I spent all day yesterday pretending it was just any other Monday. I went to the gym. I took Doug's car to get inspected, you can't get any more Monday than anything run by the MVA. I ran errands. I did some writing. I bought Michael a pillow pet, on a lark, because he he had been asking for one and I wanted him to have something when he got home from a successful first day of Kindergarten.
I sat. I waited. I hoped and prayed that things were going ok, but I guess you never really know.
I was strangely calm all day. I expected to be a nervous wreck, but I wasn't. I'm in a very, "it is what it is" place. If he needs help, we will get it for him. If he doesn't, we won't. If there is a problem we will solve it. At this point, today, there is nothing I can do but wait.
At 2:45 I walked the 2 blocks to school, with Doug. Michael came out and immediately whined that he did not want to carry his backpack home. And then, he told me how much he loved his teacher. And Kindergarten. And he went to music class and got "four notes and when you get 10 notes" something magical happens and I still don't understand what. He demonstrated, on the sidewalk, how nicely he sat. He talked about playing Star Wars at recess and lunch and his binder. He was happy, excited, even. I've picked him up 2 years in a row at 3 different preschools and never saw this bubbly happy side of him.
I'm not sure if he was blowing smoke up my ass, or how good of a reporter a 5 year old boy is, but I can tell you this much, he is in love with his pillow pet. He has decided he needs another pillow pet to keep his first pillow pet company. And he named it, Sparkles. (Here is the back story on that.) Or, Royal Pillow Pet, depending on the day.
Today he has his first day of aftercare. He is going to go two times a week. I managed to switch my schedule around so I'll be able to pick him up most days, but need the flexibility of aftercare a few days a week. I'm hoping that goes just as well as yesterday. I am so lucky to have a job with that kind of flexibility.
On Saturday we have our last OT appointment. She just wanted to see him through to Kindergarten, but really, he could have been done at the beginning of the summer. That is the last thing we have from the madness of last year. It is over and done, I hope.
It is a New Year. I think it is time to let all the crap from last year go. And I think that includes the anger I feel towards the other school. Somewhere, somehow, I have to believe they thought they were doing the right thing. And somehow, they helped us. They brought up concerns that I didn't know existed. Michael would have never gone to OT if it wasn't for them. So for that, small thing, I am grateful. And not angry, anymore.
I think it won't surprise you to know that I'm not a scrap-booking kind of mom. Michael does not have a "traditional" baby book. He has a book of pictures of his first year, and that is it. I'm sad I didn't start this blog until he was 2 and a half, because this blog has served as his baby book of sorts.
I don't know when he first rolled over, or got his first tooth. I don't know when he first walked, although I know it was a week before his first birthday. I don't know when he said his first word, although I know he dropped something on the floor and said "uh oh."
I think I took a picture on his first day of preschool and posted it here. That day seems silly now. He was fine. He cried his second day.
Today, his first day of Kindergarten, seems monumental, like the most important first day ever. I think because Kindergarten feels like the beginning of the end of childhood. There will be homework and tests and teachers who don't like him. Although sadly, we already experienced that. There will be A's and F's, and first loves and heartbreak. He will succeed and fail. Soar and Sink. Make the team and not. All without me.
We went to "sneak peak" on Friday and found his desk, which he immediately sat down at, ready to learn. I laughed, and told him he could walk around the room today. He found his name on his cubby and the wall. He wrote his name on the sign in sheet. He found the bathroom, and I was thrilled, of all silly things, that it was right in his room. His teacher seems fine, she has been with the school for four years, and was somewhere else before that. But how much do you get a sense of someone in 20 minutes? He loved the scavenger hunt she had for the kids to do. And then we met the aftercare providers he will be with two days a week. And then we left.
We spent the weekend doing lots of fun things as a family. Friday we went to the Building museum to see the Lego exhibit, something we had been talking about all summer. It was the last weekend it was there. Sunday we went to a baseball game with my playgroup. The kids we have been playing with since Michael was 6 weeks old. They all start Kindergarten today. Seemed fitting somehow to spend this day together. The day "before."
Today, the day "after," my biggest fear is this will be last fall, a year later.
I'm fine. People keep asking me if I'm going to cry, and I see no reason to cry. He has been in daycare since he was 5 months old and school since he was 3.
But Kindergarten, as the lovely and eloquent Miss Brit put it, Kindergarten is not preschool. Kindergarten is for the big kids. Kindergarten is different. Kindergarten is where, we will finally know, if he is "fine." If he can make it. Or not. Maybe we will never really know. Maybe Kindergarten will be fine and first grade will not. Or High School. Or 40.
Maybe it is all a serious of firsts. But this still feels like the most important one.
I've been running everyday on vacation. I'm not sure who I am either, but whenever people tell me I have become a runner I always look at them and say, "no, I'm not a runner, I'm too slow. I'm not good at running. I just run. I'm not a runner."
I do that sometimes. A lot. I tend to shortchange myself. Even at BlogHer. I asked a question and the speaker gave me a weird look and I said "I'm not making sense am I?" I undermine myself. Too much.
People call me pretty sometimes and instead of saying thank you, I say no. I argue with them. "But my arms, and my hair, and my legs. I'm too heavy. I'm not pretty."
I've never seen myself as pretty. I've been the pretty girl's best friend and the popular girl's best friend and the smart one and the funny one and the cute one, but the pretty one? No. That's never been me.
But it kept happening at BlogHer. I've read recaps and pictures posted on twitter and the comment that came a lot was pretty, and what kept running through my head was "are they insane? Because I'm not pretty."
There is a song on my running mix (yes I have a running mix, I know that means I'm probably a runner) that I've become obsessed with. It's not a great song, and it is not even a great running song, but the lyrics speak to me in so many ways. When I was in college, turning myself inside out for the wrong boy, "you're amazing just the way you are" would have moved mountains.
I've done this since I was a kid. Pick one song and listen to the song constantly. And right now, this is the song. It is in my running mix right after my warm up and right at the time when I need to really run. And I do. Every time.
Doug loves me. I never, ever doubt that. He loves me fat or thin. I don't run for him, or work out for him, or struggle with how I look for him. I never have. The thinnest I ever have been was after we met.
This is about me. About getting to a place where I believe in me. What I look like. What I can do. Just the way I am.
I'm at a point in my life where I want to change, not just how I look, but who I am. And to do that I need to believe in myself. What is holding me back from the change is me. I want to leave my job and make a huge big colossal scary change. And I have always done the safe, right thing. But that doesn't mean I'm happy. I'd like to be happy. And confident. And believe in myself.
I admire people so much who make life leaps. Who find what they want to do and never look back. It all comes from a places of confidence I've never had and I'm not sure how to get there. I'm going to start by saying this:
Since turning 30 my skin has been a mess. I think it is because I went off the pill to have a baby, went back on, and then changed birth control again. (Sorry, my four male readers.) But the thing is, I'm sick of it. I'm 35, not 16, and acne is just unacceptable. I've been to the dermatologist, I've tried a million and a half products, and nothing, no, nothing has worked.
I've been running and working out and losing weight, and I still hate the way I look. I know, it is stupid, but I do. And cover up and foundation and make up can only do so much. I want clear skin.
I'm contemplating spending way too much money on the Clarisonic cleaner. A woman at my office swears by it. I was talking about it on twitter last night and it received nothing but glowing reviews. I've read every review on Sephora and Ulta and Amazon. Doug is telling me just to buy the thing so we don't have to talk about it anymore. But if I spend $200 and it doesn't work, I'm really going to be pissed.
You all were so kind when I asked for makeup recommendations. I never had bad skin as a teenager and I'm so not loving it now. I'm not going the accutane route because I'm already sun sensitive from the Lupus. So, besides that, tell me, what skin routines work for you? My skin is really sensitive and apparently, prone to break outs. I've tried, Philosophy, Murad, Nutrogena, AcneFree, Juice, DDF, Boscia, and Dermalogica.
And, if you have the Clarisonic, is it worth it? Did it solve your problems with breakouts? Because I'm seriously having to restrain myself from running to the mall and going to Sephora and getting it right now. The only thing that is stopping me is that it is raining. And it would be a pain. And the $200.
Let's just say, hypothetically, your child had a medical issue. It is not life threatening or mind altering and no one is going to die from it, but it is upsetting and a problem. You see a specialist for said medical issue, as your pediatrician is out of ideas. You explain how long said medical issue has been going on and everything you have tried to correct it. And, after talking for 15 minutes, the doctor tells you to do the exact same thing you have already tried and did not work. In fact, one might say this course of action failed miserably and caused more problems. You try to explain this to the doctor and she nods her head and says, "no, no it was working, you just didn't give it enough time to work." It becomes clear that this is the advice she gives all of her patients and she is not really listening to you, or your child.
Do you:
A. Run from her office screaming?
B. Nod your head, take the instructions, and leave knowing you will never go back there?
C. Think about what she said, talk it over with your husband, and decide like morons to treat your child like a guinea pig?
I was having a hard week last week. I was coming down from a BlogHer high, and Michael was being particularly difficult. I don't know why I will never learn that this kind of stuff with him never lasts long, and that behavior (knock on wood), is gone already. A quick phase, come and go, although we have a doctors appointment this afternoon that I am not canceling, just in case.
I think we, as parents, particularly moms, are hard on ourselves, I know I am. I tend to take on the weight of the world. And I certainly have "I suck as a mom" days, weeks, months, maybe years. Michael favors Doug so predominately that you can't help but wonder if it is a personality thing or just simply the fact that I'm not a very good mom.
I know in my heart that is not true. I'm starting to believe more and more that absent abuse or neglect kids are who they are. I'm not really sure what we do matters all that much. Now don't get me wrong. I think we feed and clothe them and give them all the love and support and help they need. You will never see a child more prepared for Kindergarten then Michael. And at this point if he fails, well, then I think we have our answer. Because there is nothing else we can do. Then we know. The problem is more organic.
Children are born with a personality. And yes, we can shape and mold and nurture and try to change, but in the end, they are who they are.
Friday was Michael's last day at camp. The last day I would walk into the school that changed us, that saved us. One of his camp teachers stopped me to tell me, totally unsolicited, "you should be very proud. He is a very polite and well mannered little boy. You have obviously taught him very well." And I think that may be the best thing anyone has every said about him. That and when they told me he sticks up for the kid other kids pick on.
Somewhere, somehow, we are getting through to Michael. We may not see it or know it now, but 20 years from now, he is going to make a damned fine adult. Five isn't all bad either. I just need to keep remembering that.
I'm busting into your weekend for two very important, life changing reasons. (Well, maybe not life changing.)
1. My contest for a Stoneyfield gift pack ends Sunday. Coupons! Fun stuff! Get on that!
2. You can now read me somewhere else. I know, how do I ever find the time? I'm over at the Washington Times Communities writing a column called It's All Elementary. It is going to be following Michael's transition to Kindergarten (and beyond, maybe?) unless I have a nervous breakdown first. My first entry is here. Please go say nice things so I don't get fired. You can even put it into your rss feeder if you are so inclined. I'll post about once or twice a week and I promise not to link every post here and be really annoying.
