The big bad basement blow-out

This downsizing thing might work out after all.

A new dishwasher arrives Saturday. Kitchen flooring has been purchased and installation estimate obtained. Eating bar laminate samples on board for decision-making time once kitchen floor is in. Tub resurfacing to occur in mid-March.

And.

And.

And.

The big bad basement has been Cleaned Out. Behold the before and after.

Before.

After.

Yeah, yeah. I know. Big whoop. Looks pretty much the same, doesn't it?

But you haven't made the two runs to Goodwill. . . delivered several boxes of childhood and adulthood treasures to the Number One and Two Sons in Seattle. . . cleared out holiday decorations unused for years. . .  and purchased three storage bins for the N2S' "guys" -- eminently collectable mint Star Wars characters and other action figures. We've found treasures -- three of my all-time favorite cotton T-shirts! -- and disposed of A LOT of trash.

Believe me, we're lean.

I've started scrubbing down the walls and cupboards -- something, shamefully, that hasn't been done since 1992 when we moved into the Nine-One-Four. Please don't judge. It's the frickin' BASEMENT LAUNDRY/STORAGE ROOM for the love of pete.

Last time I checked, we weren't holding state dinners down there. So get over it.

I'm in a little bit of a foot race (literally) on this piece of the equation since I'm scheduled for some foot surgery (not quite as extreme for reasons that will unfold in due time) on February 22. After that, I'll be twinkle toes over heart -- with a 20 minute break here and there -- for at least a couple of weeks.

But, when spring FINALLY arrives and we can relocate the patio furniture and bikes outdoors -- we will have a cavernous laundry/storage/painstakingly clean big bad basement laundry/storage room.

And let's not forget the adjacent and new and improved Matt Cave.

And 4 bedrooms (all on the same floor), 1.5 baths, 3 blocks from one of the best elementary schools in Bermtopia (go Wilson Wildcats!).

AND most important, a most climb-able cherry tree in the backyard. . . .

If you are under the age of 60.

Back to school: First days

Thursday (well, now today) is the first day of school in Bermtopia.

And I, in a retrospective mood having just finished a grueling, but entertaining (or so I think) 28-page history of one of the colleges I work for, am so brain-fried that I can't really look forward. So I look back. At random first days of school involving the Number 1 and 2 Sons.

Warning: Tears were shed in the making of these experiences.

I was basically a pretty sappy kind of mom when it came to the first day of school. Within reason, that is. Just through 1st and 2nd grade or so. (Well, with one or two notable exceptions.) After that, I went to ground for a while, only to surface in full maternal glory for the boys' freshman year in college.

The early years

Neither boy started at Wilson Elementary. The N1S did kindergarten at Taft Elementary in Santa Ana, Calif., finishing first grade there before we relocated to Bermtopia.

I remember The N1S' first day as a second grader at Wilson, though. I packed an extra snack bag of M & Ms (or some similar confection) and attached a note: "Share this with the kid sitting next to you." He did. That's how he made his first friend at a new school.

Did I not rule as a mom? Or was I totally living in Dweebdom? Who knows? Who cares? The boy made a friend. And he thanked me in a speech he gave at 6th grade graduation. I cried.

The N2S went to kindergarten at the Bermtopia YMCA where I worked at the time. It rocked. His kindergarten teacher, Ms. Joyce, taught math concepts during wrestling matches. You kinda had to be there, but it worked for The N2S.

That's The N2S (in that first picture you see at the beginning of this post) on his first day of first grade at Wilson. Adorable, isn't he? looking quite sartorial in a pair of The N2S' cast-off soccer shorts and one of his T-shirts to boot. He was feeling pretty chipper as we took pictures, but by the time we hit the classroom, the enormity of being in a strange school hit The N2S like a box of rocks. Visualize "Dead Man Walking" and you've got the picture.

I cried that morning, missing the comfort of his kindergarten classroom almost as much as he did.

Fast forward to the end of the day: At the time, we were in the process of moving into The 9-1-4, about 3 blocks away from Wilson. As The N2S and I walked home, we encountered a mom sitting on her lawn handing out popsicles to her three sons as they trickled home after their first day of school.

"Hey. Would you like one?" she asked, thrusting an icy treat toward The N2S. He accepted cautiously, looking over his cherry popsicle and eyeballing a little guy about his size. "Francis" was one of the kids in his new classroom. The N2S hunkered down next to him and they silently devoured their treats.

They're still best of friends today.

Middle school years

I totally and unequivocably dweebed out with The N1S his first year of middle school -- middle school being the seemingly scariest place on earth that you could send an innocent 12-year-old.

Is it too late to apologize? Probably.

We rode the city bus together to make sure The N1S knew the route. We walked the halls of Sacajawea Middle School, found all his classrooms and made sure his locker combination worked. (The Bermtopia school district later established middle school bus service so kids didn't have to take the city bus. Probably at the frantic behest of painfully embarrassed 12-year-old boys all over the city.)

The N2S dodged the Mom Bullet. He and a posse of his friends visited Sac a couple of days before school started and figured out all that stuff on their own. I'm pretty sure I drove them there, though. And gave them snacks afterward.

High school years

I behaved myself for the most part. Although I did sneak a bag of The N2S' favorite treats -- along with an adorable stuffed tiger (the high school mascot) into his locker as a first-day surprise freshman year. He found them about six months later -- the first time he used the locker. The tiger was still in pretty good shape. The snacks? Not so much.

College years

Taking your kids to college their freshman year is the emotional equivalent of Omaha Beach. If the first bullet misses you, another will find you further up the beach.

We had successfully gotten The N1S settled at his college of choice. Our farewells were moderately tearful, but full of laughter too. We were all very proud of ourselves for being so brave.

I was picking up a few supplies at the local Safeway later that evening, when the opening notes of the James Ingram/Linda Ronstadt cover of "Somewhere Out There" from the film "American Tail" wafted across the store.

Um. Can you say, Clean up on Aisle 4?

P.S. Apologies to my two fine, upstanding young men who I love more than life itself for posting these pictures. But. Too bad for you.

P.P.S. I don't want to leave you with the impression that saying good-bye to The N2S on the eve of college was a cake walk. We were just a shade distracted by all the road construction signs he and his roommates had, well, for lack of better word, stolen throughout the summer and now had hanging on their walls. Caution. Curves ahead.

P.P.S. All you parents out there, reading this? I double dog dare you to listen to "Somewhere Out There."

Back to school: Class lists

Last week, one of my favorite messages of the year appeared on the Woodrow Wilson Elementary School reader board: "Class lists posted Friday, Aug. 27."

For the uninitiated, this means finding out who your kids are going to go school with -- teacher and students -- for the next year. Back in the day, when the Number One and Two Sons were students at Wilson, the lists went up the Friday leading into Labor Day Weekend because school typically started on the following Tuesday. You had all weekend to celebrate or weep as the case may be.

Visualize this last weekend (and this seriously hasn't changed in 20 years): Entire families drifting down to school starting early Friday evening and on into the weekend to scan the classroom decrees. Many walking, carving out a stop at The Scoop to celebrate or console depending on the verdict posted on the door of Wilson. Cars slowly pulling up, with breathless young things hopping out and running up the stairs in unbearable anticipation.

Some kiddos (and families) literally waltz down the stairs -- I got in the favorite teacher's class! My BFF is too! Can hardly wait till the first day of school!

Others thought slink away from the school in gut-sucking dejection. Got the worse teacher in the school. All my friends are in the other classroom. Life sucks.

(I personally think it's rather bold of Wilson to post class lists a week before school starts, leaving five working days for Helicopter Parents to show up petitioning why Precious should be moved to classroom X or Y. HPs, voice of experience speaking here: That which does not kill our children generally makes them strong. They usually end up in the classrooms where they belong. Okay. With a few exceptions... without naming names, the N1S' 6th grade teacher... nutball from day one... thank you very much).

That being said, regardless of the generation, the elation/dejection paradigm never changes. As I walk Ben through neighborhood and I watch this timeless ceremony -- The Checking of Lists -- my heart still swells yet shrinks in anticipation with each kid's run up the Wilson stairs to check the class lists.

I acknowledge it's not a perfect system. But it worked, and still does I think. Most of the time.

I'm not sure we can ask for too much more than that.

P.S. I admit. I have my HP tendencies. I DID end up in the principal's office that one fall, passionately lobbying for a change in 6th grade teachers, pointing out that the only reason why N1S was placed in a certain teacher's classroom was because he was resilient and would survive the year. Unlike some of his peers. Ouch.

That which does kill you makes you strong.