After Words

Tempus Fugit

Tomorrow I register The Boy for kindergarten.  I've been incredibly impressed by the way the local Board of Education has handled everything related to kindergarten so far: lots of meetings and opportunities to ask questions and get comfortable with the whole thing.  Still,it feels pretty overwhelming.  This is The Boy I see in my mind's eye:

 

How can this baby boy be ready for kindergarten?

Simultaneously, it's time to sign up for summer activities.  Last summer, I planned poorly and we had a lot of downtime in which we all made one another crazy.  Now, I'm torn between signing him up for the camp I know he'll love--which will occupy him from 8:30-3:30 for six weeks this summer and wanting to keep him home with me so I can stare at him and try to stop time.

Also, this year The Girl is old enough for camp (although her day is shorter, 8:30-11:30)--assuming I can get her potty trained in time, God help me.  I was trying to talk to her about camp to get a sense of whether she'd enjoy it enough to make it worth the expense, and she started jumping around the room yelling, "Camp!  Camp!  Camp!"  So, yes, I guess she wants to go too.

Now to pay for it all.

(Not So) Tiny Dancer

The Boy started ballet this week and great googly moogly did he love it.  I was nervous about it because I wasn't entirely sure that he grasped the gender factor--he would more than likely be the only boy in the class (and he is)--but at the same time, I didn't really want to talk about that because who really cares if he's the only boy in the class?  

So, the first day of class, The Boy took his place in line among the pink-clad ballerinas (he wore black leggings and a white t-shirt) and was practically vibrating with excitement.  He looked around and then came to stand by me. "They're all girls," he whispered.

""Well, sure, some girls like to do ballet too."  (See how I twisted that around?  Clever, eh?)  And he seemed happy enough to get back in line and walk into the studio on tippy toes without looking back.

*****

As I've mentioned to people in the neighborhood that The Boy is taking ballet, the most common response has been, "Well, that's fine!  Nothing wrong with that!"  Which of course implies that it's not fine, that there is something wrong with that.  That's the attitude I was expecting and the reason I was hesitant to sign him up in the first place.   Now that reluctance embarrasses me.

*****

Since it was the first class, the teacher left the door ajar so we could watch the kids.  The Boy's favorite moment may have been when the teacher mentioned there would be a recital in the spring and measured his inseam to order his costume.  It was the only time he looked for me.  "Costume!" he whispered when he met my eyes.

*****

The class ended with a circle dance--all the dancers joining together to a ersatz version of Kool and the Gang's "Celebration"--and there was a moderate commotion as the girls all sorted out who would be holding hands with whom.  The Boy was alone, happily shaking his money maker, until he spun around and saw all the girls linked together.  Then he looked stricken.

"Hold his hand!  Hold his hand!  Somebody hold his hand," I shouted telepathically.

The teacher must have heard me, and she turned from the stereo and saw The Boy. "All together, dancers!" She said, as she broke the chain and reformed the circle, holding his hand.   

 

Resolved

Everything I could possibly write about now seems silly when I think about the devastation in Haiti so I figured I'd write about the silliest thing of all: New Year's resolutions.

I made a couple this year--the typical ones, I guess.  I gave up Diet Coke, which is less about giving up soda and more about giving up artificial sweeteners.  I'm allowing myself to drink real Coke (in those cute little pony cans), tea, and the occasional Starbucks splurge.  I've had a low grade headache for the last two weeks, which I attribute to my body's learning to live without Nutrasweet.  I hope it goes away soon.

I'm trying to exercise more.  It's been easy the last few weeks because my husband has taken over bedtime duties, and I find that going to walk/job on the treadmill while watching crappy TV (usually some variety of "real" housewife) is actually more pleasant that putting a non-compliant child to bed.  But I can't say I love it.  Or will ever love it.  I just have to do it.

After those two it gets a little more vague.  I'm trying to do new things, is I guess the best way to put it.  More playdates for the kids.  More social interaction for myself.  More cooking things I haven't made before.  Reading authors I haven't read before.  Etc.  Does that sound boring?

Into the New

Remember how bummed out I was about how much better The Girl was sleeping at night when my husband handled bedtime?  Yeah, well, that ended over the weekend: she's once again up a zillion times a night regardless of who puts her down.

So, powers that be: I'm over it.  I promise not to whine even a little about The Girl being better off without me if you can arrange for her to sleep through the night again.  Deal? 

*****

We made our first ER visit of 2010 over the weekend when The Boy, getting in close to smell some freshly baked blueberry muffins, touched his upper lip to the baking tin that still contained the muffins.  It's a first degree burn so the damage is just cosmetic at this point, but man is it crusty and nasty looking.

Another reason to avoid baking.

  

May the Force Be with Him

The Boy is into Star Wars.  Or thinks he is.  He doesn't really know anything about it except that his second grade-friend up the street only wears clothes that have some character from "The Star Wars" on them. 

This year for Christmas, a doting aunt gave The Boy a lightsaber--which he was unimpressed by until we explained that it was from Star Wars, and he started carrying it around with him all the time, though he insisted on calling it his "life saver," no matter how many times we corrected him (which was not that many because I find it rather adorable). Now that he has his life saver, he thinks he is some kind of Star Wars media expert, though he hasn't seen any of the movies, and when I was reading him pages from a Star Wars sticker book and saying names like R2D2, C3P0, and Chewbacca, he kept saying, "No, what are they REALLY called?"

So, imagine my surprise when, just a few moments ago, The Boy asked, "Do you know who Darth Vader is?"  I started to answer when he interrupted with, "He's Luke Skywalker's father!"

"Who told you that?"  He named a boy he'd met at vacation camp this week and then told me all about how Darth Vader cut off his son's hand (!) so he got a robot hand and could fight like a robot, and even though I guess that's more or less true, it's not exactly the spin I would have given it all when I watched the Empire Strikes Back sometime in 2011 or 2012, as I had planned.*

Thus, my newest New Year's resolution is this: to introduce The Boy to the Star Wars movies--assuming he's interested--because I don't want some asshole pre-schoolers to ruin the whole thing for him.  Or for me.  There are other resolutions, to be sure, and no doubt I'll hem and haw about them in weeks to come, but this is the one to which I'm most looking forward.

May your resolutions be as much fun.

*Not really planned.  More mused about when he'd be ready to see them.

Obsolete

The Girl is a terrible sleeper: she doesn't go to sleep easily, doesn't stay asleep, and wakes all too early.  She's 2.5 now and sleeps in a bed (if I had it to do over again, I'd try to keep her in the crib for longer).  She's stopped napping during the day unless she's in the car/stroller in the late afternoon.

I've been searching out toddler sleep advice and it's run the gamut from putting a lock on her door to prevent her leaving her room during the night to setting up her own bed in our room so that she can come in and crash there without rousing us too much.  I've done the latter (I just can't sleep with her in our bed with us) but can't bring myself to do the former.*

I'd read that sometimes it's helpful to have someone else put the kids to bed so last week, when I needed to do some last minute Christmas shopping, my husband offered to handle bedtime solo (usually, we do it together: him with The Boy and me with The Girl).  The Girl slept through the night.  It was a miracle.  He did it the next night.  Same thing.  The next night, we had a babysitter handle bedtime and The Girl once again slept.  Christmas Eve, I took part in bedtime again (seemed wrong to skip out on that) and she slept through until 7:30.  It was a miracle.

Then, the sleep train jumped the rails.  But then, I was taking part in bedtime every night.  

Sunday night was an exceptionally awful sleep night so last night we experimented again: my husband put the kids to bed and again, The Girl slept through (well, basically through: she woke up around 5, wandered out into the hall, then wandered back into her room and went to sleep).

Clearly, my husband needs to take over bedtime. It makes sense.  There are things that I could do with that time: I could go to the gym, I could clean the kitchen, I could go OUT!

And yet, I find it hard to let go of bedtime, to write myself out of this part of the script.  On the one hand, those hours from 5-7 are tough ones, when my patience is at an all time low. Historically, I turn the kids over to my husband for bath time sometime between 6 and 6:30, and I won't lie, that's fantastic.  But then I get the kids back all warm and clean-smelling for some snuggling before bed.  But so far the husband doing bedtime routine only works if I am out of the house (or, as was the case last night, lurking silently downstairs pretending to be out) so I must skip out on those post-bath kisses.

It won't be forever.  We'll establish a routine, get The Girl into a better sleeping rhythm, and then I can come back. But it's hard to think of my kids as being better off without me, even in only this limited way.  

*No judgment on the door lockers: it's just not for me.

Happy Holidays

Well, this post isn't about the miracle of UPS and Amazon Prime, at least not yet, as I'm still waiting on the delivery of some pretty important packages this Christmas Eve morn.  Gah.

This post is a little bit about the fact that we had a babysitter last night, and I don't know what magic she worked but The Girl slept all through the night until past 7 am and then played quietly into her room until nearly 8 (when I went in to investigate).  That's never happened before.

This post is about this: I went out with my husband last night for some grown up holiday cheer.  We had a lovely dinner, some lovely wine, some lovely conversation.  Then, we realized we should probably kill some more time to make the evening worth the babysitter's while. As it happened, we were near a hotel.  And as it happened, the hotel had vacancies.  So without luggage and without too much embarrassment, we checked in.  For two hours.

It was one of the most extravagant and impetuous things I've ever done. And it was so much fun.

Wishing you and yours extravagance and impetuousness this holiday season, whatever form it takes.

Here We Are

I said I had some things to talk about and those things seem a little silly in retrospect, but here they are: I went away for a weekend.  By Myself.  I saw some good friends, also mothers to young kids, and we spent time reveling in our freedom: a three hour lunch, an afternoon of shopping/wandering, a drink in the hotel bar, a dinner that didn't end until almost midnight.  And the sleeping!  Oh my God, the sleeping.  It was glorious.

It was nice to be myself in a way I am not when I am strung out by the kids or the house or the suburban life I am *still* trying to shoehorn myself into. Packing for the trip, I was horrified by the dowdy mom-clothes options I had to choose from, and I had neither time nor budget to address that problem.  I did, however, acquire some new makeup--a bit of a splurge for me.

Now back in my regular life, I'm trying to take the time to put on the make up and feel for a moment like the person I was when I was away.  Sometimes, it works.

*****

I took the kids to visit my parents last week because it was extremely overdue: The Girl (2.5 years old) has never been to their house.  It had been long enough that I psyched myself into thinking it would be easier than it was, and to be honest, the travel part of it was.  The kids were rock stars on the plane, bribed with stickers and snacks and The Backyardigans on my iPhone when things got rough.

But, my parents, oh my parents!  I'm loath to go into their particular issues for fear they somehow find this blog and it serves as the nail in the coffin of our relationships so I will say simply this: slowly over the last decade they have withdrawn into themselves and a life that barely extends beyond the confines of their house. 

I feel fairly guilty--maybe if I lived closer or visited more or called them on their behavior it would be different--but I also feel angry that they're not trying more to be connected to me, to my brother, to our kids.  But I also feel reluctant to risk my kids, to encourage them to invest their emotions, themselves, in a relationship that will ultimately disappoint them.

*****

I cannot believe Christmas is Friday.  Despite my best intentions to plan ahead and be more creative in my gift giving I am once again behind the eight ball.  Ho ho ho.

Dance Fever

Well, hello.  I have some things to talk about, but let me start with this pressing matter: The Boy would like to take ballet.  I think it's great.  He loves to dance--he's always loved to dance--and right now he likes to show off what he calls his "old fashioned ballet" in the evenings after dinner: there's lots of spinning and jumping and falling on his bottom, which he says you're supposed to do in old fashioned ballet.  Who am I to say you're not?

I know that some of the girls in The Boy's school take ballet so I asked their mothers if they recommended their class and they did...when they thought I was asking for The Girl.  When I told them it was for The Boy they seemed somewhat taken aback.  So, I called the school and learned that they're open to having boys in their dance class, but they don't currently have any enrolled.  When I asked if there was a different dress code for boys--the registration form specifically tells kids to wear black leotards and pink tights--they said they'd get back to me. 

I've told The Boy that he might be the only boy in his dance class and he says he doesn't mind.  Should I mind?  Should I find a class that is a little more equipped to deal with boys (there are other options but they are much more expensive and less convenient)?

I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

I'm a little worried that if my kids have memories of me from their toddler years, they will be of an exhausted, grumpy, and short-tempered old crone. 

Last week was one of those weeks that, when Friday finally rolled around, I couldn't even remember when I had last showered (Tuesday, as it turned out).  That afternoon, I was so exhausted that I filled the family room with pillows and blankets and tried to convince the kids to nap with me--or at least lay quietly in front of Wall-E--but of course that didn't work so I was all the more annoyed. So annoyed, in fact, that I forgot to take The Boy to soccer which would have actually given us something to do that would entertain  him and let me sit on my ass for awhile.  Alas.

The Girl now has a runny nose and glassy eyes and no doubt by week's end will either have full fledged flu or an ear infection.  Or both.  God help me.

*****

The exhausted, grumpy, and short-tempered old crone in me failed to tap into the wonder of childhood--which is funny because The Boy was such an image of wonder that his picture was in the local paper.  For real.  Our neighborhood threw a block party that might have been great, but the kids (especially The Girl) were overwhelmed by the crowds, and it just underscored for me how few people I actually know here.  Still.  The Boy is generally pretty gung-ho in these situations, but most of the kids seemed to know each other from the elementary school and were just old enough to seem intimidating.  (And yes, this made me eager to get him into kindergarten next year so he would have an easier time making friends in the neighborhood.)