Blame

image from Picard Creative

I had a crazy preschool mom experience this morning that left me so livid I almost kicked the woman and her sorry kid. I was completely blindsided. I don't even know where to begin. And I'll just warn you up front that I may come across as an absolute bitch in the post but I'm fine with that. The story must get out. The truth must be told.

I had just dropped off my son and was walking to my daughter's class with a friend who's also a teacher there and the mom of one of my son's good friends. We were planning for today's play date chez moi. We were actually in the middle of a conversation when a woman approached, someone who I have seen around many times, someone who back in September I had overheard while sitting at Starbucks with a friend and thought to myself, I hope to god this woman's son is not in my son's class. Because that's the thing, I notice everything. And mostly no one ever notices me. This actually plays into part of the story. I ALWAYS notice stuff.

So she introduces herself, completely interrupting the conversation I was already having with someone else. And then, with her son right next to her, starts to explain how the other day I hit her son's head with the office door and he's been really upset about this ever since. Now I remember being in the office and I remember they walked in behind me but I think I would have remembered if the door I was holding had struck the head of a four year old. He definitely hit his head and his mom definitely overreacted. All that is spot on. But no part of my person or anything my person was touching came in contact with her child. No matter. I apologized.

Me: I'm so sorry. I must not have seen you. I'm sure you're feeling better now right?
Him: You shouldn't hit people in the head because it can hurt them. You really hurt me.

And that's when I kneed him right in the face. 

His mom: Sweetie I'm sure she didn't mean to do it. Accidents happen. But she's really sorry, ok?

Uh, did I miss something? Wasn't this the conversation you should have had with him two days ago in the ambulance on the way to the emergency room private? Why am I here?

At this point I am wishing I had hit him in the head and her too. So I say my last apologies and start to walk away and as I'm walking away he says to me: Don't ever do that again. 

Unbelievable. What kind of mom makes this kind of big fucking deal over an accident, very likely caused by her own son running into a door. I'll tell you what kind of mom. The freakishly indulgent kind that gave up being a lawyer or banker or director of some bullshit to make babies and now feels she must, to borrow a phrase from Aimee, manage her child's feelings on a molecular level. What is she teaching him? That there is always someone to blame?

So I drop off my daughter and I'm heading back to my son's class because I'm supposed to read a story to his classmates. And just as I'm thinking none of those kids better cross me or I might slam a door on their head, I run into her again, this time without her kid. And she starts to tell me that she hoped that I didn't mind her little drama but it was for the benefit of her son. He'd been really upset. This happened TWO DAYS AGO. I mumbled a sure, forget about it and kept moving. But I will surely see her tomorrow and on Monday and every freaking day after for the rest of my life.

And I am sure you are asking, why is she having such a tantrum about this little incident. The woman's crazy and the boy's crazy because of her so what's the big deal? True. No big deal. But I've been thinking a lot about blame. Because I'm one of those people who is more than happy to find someone to blame. I get charged a credit card fee for a late payment? Well it's because you didn't send me the reminder in time. We show up to the wrong pool for swim lessons? Well it's because the confirmation letter went to spam. You won't take these shoes back because I don't have a receipt? Well, you must be pea-brained jerk-faces. It's not one of my finer qualities. And it even comes out when I'm with my kids. And then they start name-calling and blaming. I don't want to teach them to blame. So maybe this incident was the medicine I needed to seal my commitment to stop blaming everyone for my misfortunes, big, small or accidental.  I hate medicine. Almost as much as I hate crazy preschool moms.

The Do-Over

The mystery of my daughter's favorite song is now over. We can all sleep again. You may remember (THOUGH I DOUBT IT) that on my birthday my daughter had a near seizure in the car on our way home from San Francisco because I changed the radio station and she wanted her favorite song which was not on any station at all and anyway it was before she had tubes and could hear in the first place so I was at a loss. But she wailed her head off about it for a good fifteen minutes which feels a lot like seventeen hours when you're stuck in a car with someone doing that. But then today, as I was driving them to preschool, we heard the interlude song that follows the California Report by Rachael Myrow on NPR and this, ladies and gentlemen, appears to be my daughter's favorite song.

Her (with glee): Mommy this song is my favorite!
Me: This one?
Her: Ya! My song my favorite!
Him (passionately): Mommy, this song is my favorite song too that I never heard before. I never heard it a lot of times and now it's my favorite. It used to be on a lot on the radio but then we never heard it for a long time ago. I LOVE this song.

Really, that's verbatim. I don't know what the hell my son was trying to say. Sometimes he sounds like Yoda.

Which brings me back to my birthday. With your encouragement I decided that today I would reenact my birthday, at least for a little while, and enjoy the crap out of it. So I dropped off the kids at 9:00 and then drove to where the Anthropologie is in Palo Alto. They don't open until 10:00 but knowing this I brought along my laptop and went to Coupa Cafe, the very cafe where on my 35th birthday I sat sobbing about how nothing was as it should be and I made the famous list of things to do to achieve happiness. These included finding a loving, nurturing preschool with a low teacher/child ratio, a Jewish family learning component and an Israeli style play-based environment AND starting my business 15 hours a week while my kids are in this magical school. Check and check. Turns out there were no available outlets so I could not write this blog there which was my original intention and instead enjoyed my croissant and latte without bothering to multitask. This felt odd at first, doing just one thing, but then I let myself sink into it and for the next half hour enjoyed watching people in the crowded cafe while I reflected on my transformational year.

Soon it was 10:00 and I was off to Anthropologie where I used my birthday discount to buy two blouses and a tablecloth that were already half off so the bill came to under $100.



And so concludes this year's birthday saga. Thirty-six is looking up.

Back to Better

Today I'm back to my life. I found out yesterday that I can leave my daughter at school until 1:00 instead of picking her up at 11:30 (which is what I did yesterday). They had said the specialty class thingy wouldn't start til next week so I just figured that meant I needed to pick her up early. Not true. She could still stay and eat lunch and play until 1:00. None of this means anything to you but yesterday sucked having to get her and get home and eat lunch and go back to get her brother and then fall asleep in the car and cry and want to push the elevator button and I'm like is this really my life?

No. That is not my life. My life goes like this: I bring two delightfully cheery kids to the Jewish Community Center and no one cries and everyone hugs their teachers (whom they've known for two days) and I leave via the coffee cart that's free this first week and get myself a latte. I drive home stress free enjoying my latte, get into my studio and do my WORK. For FOUR UNINTERRUPTED HOURS. That's a lot of CAPS. And soon I will pick them up in time for my daughter's nap and my son and I will print out the orders that have piled up over vacation since that's his favorite activity.

And today I realized something very interesting that I will share with you. My son apparently needs a change of venue to have a change of attitude. Like many of us. He had been at his old school for THREE years and almost everyday he was clingy to one degree or another. He loved his school and his teachers. But he developed this habit of behaving a certain way at drop off that he just couldn't shake no matter how comfortable he was or how excited he was to see his friend and teachers. Habits are tough that way. I suspected something was up when we came back from Santa Fe and he turned back into his usual self after an amazing week as a confident, helpful and happy little boy but my theory has been confirmed by his recent behavior at school. He's thrilled to be there. Doesn't know a soul and doesn't care. It's so refreshing.

And that makes me think we have to move so that we can break him of all of the habits he's developed over the last five years. And he may also needs new parents to fully execute on this social experiment. Just a thought. But maybe just a new house would do the trick.

My son showing some JCC pride.

Running on Fumes

Today I'm exhausted. Between the sick child (still sick!), drop off for the last day of preschool before the big transition to a new school, having blood and urine drawn so I can get life insurance before I turn 36 in two weeks, filling a landslide of print orders after a seven year famine in August, strolling my daughter to Starbucks only so I could place my order and then realize I had forgotten my wallet because I took it out of my bag to show the Quest Diagnostic dude my ID, rushing out to the frame shop to get frames for the prints I made for my kids' preschool teachers, wrapping presents, going to pick up my kid and realizing my daughter probably has an ear infection, sobbing at school with their teachers because it's the last day even though they still babysit for us but anyway it seemed a little gut-wrenching at the time, speeding over for her appointment, handing the kids off to my husband so I could make 6:30 dinner reservations with my preschool mom buddies and stopping at Starbucks at 10:00 pm to pay off my morning debts, I need a vacation. Thankfully I get one starting Saturday. How did I do all this when I worked full-time?


* bonus picture of kids running

The Snake

Uch I have been adding copyright watermarks to all of my digital files all day today and let me tell you, it is completely scintillating and meaningful work because I really love to do the same series of key strokes 82 times in a row. Nonetheless, it is time for a break. How are you?

I have been fighting a very odd stomach ailment the last few days that I can only refer to as THE GRIP. It was like someone was grabbing at my gut full fist and pulling it out (including my back) and twisting it all in one motion. Like I was made of silly putty. It was bad. And then my stomach muscles were also sore from doing too many sit-ups. So I've decided to never again do sit-ups because they are stupid and cause nausea.

Which is why yesterday, when I took my kids to Gilroy Gardens, a delightful amusement park for the two to seven-year-old set, I was not totally thrilled about having to go on many of the spin around until you throw up rides. Luckily the kids had no interest in the spinning garlic ride (it's Gilroy - Garlic capital of the world). Nor the banana buccaneer thing that swings back and forth like a pendulum. And we were with about seven other families from our preschool so there were plenty of parents to accompany in my place if necessary. In fact, my son was tall enough to go on many rides by himself or with just his friends but naturally he preferred to go with me. What can I say. True love.

But there was one ride, the only roller coaster at this place, called The Snake. And toward the end of the day as we were heading out another boy said he wanted to go on it. So all of the kids lined up to see who met the 42 inch height requirement and it turns out only this kid and my son were tall enough to go at all, but not tall enough to go alone. Each needed a parent. My friend Randi went with her son and convinced her three year old to go on the merry-go-round with the rest of us. But my son needed a chaperon and my gut was both literally and physically telling me to skip this one. Plus I had my daughter who had already missed her nap and was unusually clingy. The boys had already run ahead to be in line and Randi went to catch them. That's when I yelled for Michael, Jonathan's dad (Jonathan's the one who calls me Mrs. Rosen - so cute) so he filled in.

And as I was walking toward the merry-go-round to watch the other kids with Jonathan's mom, I panicked that my son would see Michael and start sobbing. Or that mid-ride he'd pitch a fit and I wasn't sure Michael was prepared for that kind of wrath. So I ran up to the line with my daughter and watched as they got on the ride. My son got on with Michael without even batting an eyelash. So before he could see me I got the hell out of there.

Five minutes later we see The Snake riders coming to the carousel to meet us and my son is flashing a toothy grin. Randi reported back that he LOVED the roller coaster. My son then corroborated this interesting fact and he decided to go with his buddies on the last few rides of the day and leave ole mommy behind. Guess who's grinning now...

Happy Monday

Monday's are my favorite day of the week. I'm coming off of three days with my family and I need a break. And I usually have some work piled up and I'm happy to get to it. But, understandably, Monday's have been, until now, my son's least favorite day because he's coming off of three days with his mommy which he would like to turn into four, five, eight, nineteen, a zillion days with mom. He likes his school but each Monday he forgets. And each Monday afternoon he's had a great time.

But the thing that he especially likes about school is riding his bike there. Since he started riding without training wheels a few months ago, my husband has started letting him ride himself to school (accompanied of course). He used to ride on the back of his Aba's bike and I'd take his sister to school - not a great use of parental resources but our son really loves being on the bike and our daughter really hates the bike trailer. And now that he can ride his own bike he wants to do it everyday.

And it's a haul for a four-year-old. About three miles I think. It takes them 45 minutes. My son takes it very seriously. He's extremely cautious. He follows every instruction. And he arrives at school beaming. The added bonus for us is that he gets dressed immediately when he wakes up and he hustles to get out of the house quickly because he knows his Aba has to ride another ten miles to work after drop off. So it's a morning free of dawdling, whining and crying.

And that is why we switched our schedule around so that he can ride his bike to school on Mondays. And now Mondays are everyone's favorite day of the week. The end.

Birthday Smarty

I've been meaning to tackle this important topic for several months now. Well, ever since March when exactly 5 years prior the Silicon Valley appears to have experienced an unprecedented baby boom and all 17, 246 kids born that month invited my son to their fifth birthday parties. That's how it felt anyway. Every weekend we had birthday parties on both days. OK I'm exaggerating a little but it seemed like I was constantly at Target buying some stupid toy du jour. More often than not these were boy parties so I went for a superhero or some lego set or walkie talkies. Then he was invited to his friend Aiden's party (girl Aiden as opposed to boy Aiden - his party is in October) so I got her a pair of dress up heels and a drill - what every woman needs. And even though we were invited to these parties a good 4-5 weeks in advance, I could never get it together in time to buy the presents beforehand so I got into the habit of Just In Time gift giving. We'd leave 15 minutes early for the party, stop at Target, we'd run in and I'd have to find something before my son started whining that he also wanted a toy and then I'd wrap the gift in the car. Yes, I keep wrapping paper, a scissors and tape in the car for this very purpose. The rush, while invigorating, was inhibiting my ability to choose respectable gifts.

Anyway the party season died down a little at the start of summer but August has launched us back into party mode. This last weekend we had two birthday's back to back and both were girls. So, feeling ambitious, I went to Target on the Thursday before the weekend but was disappointed to find the toy selection for older girls was limited to Barbies, Polly Pockets, Bratz and a host of other oddly proportioned big-headed plastic dolls whose body parts are interchangeable. What sick bastard came up with that idea? And the thing is, I know that's probably what these girls like. They all like that crap. Even the boys like that stuff. But I just couldn't bring myself to buy any more plastic garbage from Target. That's when I spotted the Back to School aisle. Providence! I went over there and for each girl I got a ruler, a pencil bag, a box of colored chalk, a box of colored pencils, a box of markers, a glue stick and a pair of scissors. Then I added one of the hard spiral notebooks that I sell with the Inner Toddler that most resembled each girl glued on the front. Presto! Two girls ready for kindergarten! I was very pleased with myself and was telling one of the preschool mom's and she told me she came to the same realization and has started giving kids movie tickets. And I thought, there's another fabulous idea! If you have any more great ideas for birthday gifts that don't involve interchangeable princess heads, send them my way. I'm stocking up.

Carbon Copy

I have just spent the last three hours filling out forms for my kids to start their new preschool in the fall. A packet of forms! The same forms for both kids! Two sets! I have a blister on my thumb and a throbbing callous on my middle finger. And I need that finger for driving...

And the thing that killed me was basically filling out the same thing twice. I hate and dislike redundancy. They're the same kids more or less! Same parents, same address, same people authorized to pick them up, same emergency contacts, same doctors, same wake-up and bedtime. They're exactly the same. Except one's born in October and the other in February. One's a boy and one's a girl. One's allergic to amoxycillin and one's allergic to vegetables. One's sensitive and one's happy-go-lucky.

In fact, aside from their emergency contacts, they could not be more different.

Two productions

On Friday was my son's graduation from preschool and I was promised by all of the teachers that I'd better bring at least one box of tissues because it was sure to be a sob-fest. And in fact it was very sweet and quite a production. I was very proud of my son, even when he told me mid-song to stop looking at him. It was fun to see him sing all of the songs he'd been practicing at home for the last four months and even a few in Mandarin and Spanish (yes, we live in California) that's I'd never heard. And I felt very assured by the end of the production that we were making the right decision to send him to the Young Fives program at the JCC. Something about him hardly smiling, eyes darting around the room and his general seriousness made me think another year of play and self assurance would be great for him. But I can't say I cried. I welled up a little when I saw his teacher start crying as she was handing out the diplomas (did I mention they were all wearing pint size caps and gowns?). But the sob-fest unexpectedly happened the day after when I went with my husband, brother and sister-in-law to see another production.

I am a writer without words on this one. We went to see Wicked in San Francisco and from the moment they all started singing I just started sobbing. The set, the costumes, the lighting and those VOICES. George Jesus, those were some amazing voices. And the lyrics and the story. So clever. So much talent. So many artists shining up there. And I imagined them at various ages telling there parents they wanted to be performers, dancers, actors, singers. And I imagined those parents wishing their kids would just lead happy lives and not the ones that come with a TON of rejection and struggle. But these kids did it. They made it. They're starring in this unbelievably magical show together, waving their "I'm going to be who I am no matter what" flag. By the end of the performance I was on my feet clapping hysterically and sobbing with joy. Am I pregnant or what? The answer to that one is a definitive no. Nonetheless, I could hardly contain myself at this performance. Girl, you need to get out more. And then I imagined bringing my kids to see it when they're a little bit older and waiting outside the backstage door to meet the actors and hoping they would leave the theater, like me, inspired to fly.

The Adventures of Dirt Girl and Bubble Boy

We went camping this weekend at a beautiful spot in Big Sur with five other families from our kids' preschool. And while I joked with my colleagues that if I don't show up for work on Monday it's because I had a nervous breakdown and wandered off into the wilderness muttering about Thomas the Tank Engine and poison oak, it was actually one of the best camping experiences we've had with the kids, if not the best weekend we've had ever. They were incredible. There were eleven kids altogether - six boys from preK plus four younger sisters and a younger brother. The moms in this group have been getting together about once a month since the beginning of the school year, usually at Sue's house, for wine and whine and this camping plan was hatched back in December. It couldn't have landed on a more perfect weekend. Apparently there was a terrible heat wave in the whole SF bay but we were living large in the low 70s with no fog. Unprecedented for Big Sur.

We got there around 6:30 on Friday evening and set everything up while trying to feed our kids. They were happy to see their friends and try out each family's "jumpy house". They went from tent to tent jumping on mattresses and having a ball. When it started to get dark my son asked if he could get ready for bed. Again, unprecedented. So we set them up in the same tent with the intention of moving my daughter later to sleep with her dad in the little tent and I would sleep with my son in the big tent. My daughter had never seen her sleeping bag but nothing phases this girl. She just jumped right in. I started singing them their songs and my daughter was snoring by the end of the first song. My son was still awake by the end of my repertoire but I told him I would be outside, we said goodnight and within ten minutes he was asleep at which point I joined the other parents at a neighboring site for dessert and drinks. And they slept the whole dang night. I was amazed.

The next day we went to an amazing beach but of course, I forgot their bathing suits (in fact I thought we were going on a hike so I didn't know to bring them). But my daughter ran around in her diaper and my son was in his underwear. Early on he got his undies wet and wanted to take them off but I got the feeling that some of these parents weren't super keen on naked kids everywhere, so I told him to wear his t-shirt (and take off his undies). Well his shirt got wet too and after a little bit of anxiety and discussion he decided he could handle having a wet shirt. Unprecedented! My daughter on the other had went out of her way to smear wet sand all over herself and then do a downward dog in the sand to get it all in her hair. She refused to wash her hands off when it was lunchtime so she ate what we now refer to as the sand-wich. And it occurred to me that these two kids could not be any more different. Same parents. Same home. Same preschool. Two completely different kids. Dirt Girl and Bubble Boy. But Bubble Boy impressed us with his ability to shake off his beach discomfort (he isn't always thrilled with the sand/seawater combo) and thoroughly enjoy himself.

That night both kids were out by the end of the first song. It used to be that we went camping just because we knew it was good for the kids but we didn't actually enjoy it that much. I mean, in all honesty. Because it's so much work! Just packing the car is like an 8 hour activity. And getting them to sleep at night and nursing in the tent...uch, terrible. The days were usually fine but it was always more exhausting than enjoyable. But now it's a pleasure. Which is why I'm not having a total come apart that we're doing it all over again this weekend with different families (bad planning - back to back camping trips) because I actually love it. And so do they.

A Tale of Two Kiddies

I went in last week for my son's mid-year performance evaluation, I mean, parent-teacher conference. I had already basically made up my mind that we would keep him in preschool another year. Although not this preschool. We'd been looking at "Young Fives" programs in the area and I'd found two that I really liked and we are on the waiting list for both. My son has an October birthday but we'd sort of always assumed that he would go ahead to kindergarten younger than most. That's what my husband and I both did. And our older brothers. And we all turned out fine. Although my husband is now having flash backs of being a 5 foot three inch senior and not really enjoying the whole social aspect of high school...but I digress...

So we moved him to preK this year and it was a total nightmare. Or at least a massive miscalculation. He basically cried every morning before leaving for school and when I'd ask him in the afternoon who he played with he would say no one. I played by myself. Now he didn't seem overly bothered by this so I just nodded and said, hmm, great, meanwhile projecting all of my worst insecurities about being liked in school and having friends on this poor kid who's quite content to just ride a trike around the blacktop thirty times and call it a day. 

And even now, four months later, he's only kind of getting into it. We have our morning routine down and he's only rarely "creepy" in the morning. Goodbyes are never dramatic. He still clings to me during field trips. But he's started talking about a few friends which thrills me to no end. He's even been invited to some birthday parties. Kids who are turning five mind you. So that's been nice. Although he won't talk to anyone when we go. Less nice. Anyway, none of this behavior could have prepared me for the parent teacher conference. A snippet:

Your son has made a 180 degree change. He has really blossomed. Everyone adores him. He doesn't much want to play with the teachers anymore. He picks and chooses his friends and he does so wisely. He's always raising his hand and participating in the class. He has a lot of energy. He's excellent at negotiating his relationships. He demands an apology and forgives immediately. He's extremely imaginative. And he's almost reading. He's the kid that makes teachers cry when we think about how far he's come. He is COMPLETELY ready for kindergarten.

Huh? I mean I love this kid dearly. He's really the light of my life but, huh? This is the same kid that won't start eating dinner unless his blue booster seat is lined up perfectly with the chair beneath it. Or the kid who will only wear his black jeans during the week and his brown "weekend" pants on the weekend. And only blue socks or the stripy ones that his aunt gave him or his frosty the snowman socks that his other aunt gave him (these amazing women clearly know my son). I mean I have to say that I was totally flabbergasted. I admit I have seen a difference in him over the last few weeks. My husband even noticed. But I thought for sure they'd agree with me to hold him back. 

So now we're in a quandary again. I'm signing him up for kindergarten in the end, which is a lottery for the magnet program in our neighborhood, plus these two special preschool programs for fall birthday kids. I guess we'll just see where he gets in. I would love to send him ahead just to save on preschool tuition, and if he's actually ready, then all the better. But I have one friend with older boys who says she regrets sending her oldest ahead and he's an August birthday. At the time he was also ready for kindergarten. But by the time middle school rolls around it can be brutal for the youngest boys in the class. Another woman I met said she just wished she'd have her daughter around the house for one more year since she's going college at age  seventeen. One thing's for sure. I'm glad my daughter's birthday is in February. And if we have a third, I will plan accordingly.

A Great Miracle Happened Here

I know many of you have been perched on your inbox for an update about the holiday pageant. So sorry to have left you hanging out here for the last two weeks wondering…did they sing? Did they cry? Pout? Shout? Flail on the ground in a heap of red and green holiday-wear? In fact both kids were outstanding. My daughter went first. She didn't notice me (that was intentional) so she just stood with everyone in the line wearing her reindeer headband and shaking her jingle bells to the music of Feliz Navidad. She looked a little perplexed but she didn't cry. She didn't sing either, but since she doesn't talk it wasn't a huge disappointment. Then there were some other classes and finally the PreK kids. I was a ball of nerves. I was also trying to hold my antsy daughter and videotape the whole thing which was kind of a pain in the ass. The kids walked out and found their tape to stand on. My son was looking around for me so I waved to get his attention - potentially my downfall. He started to try to get to me through a sea of parents but I shushed him back to his spot. He held it together. And then the music started and so did their first number - a little interpretive dance I think. Not sure. But there he was doing all the moves, looking left and right to be in sync with his classmates. He even cracked a smile. And then it was the big "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" number. That's when a star was born. He sang, he danced. He had a big smile. He was charming, careful to stay near his tape marker. A natural performer. And there I was mouthing the words like the freak stage mom that I am. Yikes. I didn't know I had it in me.

Then after the performance there was the opportunity to go have a picture with Santa which I wasn't super excited about - namely because of the long line but also because this is the first holiday season when I'm finally having to explain Christmas and Hanukah and why his cousins on both sides celebrate both holidays and we only celebrate Hanukah. But I decided I wasn't going to make a big deal about it so we stood in line and by the time we got to the front, my kids were too scared to sit with Santa. And then it turns out that Santa was the Jewish Venezuelan preschool owner's sixteen-year-old son. He threw out a few Hebrew phrases to gain my kids' trust but they were having none of it. Anyway, we left the place aglow with pageant pride, ever wary of Hebrew-speaking Santas…

Highlights from our week with family in Santa Fe up next…

You Better Not Shout. You Better Not Cry.

The annual preschool holiday pageant is coming up and I'm torn whether to go or not. She's torn? What an awful mom! Who wouldn't want to see their kids dressed up like reindeer?! Let me explain. I'm dying to go. I went the first year, when my son was two. I sent him to school dressed in a white sweatshirt and black pants as instructed. When I came back later to watch the production I spied him grinning and wearing a top hat with giant black buttons on his belly. My little Frosty the Snowman. I should have taken the shot right then. But no, instead I waved, "Hi sweetie!" That was it. He started bawling. The show is starting and all of the other two year-olds are marching on stage singing Frosty the Snowman (or at least standing there, holding hands and swaying.) My son is shrieking like a mermaid. I scoop him up. So much for the pageant picture. Maybe next year.

Last year we avoided the agony altogether by taking a vacation. We left before winter break started so I missed the opportunity to watch my son prance around like Rudolph. Or rather sob and throw a tantrum the minute he saw me.

So this year, I'm in a quandary. Should I go? He's been singing Santa Claus is Coming to Town for the last month and waving his finger around. (Sing it with me now: you better not shout, you better not cry…) If only that was a sure thing—no shouting and no crying. Maybe now that he's four he'll be able to hold his ground in front of the parent paparazzi. I don't blame him. We're like a sea of smiling, nodding, best-intentioned crazy people. I'm sure it's intimidating. All I want is for him to enjoy himself. Who am I kidding? All I want is for him not to be that kid. There's always one in the lot. The one that's not singing. The one that's crying or sitting down or has fingers up both nostrils. It's usually my kid. Well, que sera sera. All I can do is send him in his red shirt and hope for the best.

Weird ideas that work

I tell you if I’m ever in a position to hire anybody and the job requires unlimited capacity to generate new ideas and problem-solve, 9 out of 10 times I’m hiring a mom because a day doesn’t go by when I don’t have to yank some crazy scheme or remedy or solution or explanation from my rumpus in an exhausting constant effort to love, protect and shape the small children that live in my house.

Here’s what is working lately.

I’ve been focusing a lot of my energy on smooth transitions (i.e. when I leave the house in the morning or when I drop the kids off at school) and my work seems to be paying off. Three days a week my husband takes the kids to school in the morning and I leave early so that I can then pick them up on the early side. It used to be that one or both of them would throw a fit when I left scarring me for the rest of the day. The kids were fine thirty seconds later of course but I was a hollowed by the ordeal. Now we do “bye bye from the window”. Every morning, no matter who’s leaving early, we say our goodbyes with the traditional hug and a kiss, high-five and thumbs up. Then the kids jump onto the sofa and watch for me (or my husband) out the window. I leave and quickly run around to the front of the house and do a silly dance and sometimes come all the way up to the window for high-fives at the window. The kids shout their goodbyes and wave and laugh and I can leave with my heart intact. This has been working for several months actually with only the occasional break-down.

On the days when I deliver the kids to school I’ve been trying a modified version of “bye bye from the window”. My son comes with me to drop off my daughter. In her classroom I kiss her goodbye and then do a “one-and-a-two-and-a-three” ali-yoop full-body swinging motion and land her in her teacher’s arms. Then her teacher does the same thing landing her in the middle of the room on the carpet next to various toys and distractions. She’s probably so dizzy she doesn’t notice I’ve gone. Then my son and I go over to his room and we do our hug and kiss routine. Then I say, “bye-bye from the window”. He runs to the window and I walk outside and over the window and we do our window high-five. Then he meanders over to his class and starts his day. No tears. No looks of despair. Drop-off perfection.

How I need to work on our nighttime ritual. “Night-night from the window” seems a little irresponsible. Goodnight kids! We’re going to the movies…

PreK update

A quick update: my son is doing much better and so is his mommy. Let's just say he probably gets high proclivity for emotional outbursts from yours truly. I still feel pretty strongly that three and four-year-olds shouldn't be doing worksheets and cutting practice but moving him to a new school altogether would probably send him into a tailspin. And anyway these teachers actually do seem to care about our kids quite a bit. I had a pretty good conference with his teachers and the director and we came up with some separation strategies that appear to be working. Mornings have been uneventful for an entire week. So I'm grateful. My kid is amazing, what can I say.

The last week I've been trying to get him to tell me more about some of the kids he's getting to know in his class hoping that he's slowly reaching out. I also have an ulterior motive to figure out which two or three friends from his class I should invite to his birthday party in two weeks. I'm starting to understand the power of the playdate. For whatever reason seeing your schoolmates outside of school can really solidify the relationship. A few days ago he mentioned playing with a girl called McKenna so everyday I ask about McKenna. Yesterday I asked if he played with McKenna outside and he said no.

Him: I just talked to her
Me: What did you talk about?
Him: I didn't talk. Only she talked.
Me: What did she talk about?
Him: I don't know. I didn't listen to her.

He went from having no friends to being married to McKenna in one week. That's my boy.

Repeat after me

So what all went down. It started when I took my kids to school that morning. My son has to be there at 8:30 sharp for his "cutting exercise". They sit at table for 15 minutes and cut up paper. We arrived at 8:32 and my son started clutching my legs and sobbing that he wanted to go home. He's been doing the leg clutch thing for the last few months in fact, since they moved him to the older class. He has an October birthday so until now he's been the oldest in his class. Now he's the youngest. One girl is 14 months older. Don't even get me started on crazy parents holding their summer birthday kids back. It started with just the leg clutching and the rough drop-offs but since preK started a week ago, it's gone from bad to worse. He's started asking if there's school every morning and panicking all weekend that there will be school again. Then he started saying that he didn't want to go to school and on an on. He doesn't like nap time. Gabriel called him a monster. Henry was being loud. Etc.

So I tell him he just has to go and give his teacher a big hug and get settled but of course he's late and so he's not allowed to participate in cutting. He has to sit on the carpet and wait until circle time. Meanwhile no one has said a boo to him - no greeting, no hug, nothing. So I hug him and say goodbye and he's standing there lost and crying out not to leave him.

I drop off my daughter in the other room and she's also crying but she's new here and I know she'll stop ten seconds after I leave. I come back to the preK room and he's still standing there. No one has invited him to sit down or asked him what's wrong. He's just sobbing and the teacher is giving her cutting commands and it occurs to me that this place is all wrong. I mean, WHAT THE FUCK PEOPLE. Somebody engage my kid! Take two seconds out of cutting and figure a way to get my son involved and calm. But my hanging around is not helping so I leave and meet my friend in the parking lot and I sob to her about how suddenly my son is in military preK. Our play-based school is now all about worksheets and tasks and standing in line and repeat after me and circle the ladder and when you're done put your hand above your head! It's more than I can handle on my birthday. I suddenly and tragically realize I don't want this for my kid. And for the last three months I've been kidding myself that he'll be fine. He'll adjust. But he's not adjusting. He's regressing.

The rest of the birthday went like this. I then drive to a cafe to have special birthday breakfast with my husband but instead I cry for an hour about this terrible school and our tortured son. Although I did have a really good latte with a leaf design in the foam. My husband and I then sit down and on the back on my receipt we write down all of the things that we need to do to change this situation and make life here good for us. One of the items was finding our kids a new daycare. So while I had planned to spend the day painting or seeing a movie, I spent the day calling up preschools none of which have even one space, let alone two spaces. My last call was to a woman who was recommended to us by an Israeli guy we'd met at Starbucks eight months ago whose son went there. Turns out it was his second marriage and his son from his first marriage went to medical school with my brother in law. Small world. Anyway, he raved about this woman and said she had two spots but I never bothered to call because we were content with our situation. And I prefer not to rock the boat since that would require me to examine past choices and then beat myself up for being a bad parent. No thanks.

But I did finally call Sherry's Daycare and I told Sherry the story and we cried on the phone (seriously) and she broke the news that they had no spaces. But invited us to come over and see her place and get to know her in the event that she does have space. So I walked over there (did I mention that it's two blocks from my house) and met Sherry and felt like I had a lemon stuck in my throat. I got teary again. It was a perfect place. The perfect yard - a big mess of stuff to do and places to hide and tomatoes to pick and eat. A wonderful and warm house filled with toys and games and puzzles. Kids' artwork everywhere. But best of all there was Sherry and her husband Bob. Big quiet Bob who schlepped a kid in each arm and read stories while playing his accordion and rallied the kids around to wash down a dirty pretend kitchen set outside. No lining up. No worksheets. And no cutting practice. And yet it was not chaotic. Kids put away their toys and moved from one activity to the next. Sherry and Bob provide meals and snacks. They're open 6am to 6pm. They have a 14 person bus and they take the kids on field trips to museums and parks and libraries. They even pick up the older kids who go to morning preK classes and bring them back to spend the rest of the day at their home. It was daycare heaven. And it was cheaper than what I pay now.

So then I had to contend with the guilt of having not found this place four years ago when my son was born even though it was literally two blocks away. Wondering how different my tortured son would be had he spent his days in this amazing environment.

But in fact I know that he's been well-taken care of all this time and it's only recently that things aren't going as they should. So I made a decision that we need Sherry in our lives even if the transition will be tough and a little late in the game. I realized that I had been settling somewhat in the decisions I'd made about daycare and I wasn't doing that anymore.

There's more to the story but it's getting late. I actually brought the kids over there after school to check it out and they enjoyed themselves. My son found a dead motorola and a pair of sparkly high heels so he was thrilled. But when I asked if he wanted to go to school at Sherry's he said no. He wants to stay home and be with me. I don't blame him. But I'm still banking on Sherry and have been broadcasting to the universe my wish for two spaces at her house. Repeat after me boys and girls: How wonderful that Sherry has two spaces for Susie's son and daughter!

Excellent job! You must have gone to preK.

Thanksgiving

I had breakfast this morning with my two favorite moms from my son's preschool. We used to have coffee while I was still on maternity leave and Rebeca was finishing her dissertation. And Veronica teaches high school Spanish on a part-time schedule so she was usually available for coffee and chatter after morning drop-off. But now, I'm back at work and Rebeca filed her dissertation and commutes to her post-doc post and Veronica is swamped with parent conferences and grading so she gets her coffee to go. And I basically only see them for the two minutes when we either drop off or pick-up.

But today we met for breakfast and I have to say I love these girls. We laugh our heads off about our crazy little boys. Rebecca asked if I had seen the "I am thankful" list that the kids made for Thanksgiving, which I had not because my son has been out with Pink Eye and we missed the Thanksgiving potluck on Wednesday. I didn't even know what she was talking about. And then she started to giggle. Oh Jesus, what the hell did my son say he's most grateful for? Mommy's cell phone? No.

My black car.

That's what he said. He's actually talking about my black station wagon. And I thought, okay, that sort of makes sense since I come pick him up everyday in the black car and he's happy to see me so he's associating me with the black car. Fair enough. I was fine with that response until Rebecca told me what Antonio was thankful for. His mama, papa and abuelita.

Great. My kid is thankful for a car and Rebeca's son is thankful for the people who love and care for him on an ongoing basis. The little shit. Rebeca, being the good friend that she is and sensing my despair at having been dismissed as merely the chauffer of the black car, noted that one of the other kids declared he was most thankful for quesadillas.

The sad part is that, in fact, it DID make me feel better.

Tan bark

The wood chips on playgrounds. I guess they're called tan bark (see previous post). I only know this because two days ago at a classmate's third birthday party I heard a fellow parent mention tan bark to her daughter since she was whining for the mom to remove it from her shoe. If I had a nickel for everytime I heard that request....

Tan bark. So I guess we don't have to call social services about Mis Chen Jin doing tanbor with my son. In fact, Miss Chen Jin is my son's favorite person and he once asked to sleep with her picture near his bed. So it would make sense that she would help him get tan bark out of his shoe. And that he would love her forever for it.

Tambor Tambol Tambog

On the way home from preschool the other day I asked my son what he did all day and after prodding for some time I came to understand that he rode the tricycle, he ate his peanut butter sandwich, he played with Miss Cassia and Miss Lorena outside, he went down the slide with Gracie, he played "get me" with Pablo, and he drew something with a red marker. A full day indeed.

Then he said he got in the Tambor.
Me: The sandbox?
Him: No, the tambor.
Me: The Tambor?
Him: No, the tambor.
Me: pause
Me: The tambol?
Him: No, the Tambor. And Miss Chen Jin do it to me.
Me: (completely perplexed)
Me: What did you do with Miss Chen Jin?
Him: She put the tambor off me.
Me: She played with you in the sandbox?
Him: (Angrily) No! The tambor!

This went on for a while. I had no idea what he was talking about. Usually if I say the word enough times it morphs into the word he's trying to say. Or if I add an R where he says an O. That sometimes helps. But I am telling you I was totally stumped. And then I remembered a year ago when my nephew, who's a year older than my son, came home from school saying POPOSSI. No one had any idea what he was talking about. We spent probably an hour pointing at different things in his room. Is that a popossi? Nothing. But he kept saying it. Whispering it in fact which made it funnier and likewise more intriguing. Two weeks later we were visiting them again and I asked him about the popossi and he drew a total blank. And that is how the elusive popossi disappeared from our vernacular forever. I was sad to see it leave because whispering it still makes me giggle.

But back to Tambor. What the hell is tambor and why is Miss Chen Jin doing it to my son? And why whenever I pronounce it exatly like my son is pronouncing does he get all huffy and correct my pronunciation? Pardonez moi, Moiliere...How dare I bastardize your langue. I can only imagine that's how he feels when he pronounces a word and I correct him and he says it again the exact same way and so on for weeks.

For instance, the city is doing construction on our street and we have a book about big trucks so we look at all of the trucks outside and find them in the book. Apparently not everything is called a tractor. Who knew.

Me: You see the excavator outside?
Him: Ya, the accelrator.
Me: Right, the excavator. It's so big.
Him: That's a big accelrator.
Me: EXCAVATOR
Him: ACCELRATOR

Whatever. He gets the idea. Me, I'm still in the dark about this tambor tambol tamborg tampon tanbork. I'll report back if I figure it out. Your guesses are welcome.

Sleeves and Socks

I picked up my son the other day and it was 94 degrees at 4:30 in the afternoon and he's wearing long pants, a t-shirt, a longsleeve shirt, socks and tennies. And his face is bright red and he's sweating. So I asked him, sweetie, you want to take off your longsleeve?

NOOOOO!!!!

I get that it's my fault. I dress him usually. But he insists on the second shirt. I always figure he'll take it off at school when it gets hot. To his credit, it's a little chilly and overcast where we live at 7:30 in the morning. But he almost NEVER takes the thing off. And he always insists on socks. It started about two months ago when he got blisters on his two big toes from walking around in wet sandals. They must have scared him because he insisted on socks to cover them up. He even wanted to take his bath wearing socks. Well the blisters healed of course but he's still insisting on the socks. Especially at night. I just don't get it. IT'S HOT! And he sometimes has trouble falling asleep because, oh...I don't know, he's COOKING IN HIS OWN BED. One night I conviced him to wear short pajams and he slept great. I thought we were in the clear. but the next day he wanted feety pajamas.

And for whatever reason it makes me INSANE. Just be a normal kid and walk around barefoot in the summer!

I guess I should be grateful to not have to worry about stepping on bees or rusty nails. Even yesterday, he and his aba were riding his bike in the park when suddenly I see him walking toward the house completely naked but wearing his socks and shoes. Happy as a clam. Apparently his pants had been falling down and he had to pee anyway so he just took everything off. It's just as well anyway because his father dressed him yesterday and he was wearing plaid madras shorts and an aqua, red and yellow stripe shirt.

I'm losing my train of thought. And my mind. Where was I...yes, the longsleeve shirt issue.

But I'm reminded that in elementary school I started wearing turtlenecks to school year round. We live in California so this is absurd. I didn't like the hair on my arms so I just covered them. Up to my neck in fact. My teachers probably wondered if I was being beaten at home. I'm sure my mom was thrilled about that. And, come to think of it, I always wore socks too. I actually remember that in 8th grade I thought well I'd really like to NOT wear socks but by now I had a sock tan going on thirteen years. My feet had probably never seen the light of day.

This kid is ME. And it's driving me freaking crazy.