School

Three days a week, Berit and Marta go to school.

They start at 9:30 or 10 a.m., and I pick Marta up at 1. Berit stays for preschool, which lets out at 3. I feel like that's a really long day for both of them.

I originally had intended to only send Marta, who was desperate to be like her big sis and go to school, for two hours two days a week. But every time I arrived to pick her up, she begged to stay. So now we're at three or four hours, three days a week. It's nice for me, because I've jump-started my writing career and now can handle a few magazine deadlines a month, plus some fun writing just because. 

But I still worry. I worry that they're having a hard time, that they're missing me, missing our routines. I know, when I let myself go there, that with their many hours at school the routines are actually coming from there. That I'm the one changing things around. 

When they're home they play so well together (most of the time). They make up elaborate games and stories and shows. They go on for hours. I feel like they each have a little cloud of numbers and letters and magic happening over their heads when they do this - like inspiration is just following them everywhere, like their minds are switched onto Creative Play. I know this is a byproduct of school, with their ages and abilities as part of the recipe. 

Yesterday I had food poisoning and was in bed all day. Trevor stepped in and somehow made lunches, got them to school and home, made dinner (Dora Soup, YAY!) and got them to bed, all while fielding his own calls and meetings. When I hobbled downstairs at night, so I could watch TV while listening to the monitors because he had gone out to finish working, I realized that while he might qualify for Sainthood based on his care-taking role, he would not be elected Housekeeper Of The Year. The entire house was a MESS. Food everywhere, dirty clothes, dust bunnies (which I attack daily), school stuff, toys, everything, everything. 

Of course I didn't mind. Thank God he can stay home when needed. Thank God he's such a good dad and husband. I don't mind cleaning up after him, or them.

But I knew what today would hold: Dishes, laundry, mopping, bathrooms, sterilization. So I said, "Kids, would you rather stay home with Mommy today or go to school?" And when they cried "SCHOOL!" I was both a little hurt and a little happy. I'm glad they have a place that they love and where they thrive. But can it possibly be as fun as me?

While dropping them off today I hung out a bit, talking to their teacher. She and I chatted and the kids evolved to two sides of the room - Berit and three others to a shelf of toys, where they built stuff and made up games. Marta and four kids went to a more open area and set up chairs. The teacher, Ms. Jamie, said, "Now watch this. This is something they came up with entirely on their own, and they do it every day." The kids took turns standing in front of the others, sitting in their chairs, which were lined up next to one another. The kid in front did something - pretended to give each one a check-up with the doctor kit, danced, read a book, etc. And the others participated, listened, watched. Ms. Jamie said that sometimes they called it Book Club, sometimes it was Show. 

I thought about what we would have done today at home together - of course we would have played, but there would never have been this group of kids, using their minds and with great big smiles for one another, encouraging this creativity. What a charm, what a delight to be a part of. I felt really, really lucky for them, and for us as a family. And I did not feel so sorry to leave them there today, as I left with kisses and big smiles and waves, and requests to stay a little longer this one day.

On The Eve Of Her First Day Of School

Does this look like a school-aged kid to you? Me, neither. 

Berit started her third year of preschool last week (she has one of those birthdays that had her starting preschool in the winter, and she won't be eligible for kindergarten until next year - which is the right thing for her, anyway), and Marta of course comes along for each drop-off and pick-up. 

And like any little sibling, she wants to do what her big sister does, and in this case it's go to school. St. Francis Xavier School, where Berit attends preschool, has a child development center. You can drop your child off any time of the day, and he or she will stay for as many hours as you like. It's a whole lot of preschool, with lunch and naptime thrown in. We visited the CDC on our first day to SFX and we really thought it was cool - and so did Marta. 

Each time we drop B at her class, Marta begs, pleads to go to school. Yesterday I sat down in front of her and said, "Marta, do you really want Mama to take you to school and say 'Bye-bye Marta!' and then come back to pick you up later?" She looked me square in the eye and said, "YES. That is what I want."

I recently took on another writing job, and had considered hiring our sitter twice a week instead of once. But now that Marta's become so keen on school, we've decided to let her attend twice a week for three hours at a time, while Berit's in class. Marta is THRILLED. She has a new backpack that she doesn't take off, and she has a lunch box that she opens, closes, opens, closes, hoping to find lunch in there. 

I've had her with a sitter for over a year now, once a week, and she does wonderfully. She loves the change of pace, the fresh ideas. She's happy when I come home, but she's happy when I leave, too. I've left her for a night with my in-laws - once even for two nights - so it's not as if I've never been apart from "my baby."

And yet. She is my baby, still. When Berit's at school she and I meander around town, looking at stuff and cuddling and telling each other neat things. I have a hard time thinking about her being gone for six hours plus five with the sitter each week. And I'm not the overly sentimental type, when it comes to school. It's just... she's so little. 

But she's getting bigger, she'd be quick to point out. In fact, when we first visited the CDC and she loved it so, I told her that she'd be able to attend once she could go pee-pee on the potty (apologies for the baby and potty talk to anyone who's not a parent and who is still hanging with me through this mess of emotions). 

We've not been pushing the potty thing at all because I wasn't too fond of knowing exactly where the nearest bathroom was everywhere we went, because Berit just decided one day to be potty-trained and that was that, because it's just so much easier to deal with diapers than emergencies or accidents. 

But when I said that, when I told her she had to be potty-trained to attend school, do you know what she did? She said, "OK." And that was it. Guess who's going pee-pee on the potty regularly now? Even in public? Our little 2-year-and-9-month-year-old. 

And so, tomorrow is her first day of school. I truly think she's going to love it, and I think they'll love her, too. 

And if you're trying to find me during those three hours, have a peek into the stairwell just outside the CDC's door. 

Graduation, Round One

Everyone, or more specifically, all the mommyblogs I read that chronicle school-age children, is posting about their child's school graduation, from preschool on up. They post first day/last day photos, cap-and-gown montages, lists of things their kids have learned in the past year.

It only just occurred to me, after reading yet another blog about preschool graduation, that I might be leaving my own family out a little on this theme. Like, when all of our kids sit down in their social media classes in the flying-car-future, and the teacher says, "OK, pull up the blog your mom wrote when you graduated from preschool," Berit will sink down in her chair and pretend to have laryngitis. Or carpal tunnel. Or whatever she needs to get out of communicating the way they will in the future.

Thing is, while she technically wore a cap and walked over a little bridge, Berit didn't graduate. She's been in preschool for two school years now, but because her birthday is in February she won't go to kindergarten. We simply put her in preschool the very second she was eligible, which was at age 3 years and one second. She always wanted to go to school. She was born for organized play, and she never, ever had a second thought about not going. She walked into the classroom on her first day, all of just barely 3, and didn't bother to check if her parents were staying or not.

Likewise, when it came time to leave this preschool for the last time -- because she's going to a new preschool this fall -- there was no hesitation. Just, Peace, I'm going to the place where there's a My Little Pony castle.

When she walked the bridge on graduation night, she was first. Very delicately she stepped to the top of the arc and waited, hat sitting neatly on her head, while her teacher told us that Berit's favorite part of preschool was dressing up and that she learned how to walk in a line. I think. It's hard to remember. Marta was screaming the whole time, trying to free herself from my grasp, because "IT'S MY TURN TO GO ON THE BRIDGE!" I'd post pictures but since we've moved in with the in-laws we have no clue where any connective cords are. So, someday. Probably.

Berit has changed in the past year. I'm sure a large percent is due to preschool, the social learning, the reading and projects and playtime. I know preschool is responsible for her learning to write her name, recognize most letters and numbers, and for helping her deal in her own way, in her own time, with the messes made by projects (and learn to accept them, and find fun in them). This last part is the most valuable to me, as I didn't know how I'd work with that a year ago.

She's made sincere friendships, gone on field trips that I'd never have considered, played in the dirt, rolled down hills and took 389 turns on the swings. At least.

Preschool made her brain ready for the day about one month ago, when she suddenly, in a single moment, understood the alphabet and its uses, and started reading. Not whole chapter books or anything, but she figured out how words work and how to sound them out. She's recognizing words at first sight now, and spelling things constantly, and everywhere we go she asks how to spell whatever we're doing, looking at, listening to.

A secondary benefit to this is that Marta is also fascinated by words now, and asks to spell everything and wants to learn to read.

And speaking of Marta, since starting preschool two years ago, Berit has recognized that she has a little sister and has fallen completely in love with Marta, taking care of her like Berit is 12 and Marta is a newborn. It's heartwrenching and lovely and sweet.

Berit's teacher, the wonderful Mrs. Beck, who I wish could be Berit's teacher every year from now on, has told me time and again that "Berit notices the beauty in things that no one else does." Since starting preschool, Berit has commented on the loveliness of words, phrases, leaves, shadows, configurations... It's her thing, I guess. It's something I never taught her. What a gift, to always see beauty.

Since starting preschool, Berit's developed more energy, more spunk, more giddiness. She's gotten super skinny, then pudgy again, then somewhere in the middle.

I think that, at the end of this next year of preschool, I'll be better at pinpointing exactly what she's learned at school alone. But the past two years have been plain old growth for Berit, and while she's not suddenly doing fractions, she is turning into a kindergartner, day by day. Without preschool, I don't think she'd be jumping this high, taking her calculated risks with dirt and energy, loving others so openly or enjoying learning opportunities so readily.

So this is the summer, I think, before things really change from "I have two little girls" to "I have two girls." Before Berit is in school, even if it is another year of preschool, for real and for the next two decades. Before she finds friends who will come to play by themselves and not with a parent, before she can sleep without bed rails, before she loses teeth.

I'm not sad about this, like so many of these blogs I've read. Maybe I'm missing that particular part of my heart or brain. With Berit, I'm always just pleased that she can do the next thing. I think it has something to do with her personality - I recently told a friend, who wished me a happy birthday and wondered if I hated going up another year, that I've always felt like I was in my thirties, even when I was a kid. I think Berit's the same way. Not that she doesn't enjoy kid things. But she's not sorry to leave them behind, because she's got work to do on this next challenge. She's got to take her time, study it, figure it out, test it slowly, do it well a time or two, then move on.

It's my own challenge, then, to remember to mark those milestones, and not get caught up in moving on as smoothly as she does. Before I know it, she's going to be in high school, wondering what the heck I was doing blogging about books and Marta's going on the potty, when she was searching for beauty and climbing obstacles, so silently and slowly as to barely make a ripple in the water.

Briefs

Wildlife
We have a bird. Berit's named him Bladdy. He lives in a tiny little nest at the top of the column out the front door. He's starting to get used to us, but he doesn't stick around when we go in and out of the door. Hoping to hear the sound of baby birds! Hm. Better revise my pronouns...

Attitude
Berit, always dramatic, has had this attitude reminiscent of me at age 13. She comes down the stairs in the morning with a look of boredom and slight disdain, accepts the parental hugs and spends the rest of the day telling people what to do, talking back, and getting in trouble for both. Of course she is wonderful, but I do feel like every time she walks into the room lately, things get tense for all. Terrible 4s? Early adolescence?

Preschool
We finally made a decision about Berit's preschool for next year. We hate to leave PCN, but with the new baby coming and Marta already desperate to go to school herself, we just can't swing the volunteering twice a month per child. We're really excited about St. Francis preschool, which holds afternoon class (no more rushing in the mornings), is within walking distance from the new house and is at our church, so it's super familiar. Berit wants to start today. Because they have My Little Ponies.

Marta
What's she doing lately, at nearly 2 1/2? Climbing stairs (up and down), not napping, coming up with I Spy subjects all on her own (so the rest of us have to figure out what she spied), counting backward from 15, counting forward to 20 and sometimes 30, picking out her own clothes, going down the biggest slides, being: fearless, reckless, purposely funny. Every morning she asks, "Can I go to school today?" and when we pick Berit up she asks, "How was school today, Berit?"

Swimming
Last night was our last swim lesson. It's been going really well -- Berit is losing a lot of fear in the water and is taking chances. She's jumping off the bottom step and is trying to move between grown-ups without help (not quite swimming, but sort of leaping and splashing). Marta swims on a noodle completely on her own and jumps off the top step, provided we don't let her go under too much when we catch her. She stands on the bottom step and puts her head under water up to her eyes for a quick second. She's desperate to just take off in the water. Last night I was standing with another mom, her daughter, Marta and the instructor in the middle of the pool. Marta was on a noodle, and the other little girl asked for the one that was floating next to me. I turned to get it, and when I turned back Marta was sinking to the bottom. I know this happens to kids all the time, and Marta was fine after a second of sputtering when I pulled her out. But this has shaken me to the core. I can't get the image of her, helpless, flailing under the water, out of my head. I also know that this is probably only the first time Marta will scare me crazy with her daredevil stunts, but still. I think I'm a good mom, and if I wasn't paying enough attention, what should I expect from other caregivers, like her sitter and our family? OK, this is definitely extreme, but I can't help freaking out a little about this. If you're someone who cares for Marta, I apologize now for the list of warnings I'm going to give before I leave. Also, for the phone calls making sure all is well.

By the way, Marta was back on the noodle -- standing on it, this time, trying to balance in the water -- within minutes. Oh these children; they have no idea what they do to our hearts.

Berit, Unexplained

We're not sure what's going on with Berit these days. While she tends to be dramatic in every possible way, at every possible time, she never has whole weeks that are just "off." On Monday she told her teacher she had a tummy ache, and when I was called to pick her up from school I learned that she needed to potty but really just wanted to come home. On Tuesday night I told her to go to sleep, because she had school in the morning, and she yelled at me that she didn't want to go to school, and "Didn't want Marta to go to school, either!" ?

At school today she told her teacher that she didn't want to go to school anymore, and when it was circle time she went over to a rocking chair in the corner of class and said she was "frustrated."

This is a girl who loves school, who wanted to go to school so badly that we sent her as soon as she turned three, in the middle of the second semester. She's never not wanted to be at school.

In addition: For the past two nights, she has wet the bed. She has never, ever wet the bed, besides the occasional random bed wetting at my parents' house (which we chalked up to her not doing her regular routine, not having the same access to the potty that she knows here, being overtired, etc.). Not even when she was potty training did she wet the bed, really.

Now, here are a few practical things to point out: On Sunday, the day before this all began, we returned from my parents' house where she always has the time of her life. Before we left my parents' house on Sunday she begged me to "move to Greenville," said that she "never wanted to leave." When I explained that she has friends and family and school here in Petoskey, that we couldn't just move when we wanted to, she got very angry with me and told me she didn't care about those things in Petoskey, because she just wanted to be in Greenville with my parents and siblings.

In fact, we typically call the Monday after a Greenville weekend "Black Monday," because the girls are back to reality and it's hard for them to adjust. So we chalked Monday up to that.

Today at school she told her teacher about a book she loves, Angelina Ballerina, in which the character Angelina never wants to go to school, only wants to dance. Coincidentally, this week we talked about how Berit's dance class would be starting soon, and she keeps saying things like, "I NEVER want to eat dinner; I only want to dance." So there's that, too.

But what about the bed-wetting? What about the sadness all week, and the unkind attitude toward her sister, and the pushing and all of the punishments she's been getting (movie privileges taken away, toys taken away, etc.), which is completely unlike her? Could it really be in anticipation of dance class? Or should I be looking deeper into this? Thoughts from all of you fantastic parents would be most appreciated.

This Smile Isn't A Cheesy Pose. This Is How Happy She Actually Is For School Every Day.

Back To School

We have been lucky that Berit never had any preschool jitters. In fact, we sent her to preschool as soon as she turned 3 years old in February, right in the middle of the year, because she was ready in a big way for structure and activity beyond what we were doing at home. She thrived.

This year she's in the 4 and 5-year-old class, since last year she was in the 3-year-old group and she's moving on with the same crew. I wasn't sure if she'd care about going back to school, really, because she was there for camp once a week during the summer and was neither thrilled nor bothered by going. However, when she heard it was back-to-school day for her this morning, she could not get out the front door fast enough. We nearly had to physically restrain her to snap a picture before she tumbled down the steps and raced to the car.

When I picked her up today, I noticed that she was different from last year. She was robust and talkative, and not quiet and thoughtful. She ran off with her friends and chatted merrily. She came up with clever ideas and never wondered whether she'd be going back again, but is just assuming that it's part of her life. She was STARVING and tired.

Marta had a first today, as well. She went to "gymnastics" for the first time in her memory, and she had a fun time but I could tell she missed her playmate big sister. A local gymnastics center offers a play hour twice a week, and Monday's session coincides nicely with Berit's school, so that's where Marta and I will be. While Berit was obsessed with jumping on the big trampoline when she went there from ages 18 months - 3 years old, Marta wanted to RUN and CLIMB. She ran down the long trampoline as fast as she could, and her little knees came right up to her chest as she bounced and wiggled down the runway. At the end her body couldn't hold her bouncy gait upright any longer and she'd crash down in what looked like a painful tumble of limbs and head, but she'd only pause for a second before popping up and doing it all over again. She also loved sliding down the mats and plastic slides, where Berit was afraid to slide on anything until she was 3 years old.

A good day for all, and a positive outlook for the rest of the week. Loads of writing, our two-week cloth diaper trial, and sunny weather to kick off fall. And let's not forget Mosey's fifth birthday this Sunday, for which we are making his favorites (chicken, scrambled eggs, cookies and bacon) and a bone-shaped chocolate cake.

You May Think It's Funny But It's Snot

I do love preschool. But if I had to, had to, lodge one teensy, tiny complaint about it, it would be that ever since Berit started school both she and Marta have a perpetually goopy nose. You might notice it on the left there, nevermind the dinner around the mouth. (The goofy look is the result of playing for a very long time in front of the computer camera before actually snapping any photos.)

Anyway, it's not even as though my kids have a runny nose -- it's this completely alien substance, green but not in an infected way, just... just green and sticky, like a plug that their immune systems have ordered up to combat all the new germs Berit is meeting in preschool. It's gross, and worse, it's impossible to get rid of. After blowing the nose, wiping the nose, peeling it out and trying my damndest to scrape it away, all while holding the head of the child with the goopy nose still with my fifth and sixth hands, I turn to throw away the kleenex and like magic, it's back. 

For the most part it just sits there, plugging them up and grossing me out. But every now and then, say, when we meet a new family or when we run into my OB's wife or our priest, or God forbid that mom who's really, really, really nervous about other kids' germs, the slime starts to ooze down the bridge between their noses and lips (sidenote: Berit calls this her "Bem."), all neon green and scary like, threatening to infect any and all children within a sneezing radius with the swine flu. 

Have I mentioned that Berit throws tantrums about blowing her nose? So, awesome.

Preschool

Today was Berit's first day of preschool. Should I be emotional?

I remember when she turned one, and my sister-in-law asked me how I was doing, and said how she had been a little teary-eyed when her oldest had crossed that milestone into toddlerhood. I was surprised; I didn't feel that way at all, and wondered if I should have.

It's not saddening to me that my babies are growing up. I don't mind marking milestones and passing them by. As I write this, I'm realizing that I should play the part of the loving mother in the movies, a sad but happy smile on her face when her baby walks for the first time. Instead, when my kids took their first steps away from me, I snapped a pic, wrote a blog and turned the other way to do the dishes. Is this horrible?

I'm proud of them. I'm impressed with each new ability. I love seeing them discover and explore. I brag, brag, braggity brag-brag all day to my sister (who was a little sad that Berit had her first day of school today; couldn't believe she was such a big girl; called repeatedly and took real notes about each part of her day). And now I wonder what it is that would make me happily sad. 

I also wonder if it's my own parents' attitude, reflected in my personality. They looked forward to the day I would graduate, go to college, get married, move hours away. There was never any sadness -- only progress (away from their house? Bank accounts? :)). I'm not looking forward to the day that my children leave my nest, though. I just don't mind so much that Berit's in preschool.

All of that said, preschool was. fan. tastic. Berit bounded out the door this morning with a kiss tossed to me, nary a worry in her head. Trevor was going to stay for her first day -- our preschool is a co-op and parents work in the classroom every day, and are welcome to stay nearby even if it's not their day to work -- but she fell into sync so easily that he set up the computer in the lounge area of the church the school's in and worked. She needed help for the potty and she came to find him, and he poked his head in a few times to snap pics (coming soon), but otherwise he didn't see much of her for 2 1/2 hours. Marta and I arrived to pick her up and she bounded out of the classroom, gave Marta a huge hug (!?!) and announced, "Mommy, I want to stay here all day!"

(This is what Berit did in preschool today: Free play, calendar, circle time [where Berit wrote the number 1 on the board], two projects [bunny ears and a paper plate bunny], snack, more free play, jumping in the "jumper" and something to do with learning. In 2 1/2 hours! At our house we'd fill that time with free play, free play, snack, free play. Looks like I'm going to have to step up my game.)

I also had a great morning, with a napping baby and a toddler in school. I did the elliptical machine while listening to my book for a nice long workout, then did something I believe I've only done one other time in the past three years: Took a full shower in the daytime, without Trevor being home. Washed my hair, did my makeup, put on a true-blue outfit and not stretchy pants. Marta woke, and we left to pick up Berit, arriving a whole hour early because I wanted to drop Berit's medical form off to the pediatrician on the way -- but it only took me a minute to do this, and not the half-hour I had planned because I was not running on "Do it myself" toddler time. 

It seems preschool is going to suit our family just fine. 

Preschool Ready (Or Not?)

Last week Trevor and I chose a preschool for Berit to attend this fall. While we were there observing the class, we more than once said something like, "Berit is ready for this now. We wish we didn't have to wait until the fall to start."

And last night at book club, a couple of our friends whose children attend the preschool mentioned that they thought we could start in the middle of the year. Like, Tuesday. 

So last night after everyone in the house was asleep, I laid awake in bed weighing the pros and cons of Berit starting preschool next week, if allowed. 

Pros:

She loves activities, and has lately started really engaging in projects and programs with other kids.

I don't think she'd even notice if I weren't at dance class watching her, so I feel like she might be just fine with us leaving her at preschool.

Two. Hours. Twice. A. Week. With. No. Toddler. At. Home.

Cons:

There are only eight weeks of school left. Is it worth the expense?

What if she isn't OK with us leaving her? Would it be easier when she's six months older in the fall?

This morning she woke up at 8:30 a.m. How will I feel about waking her up to make it to class on time? (She isn't so much a morning kid.)

What if a crazy maniac tries to blow up the preschool with my child (any child) in it and I'm not by her side like I am at home all day???? (OK, this seemed more relevant at 1 a.m. than it does in the daylight.)