll just grab those), or to pick the raspberry bush’s daily yield of three magnificent berries (oh, wait, I forgot to water the basil plants, and I better pick a leaf for my fingertip perfume), or to check on the zucchini plant so I know how soon the next round of neighbors will be getting zucchini bread (is that a slug?--Smash it!  Is that a ladybug?—Go get the girls!  Is that a 6-foot long green monster?  No, it’s just yesterday’s zucchini putting “Little Shop of Horrors” to shame.)  Then, what do you know, a “quick check” turns into two hours.

Sometimes I proudly take pictures of my garden goods, and I realize I’m not so unlike Cupon Clippers.  Here’s a picture of today’s haul. 

I've recognized a form of my addiction in each of my kids.

Sage loves our beans (22 harvested today), corn, and, naturally, the sage plant in our herb garden (which only she is allowed to harvest).  After helping to plant the corn kernels, Sage made a chart and tracked how many kernels sprouted into little green stalks each day.  She considers herself the authority on which ears of corn are ready to be picked (though earwigs have provided ample, and fearsome, competition). Of all the harvested food, Sage and Eliza are totally in love with fresh corn on the cob--especially when they get to roll the hot cobs over the whole stick of butter.  We have to limit them at two fulls cobs a night, and not because we don't have enough in our garden.

Eliza is our flower girl.  When the tulips were in bloom, I found her outside praying over them individually.  She monitors all the new blooms, and exacts a tax for her services—regular picking, which she uses to fill all the vases we own.  Sometimes she brings the vase with her when she moves from one room to another.

You’d never guess from her pale skin, but next to me, Lily has spent the most time out in the yard this summer.  When her older sisters had long since deserted the backyard for otter pops or a show like Backyardigans (how ironic), Lily could be found picking peas (during pea season she asked to go out for peas five times a day), exclaiming happily over a pill bug or anthill, or picking green grape tomatoes.   And more than anything, she loves to confiscate the hose for her own purposes, including to create mud puddles (usually at the bases of our peach trees) to splash in.

Mark likes to go in the garden whenever he wants to not come in for two hours, since I always insist on giving him THE LATEST tour, which is always drastically different from the last tour that I gave him forty-eight hours ago.  I'm sure he goes to bed at night thinking, "To everything there is a season..." 

19 pairs

Today while I was making dinner Eliza wandered in and casually remarked, “Mom, I have a fat bum.”

"Preschool anorexia" and other horrific thoughts popped into my head, and I quickly turned to look at her, concern lining my face, as I countered, "No you don’t! Who told you that?”

With a little giggle she confessed, “It’s my undies,” and she pulled the waistband of her shorts down just an inch to reveal 19 pairs of panties stacked on top of each other.

The funny thing was that 19 undies weren't even enough to make her look fat. But it did look like she might lose circulation soon.

Eliza enjoying some frosting