I found another grey hair today.

It wasn't on my head.

Yeah.....

Grass is always greener...

There's another body in the bed tonight. It's eight o'clock and your father is still plugging away at his Arabic lessons, Eleanor is singing to herself in her bed, Jordan is snugly tucked up in her toddler cage/bed with rails and we've already had enough conversations over where Emily is lately. Any guesses?

It's been a rough night. You had a great day at school and came home in good spirits. Another blue note from the teacher! We piled in the car and headed up to the Marine Corps museum where we played for a while and then headed home with grumbly bellies. I think you're too tired. I think you are exhausted. And I think you miss me half as much as I miss you during the day.

Apparently, this whole Mommy-being-gone-before-you-wake-up thing was not explained well to you and you were under the assumption that it would only last a week or two. While Granne was a wonderful surprise addition to your special morning (Great job, again, by the way) when you got Student of the Month, she is not the Mom. And I was supposed to be there. Tonight was the night you decided to let your feelings known. With tears. Lots and lots of heart wrenching, sobbing, melt down tears.

We have had the conversation about leaving. About how when I go to school and drive with Daddy, I'm going to school and I come back. About how when you get on the bus in the morning to go to school and go learn new things, you are not leaving us for good but for the day. That you need to go to school to be with your class and your teachers and your books. The fatal flaw in my logic was when I pointed out that you went to school a week before I started. That you were gone all day long and I thought it would be all right if I went to school, too.

You offered to stop going.

I keep telling myself that this is an incredible opportunity for us and for our next three years in Oman. But at the same time, I have a running dialogue with myself asking how the heck working parents do what needs to be done every day. How do they manage the household, the cleaning, the shopping, the cooking, the papers, the bills, the laundry, finding clothes for the morning, packing lunches (totally understanding the joy of just sending 10 dollars a week to school for crap, non-nutritional lunches) and all the assorted what-not that creeps up? Because I'm exhausted and we've got your dad and an au pair who occasionally blesses us with a cooked meal and enough leftovers for lunch the next day.

That weeping sound you hear is just Mommy- tears of joy.

Not to mention the things that you want to do. I want to read books, play games, take a walk. I would love to curl up and watch a silly movie or a Justice league. And I desperately miss the morning snuggles. The quiet, non rushed, gentle morning with wee warm bodies breathing your girly morning breath and demanding gummi bears in the tiniest voices possible. I miss you guys like crazy.

I'm enjoying school. The challenge of school. Despite the daily smack upside the head with all the crap I don't know. But when this is over, I'm back to being home full time. I'm missing way too much of your lives.

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU HAD FOR BREAKFAST TODAY.

For now, we've come to a compromise. I will get up, kiss you softly in the morning, call you and have breakfast over the phone with you and you will go to school. I will do my level best to be home when you get home or VERY soon after and will try to spend my time wisely playing and reading with you as much as possible and ignore the mountain of laundry trying to eat Jordan.

And in the meantime, you're in here snuggling with your foot on my leg while your sister sings herself to sleep.

Every night, as is our routine, we go upstairs, brush teeth, change into pajamas and hop into bed to read a book, sing songs and do the hug-and-a-kiss. This all happens with varying degrees of success and may or may not include a bath.

We used to have a standard "Halls of Montezuma" or "Angels Appeared" as the song, but lately "Jesus Loves Me" has been requested. And then there are the original songs with beautiful, awe inspiring first lines such as:

"Don't bite your sister or push her down the stairs....."

or

"Don't throw your pizza at the mooooooon...."

I feel like we're teaching you so well.

Middle of the week

Todd and I started school on Monday. It's Wednesday now. The challenge of keeping all the balls in the air has kept me away from the computer.

On Monday morning we put on our pretty clothes, took the time to look extra pretty in case we were introduced around and then came up from Stafford to Arlington. After a smooth entrance, your overly eager father and I waited around while the woman charged with watching over us came in late that day. "Early is on time, on time is late."

Your dad is over in a speaking, reading and writing class that is covering materials miles over my head. Our third day of Arabic School and I've got an hour of lab time that is languishing while the instructors try to decide where to put me. I have a grasp of the letters and how to connect them, but my vocabulary is so small and limited that we are having trouble conversing. Walaa is a good teacher, but I get frustrated when I am trying to say a sentence and she interrupts mid way to correct me. I'm not that interesting in English, so trying to think of things to say in Arabic is stretching my abilities.

You guys are fine with Sumeyye. I come home to new art projects and fascinating structures around the house. I miss hanging out with you guys. The morning cuddles and the smooches before you get on the bus or head into your classroom.

We come home in the afternoon to find you three running around and happy as clams. On one hand I am thrilled to see you so happy and carefree. That is the success we were looking for. But on the other hand, I wish you missed me a little more. There, I've admitted it- your mom is a selfish, selfish woman.

I know that this time in class will be a good investment for us. I know that you are growing up and can do just fine without me. But I do miss you.

We walked around our first day trying to find the right rooms and teachers- I remembered Gracie telling me that it was going to be all right. She told me that my teacher was going to be really nice and that I was going to make friends with the kids in my class.

So far, so good.

Dear Clothes Designer

Dear Clothes Designer,

First of all, thank you for thinking of putting spandex in my denim. For that alone, I love you. School is coming up for me next week and it has been brought to my attention that those beloved jeans and a few fun shirts have been my wardrobe for the last five years. They would probably not be appropriate for the Foreign Service Institute, so we went hunting.

Okay, technically, we went out to Nordstroms and found a "style consultant" who got to dress me up like State Department Barbie and had endless patience while I nixed endless numbers of your creations. Here are just a few of the things I would like you to know:

The current trend of feminine detailing, ruffles and flowers on shirts and jackets is wonderful. The ones that suit my taste are the more subtle, but I can appreciate the more daring and colorful. However, I am not paying eighty dollars for a T-shirt that looks like you just threw on all your leftover embellishments and no woman wants the huge ruffle up and around her neck making her look like bozo the clown.

Real women have hips. I could go nuts talking about these new "paper sack" dresses with the huge wrap around belts, but I think you should just take away the lesson that real women past the age of 19 have hips and a little saddle bag. We do not like all the attention on them.

Almost everyone wants to look and feel good. Could you please not mess with our sizing? Last year I was a size 8 or a Medium, now I'm a 12 or an Extra Large in some stores. I can still fit into those eights and mediums, so I know it's not me or my waist that is changing.

I know it's not exciting, but if you make something and sell out of it, could you please make it again the next year? A different color or with a small twist, maybe. Yes, this is more business than design and art, but if it will get me my favorite sweatshirt in a new color, I'd like to try.

Washable is good. I'm willing to front load the thirty bucks I would probably spend at the cleaners if you'll just make it out of something I can wash it myself. There's a lot of peanut butter and tomato sauce in this house and I'd be willing to take it up a notch if I could actually clean my clothes.

There's probably more, but I can't think of it right now. I'm sure I'll see something at Christmas and want to chat some more.

All the best,

Kristi Lyons

Much ado about nothing

So apparently I'm a worry wart who borrows trouble.

Kindergarten was fun.

Lunch was fine.

Mrs. Haasen is nice.

Physical Education was fun. You need shoes with no holes. (??!!?)

You sat next to a nice girl whose name you can't remember.

But the best, the COOLEST part of your day was that the bus has no booster seats or seat belts. When I expressed my concern over the safety of this, you told me that it was okay because Mrs. Kim drives really slow.

Well, okay then.

September 7

You and I need to talk about this Kindergarten thing. The whole-growing older-getting taller-becoming-more-independent-leaving-Mommy thing. Because I'm not sure it's good for us. And I know I'm not ready.

You go to Kindergarten tomorrow morning. Technically, this morning. Because I'm not sleeping tonight. At least not any time soon.

I know that you're a great kid. You're smart, good hearted and funny. You're a leader and don't have any qualms about speaking up when you see someone else your size picking on a smaller kid. I love that about you.

Your father and I have met your teacher twice, briefly. I've done my best to find out information about Mrs. Haasen and her cohort, uh, teacher's helper, Mrs. Borden. Talked to other mommies, daddies, the school, a few substitute teachers who know them. I may or may not have also asked the cop across the street to check them out...

But I don't know these ladies and I'm worried that they don't know you yet. I'm concerned over the fact that I know almost nothing about these women to whom I am entrusting my life's most important and valuable work. I'm stressing about how delicately they will handle your body, your mind and your spirit. Your spirit most of all.

I'm sending you to Kindergarten in the morning despite my fears.

Because you seem to have none. I know that you will be successful. I know that you will have a wonderful time and enjoy this adventure. I know that you are going to learn more and see more than I could provide here at the house. I am so excited and terrified for you.

But I'm still not ready.