Awesome

Yeah, I use awesome too much.  I'm a child of the 80s and this term seems to be my go to for expressing my pleasure when things go well, or with a more sarcastic tone, my displeasure when things do not.  Humor me, ok?  I've tried to switch it up and I've failed so I'm just going to use it.

But do you know what's awesome?  When someone sees your kid.  When someone really sees your kid and gets them.  I have the extreme pleasure of watching that happen right now.  And truly it is AWESOME.

Little Dog is not always an easy kid.  He has big emotions, big fears and problems with keeping himself in check.  Some of it is anxiety.  Some of it is his act first, think about it later lifestyle. Some of it is that his actions are often very big because he feels pressure and judgement and instant regret.  And some of it is just not being seen.

At his last school he was not seen by his teacher.  There was much headbutting and little appreciation of his amazing and complex nature.  While he may not be an easy kid, he is a creative kid, a funny kid, a loving kid and a smart kid.  He has boundless energy and a wild imagination.  He wants to be a good kid and he wants to fit in, but sometimes those things get forgotten when he is seen only for his surface actions.

We started summer camps a few weeks ago, and I will be the first to admit it was rough.  He was nervous and excited.  This combination can be deadly.  He gets ahead of himself and he can forget that no one is out to get him.  They started the week with a trip to the zoo which was exciting and overwhelming.  By the time they were heading back he'd lost control. They called me to come pick him up.  I was beside myself.  If Little Dog can't go to camp this summer, I have to work fast to make alternate arrangements, but on a scarier note, it made me wonder if kindergarten was going to be too much for him as well.

I had a talk with him and a few talks with the assistant director of the program and by the end of the week, Little Dog was having good days.  He was finding his way and beginning to enjoy it.  This past week has been a continuation of that.  And a big part of this is that he is being seen.  The assistant director has talked to me daily about how great Little Dog is doing.  He's identified his silly side and his love of reading.  He commented on his intense concentration and passion for words.  The assistant director sees the good side of Little Dog and tells me and Little Dog that he is doing great.  He goes out of his way to let me know what funny or fantastic things he's done during the day making sure that Little Dog hears when he is praised.  He lets Little Dog know that he's being seen.  And I am breathing a big sigh of relief.

In return Little Dog is letting the assistant director know that he has been seen and is showing more of the traits that often get hidden or lost in his chaos.  The other day when the campers were less cooperative than they needed to be, the assistant director told them, "Listen up or I'm going to have to raise my voice!  And I don't like to raise my voice!"  He explained that they were not following the rules and the club was a mess.  It was frustrating him.  Little Dog replied by tugging on his hand and saying, "I'm going to help clean up," and started putting away toys that were adding to the disorder without even being asked.

He's also started including him in little jokes.  Like yesterday when I asked if he had a good day or a bad day at pick up time.  Little Dog said, "Well mostly awesome, but I may have rubbed eggs all over my face."
I was confused, and asked, "You rubbed eggs all over your face?  When?"
He changed his story, "No, I rubbed goldfish all over my face."
"When did this happen?" I asked seeing that little glint of mischief in his eye.
"At lunch.  You should ask," he suggested taking my hand and leading me to the assistant director.
"So did Little Dog rub goldfish all over his face at lunch?" I asked.
Looking very confused the assistant director looked at Little Dog and asked "What?" Clearly looking for clarification at which point Little Dog busted up laughing at his own strange little joke.  Apparently that is high humor for a 5-year-old boy.  And in our world it is also a sign that Little Dog has decided someone is on his side and he feels more secure.  And for that reason, it is awesome.

Breaking up is hard to do

Today was Little Dog's last day at his preschool.  He is now officially on summer vacation.  This day has been long coming, and yet now that it has arrived, both Little Dog and I were oddly sad as we said our goodbyes.  I was caught off guard by my emotions.  I have not felt well served by this school in the past year.  I should say that while it didn't work for us, there are others who really love that school. It may have been a matter of fit, or a matter of my expectations being set so high by the excellent program Big Dog had attended but that unfortunately didn't offer full day childcare which make it incompatible for us once we no longer had a nanny at home.  All I know is that it didn't work for us, no matter how hard we tried. At times I had mentally beaten myself up over not moving him to another school as soon as the first rumblings of discontent emerged.  I have been endlessly frustrated by his teacher with whom I cannot seem to see eye to eye.  As the year went on and Little Dog howled in frustration each morning when I told him that yes indeed, it was a school day, I worried that I was not only making him unhappy but somehow scarring him for life.  So we made the decision to take him out of preschool over the summer, move him from this obvious poor match and get him to summer camps with his brother to help him make the transition to Kindergarten this fall, and hopefully to help him regain at least some tiny love of school because currently he hates it.

I'd agreed to take the boys for ice cream after the last day, so I went to pick up Little Dog with a happy treat on the horizon.  He'd had a great day (one of an increasing number of good days he's had as soon as we were able to help him count down the days at this school) and was in a fantastic mood.  They'd spent the day at a park pretending to camp and he loved every moment of it.  They'd also given him a diploma and a picture of his class to help him remember his time at this school.

After talking to one of his teachers and thanking her for her, I told him he should say goodbye to anyone he wanted to say goodbye to because it was time to go.  And it hit him.  My child who awoke this morning cheering that it was his last day at this school walked deliberately from classmate to classmate saying goodbye.  When it came time for him to say goodbye to his teacher, he looked sad.
"I think I've said goodbye to all of my friends, but if anyone asks where Little Dog is, tell them I've gone home and that I say goodbye to them too." Then he took my hand, collected his things and walked quietly to the car.  Even I felt a bit teary as I said my last goodbyes.

In place of my chatty little boy in the backseat, I was met with silence.  I finally ventured, "It's ok to be a little bit sad when something ends.  Even if you didn't like it all the time, there are always nice things too that will be missed."
"I feel a lot sad.  I feel just a little bit happy.  Just a bit happy that's smaller than a mouse."
"I understand," I said.  "That's ok.  It is hard to leave the things we know.  Is there something in particular that is making you sad?"
"Ryan.  I'm going to miss him," he said.  Ryan has been at different times both Little Dog's best friend and worst enemy.  They've had a long and mixed history, but lately it seems things have been going well.  I've already talked to Ryan's mom about play dates over the summer, so I told Little Dog this news, but it didn't seem to matter much.  He returned to silence.

A few minutes later he asks, "Mama, do you like secrets?"
"That depends.  I don't mind secrets as long as they're not hurting anyone or keeping someone from talking about being hurt.  Why, do you have a secret you want to tell me?" I asked.
"It's ok. It's not a hurting secret," he said.  "I wish there was a reset button that could start things over but not exactly like they were before."
"What would you want to start over?" I asked.
"My old school.  I'd like to start it over but without all of the bad parts."
That made me think a little. 
"You know, in your mind you can push a kind of reset button and remember your school with none of the bad parts.  You also get to start a whole new adventure at your new school, I think I'd think about all of the good parts you have yet to experience."

I'm not sure if that worked, but he's seemed a bit less down since.  Granted, that could also be the ice cream kicking in.

Fighting the good fight

Little Dog does not like school.  Preschool at least.  I'm not really sure why, but he hates it.  Sometimes it is better than others, the drop offs are quick and happy.  Other times I am not so lucky.  He stalls.  He clings.  He cries.  And when I get to the car, I cry too.  No mother wants to leave her child someplace he clearly doesn't want to be.  He went through some of this last year and we managed to turn it around with the help of a child psychologist and his supportive and loving teachers.  Things were going better.  Over the summer they moved him to a new class with kids closer to his own age and despite a few challenges, he seemed to like it a lot better.  Unfortunately that has faded.

In September the older kids in the summer class moved on to the next room and Little Dog stayed.  They decide classroom assignments by birth month.  He missed the cutoff by two months.  When the bigger kids left he was joined by many of the kids from his previous classroom.  Then the problems started.  For a while things got better, or at least they did according to the teacher that Little Dog really liked.  His other teacher seems to have a more selective memory.  Unfortunately the teacher he liked so well has moved to another classroom and the unhappiness has returned.  Much like his mother, he does not like change all that much.  We've been working with his teachers trying to find that magic formula that makes him happy to be at school, or at least less resistant to the drop off, but it hasn't developed.  I think there is a different chemistry in the classroom.  And as we've worked with his teachers, I realize that I do not see eye to eye with his lead teacher.  I think he has some odd ideas about what makes kids go.  I think he believes kids should more or less all follow the same path and fit in the same molds. I get the feeling that kids who fall outside of those mold are considered problems.  Little Dog falls outside of those molds.  Little Dog takes things too much to heart and before he has fully adapted to the first teacher leaving, his other favorite teacher has moved on to a new job.  We've called in the psychologist again, and he's giving us some new techniques, helping propose methods to get the lead teacher good behaviors instead of just focusing in on every little problem.

As we get to the end of the school year, as we prepare for him to spend his summer in fun summer camps to get ready for the big move to kindergarten I'm wondering if I didn't make a huge mistake not moving him to a new school instead of trying to make this one work.  As a mom I am a master of self doubt and second guessing.  At least the psychologist assures me that he'll forget all about preschool once he moves on.  I try to remember that when he fights his drop off.  I also try to remember that by the time I pick him up in the evening he is back to being a happy kid.

When things got really bad a while back, we tried having Mr. Dog do the drop off in the morning.  For whatever reason the drop off went more smoothly.  It ended up setting the tone for his whole day.  Fewer frustrations, less drama, overall happier days. We did it for a while then I resumed drop offs with a much better result.  They started going downhill when his first teacher left.  And then after spending spring break with his grandparents living the good life, going back to school was even harder.   I had one drop off that brought me to tears and then called in reinforcements.  Mr. Dog was back on drop off duty.  Little Dog didn't like the idea at first, but we explained that his hard morning drop offs make his days harder and that he seemed to have better days when papa took him to school.  It worked like magic.  Even Little Dog notices the difference.  "I only have a good day when papa drops me off," he confided in me last night at bedtime.  So we're trying this for a while.  Maybe it will last long enough to get us through to summer.  Maybe it will help him just enough to get out of the rut of bad days.  All I know is that I'm holding my breath and counting the days.

And like that...he's gone

I'm referring to the agitated and anxious child I'd been leaving at daycare. Gone. And Little Dog has returned. Thank heavens. It happened overnight more or less. We spoke with the psychologist and within days he was not in tears at drop off. Little Dog, not the psychologist. I don't think he was ever in tears, but I know little of his personal life outside our appointment. Anyhow I started getting notes from his teacher that he'd had a good day. When I'd pick him up, he lallygagged and stalled leaving. And I started breathing normally again. I didn't want to write too much about it at first, just in case it was a good few days that would disappear leaving Little Dog quivering at preschool again. But enough time has passed that I think we're in the clear.
Don't get me wrong, he's not in love with school like his big brother. He still asks every morning "Is this a school day?" and lets out a big wail if it is, but he recovers quickly and that's the last he mentions it for the morning. He's also quit complaining about Donna. I don't know what's up with that, but I'm happy not to be subjected with his tales of how much he dislikes old people, especially around my birthday.
One of the little changes we made, one of the suggestions from the psychologist, was to establish a routine when we dropped him off school. Instead of the usual hug and kiss kind of goodbye, we now do an elaborate, or it maybe more accurate to say an elaborately silly send off. We still do the normal hug and kiss, I say goodbye and I say, "Have a great day!" But now, Little Dog asks, "Do you need a push?" I say I do, I explain that I need a big push to rocket me off to work and stick out my hip in a ridiculously goofy way, ok, I kind of stick out my butt, truth be told. Then the big boy with a big smile on his face, ready for his day at school gives me a monumental shove and I propel off, pretending to flail wildy, ricocheting off any convenient surface and find my way to the door. He settles in, I get in the car and we both are off to the beginning of a good day. Is this key the to our change of tone? Maybe. I may feel a little foolish as I flail my way out the door, but man does it ever feel better than reaching my car with the tears of Little Dog still echoing in my ears.

Unsettled

While one child, Big Dog, seems to be thriving at school, the other, Little Dog, seems to be floundering. I keep hoping he'll grow into it. I keep hoping he'll develop the love of school his brother has, but it seems doubtful. See, since we started preschool in September, he's been not loving it so much. He has good days and bad days, but lately the bad seem to outnumber the good. And still, when I pick him up, he isn't in a rush to get out of there, so it can't be that bad, right? Please tell me I'm right here. I need the validation.

Unfortunately this transition for him has been a big one. When he was a baby he was in a group daycare. He was not a fan. He liked one caregiver above all others and would cling to her. He did fine there as long as she was around and if it hadn't been for a string of recurring ear infections, he'd probably have stayed in group childcare right up until Kindergarten, just like his brother did. Unfortunately for him, his ears were a problem. Even after having tubes placed, they continued to be an issue. He was constantly on antibiotics and there seemed to be no end to it. When his preferred care giver quit, we decided to hire her as a nanny. So we took him out of daycare and like that, the ear infections stopped. He had one or two more over the next couple of years, but compared to the back to back, twice a month infections we'd been dealing with, it was heavenly.

NE was like a member of our family. She still is. But when Mr. Dog was not working, we had to let her go. It was kind of good timing for all of us since Little Dog appeared to be ready for a group environment. He'd been doing co-op preschool and really ate up the group interaction. He'd cling to NE while she was there, but he transitioned well enough when she wasn't. Also NE was ready to go to a job that let her work with infants again, so when the time came to part ways, it was more or less smooth for all of us. (NE is now working at a child care center in the infant room. Just in case you were wondering.)

So the spring and summer for Little Dog were spent at home with Mr. Dog. I think it did them both a lot of good. The boys got more one on one time with Mr. Dog and he got an amazing immersion into the crazy world of full time care giving. The last couple of months we decided to put Little Dog and Big Dog in preschool part time, but together. And they loved it. Little Dog may not have been so great at following rules, but he loved being in school "like a big boy" and Big Dog loved the additional days off at home.

Then Mr. Dog found a new job. And Big Dog started kindergarten. And Little Dog started his own school. By himself. For the first time since he was a baby.
I am more than sympathetic that this must be a fairly traumatic transition for him and I've tried to do everything I could to make it as smooth as possible. The school we chose is pretty great. I'd been on the wait list for ages and was stunned when they told us they had a spot right when we needed it. Low teacher to child ratio, low staff turnover. Great early childhood education foundation for all programs. They offer ongoing parent and staff education including weekly discussion and education handouts to address topic the parents choose. They have a giant playground, the classrooms are spacious and bright. They have a cook on staff and all snacks and lunches are prepared on site. They do a ton of art and lots of collaborative games. Each week they do a cooking project with the kids. We have regular parent conferences and they create a record of each child's progress through the year in a portfolio. They also do a number of pot luck dinners to create a real community feeling for the families who have children enrolled there. Being home with a nanny or a parent is a far cry from daily school, but I expected his irrepressible lust for new adventures to eventually outweigh the disruption of being pulled from his comfort zone. And I've been waiting for that to happen since September.

It was pretty typical at first. He'd have a hard drop off but the teachers assured me that as soon as I left, he was fine. He'd melt down as I left only to bounce back in time for the first morning activity and the rest of the day was more or less fine. Then something happened. From Thanksgiving to Christmas he was having terrible nightmares at nap time. He was more frustrated by an inability to decide what he wanted to do, and he was more unhappy at drop offs. Taking nearly two weeks off at Christmas has not helped. After an especially difficult drop off that left me emotionally wrenched on Tuesday, I talked to his head teacher. I asked, looking for reassurance, if he got better during the day. I had hoped that she'd tell me, as she had before, that he assimilated into class shortly after I left, that the rest of the day would be fine. But she didn't. She expressed some concern that he was having bouts of sadness during the day. She said his frustration with not knowing what puzzle to do or game to play was growing. That no matter what they tried, he rejected their efforts to cheer him up. She suggested we schedule a conference to figure out what to do.
I drove to work in tears.

Trying to create a strategy, I contacted his pediatrician. At this stage I'm out of tricks and I hoped she'd be able to give me some new resources, including a referral to a child psychologist or counselor who might be able to give me some new insights and tactics. She did, all the while reassuring me that he'd be fine, reminding me that he is going through a lot and that it will all work out. She even stressed it is better, if he has to have a strong reaction to full time school, that he do it now than when he begins kindergarten when the transition would only be exacerbated by academic requirements and a far higher child to teacher ratio. I cannot express what a relief this was.

On a happier note, his teacher left me a long note in his folder at pick up time. He'd had a great afternoon and the teachers were trying out a new approach with him in the morning that seemed to pay off. When I picked him up he was in high spirits and the mood continued all evening. Even the typical sibling rivalry that seems to boil up in our house after dinner was kept to a minimum.

I've been wracking my brain to think of what might have happened to bring this on, what I did wrong to make this happen. Did I say something in frustration that made him fear that I'd leave him at school and never come back? Did he see something on TV that frightened him? Did some interaction go awry and leave him with a fear of being abandoned if he wasn't a perfect child? And so far I have nothing. I even called my parents, who we stayed with at Thanksgiving, and pumped them for information. Nothing. So now I wait. I will talk to the child psychologist on Friday. In the meantime, I'm second guessing everything I do and say as I try to help him every day.

Nemesis

For a child that doesn't want to leave preschool when I come to pick him up, Little Dog's morning drop offs have been pretty brutal lately. Most days involve some kind of early "I don't want to go to school" talk. The worst mornings involve him clinging to my leg as I calmly tell him I have to go and he's going to have a great day and try to leave the building. Luckily he has great teachers. I frequently get emails after the worst morning drop offs with a quick note telling me things like "Little Dog is now happy and watching teacher D install new batteries into the LiteBrite we just got!" or "Little Dog was off playing with friends within minutes of you leaving." And when I pick him up, more often than not, he wants to stay. Sometimes I carry him from the classroom in tears because he wants to stay and play longer. I think it is all part of his not so secret plot to undo me completely.

Unfortunately in recent weeks he has decided to focus the brunt of his school related resistance on one person. For the sake of this post let's call her Donna. A few weeks ago as I sat with him at bedtime he started tearfully telling me that he didn't want to go to school. He didn't want to see Donna. Since he had previously come home with tales of being called a "baby" by other kids in the next class, I assumed this might be a similar situation.

"Why don't you want to see Donna, Little Dog? Is she not nice to you?" I asked, hoping to get to the root of the issue.

"I don't like Donna," he replied. "I don't like her because she's so old!"

Huh? After a few more questions I found that Donna was a teacher. Despite my best efforts, I could not get any other answer about why being old was a problem or why he might not want to see her. I eventually gave up. I assumed she had scolded him at some point and that in a few days this would be forgotten. Boy was I wrong.

Every night for the next few nights I was told about Donna and reminded how old she is. I tried to find out if it was a general issue with older people. "Do you like grandma and grandpa? They're kind of old too."

"Yes. I love grandma and grandpa," he said emphatically, apparently not seeing their age as an issue. And after exploring this line of questioning for a while I was no closer to understanding his objection to Donna as I was in the beginning. So I let it drop.

A few nights later as I was sipping my wine, Mr. Dog asked me if I knew who Donna was. As he was putting Little Dog to bed, he had received a similar earful about how old she is and how much Little Dog disliked her. Then the next morning when it was time to go to school we were rewarded with the first full blown temper tantrum on this issue. Little Dog didn't want to go to school. He didn't want to see Donna. He didn't like her. She is so old. When asked what she did to him that made him dislike her so much, he told us that she looked at him. That's it. She doesn't talk to him, she doesn't scold him, she doesn't correct him. She looks at him. Well, part of her job is classroom and playground supervision. She really wouldn't be doing her job if she didn't look at him. Now in addition to her being old, Little Dog also wanted her to stop looking at him. When I tried to drop him off that morning it was a nightmare. He was screaming and crying and clinging to me like some kind of demented howler monkey. I finally talked to one of his teachers.

Turns out that Donna is only occasionally in his classroom. She is also not old. She is, in fact, younger than Little Dog's favorite teacher! It also turns out that Little Dog frequently sits at her table for snack and lunch. And they get to pick where they sit, so he is choosing to sit with Donna. This only puzzled me more. When I picked him up that evening, I spoke with his other teacher and we tried to come up with any reason he might have an issue with Donna. The only idea that had any real potential was that she is pretty strict about the children laying down on their mats during nap time. The other teachers let non-nappers sit up as long as they are quiet.

The next day, Little Dog expressed his dislike to his favorite teacher while on the playground. She tried to get to the root of the issue as well.

"Is it that Donna has darker skin and has an accent when she speaks?" she asked. Then went on to explain that she has immigrated from a foreign country and is bringing that experience with her to his school.

When she told me about this in the evening, she said that Little Dog had not mentioned Donna again all day. He had even sat with her at lunch again. And while I was not sure that skin color or an accent would be an issue for Little Dog because we have always lived in fairly diverse areas, I guessed that at three years old he might be working through and noticing some of these differences more now than in the past.

On the way home, Little Dog brought up the conversation. "Mama, Donna has darker skin."

"Yes," I said, "She does."

"But that's not why I don't like her," he added quickly, "I don't like her because she's so old."

And just like that, we are back at square one. Still no idea what the real issue is. Still no good solution to the problem. I'm just being consistent in reminding him that being old is not a reason to not like someone. I remind him that Donna is a nice person, and that saying things to her or about her, especially things that are beyond her control would hurt her feelings. I also remind him that being unkind to anyone, even if you don't like them, is never ok. And I'm still hoping that one day I'll be able to take him to school without hearing about how old Donna is. Sigh.

Want to make me feel better? Tell me some completely irrational thing your child has clung to. Have you ever had a "Donna" in your life? How did you fix it or did it just fade with time?

Yet another first

Last July I posted about Big Dog starting a new school. My trepidation about moving him to a new place after being in his old preschool for so long, my anxiety about his transition, my projected drama. Turns out, he had none of that, he loved it. And last week, just under a year from his big brother's move to the new school, Little Dog joined his brother at preschool.

We decided to have both boys attend part time instead of Big Dog going full time and Little dog staying home. By the giant grin on his face when I told him he was going to school, and the giddy excitement of his big brother, telling me all the ways he was going to introduce Little Dog to his school, I know we made the right decision.

We took him for the first day yesterday (keep in mind, blog time is not real time, so I don't mean a literal yesterday here). He couldn't wait to get out of the car, and was hardly willing to pose for photos. He and Big Dog did their usual race up the ramp, but this time, at the top of the ramp he entered his new school as a student for the first time. He was greeted warmly by the kids he's seen on a daily basis at pick up and drop off times, but this time the buzz was all about him. One little girl ran up to let him know she'd made him a picture and then announced "I'm going to be your helper!"

It turns out the teachers had been letting the kids know Little Dog was coming and they were all excited to help him get up to speed at their school. It was heartwarming. So I brought in my boys, got them settled and said goodbye. I warned the teachers about his need to be reminded to use the potty if he was overly involved in any activity. I let them know about his stubborn streak and even filled them in on his stress induced hitting. Then I just hoped for the best. He's a great kid, funny, smart and sweet as anything, but he can also be a handful. He doesn't have the same people-pleaser tendencies his brother does and I was a little worried that might be an issue.

At pick up, as he sat fully engaged in a game of I Spy, his teacher assured me he'd done great. Everyone wanted to help him, he followed the routine without a hitch and did a great job of taking cues from other kids about what he should be doing when. In fact, he didn't want to come home. I think I'm going to call that a success. It does make me wonder why I worry so much about these things? Maybe I just thrive on anxiety.

Amatuer hour

Facebook last night: "Laura Williams Argilla is kind of disappointed in her pot luck performance. Forgot the spoon to put the berries on top of the cake and the tart stuck to the pan. Amateur hour. Luckily this was a pretty forgiving crowd. It may not be a slam dunk, but I'll call it a win...despite the solid performance of the ringer brought in by a mommy who shall not be named."

Well, it wasn't a total loss. The cake and tart were both eaten up well before we got to the buffet table, but it wasn't my finest work. In the world of competitive pot lucking, it was a pathetic display of poor planning. I was mortified.

But as with all hardships comes lessons worth learning. What lessons you ask. Did you learn a lesson in humility? Did you learn that taunting your competition on Facebook serves no one? No, not that lesson. Perhaps you learned about counting your chickens before they hatch (though I had no chickens before they hatched, we got them as chicks)? Perhaps it was the lesson of being too confident? No, not that lesson.

So what lesson did I learn? Last night I learned, never, and I do mean never, run out of parchment for baking. But I learned more than that. I also learned that if you do, and you decide to use aluminum foil to line the pan, you need to remember to grease the foil. I will never make those mistakes again. I promise.

Take in a dish, take home the glory! or How I do pot lucks

"Laura Williams Argilla has figured out what dessert I'm making for the pot luck. I'm pretty sure I'm going to win this one! Just wait for my victory laps around the cafeteria, fist pumping in the air as the kids sing the Rocky theme. Awesome!" I posted on Facebook. Ignore the odd use of third and first person in a single status update, but the facts are there.

Preschool pot lucks are stiff competition. Sure there are the basics. Jello wigglers, big hits with the kids, parents ignore them. Fancy green salads, parents like them, kid pretend they don't exist. There are always chocolate chip cookies and brownies. Usually there's a lasagna. Sometimes sublime sometimes sub par. Other moms bring in more exotic fare. And there is always a winner. Always, even if no one says anything about it. The winter pot luck was tricky. But I had an advantage going in. I was the new mom at preschool, the other moms had no idea I would bring out the big guns. I killed at the last pot luck and I am going to win this one as well.

Now back to Facebook. A few people asked for a sneak peek of what I was making, someone asked which Rocky theme the kids would sing, Eye of the Tiger or Come and Fly Now.
Then my sister had to ask, "Is it even a competition?"

My response? "Kathleen, it's ALWAYS a competition. They may not bill it as a competition, but that just weeds out the weak." And technically, it may not be a competition, but just let that try and stop me from competing. It's in my nature.

So she says "Some how I knew it was a 'competition'." Nice. She's even sarcastic in her Facebook comments. That's my big sister for you.

But she hasn't had the cake I'm making for the pot luck. That would change her tune. And if that didn't do it, the herbed goat cheese and heirloom tomato tarts might.

That's right bitches, I play for keeps!

And the verdict is...

After his first day at co-op Little Dog and NE called me to give me an update. A very excited little boy detailed every step of they day in what felt like one long breath.
"I played with balls, then we cleaned up and washed our hands, we had stories and songs and I washed my hands and we ate snack and played in the house and played with an airplane and had songs and played," he said with obvious thrill of a new experience in his voice.
"So you liked school?" I asked, smiling to myself.
"Yep!"

So later, when I tried to get a replay for his dad, I was a little surprised by his new response.
"Did you have fun at school?" I asked
"No," he said adamantly, fully ensconced in his grump alter ego.
"Did you play?" I asked, still trying to draw out a little of the previous excitement.
"No!" he said, even more grumpily, if that is possible.
"Oh no," I said, "Did they poke you with sticks?"
"Yes," he said earnestly.
Hearing this, Big Dog decided to get in on the action.
"Did the have big rocks and hit you in the head?" he asked his younger brother.
"Yes."
"Did they have snapping turtles that bit off your toes?" I asked.
"Yes," said Little Dog, full of sincerity.
"Did they have a big crocodile that ate your eyes?" asked Big Dog.
"Yes," he replied, eyes downcast.
"Did they have a giant frog that ate people?" asked Big Dog.
"No," said Little Dog looking up. "Just frog food."

Co-op by proxy.

Little Dog is starting preschool today. Not traditional, drop your kid off, pick 'em up later preschool. This is the touchy feely alternative. Co-operative preschool. Co-op. Chock full of parental involvement and learning opportunities, which is great, but since I work full time, I'm not involved much. NE is going to be our primary caregiver for this process.

Two days a week, Little Dog and NE will be spending a couple of hours in a church basement (no, it's not a church related school they are quick to assure me) singing, playing preschool appropriate games, working on sharing and learning skills and generally getting that group interaction he's been missing since we took him out of daycare. He'll be learning to stick to a strict schedule of outdoor play, circle time, snack, free play and closing circle. I think it's great for him. I'm sure he's going to get a lot out of the experience and I hope he'll develop his own little social circle as a result.

I'll be participating too, but to a lesser extent. I'll attend the monthly parent education meeting, and I'll have a role to play in the operations of the preschool, but the day to day kickin' it with the shorties will be handled by NE. They're about to finish their first day, and I'm anxiously awaiting the phone call to fill me in. I guess it's kind of like being there. Just kind of.

Moving on up

Today is big dog's last day at his old school. When I told him this morning he was almost giddy, "And after this I always go to my new school?" he asked wild with anticipation.
"Yes, you do." I replied, a little surprised at just how much he seems to be ready to ditch his old school and old school buddies. Then I started to feel a little sad. Why? Who the hell knows? I wasn't crazy about his old school and I adore the new program he's in now. I was the one who made the decision to move him, I smooth talked Mr. Dog into getting on board with it. I set up the overlapping transition time, but now that the transition is ending it feels like it went way too fast.

I keep thinking about how hard it will be to keep in touch with his friends from his old school, how those early friendships may well be ending when we complete the transition. Does it matter? Not really. It isn't like I have a whole gang of buddies from my preschool. He's already swimming in friends at his new school who he talks about non-stop. And his best friend, well we'll see him no matter where he goes to school. His mom is one of my friends, so that makes it really easy. And the others, most of them were heading off to Kindergarten this Fall, so if they do lose touch it would have happened after they made their transitions.

Still, I'm making a special point of picking him up this evening. I'm bringing cupcakes over at lunch for as a friendly gesture of goodbye, not the one fingered salute I would have expected when I made the plans for our escape. And here I am feeling a little weepy about this "end of an era".

What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe it's rooted in the fact that he's been here since he was 18 months and by keeping him here, I have some kind of odd connection to his past. Or maybe that's just some kind of psychobabble stretch to make sense out of my odd behavior.

Shocked! Stunned! Flabbergasted!

and all those other things that you feel when your expectation based on ample personal experience is not met. For example, when you decide to change your child from one school to a new school. Especially when you took this child to the school tour and he spent the entire tour crying and begging to leave. Yeah, exactly like that.

So imagine my surprise when I took Big Dog to his new school this morning and he was, get this, excited. Yeah, happy, excited and well, really looking forward to it. So I kept telling myself that he might start to worry once we got inside. No. Maybe he'd stress out when he had to meet the new teacher. No. Ok, he's all settled at the train table, maybe it's going to be a problems when I tell him it's time for me to go to work. No. No problems at all.

Guess I can start breathing again. No trauma, no stress and no tears! Ok, maybe there were a few tears, but those were mine.