I don’t know – do you think she’s excited about going to preschool?
Well, to be honest, I think she was just as excited (if not more) about her horse lunch box as she was about starting her first day of “Big Girl Preschool” as we’ve been calling it (yes, we put shoes on her before walking out the door). In the leadup to her first day today, we’ve been telling her all about preschool and – among other things – how she can take her horse lunch box there. So she was thrilled today when I packed it with food and handed it over.
“Go preschool! Take horse lunch box!” was her mantra as we walked down the sidewalk toward our car. She likes to put the strap of the lunch box on her shoulder, but the strap is a little long and she has to hold her arm up to keep it from dragging the ground – something like this:
So I asked her if she wanted me to help her carry it. “Mille hold lunch box!” she reminded me as she kept marching. Ok – yes ma’am!
She seemed fine when we dropped her off at school, and happy to see her friend Elsie there too. A noon-time phone call reassured us that she was doing well. When we picked her up, the kids were on the playground and she was happily playing. She squealed when she saw us and came running, giving me one of the biggest hugs of my life. I think she had fun (she says so anyway), but first days are always a little overwhelming, and she was glad to see us.
The teachers say she was perfect and did very well throughout the day. I’m hoping the enthusiasm continues, because so far, so good!
I consider us pretty lucky that we’d come this far without having to put Camille in time out. We’ve thought about it. There have been a few times it might have been warranted, but usually, persuasion has done the trick. She’s aware that time out exists because they use the technique at school (although I don’t think they’ve used it on her). She’s mentioned it before and gotten the context right, like when she tells us, “No running, you go time out!”
But we weren’t even sure how we wanted to structure time out. Put her in a “naughty chair?” In a corner? In her crib? For 10 seconds? 2 minutes? With us? Alone?
Tonight, as we ate dinner, Camille shoveled a whole bunch of food in her mouth and refused to chew or swallow it. She just sat there, with chipmunk cheeks, and danced. We asked her a thousand different ways to please please please chew and swallow her food, because we felt pretty certain if she didn’t do it soon, she’d spit it out.
But she kept doing a little dance with her fork in the air – and here’s where it gets tough. The dance is really cute. Really, really cute and she’s really funny. How can we not laugh at her? Lee and I were careful not to look at each other because we were both barely holding it together.
Nothing else was working, so Lee told her if she didn’t chew her food she’d have to go to time out. Still no response, so finally – in the sternest voice I could muster at the moment – I said, “Camille, do you want to go to time out?”
To which she replied with a resounding, “YES!”
And we just died laughing. I mean, the kind of laughter where your whole body shakes and you cry and gasp for air. The laughter had been building while she danced, and just erupted when our threat fell so flatly.
So now what to do? Time out was apparently not a threat to her, and we’d reinforced that by making it look like a big joke. I finally asked her to spit out her food into a napkin after fearing she’d put so much in her mouth that maybe she couldn’t physically swallow it now. As we sat there trying to decide what to do, Camille kept saying, “Mille go time out? Mille go time out now?”
So finally, we put her in time out for 10 seconds on the stairs. It was kind of sad actually, because even when Lee finished counting and told her she could get up, she just sat there looking forlorn. “Mille time out,” she said.
I still don’t know the right answer for how we want to discipline her and how we want to structure these time outs, but I know we got it wrong this time. But seriously, she is so cute, it’s hard to be mad!
What’s up, Atlantic Basin?
Why you wanna do that?
Why you wanna get all crazy on us? First Fay, then Gustav? Now Hanna, Ike and Josephine, all at once?
You’re on my list.
Sincerely,
Ginger
Not encouraged by the latest Hanna forecast track from the National Hurricane Center.
I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic when I picked Camille up from school today – her last day in her old Baby School. We finally found a new school for her with a 3-day program, and she’ll start big-girl preschool next week.
I believe we’re making the right decision, but that didn’t stop me from feeling sad today. The people of her daycare helped mold her into the precious girl she is, and I will forever be grateful.
I thought today about her first day of daycare more than a year and a half ago. Here we were that first day, on our way to baby school. I was smiling, but the guilt and anxiety I felt were nearly overwhelming.
The first week was ok, but then as we sent her there for longer periods of the day, things went downhill. Quickly. She had a hard time napping with all the noise around her, and sometimes only slept 15 minutes the whole day. I knew she was struggling, and I was heartbroken about it.
But it all changed when she moved out of the “baby” class and into a young toddler class at about 10 months. Because the kids all took naps at the same time and the room was dark and quiet, she miraculously started sleeping 2+ hours each day. The kids had more freedom to roam around the room. They spent time on the playground. They did craft projects. She seemed to thrive, and I stopped hating daycare so much.
Since then, she has seemed quite at home there. Now I just hope – desperately hope – that she can be just as happy and at home in her new preschool. The new teachers and administrators seem very nice. The school has turtles and guinea pigs, which I’m sure she’ll love. And one of her favorite girlfriends will also be attending, so maybe she won’t feel lonely.
But whatever the outcome of this move, I’m comforted to think she has good memories from her Baby School. Her teacher had all her old classmates put their hand prints on a card for Camille today, and it’s something I will always treasure.
Now it’s time to move on. Big girl preschool – here we come!
Every morning this week, Camille’s first words have been, “Auntie-Jones?”
After her nap, “Auntie-Jones?”
When we walk by the guest bedroom, “Auntie-Jones?”
And if I counted the number of times we’ve had the following conversation, it would be close to infinity:
Camille: “Auntie-Jones?”
Me: “Oh, I’m sorry baby, Auntie and Jones had to go bye-bye.”
Camille: “Boo? Boo?”
Me: “She had to go bye-bye too.”
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one to enjoy hanging out with Auntie and Jones and Boo. Although Camille rarely refers to Erin and Jones as separate entities – they are always “Auntie-Jones.” Which, I guess if you think about it, is the reality for most newborns and their mommies. They’re pretty attached.
Erin and Jones came to visit last week while Dave was working out-of-town, and it was so good to have an extended visit with them. I really had a chance to get to know Jones, eat his toes, make funny faces, and fall in love with him. He is seriously adorable, and such a good baby too. And I loved watching Erin be a mother. Boo joined us for a few days too, and we had a really good time playing together.
And I was proud of Camille. When Jones was first born, she was pretty jealous of him. But this time, she had her jealous moments, but for the most part she was fascinated by him. She’d wail if they left the room, inconsolably crying “Auntie-Jones! Auntie-Jones!” until she was with them again. She smothered him in kisses. She even introduced him to the joy that is a tea party. By the time the week was over, Jones was even holding his own teacup.
Camille also liked having all the baby things out in the house.
We pulled a swing and a bouncy seat out of the attic for him, but when he wasn’t using them, one of Camille’s dolls surely was.
They enjoyed the car seat too. She usually insisted on strapping them in as well – always the careful one, my girl.
While Jones was here, he really began holding up his head well. It’s amazing how rapidly they grow and change at that age. He also had his first Diet Coke, from Arby’s no less (Ok – he didn’t really have any).
Erin and I caught a chick flick at the theater one night. She had a dinner date with her brother one night. And we got crafty too, which was sew much fun (ha ha). More on that later.
Camille isn’t the only one going through withdrawals. Auntie-Jones? We miss you very much.
In just a few short weeks, I’ve learned a little about training diapers – and what I learned surprised me.
When we ask Camille to smile for a picture these days, this is what we get. Sure makes me smile!
It started out as a simple task – find a lunch box for Camille, who is moving to a new school and will need one. But then it turned into so much more, because I have a tendency to over-think the little things and turn them into very big things.
First of all – can I just say that picking out a first lunch box is a very big girl thing to do? How have we suddenly arrived at this milestone?
Lee, Camille and I browsed the lunch box aisle at Target, but didn’t see anything cool enough for a first lunch box, so we turned to Amazon.com. The plan was to narrow the list of lunch boxes to two or three, and then let Camille choose the winner.
We had no trouble finding cute lunch boxes, but suddenly I was struck with the realization that I was totally gender stereotyping my child. I’ve always thought I did a good job not forcing “girly” things on her. Her room isn’t overly girly and her wardrobe has just as many pants as dresses. Yet, her favorite color is pink, she loves princesses, baby dolls, and cooking, so she definitely has girly tastes.
Looking at the choices we’d made on Amazon, I realized I was only offering her fairly “girly” lunch boxes. If she wants to be girly, that’s fine, but if she’d rather have a lunch box with trucks on it, that’s ok too. I want her to be herself.
We showed her the lunch box pictures and asked her which was her favorite, but her favorite was always whichever one we showed her last. This was a little frustrating, because I was trying so hard to let her pick, and not to be the one to decide which bag she would carry to school.
Then I realized I was being pretty silly. She’s two. Yes, she has opinions and likes and dislikes, but she doesn’t put nearly the emphasis on her first lunch box that I do. If it’s full of yummy food and is reasonably cute, I think she’ll be happy enough with it.
So I picked this one for her.
It’s cute. I love horses, and since she can’t tell me which is her favorite, she’ll have to make do with my favorite for now. It can be monogrammed, so that’ll be fun. It’s functional. It’s not too girly. Score.
As she gets older, I’m sure she’ll assert herself more and more as our tastes matter less and less. So for now, I’ll just embrace these opportunities to accessorize my baby girl to my liking!
Erin and I enjoyed a nice treat Tuesday – a girls’ night out to the movies while sweet Lee stayed home with the kiddos. All day long, in anticipation of our outing, I thought about that yummy movie theater popcorn. And this theater has the butter dispensers on the counter so you can slather your popcorn to your exact liking. A tempting, yet dangerous option.
So I was surprised when we got our popcorn and I surveyed the room, but didn’t see the butter dispensers anywhere. I asked an employee, and she informed me that the butter dispenser was broken, and instead, she handed me a cup of pure melted movie theater butter. And it looked pretty gross.
Here’s a pic I took with my camera phone as Erin prepared to pour it on our popcorn.
That just doesn’t even look right. But what the heck – we decided to pour it on anyway. Unfortunately, unlike regular butter, it didn’t lightly oil the popcorn. It dropped like big globs of butter pudding all over the place.
The kernels that had butter on them really HAD BUTTER on them. You could have eaten the butter with a fork, it was so thick. But the pieces that didn’t have butter poured directly on them weren’t buttered at all – which ended up being a good thing. After a few bites, we both felt like we were going to vomit, but didn’t want to waste all that popcorn. So we dumped the top layer in the trash, and had butter-free popcorn left in the bottom.
But my stomach still turns thinking about that tub-o-butter. Bleh.
