"How's the campaign going?"
It's the question I get most often. It's also the question I'm never quite sure how to answer.
Good? ... Great! ... Your guess is as good as mine. ... We'll see May 17th!
The truth - I suppose - all depends on what you're measuring.
This weekend we hosted a Winter ONE-derland party in honor of Felix's first birthday. Considering this child was born during a snow, it seemed like an appropriate theme. Well, the weather had other plans and it was 70 and sunny! I could have hosted the dang party outside!
For my 30th birthday, I created a list of 30 things I wanted to do. One was to write a historical fiction short story. This is the story and as Ruby keeps calling to me here lately. I thought I'd share it here.
One of Nicholas's New Year's resolutions was to try freezer meals. He'd prepped meals for the week on and off through 2015 and wanted to see how it would work to prepare an entire month's worth. Then, we could just pull a meal from the deep freeze, throw it in the crockpot, and on a busy day dinner would be waiting for us.
Last week, Boomer Esiason, former quarterback and current sports commentator, made some very incendiary comments about Major League Baseball player Patrick Murphy, who had recently taken three days paternity leave for the birth of his son. Because babies don’t care what sport you play, Murphy’s son was born on opening day and as a result Murphy missed two games.
Esiason argued that Murphy should have forced his wife to schedule a c-section before the season started. Esiason’s comments immediately went viral and he apologized for his criticism of Murphy several days later. I’m not here to attack Boomer Esiason for a few comments he made on a talk radio show (not usually the mecca for rationality). By all accounts, Esiason is a dedicated family man himself. In fact, he was named Father of the Year in 2009 after starting a foundation to fund cystic fibrosis research after his own son Gunnar was diagnosed with the disease.
The truth is that while Esiason’s comments were extreme they represent an idea that has been part of the American philosophy for decades, especially among American men.
Work comes first. Family comes second.
In fairness, my friends had warned me. Elizabeth said she started getting dirty looks with three. Kim also told me the comments started with her third.
Everyone is supposed to have one child. People were never kinder to me then when I had Griffin. Everyone is supportive. There’s no real investment in the sex of the child since you’re starting with a clean slate. Everyone just wants the best for you and is happy you’re pregnant.
“Congratulations!” “As long as it’s healthy that’s all that matters!”
We registered Griffin for kindergarten on Friday. Well, we didn’t Nicholas did. I was out of town on a business trip which is probably best since I’ve made my opposition to this latest childhood milestone abundantly clear. (Spoiler: My baby is growing up and I DON’T like it.)
With kindergarten registration begins the inevitable discussion among my friends and online of redshirting. Named after the sports practice of delaying an athlete’s participation to extend eligibility, it has taken over the academic world as parents delay elementary school entrance to allow for additional physical, social, mental, and emotional development.
Not surprisingly, parents, teachers, administrators, and child psychologist hold passionate opinions on both sides of the debate. Both Amos and Griffin are “summer birthday boys” – the youngest group in the class and also the most likely group to be redshirted by concerned parents.
Today I'm on Salt & Nectar sharing some scary math.
Next week we register Griffin for kindergarten. I've already made my thoughts on this transition clear. For anyone who needs reminding, I'm not ready and the thought of sending my baby to elementary school makes me want to cry all the tears.
Then, I got a lovely little reminder that I've still got PLENTY of years of babydom in front of me.
Today I registered Amos for three-year-old preschool. As is often the case, the preschool director, Amos's new teacher, another mother, and I got into a discussion of kindgertarten age deadlines. Since both of my boys were born in early summer, I've never had to worry much about this decision. However, baby #3 is coming in September so suddenly the math is more important to me.
Another day, another study telling us something we previously considered “safe” is anything but.
This time a study out of Denmark found a strong correlation between acetaminophen use among pregnancy women and higher rates of attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) in their children. We all know correlation isn't causation, but still here's a drug that is considered one of the safest on the markets (although I would have disagreed with that assessment before this study) suddenly seeming more complicated then we first thought.
I have a deep distrust of medication or medical treatment considered “safe” during pregnancy. It is unethical to test things on pregnant women, no one is going to sign up to use themselves and their babies as guinea pigs. Therefore, true safety can never really be established. However, it goes beyond that for me. If I'm being honest, I have a deep distrust of medical care generally.
Once when reading an interview with the eternally fantastic Bonnie Raitt, I stumbled upon this quote.
On her two-year hiatus:
Who would have thought that rest was a sacred act? A therapist I love said, “Only go as fast as the slowest part of you can go.”
It’s a lesson I have to learn over and over again. A lesson I learned again this week when struck with the stomach virus from hell.
Let’s just get this out of the way. I don’t want him to go.
There, I said it.
He’s my firstborn. He’s my baby. He still runs up to me for hugs and loves to cuddle and I don’t want him to go to kindergarten. And yet here I am, setting up appointments for kindergarten screenings, getting to know the teachers, figuring out who will be in his class.
And all against my will.
I remember vividly the first week Griffin was born. For one reason or another, I had attached special importance to the first week. I could feel every second tick by. I wanted to dig in and slow everything down. I knew. I just KNEW once that first precious week was over that it was going to be three blinks and I’d be putting him on the bus to kindergarten. A rush of diapers and blocks and preschool parties and my long days with him would be over.
AND I WAS RIGHT.
I know kindergarten is even worse. Once they spend a majority of their day elsewhere, the time you do have with them passes even quicker. If his babyhood passed in three blinks, his primary school days will pass in one. Then, I’ll be balling my eyes out as he walks the stage at graduation and moves far away to follow his dreams and never calls his mama.
This is the worst.
What I hate more than the thought of how quickly the time will pass is how quickly he will change. My friends report the same phenomenon over and over again. They go to kindergarten and they change. They are no longer your sweet little kid. They grow a little bit harder and edgier. They pick up bad habits from their friends. They might as well be describing a person’s first time in prison.
I don’t want him to change! I want him to grow and learn and develop but does that have to be in exchange for attitude and sass and disrespect. If I’m being really honest, I want to protect him. I know there will be kids different from him in school. Kids that have seen and experienced things I’ve spent the last four years protecting Griffin from and that scares me.
Not because I don’t think he should ever learn to confront these types of challenges or deal with people different than him, but because I don’t really want him to learn these lessons at FIVE.
My logical mind tells me he’ll be fine. My friend’s kids are fine. They are better than fine. They are really great kids. But still, I just can’t get behind the positivity.
So, if I grimace at your encouragement or frown at your kindergarten stories, give me a pass.
This mama is wallowing. This mama is singing the kindergarten blues and she’s singing them hard.
How did you (or are you) handling the transition to kindergarten?
