It is a little odd for what is technically a day care, even though it functions like a school for the older kids, to have a Back to School Night. Since we're paying for the kids to be there in the first place, and I'm not really expecting kiddo to learn much right now beyond "biting bad" and "sharing good!" so anything on top of that is just a fabulous extra. On the other hand, some of our other parent friends were talking about their preschoolers' Back to School Nights so maybe it's not so odd these days. But my boss still went into a giggle fit over it when I asked to leave work early.
A lot of other parents showed up, which was nice, and the director and kiddo's teacher (who I like a lot, actually, she seems good for him) kept going out of their way to praise us for it, as in "We know your child will succeed because you're here!" Rah rah for us, but you'd hate to think the parental bar was set that low. Hey, maybe we were looking for free cake. You don't know that. (Note: There was no cake. I'm just saying.)
Apparently they're doing a letter a week with the kids, and they've already started on penmanship, and they're learning colors in English and Spanish, which all seems fine. And all the kids are doing great with circle, because they're being asked to sit still for a long time and they're doing it. Which yeah, is probably the hardest thing they're learning. And kiddo is even sitting on the potty there, apparently more willingly than he is for us.
One mom was talking about how her daughter tells her about everything they did that day and about all the other kids, and I forget the point she was making, but the rest of us were going "huh?" because our kids tell us squat about their day even when we ask them directly.
"Kiddo, what did you do in school?"
"Mmmm."
"What did you learn?"
Shrug.
"Who did you play with?"
"I dunno."
I expected this in high school, but not now.
His teacher made a point of telling us during the presentation how great he was doing, twice, and called him her "little man." Which is sweet, and he is a charming kiddo. And he did have some issues when he started a few months back -- some pushing, some hitting, some stealing food from other kids -- that we chalked up to a rocky adjustment, and that seems to have stopped. So likely she was just being reassuring. But both DH and I have done the teacher's pet thing in our own academic careers, and it's not all that enjoyable, so I think both of our radars pinged. Just something to watch for, I guess. It's great when your teacher loves you, but not when your teacher loves you way more than the other kids.
Still, a good night. Except for the chairs. The tiny, tiny chairs. I can't believe none of us broke the chairs. DH swears sitting on one threw his back out. My other boss said Back to School Nights get better as the kids get older, because then the chairs are bigger.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Franklin Goes to the Hospital
is just one of the books that my mother sent our way to help explain to kiddo what's going to happen to him next month. DH and I secretly loathe the Franklin TV show, on account of it's so treacly sweet my gag reflex kicks in. Although the obvious Canadian accents are kind of funny. But the book seems OK. Except for the part where Franklin doesn't want an X-ray because it'll show he's scared inside and not brave. I'm pretty sure an actual kid is not going to be thinking along those lines. More like, "I don't wanna wear the apron! Moooooommmmmm!"
Kiddo is fascinated by the books. (There are two others. One involves stickers.) I've explained to him that he'll be going to the hospital just like Franklin and the doctor will fix his eyes. Which he seems all right with. He had his physical today to get the all-clear for the surgery, and now we know he's in the 75th percentile for weight and height, shocking us not at all because Daddy is 6-foot-2. We also know that he is not cool with tongue depressors, unless there's a lollipop in it for him after.
The surgery is set for the hour of Ungodly Early in the Morning. Probably better to get it over with, and easier to keep him from eating beforehand, but harder to get to the hospital on time. We might have to get a hotel room in the area the night before. Slightly ironical, since that's more or less the area we used to live in. I guess we couldn't crash at our old place overnight, since the new owners might get irked.
He said out of nowhere this morning that his eye hurt. I think that means the surgery is the right thing.
Kiddo is fascinated by the books. (There are two others. One involves stickers.) I've explained to him that he'll be going to the hospital just like Franklin and the doctor will fix his eyes. Which he seems all right with. He had his physical today to get the all-clear for the surgery, and now we know he's in the 75th percentile for weight and height, shocking us not at all because Daddy is 6-foot-2. We also know that he is not cool with tongue depressors, unless there's a lollipop in it for him after.
The surgery is set for the hour of Ungodly Early in the Morning. Probably better to get it over with, and easier to keep him from eating beforehand, but harder to get to the hospital on time. We might have to get a hotel room in the area the night before. Slightly ironical, since that's more or less the area we used to live in. I guess we couldn't crash at our old place overnight, since the new owners might get irked.
He said out of nowhere this morning that his eye hurt. I think that means the surgery is the right thing.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Do I have to hand in my secret blogger ID card?
On account of I haven't written in a month or so. But I've been painting/unpacking/keeping the kids from running off a cliff/planning kiddette's first birthday party/attemping to find an agent to sell my novel/working on a short story/catching up on Stewart and Colbert/you know, sleeping. And shoot, those diapers don't buy themselves.
Anyhow. Party went splendidly except that there were barely no children there, because kiddo caught a cold the day before and it scared them all away. So now we must have a separate party with actual children at it, which I suppose we should've planned on in the first place, instead of trying to make our relatives deaf with the screeching and the switching on of toys. But the next time we have that much leftover birthday cake in the fridge, I am tossing it in the trash right away and of course I am lying because mmm. Cake.
Amazing that she's a year old. It's always more amazing with smaller kids because they get so much more done in a short span of time. I age a year and I get an extra wrinkle or a gray hair. Kiddette about triples her weight, develops a hairstyle, learns to eat from Mommy's plate (she likes risotto, we discovered tonight) and starts to think about walking. And she can kind of pet the cat without causing injury. To the cat, I mean.
Kiddo had a rough patch at school but seems to be doing OK now. His surgery is next month. I carefully broached the subject this morning on the way to school to see how he'd take it.
"The doctor is going to fix your eyes. How do you feel about that?"
"No want doctor fix my eyes. No want go doctor's office." Pause to watch the trucks go by. "Go doctor, then go school?"
"No, we're not going to the doctor today. That's later."
"Just go school?"
"Yup, just school today."
And then he lost interest. So that could've gone worse.
My parents sent us a bunch of "let's go to the hospital!" type books to help explain what surgery is like. They seem OK. I think I'll give it another couple days, then show them to kiddo. In the meantime, I found several helpful sites; this one goes over the process in detail and tells you what to expect. And now I know he might cry slightly bloody tears afterward, and that would be normal. I'm sure you're grossed out too. This nice family wrote a book about their experiences with it, which seem to have been positive. There also appear to be YouTube videos of actual surgeries, which there is not a snowball's chance in hell that I will be watching.
His eye turn is to the point where other people notice now, so it looks like now is the right time. Still an unsettling thing.
Anyhow. Party went splendidly except that there were barely no children there, because kiddo caught a cold the day before and it scared them all away. So now we must have a separate party with actual children at it, which I suppose we should've planned on in the first place, instead of trying to make our relatives deaf with the screeching and the switching on of toys. But the next time we have that much leftover birthday cake in the fridge, I am tossing it in the trash right away and of course I am lying because mmm. Cake.
Amazing that she's a year old. It's always more amazing with smaller kids because they get so much more done in a short span of time. I age a year and I get an extra wrinkle or a gray hair. Kiddette about triples her weight, develops a hairstyle, learns to eat from Mommy's plate (she likes risotto, we discovered tonight) and starts to think about walking. And she can kind of pet the cat without causing injury. To the cat, I mean.
Kiddo had a rough patch at school but seems to be doing OK now. His surgery is next month. I carefully broached the subject this morning on the way to school to see how he'd take it.
"The doctor is going to fix your eyes. How do you feel about that?"
"No want doctor fix my eyes. No want go doctor's office." Pause to watch the trucks go by. "Go doctor, then go school?"
"No, we're not going to the doctor today. That's later."
"Just go school?"
"Yup, just school today."
And then he lost interest. So that could've gone worse.
My parents sent us a bunch of "let's go to the hospital!" type books to help explain what surgery is like. They seem OK. I think I'll give it another couple days, then show them to kiddo. In the meantime, I found several helpful sites; this one goes over the process in detail and tells you what to expect. And now I know he might cry slightly bloody tears afterward, and that would be normal. I'm sure you're grossed out too. This nice family wrote a book about their experiences with it, which seem to have been positive. There also appear to be YouTube videos of actual surgeries, which there is not a snowball's chance in hell that I will be watching.
His eye turn is to the point where other people notice now, so it looks like now is the right time. Still an unsettling thing.
Monday, August 9, 2010
The knife after all
So after visits to two different pediatric opthalmologists over two years, we've finally heard the official word that yes, he needs surgery. Scheduled for October, and we have to run around and do crazy things like get him a physical less than 30 days beforehand but not too early, because I guess his physicalness could change in a month. And if he's got the sniffles, they cancel. And he has to fast for eight hours beforehand. Which, if you've met my son, is impossible. We'll have to sneakily eat breakfast behind his back that morning, cause if I have to sit in a hospital waiting room for an hour while someone cuts into the muscle attached to my kid's eyeball, no way am I doing that on no food.
Would anyone notice if I snuck a flask into the hospital?
The p.o. said it used to take one blink for kiddo's eyes to snap back into focus, but now it takes longer. And watching him more closely this week, sure, I see it. His eyes are more consistently off balance. I used to tell him, "Hey, focus!" but clearly that's not going to cut it so I'm not bothering.
We were in the waiting room at the p.o.'s -- and I must say, the office at their more northerly location is way nicer, offering a TV, kids books and more than two inches of free space (I'm being unfair; they're remodeling this other one) -- when a couple of women came in with a younger boy still in the infant car seat, wearing glasses, clearly with the same problem kiddo has. So about a year old, judging from the seat and the way he wasn't quite standing on his own yet. Already in glasses. I can't even imagine. How did they keep the things on his head? We couldn't make kiddo wear a patch for more than five seconds at a time, even a patch with cool soccer balls on it.
So his entourage (mom/aunt?) let him loose to crawl around the floor, and kiddo found that hilarious, seeing it all the time as he does with his sister. He crawled over to join the other boy, and they spontaneously created a game in which kiddo would crawl away and the other boy would follow. After kiddo's appointment, we passed the other family on the way out of the building, and the two boys bonded again over the fact that they'd both picked the same cheapie plastic motorcycle man out of the prize box. Too cute.
I knew the surgery was coming at some point. That's been clear to us from the start. I'm not happy about it, but I'm not lying awake nights, either, mostly because I've been sleep-deprived for three-plus years now and *nothing* is keeping me awake nights short of a bomb or a crying child. We'll just have to see how this goes.
But hey, the other p.o. said that aside from his strabismus, his vision is perfect! Um, thanks?
Would anyone notice if I snuck a flask into the hospital?
The p.o. said it used to take one blink for kiddo's eyes to snap back into focus, but now it takes longer. And watching him more closely this week, sure, I see it. His eyes are more consistently off balance. I used to tell him, "Hey, focus!" but clearly that's not going to cut it so I'm not bothering.
We were in the waiting room at the p.o.'s -- and I must say, the office at their more northerly location is way nicer, offering a TV, kids books and more than two inches of free space (I'm being unfair; they're remodeling this other one) -- when a couple of women came in with a younger boy still in the infant car seat, wearing glasses, clearly with the same problem kiddo has. So about a year old, judging from the seat and the way he wasn't quite standing on his own yet. Already in glasses. I can't even imagine. How did they keep the things on his head? We couldn't make kiddo wear a patch for more than five seconds at a time, even a patch with cool soccer balls on it.
So his entourage (mom/aunt?) let him loose to crawl around the floor, and kiddo found that hilarious, seeing it all the time as he does with his sister. He crawled over to join the other boy, and they spontaneously created a game in which kiddo would crawl away and the other boy would follow. After kiddo's appointment, we passed the other family on the way out of the building, and the two boys bonded again over the fact that they'd both picked the same cheapie plastic motorcycle man out of the prize box. Too cute.
I knew the surgery was coming at some point. That's been clear to us from the start. I'm not happy about it, but I'm not lying awake nights, either, mostly because I've been sleep-deprived for three-plus years now and *nothing* is keeping me awake nights short of a bomb or a crying child. We'll just have to see how this goes.
But hey, the other p.o. said that aside from his strabismus, his vision is perfect! Um, thanks?
Friday, July 9, 2010
Dress Like a Pirate Day
So our day care, which is also a school but really day care, does fun things with its classes like Pirate Week. An entire week of fun activities like Treasure Hunt and Make a Pirate Picture Frame and Sprinkler Day, which seems slightly unrelated to the rest but hey, it's hot out. And Friday was Dress Like a Pirate Day.
Never mind the fact that I'm not actually sure 3- and 4-year-olds are ready for pirate chic. Or for the real-life pirates who were in fact fairly bloody people. If I wouldn't bring my kid on Pirates of the Caribbean yet, should I be dressing him pirate-ish?
But hey, new town, first time in a formal school (day care) setting, new friends, he's been a little slow to adjust, bring on the pirates, maybe he'll like it.
Two problems. One, last year was the first year we actually bothered to dress him up for Halloween (if you've ever seen this kid on sugar you'd understand), so we don't have a backlog of costumes for him. Two, where do you find pirate gear in July?
Answer: Nowhere. Unless Babies R Us happens to have some early Halloween stuff in the back and will sell it to you for full price.
You may be cringing. I was cringing. I don't buy Halloween costumes. I make them. Thrift stores are my friend. One year I found a giant inflatable shark, attached him to my shoulder and went as a shark attack victim (we were living in Florida at the time so it was funnier. Um, in that sick way). Another year DH and I wore a dress and a tux, added horns and creepy makeup and went as demon prom dates. He even made me a corsage of black roses. (And now I can say that yes I did wear that bridesmaid's dress again.) So the very notion of shelling out for a pre-fab costume, especially one too hot to wear in July anyway, was bothersome. But we figured, it's a backup option in case I didn't find anything else.
Yeah. The closest I came was a pj set with a big shark on it and a pirate ship in the background.
Somewhere in all this I realized, we've become those parents. The micromanaging ones. The neurotic ones who would spend $30 on an unnecessary costume just so their kid wouldn't feel left out on freaking Pirate Day. Geez, next we'll be hiring him happiness consultants.
Anyway. I decided the best compromise was, he'd wear the pj shirt and use the floppy skull-and-crossbones hat and sword from the costume. Pirate-ish and no heat stroke. Which seemed to suit him, although he'd rather tote a Matchbox car around than a sword. We even got him to do his pirate impression.
"Kiddo, how does a pirate go?"
"Aaaaaarrrrrrr!"
Apparently they made telescopes out of paper towel rolls, got temporary tattoos and had a fine time. And I still have the option of bringing that costume back to the store. So let's call that a win-win.
Next week they want the kids to come in dressed like cowboys. Honestly.
Never mind the fact that I'm not actually sure 3- and 4-year-olds are ready for pirate chic. Or for the real-life pirates who were in fact fairly bloody people. If I wouldn't bring my kid on Pirates of the Caribbean yet, should I be dressing him pirate-ish?
But hey, new town, first time in a formal school (day care) setting, new friends, he's been a little slow to adjust, bring on the pirates, maybe he'll like it.
Two problems. One, last year was the first year we actually bothered to dress him up for Halloween (if you've ever seen this kid on sugar you'd understand), so we don't have a backlog of costumes for him. Two, where do you find pirate gear in July?
Answer: Nowhere. Unless Babies R Us happens to have some early Halloween stuff in the back and will sell it to you for full price.
You may be cringing. I was cringing. I don't buy Halloween costumes. I make them. Thrift stores are my friend. One year I found a giant inflatable shark, attached him to my shoulder and went as a shark attack victim (we were living in Florida at the time so it was funnier. Um, in that sick way). Another year DH and I wore a dress and a tux, added horns and creepy makeup and went as demon prom dates. He even made me a corsage of black roses. (And now I can say that yes I did wear that bridesmaid's dress again.) So the very notion of shelling out for a pre-fab costume, especially one too hot to wear in July anyway, was bothersome. But we figured, it's a backup option in case I didn't find anything else.
Yeah. The closest I came was a pj set with a big shark on it and a pirate ship in the background.
Somewhere in all this I realized, we've become those parents. The micromanaging ones. The neurotic ones who would spend $30 on an unnecessary costume just so their kid wouldn't feel left out on freaking Pirate Day. Geez, next we'll be hiring him happiness consultants.
Anyway. I decided the best compromise was, he'd wear the pj shirt and use the floppy skull-and-crossbones hat and sword from the costume. Pirate-ish and no heat stroke. Which seemed to suit him, although he'd rather tote a Matchbox car around than a sword. We even got him to do his pirate impression.
"Kiddo, how does a pirate go?"
"Aaaaaarrrrrrr!"
Apparently they made telescopes out of paper towel rolls, got temporary tattoos and had a fine time. And I still have the option of bringing that costume back to the store. So let's call that a win-win.
Next week they want the kids to come in dressed like cowboys. Honestly.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Do chipmunks eat plumeria?
Because dammit if my plumeria in a pot gets eaten I will go after Chip and/or Dale and I will have my revenge. I saw the little bugger sniffing the pot the other day. I've had that thing for three years, ever since I got it at the Philly flower show. I did not in the least think it would survive, let alone bloom. Plumeria (aka frangipani) were among my favorite aspects of living in Florida and I do not want this one to die.
So here we are in what might be reasonably considered "the country." Or as country as North Jersey gets. Mountains all around. Farms all around, with yummy yummy apple cider doughnuts (and also produce). Horses. Occasional country music. Quiet. Peaceful. How quiet? Both the supermarkets close at 10 (and the cashier I was chatting with, after frantically rushing to grab everything in 10 minutes, commented how great it was for parents that they're open that late. I noted that I was used to 24-hour supermarkets).
So far I've attended a craft fair (very nice) and a vintage rummage sale (so-so) and otherwise unpacked and rearranged and we've bought things like a lawn mower and a grill and a spade, which we did not own before since we lived in a condo and had no yard. I love love love having a yard. It's nice and flat and there's space for kiddo to run around -- which he does -- as well as a garden bed that was just sitting there, waiting for me.
Not that I know in the least what I'm doing. Plants in pots I understand. Like the orchids currently scattered around the house, all recent acquisitions. (The nice lady at Lowe's gave me one half-off. How cool is that?) But plants in the ground I'm a total newbie at. Also I missed the early part of the planting season because we didn't close until May. So this year is purely experimental. I just threw plants in the bed to see what they would do. Conveniently my family, knowing me well, gave me plants. So I have a rosebush and a moonflower; some marigolds; a clump of Johnny-jump-ups; some lavender that lived in a pot on my balcony and, against all odds, survived last winter; a couple of tomato plants, some basil and some oregano. And that still doesn't really fill the bed, but I think I'll leave things be and see how they grow.
-- Incidentally, that bit about how marigolds repel rabbits? Bogus. This one *ate* the marigolds. I saw it hopping away from the scene of the crime. I shall name it Hasenpfeffer!
At some point we will need to figure out things like lawn care and how to trim shrubs. But our neighbors don't appear too anal about their landscaping, so I don't think we've become a blight on the street just yet.
The sky here at night is unreal. Nothing but moon and mountains.
I still can't quite believe we did it. We sold our place -- for a decent amount, if not quite what we paid for it -- and got the house we needed. And now I have a nice size master bathroom and a little corner sitting area in the bedroom, from which I am writing this post. It feels almost as strange as moving to Florida in the first place.
Well, not quite as strange. Florida greeted us with giant roaches.
So here we are in what might be reasonably considered "the country." Or as country as North Jersey gets. Mountains all around. Farms all around, with yummy yummy apple cider doughnuts (and also produce). Horses. Occasional country music. Quiet. Peaceful. How quiet? Both the supermarkets close at 10 (and the cashier I was chatting with, after frantically rushing to grab everything in 10 minutes, commented how great it was for parents that they're open that late. I noted that I was used to 24-hour supermarkets).
So far I've attended a craft fair (very nice) and a vintage rummage sale (so-so) and otherwise unpacked and rearranged and we've bought things like a lawn mower and a grill and a spade, which we did not own before since we lived in a condo and had no yard. I love love love having a yard. It's nice and flat and there's space for kiddo to run around -- which he does -- as well as a garden bed that was just sitting there, waiting for me.
Not that I know in the least what I'm doing. Plants in pots I understand. Like the orchids currently scattered around the house, all recent acquisitions. (The nice lady at Lowe's gave me one half-off. How cool is that?) But plants in the ground I'm a total newbie at. Also I missed the early part of the planting season because we didn't close until May. So this year is purely experimental. I just threw plants in the bed to see what they would do. Conveniently my family, knowing me well, gave me plants. So I have a rosebush and a moonflower; some marigolds; a clump of Johnny-jump-ups; some lavender that lived in a pot on my balcony and, against all odds, survived last winter; a couple of tomato plants, some basil and some oregano. And that still doesn't really fill the bed, but I think I'll leave things be and see how they grow.
-- Incidentally, that bit about how marigolds repel rabbits? Bogus. This one *ate* the marigolds. I saw it hopping away from the scene of the crime. I shall name it Hasenpfeffer!
At some point we will need to figure out things like lawn care and how to trim shrubs. But our neighbors don't appear too anal about their landscaping, so I don't think we've become a blight on the street just yet.
The sky here at night is unreal. Nothing but moon and mountains.
I still can't quite believe we did it. We sold our place -- for a decent amount, if not quite what we paid for it -- and got the house we needed. And now I have a nice size master bathroom and a little corner sitting area in the bedroom, from which I am writing this post. It feels almost as strange as moving to Florida in the first place.
Well, not quite as strange. Florida greeted us with giant roaches.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
How not to sell a house
This one's for you, Realtors!
1. Don't call the seller to say you're running two hours late on a showing.
2. Don't call the seller to say you're not coming at all.
3. Show up at the seller's house without making an appointment first, beg your way in anyway, then casually reveal later your "client" is your daughter.
4. Get so chitchatty with the seller you fail to notice your client has let the seller's small child out onto the balcony.
5. Stay home sick, but send your clients over anyway to roam a stranger's home unescorted.
6. While running an open house at a different unit, tell a random unescorted person to go check out seller's unit, without calling seller's agent first, just for kicks.
7. Get so distracted by cooing over seller's cute baby that you forget to give seller your card.
8. Make it exquisitely clear you'd rather deal with husband seller than wife seller, from returning phone calls to introducing yourself. Because wife seller, obviously, is brainless idiot who makes no money.
9. Bring in snotty out-of-state clients who know nothing about (still-pricey) North Jersey market and snottily declare, "If I had to live here, I'd kill myself," before ditching agent while he's in the bathroom.
10. Bring stairs-allergic clients to a unit with two sets of stairs.
aaaannndd finally:
11. Make lowball offer that sellers spend days negotiating to a halfway decent offer, get outbid by a better offer, throw an e-mail tantrum at seller's agent in which you declare sellers are not trustworthy and you found your clients a way better deal in the same complex anyway, so nyah nyah. Then call seller's agent days later to explain deal was not so good after all, and what's the status of the seller's deal again? Definitely under contract? Oh.
1. Don't call the seller to say you're running two hours late on a showing.
2. Don't call the seller to say you're not coming at all.
3. Show up at the seller's house without making an appointment first, beg your way in anyway, then casually reveal later your "client" is your daughter.
4. Get so chitchatty with the seller you fail to notice your client has let the seller's small child out onto the balcony.
5. Stay home sick, but send your clients over anyway to roam a stranger's home unescorted.
6. While running an open house at a different unit, tell a random unescorted person to go check out seller's unit, without calling seller's agent first, just for kicks.
7. Get so distracted by cooing over seller's cute baby that you forget to give seller your card.
8. Make it exquisitely clear you'd rather deal with husband seller than wife seller, from returning phone calls to introducing yourself. Because wife seller, obviously, is brainless idiot who makes no money.
9. Bring in snotty out-of-state clients who know nothing about (still-pricey) North Jersey market and snottily declare, "If I had to live here, I'd kill myself," before ditching agent while he's in the bathroom.
10. Bring stairs-allergic clients to a unit with two sets of stairs.
aaaannndd finally:
11. Make lowball offer that sellers spend days negotiating to a halfway decent offer, get outbid by a better offer, throw an e-mail tantrum at seller's agent in which you declare sellers are not trustworthy and you found your clients a way better deal in the same complex anyway, so nyah nyah. Then call seller's agent days later to explain deal was not so good after all, and what's the status of the seller's deal again? Definitely under contract? Oh.
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