The Dog Ate My Homework

With Bae starting kindergarten this year, I'm not sure who was more eager, me or her. I have always wanted to be a hands-on parent. The kind that participated in PTA, maybe baked some birthday cupcakes for class, looked over my kids' school work, helped them their homework. I got my wish, minus the PTA for the moment (that's another story). Chalk that up to my competitive and ambitious nature. Little did I know that I needed to be careful what I wished for.

Every night Baeleigh brings home her folder, containing all her assignments of the day and any homework that she might have. Ah, but it also contains every flyer, permission slip, application, Scholastic and student document. There is something daily. Every day I ask her, "Baeleigh, do you have any homework?" "No," she says, "No, wait, YES!" Inevitably, it's not her homework, it's mine. And, I have to say, I'm a little overwhelmed as a kindergarten parent. Does this get easier? Will there be a test? Do I need to study for 1st grade? Can I say the dog ate my homework?

Stream of Consciousness

Sometimes I feel like my little brain just can't hold all of the details that I'm trying to remember, such as doctor appointments, what day tomorrow is at school (e.g., Violet Day), items on the grocery list this week, or just calling my mom to see how her month off from work is. I thought it might be amusing to just see what bubbles up in my mind in the next five minutes. So, here goes:

• Looking down at Baeleigh's Kindergarten supply list: The list seems shorter than I thought, but what does my child need 4 boxes of 16-pack crayons for? I need to sign up for school email alerts.
• My orchid is looking incredibly unhealthy today, and after entering day four of ownership I think I got jipped out of $13.99. Hmm, haven't water the plants in my office today - that was on my to-do list. Not that the orchid needs water.
• Why are there so many motorcycles that rev their engines in my office's neighborhood?
• Should I cut back on my soda consumption? I took two grocery bags full of cans down to recycling yesterday, and I'm staring at the new accumulation (one soda) on my desk.
• The kids need baths tonight.
• One last night before Tommy heads out of town, and a good night of sleep. Does he only choose to make it a "family night" tonight because "So you think you can dance" is on? Working out tomorrow night will hopefully make me sleepy.
• Should I circulate an email to ask my co-workers to contribute to a baby welcoming basket for one of my staff?
• When is my financial advisor ever going to call back about our retirement accounts?
• What is tomorrow at Bae's school? Guess I gotta go look that up.

Quite an eclectic mix of thoughts, wouldn't you say? Some are distractions, but mostly it's just a lot to keep organized in my head. Now, if I can only find that perfect system, and then train Tommy on it. I feel like I need a triage station in my kitchen or something. Or maybe I'll just take on Tommy's mentality of it all and just assume that he'll take care of it. I do like the sound of THAT plan.

Women Need Details - Or At Least This Woman Does

Would it be that hard for certain people to elaborate on their commentary? For example:

I bought a very cute Juicy Couture (one sale) one piece bathing suit, and Tommy responds: "Huh. A one piece. Well, you are older and a mom. Uh, it's cute, just don't stop wearing bikinis." Does that mean I should return it??

I got my hair cut short last night. Tommy's reaction: "Well, you look older. It's different!" Always a good reaction to a girl who thinks it's a super-cute hair cut and specifically told the hair stylist to not give her a "mom haircut". What's with this "older" and "mom" thing?

His mom's reaction to my hair cut last night: "Grandmother still remembers when you were upset over Tommy shaving his hair off for the first time." Huh? What does that have to do with my hair?! Should Tommy be upset that I cut my hair?

Baeleigh when asked why she's on red at school: "I don't know" or "'Cuz." Ugh.

Deliverables to my boss on a daily basis. "Looks fine." "Looks Ok." Or simply no comment and just forwarded on. I only hear negative feedback. But usually, it's crickets. Is "fine" or "OK" mediocre or a good job? I dunno. I just want to know that I'm exceling at my job.

I don't need a life story but give me a little more detail, please. Otherwise, my pessimistic self is left to interpret her own ideas of this evaluation. And that's never good.

Face Painting, Four Eyes and False Tales

My goal was to spend some quality time with Baeleigh today, much needed with all the daycare drama of late. Here are a few things that I learned today:

Lesson #1: Under promise and over deliver.
Whole Foods (WF) had sent out via Facebook a promotion for the Second Sunday Farmer's Market, complete with free face painting this Sunday a week or so back. Perfect for both Mommy and Baeleigh. After arriving at WF at 12:30pm, finding a stupid parking space on Level II of the garage, lugging two hot, cranky kids into the store and thinking it odd that not one child had his/her face painted, I inquired at the customer service desk. "Huh" was pretty much my response. The farmer's market and said face-painting was not there. Luckily, I had my blackberry and googled it. Apparently, it was actually down at Ridgely Avenue - wherever that was. Already promised and staring down into Baeleigh's eager eyes, I endeavored to find this damn place. My low-blood sugar, short-tempered self then lugged the kids back up the parking garage ramp, packed the kids back into the car (wrestling Gavin's unwilling arms under the car seat straps) and turned on the GPS. Farmer's market found, I unpacked the kids, made Gavin a bottle, wrestled his arms again with the raptor claws now attached permanently to his bottle and strolled them down to the face-painting tent. Baeleigh got her garden princess face and we were now on our way - gee, that only took about an hour and a half and most of my afternoon for something that literally took all of 5 minutes to do. Hey, WF, you wanna be a little clearer on the location of your promoted events (that aren't even YOURS in the first place or even remotely NEAR the vicinity of your store) and not waste a parent's day! Next time I won't be opening my mouth about where we are going (which I typically don't to Baeleigh for this specific reason but had to bribe her away from the grandparents somehow!)

Lesson #2: Running into walls and tripping over your own feet is not just klutziness.
It was more of a precaution, well-check sort of exam than me thinking that something actually needed to be checked. I had really thought that Baeleigh's more frequent comments about needing to sit closer to the TV or up close during story time was just a ploy to either sit where she wanted or just be the center of attention. These requests were typically part of a fight with teachers to sit in a chair or in the spot in the circle that she wanted. Mommy was floored as she began reciting the eye exam lines though. It was obvious to even me that she could not read the 20/20 line and it was even worse on her left side. Astigmatism. As mommy began to come to the realization that her daughter would need glasses, she also felt a deep tinge of guilt for not having taken her sooner. The doctor alleviated my fears commending me that I had brought her in sooner than most parents who typically don't bring their kids in until seven or eight. I think Baeleigh picked out about 10 or 15 pairs of glasses - 13 of which were pink of course - before I finally got her to narrow down to one, a hot pink wire Barbie frame. Pretty spiffy! She'll need glasses to correct her vision and possibly vision therapy (which I had never heard of).

False Tales - Lesson #3: What you don't tell her to not hurt her, will.
In an effort to finally end the pirate look that Baeleigh has been sporting for probably six months now, I trolled the mall looking for another store that might have a spring-loaded ear piercing gun. We had tried Claire's before and that might as well have been a hot poker through her ear - torturous and slow. I recalled Piercing Pagoda. I thought I had her by bribing her with ice cream and a little white lie that it wouldn't hurt. That worked until she actually got in the chair and the poor lady pulled out the pen to mark said ear. Then, that deal went out the window. Begging while appease a most-opportunely ticked off, I've-had-it-with-this-stroller-mommy Gavin, I conned her into just letting the lady see if the earring would be even. (It's weak, I know, but I was desperate.) She was almost with me, after having squinched away from me and the lady for about a good 15 minutes, not buying any of our B.S. But somehow, this lady managed to convince her she was just cleaning it, and in that split second that she let her guard done. Cha-chink! I was done. Then, came the worst part, she screamed like I just cut her ear off in the middle of the mall, with everybody staring at me like I've just qualified for the Worst Mommy of the Year Award. At least it's done. Hopefully, that'll be one of those memories she'll supress. Not one of my brightest moments as Mommy I suppose. I'm such a bad liar anyway.

Red Light, GREEN Light

I used to play this game as a kid. Along with freeze tag and Red Rover. I never knew that somehow I'd be playing a version of it as an adult. Except now, it's not so much a game as a direct reflection of how well my day is going.

You see, Baeleigh's behavior system at daycare is based off a stoplight scheme. Green = good. Yellow = warning. Red = bad. Pretty simple. Five greens in a row and she gets to pick from the treasure box, except over the last several months she hasn't even seen that treasure box. In fact, she's more typically on red than green. In turn, Mommy, after a hard day at work, gets to come home to that big, fat Red. It looms over me as I drive home - is she or isn't she? As soon as I walk in the door, you can almost feel the thickness of the air, the silence - the "Uh-oh, she's home." The gig is up and any last few giggles that I hear before I come in the door cease. I might be approached by a sad face, a suck-up or simply tears. All of which quickly forewarn me of what's next in store.

And, the new predicament has been how to approach discplining her for this "red" day without making Mommy (or Daddy) the evil, mean parents. Difficult, to say the least. Especially, when it's the third in a row and you want relief from disciplining just as much as she does. We've tried timeouts, no TV, early bedtimes and nothing seems to break it. My new approach is to focus more on the positive of what she can do if she's on green and reasoning with her that she creates her own destiny. More of a "you can DO it!" sort of pep talk, but she still has to "do the time", so to speak" for her crime. Sometimes this works and sometimes it doesn't. Today - she's on green. And, I let out a big sigh of relief that I can go home and celebrate that green with her.

If anybody's got any other suggestion though, I'm all ears.

A Plague On Our House

I'll spare everyone the nasty details of Gavin's croup ER two weekends ago, but I am left to wonder if that original virus that seemed to trigger this croup will EVER leave our house? A few days later, and I've had some weird cold/sore throat/achy/fever thing going on, and it has continued on for practically TWO WEEKS. I feel like I'm going to cough up a lung. I've downed nearly a bottle of NyQuil in five days, dragging myself to work. Meanwhile, Gavin's getting better, and Tommy gets worse. He's complaining of the same thing. Luckily, Baeleigh seems oblivious - hmmm, might she be the harbinger again? She was originally the one coughing when we were in Florida, followed by Gavin then picking up this weird virus mess. Is it possible to spray her down with Lysol daily before school? No? Ok, bad plan.

Now, I have these persistent headaches. At first, I thought it was from my cough, or my visit from Aunt Flo, or work-related stress but now I don't know what to think. I'm downing pratically 1500 mg to 2000 mg in Tylenol (Excedrin, Midol, whatever) in a day and yet there it stays. A dull, agonizing good-luck-with-focusing-on-anything-let-alone-reading-something headache. Tommy thinks I should "have my cat scanned". Maybe I should. And, in the last two days this phlegmy, congested, sore throat thing is back. What the hell! Maybe it's swine flu...

Show Me Some Attitude

On Sunday, I got to be a Room Mom for Baeleigh's first dance recital. What is a Room Mom you ask? Well, it is the star role of helping to entertain, dress, primp, feed, take to the bathroom a gaggle of 5-7 year olds backstage during their dance recital.

Although I saw the whole show as a ticket-holder the previous night, Baeleigh was also performing on Sunday. Rather than pay another $16 to basically be there to pick up my kid. I volunteered as a Room Mom. As her number neared, I lined the girls up in the hallway. When it was our turn we filed in, and I figured I'd have to wait at the door until she was brought out again. But, No! I walked in right behind her and stood there waiting our turn behind the curtain, mixed in with several other dance groups all equally as excited to take the stage. The same curtain that I hid behind in my high school years for school performances and dance classes. Some of the girls were huddled together running through their numbers one last time. Instructors were tucked behind the front black drapes mimicking the dance numbers and exaggerately singing the words to the song for the little 2-3 year olds that were onstage performing to follow. The tech crew was swirling around all of us.

As we were waiting I said, "Show me some attitude out there!" And, Baeleigh looks up at me totally perplexed, "But Mommy, why do you want me to show you attitude? You want me to be MEAN!" OK, bad choice of words. I laughed, and said, "No, honey. Just smile and boogie your hiney off out there!" Then, one of the instructers said, "Alright, girls, show me some ENERGY!". Yeah, "energy", that's the word I was looking for! And, with that, her number was next and I touched her back to prod her to her spot behind the curtain and said "Have fun, honey! Smile! I love you!" She skipped herself out to her spot and did her thing. She did better even than the evening before. I was so proud! The lights went down and she came running back to me, I hugged her and scurried back to our backstage room. "You did great! Did you have fun?!" "YEAH!"

We went up to the balcony for the rest of the show, and she just sat on the edge of her seat watching almost the entire thing. I mean, come on, she's a five year old. Of course, there was some rough-housing and mischief!

So, do I play Room Mom again next year - 4.5 hours of action-packed responsiblity for about 3 minutes of wonderful...wow, that's a tough one! But, maybe...