-
Go Nigel, Go!
-
Would You Like To Buy My Monkeys?
Aug
28
This Is The Way We Go To School
by Leslie
Julia will begin preschool in less than one week. I only wish I had the talent to illustrate a School House Rock-esque cartoon in which those words would be formed by brick letters that crash on me as they are sung by the guy who did I’m Just A Bill and The Tale of Mr. Morton, because that’s the only thing I can think of that would effectively communicate the enormity of that sentence: Julia will begin preschool in less than one week.
Dave and I attended a parent orientation last night all by ourselves. A few weeks ago the school sent a letter indicating that the orientation was for parents only. They even underlined that part: parents only. So, I bought a breast pump and asked my mom to sit with the girls while we went.
We had to take with us to the parents only preschool orientation some paperwork that included a questionnaire about Julia. It started out fun. We got to circle all the things Julia can do, most of the time. Button. Zip. Put on her coat. Run. Jump. Skip. State her name. Write her name. Then, it got a little harder. From a list of approximately 40 words, we had to choose the 8 that best described our daughter. Dave and I made our selections carefully and as a team. We copied the list and took turns eliminating words until we reached the 8 keepers. Part way through our selections, we noticed that many of the words were similar, but with different connotations. For example, CONFIDENT (positive connotation) and HEADSTRONG (negative connotation). So, we were mindful to choose the most positive form of each quality listed. Finally, we had to explain why we chose a Montessori school and what our immediate goals for Julia were. Dave began quoting lyrics to The Greatest Love Of All. I told him, “You! Don’t talk too much at this thing!”
It felt so weird to be out without the kids. It would have almost been exciting except there was no potential for adult-orientated shenanigans. So, mostly it was weird. Who would I blame for the stains on my shirt? It was the first time in almost five months that I left the house without a diaper bag. I couldn’t even find a purse to put my stuff in, so I used one of the free bags the hospital gave me when Lucy was born. Dave asked what I would possibly need to carry in it. I recited a list of essentials that ended with a pad and pen for taking notes at the orientation. He called me a nerd. I told him his nose hair was too long.
When we arrived at the school, we turned in our paperwork and headed for the meeting room. I wanted to sit in the front, Dave wanted to sit in the back. We compromised and sat in the middle where we fought over the packet of information they gave us until the orientation started. Dave didn’t even really want to read it, he was just keeping it from me because he knew I wanted it so badly. So, I yanked one of his nose hairs out and took the packet while he was still stunned.
We listened to the school director speak, then were released to our respective classrooms to meet the teacher. She remembered us right away from the open house they held last March. Probably because we had stayed there so long, we closed the open house. And I may have cried and hugged a stranger.
We looked around the room. We saw Julia’s name on her circle time spot. She’s right next to the teacher and a girl named Emma. (Emma. Emma sounds nice. Emma’s are friendly, no? I feel good about Julia sitting next to Emma.) Also, her name was listed along with her birthday on a cardboard rainbow on the bulletin board. (She’s not the oldest, not the youngest; she’s right in the middle. Perfect.) We saw her name on a drawer. (There’s already a lollipop in there for her!) The room looked ready for Julia. We were happy. Dave suggested we head out. I felt like we needed to at least say hello to the teacher. So, we skulked around until the teacher was free and then we meandered into her general vicinity.
“Do you have any questions?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” I said, “I just can’t believe my baby is about to start school. I mean, she’s ready. She’s excited! This is going to be so good for her. I’m the one that’s freaked out.” And I proceeded to talk in such a way that I am certain convinced this woman that I’m a total flake. In fact, I think she may be afraid of me, because when I made a joke about camouflaging my face with green paint and watching class from the shrubs outside the window, she reminded me that they have a drop-off zone each morning, which means I don’t even have to get out of my car to drop Julia off at school.
There was an awkward silence.
Dave looked at me, “Well, you ready to go?”
Still, I kept talking. I volunteered to be the party parent. I offered Dave up as Santa Claus at Christmas.
Dave said with a chuckle, “Okay, well, I think we should go!” and gently pulled me toward the door.
I told a story about the first time Julia took a class I wasn’t allowed to accompany her to and how I laid on the floor, watching her feet under the door. (I vaguely remember telling that story at the Open House.)
“That it? Ready to go?” Dave asked, taking advantage of my need to breathe in some air.
“We’ll see you on Friday at the Meet and Greet,” the teacher said, trying to help Dave get me out of there.
I mentioned that I’d be bringing Lucy along and asked if that would be okay, then went on to tell her about how this was the first time I’d ever left Lucy and I had to pump my breast milk.
Dave squeezed my hand, tugged me toward the door and said, “Well, it looks like it’s time to go!” as he gestured toward the empty classroom next door and the teachers turning out lights, “Lucy’s waiting for you.”
Finally, I yielded and let Dave drag me out.
I’m not sure why I kept talking and talking. I don’t know what response I was hoping for. I don’t know why it was so hard to just walk out of that classroom. Maybe it’s because I know I can’t be there with her when she starts. It’s the first place of Julia’s that’s hers alone, not mine, too. It’s the first place in her life where I don’t belong. That’s not a feeling I’m used to.
The moment we reached the car, I pulled out my cell phone and called my mom to check on my girls. I could hear Lucy screaming. Mom said she’d been screaming for the past hour and was inconsolable. Dave put his foot on the gas. I said we’d be there as fast as we could and hung up. I sat there, in limbo, somewhere between holding on and letting go. Dave put his hand over mine and said, “It’s going to be okay.”
“Yeah,” I sniffled, wiping away tears.
“I just want to know what you’re going to do the day the teacher calls to tell you Julia’s been saying dammit.”
I took out a tissue, dried my face and said, “At least it wasn’t fuck.”
“I think we’re ready for preschool.”
“Yes we are.”
Jul
9
Julia, On God
by Leslie
“Mom, what does God look like?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen God.”
“Well, I have.”
“You’ve seen God?”
“Yes.”
“So, what does God look like?”
“Like the guy on the dollar bill.”
Jun
27
My Little Entrepreneur
by Leslie
Today at the Farmer’s Market…
Julia: “Hi! We’re selling Mama’s buckeyes. They’re a dollar! Would you like one?”
Customer #1: “Well, how can I resist that? Sure. I’ll take one.”
Julia: Takes the dollar, studies it, then stows it away.
Customer #2: “Good morning! What do we have here?”
Julia: “We’re selling buckeyes. They’re fifty dollars!”
Jun
18
A Dump In The Life
by Leslie
I walk into the bathroom, close the door, pull down my skivies and before my butt hits the seat, Julia bursts through the door. “Mom, I gotta pee.”
“Well, hold on. I’m going right now.”
“Okay.” She stands there and looks at me. “I don’t hear anything,” she says, “I don’t hear you peeing.”
“That’s because I’m not peeing.”
“What are you doing then?”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“Pooping?”
“You got it.”
“Alright. I’m gonna go out here, but I’m leaving the door open so I know when you’re done.”
“How about you close the door and I’ll come out when I’m done.”
“Okay.” She walks out and closes the door. Approximately 45 seconds later, the door swings open, she pops her head in and says, “You done yet?”
“No. I am not done. Close the door. I’ll come out when I’m done.”
“I could stand here and wait on you.”
“No thank you. Please close the door.”
“Well, I was just hoping you would be done right now.”
I make a polite suggestion. “You could go upstairs to the other bathroom.”
“That’s alright.”
“Okay, well…please close the door.”
She closes the door, but stays inside the bathroom.
“Julia?”
“Yes?”
“Will you please go outside and close the door?”
“You’re still not done yet?”
“No I am not. Please, just go out and close the door.”
She obliges, but spends the remainder of time I am in the bathroom banging various rhythms against the door while giving me play-by-play commentary on what is happening outside the door. “Daddy is holding Lucy but she’s real squirmy. I think someone’s hungry! You better hurry! Lucy needs you! Christy is sniffing my shoe! Oh, no. There’s an ant….”
Finally, I am done. Julia knows this because she hears the flush, so she rushes right in and makes her way to the pot while letting her pants fall to her ankles. I begin to wash my hands as she is climbing on and she says, “Mom, can you please leave? I like to use the bathroom alone.”
Jun
17
By Invitation Only
by Leslie
Julia is turning four next Tuesday and has requested a princess party with her playgroup friends to celebrate. I asked her what makes a party a princess party. She said, “A princess cake and princess balloons.”
I can do that, I think.
And so, we made invitations.
After we printed them, we dipped each paper in cooled tea for about ten seconds and dried them with a hair dryer to give them that old parchment paper look and feel. Then, we rolled them up like scrolls, tied them with ribbon and hand delivered them. “Because it’s princessy,” Julia said.
Jun
10
Some Letters To Explain Why You Won’t Find Us At The Mall Again This Summer, Even If Zombies Attack
by Leslie
Dear Moms And Kids At The Mall Play Area,
I’m sorry my daughter was such a jerk. She really knows better. I think she took some LSD today or something.
My Deepest Apologies,
The Bad Kid’s Mom
Dear Likely Child Abuser At The Mall Play Area,
Thank you for bringing my daughter’s bad behavior to my attention. I only wish you would have talked to me rather than go all Full Metal Jacket and scream in her face. This was not a fun way to learn that she had done something wrong.
I appreciate your deep concern for my child’s discipline, but you should know that she already has two parents. The job is filled whether you like the way we do it or not.
My condolences to your children.
Sincerely,
The Bad Mom
Dear Snatchy Old Ladies,
I am sorry that my daughter’s temper tantrum disturbed your post-mall-walk treat at Auntie Anne’s today. It was quite a fit - her worst ever - so, I don’t blame you for staring as I dragged her by. Her screaming was probably the reason your hearing aid was squealing! But was the tsk tsking really necessary? Were you trying to make the situation more tense, upsetting and uncomfortable? Because you did.
I understand that you disapproved of what was happening. Hell, I disapproved of what was happening. But expressing your disapproval did nothing to help and everything to make matters worse. If you really wanted to get involved, you could have offered to babysit.
Sincerely,
The Mom Who Couldn’t “Get Her Kid Under Control”
Dear Julia,
If you ever again act like you did today, I will end you.
Love,
Mommy
Jun
5
Greetings Pals And Gals, From Flat Julia
by Leslie
I’m not great at geography. It isn’t due to laziness or anything, it just seems that my brain isn’t wired to retain that kind of information. Maybe it’s all that alcohol I drank in college. Once after a night of drinking ouzo, I lost the ability to juggle. So, I suppose it’s possible that one too many keg stands could have wiped out the neural pathways responsible for understanding geography. Whatever the reason, I struggle with knowing what is where in the world.
In an effort to save my daughter from the same fate, and in hopes of improving my own condition, I’ve tried to provide her with tools and experiences to sharpen her skills. We’ve spent a lot of time putting together her wooden puzzles of the world and the U.S.A. and talking about what is where. In doing this, I realized that she can easily remember locations if someone we know lives there. When I mentioned this to one of the moms in our playgroup, she suggested that we check out The Flat Stanley Project.
And so, we took a trip to the library and borrowed the book that inspired the project: Flat Stanley
We printed out a map (for free! from here) and started a journal to keep track of Flat Julia’s travels. And now, we just need to find a sweet hook up in each state in the country to send her to so we can learn and find friends and make the world a better place.
How cool is that? I’ll tell you: VERY.
If you think you could give Flat Julia a rockin’ good time, let me know. Perhaps we’ll send her your way.
May
31
My little bee had her dance recital this weekend. She was so excited about it. Not so much about the dancing part - she does that every week in class - but, the wearing her recital costume part - the recital costume I’ve been guarding like Cerberus to keep intact for the big recital. And I was proud to say it survived more than a month of attempts to snatch it for dress up play, one photo shoot, and two dress rehearsals.
Like I was saying, I was proud…
As I was getting her dressed in the waiting room before the show, she pulled her bee antennae headband out of her bag and it snapped. I couldn’t believe it. I just stood there staring at the pieces. Thankfully, one of the other mothers stepped in and helped me Macgyver it to her head, just in time for me to get back to my seat and worry through eight performances about whether or not it held up for hers.
It did.
Julia was adorable. She performed twice - a tap routine and a ballet routine. You can see them both here.
When the show was done, I gave her flowers, a balloon and some candy. I was so proud of her. And I think she felt pretty good about herself, too.
May
20
Well Played, Julia
by Leslie
Julia: “Mommy, it’s Julia Annoying Day!”
Me: “What does that mean?”
Julia: “It means I get to be annoying today!”
Me: “Jules, I think you get to do that everyday.”
Julia: “Mom! Tomorrow can be your annoying day. Today is mine.”
May
19
A Star Is Born
by Leslie
Julia had her very first piano recital over the weekend. I’m not sure there are words strong enough to describe just how proud I am of her. She played her piece flawlessly. And she kept her finger out of her nose. Take a look:
-
I Write A Haiku Each Day
-
Hurts So Good
-
Categories
- Daily Haiku
- Mommy’s Stuff
-
You Should Do This
-
Ooooooh. Aaaaah.
