School's Out for Summer!

      Today, dear Mary graduated from preschool. At least, I think that she did. There were so many camera-happy parents in front of me that I couldn't see a thing. While I get the impulse to take photos, Mary was the last kid on the stage - did all of those people really want a picture of someone else's kid? Maybe. Personally, I lost interest in other people's children when I had my own, but hey, whatever works for you.

      Tiny Mary was in the last seat of the last row of children today. Not the best idea, since she is not a great waiter in general. By the time her name was called, she had removed her robe, thrown a few small hissy fits, and fallen asleep. I imagine that she staggered across the stage, protesting all the way. Again, I have to imagine, as I couldn't see a thing.

     Nobody wants her kid to be last, and I tend to be pretty relaxed about this kind of thing. I'm usually content for Mary to participate however she can, but this time, I was furious. These people know Mary, and know that she gets tired and cranky after sitting around for too long. As do I, by the way. We had to be at her school an hour before the graduation, and sit there waiting for things to get going, so maybe I wasn't in the best frame of mind. The ceremony itself was a little over half an hour, a long time for a four year old to sit still.

      This is a school that celebrates and embraces differences, but they didn't think to make a simple accommodation for Mary. Frankly, if they had put the kids who typically have ants in their pants first, the whole ceremony would have gone more smoothly. As it became apparent that she would be last, and as I watched her gradually losing her cool, I started tearing up. This is, embarrassingly, what I do when I'm really angry. It is so stereotypically female, and one of my worst qualities. Fortunately, today I could pass off my tears as those of a proud momma, which I am.

Fortunately, they took graduation photos last week, when she was in a better mood. Prettiest girl ever!

And no, I have no idea why the first paragraph is double spaced.

Girls Who Like Boys

     My daughter is boy crazy. Let me amend that - she is man crazy. At Ben's last soccer practice, she sat on one dad's lap and tickled his beard, grabbed a second dad from behind and tackled him to the ground, and asked a third dad to pick her up, and hugged him like he was a long-lost friend. The moms, she completely ignores. There is something about men that she just loves, which is cute. For now.


     Believe it or not, she is now showing a little restraint. Less than a year ago, she was marching up to complete strangers and hugging them. She was at an unfortunate height for this, as she was (and still is) crotch-height to most men. These poor guys don't know what to do. They look terrified, as if Chris Williams is going to pop out with his camera crew. The men would typically freeze, afraid to touch her lest I scream "Pervert!" in the middle of the grocery store. Adding to the awkwardness,  I get to detangle Mary from their waists, touching the belts of perfect strangers.


     Her one-to-one aide this year was a man, a rarity. He is wonderful with her, and she adores him. He has a longish goatee which she pulls with glee, and as a result, she now tries to touch the beard of every man she sees. I used this fancy of hers to convince my husband to grow his beard again. He gave it up a few years ago when I convinced him to try a new haircut, after 10 years of the exact same center-parted 90s slacker 'do. All of the female attention he received made him love his new look, which is great, but I miss the beard, like I'm sure he misses my much-smaller ass of our high school days. Sadly, Mary did not care for his beard, and he did not care for the grays that appeared in it, so off it went.


    She's not even five yet - what am I in for? Right now, she is the lone girl in a class of twelve. Since special ed classes tend to be boy-heavy, Mary will have plenty of opportunities for more age-appropriate crushes in the future. Once she discovers boys her own age, you'll find Gary and I at the local hunting store, shopping for shotguns. Kidding, of course!


Sort of.


     

Sing a Song

     So I  have broken the cardinal rule of blogging - one must post frequently. Forgive my absence, dear readers, but I had a deadline to meet, for the writing I do that actually pays something. Mea culpa.

     I am a singer of modest talent. My family is very musical, in a VonTrapp kind of way. When you come to a family party, you can hear "Happy Birthday" in four part harmony, although curiously absent of melody - we compete to come up with the best parts. I'm more of a back-up singer than a front man, even when I'm alone in the car (it's kind of pathetic, that I'm not even a star when I'm rocking out alone, I know). However, I sang lead to my babies. Ben loved to sing with me until he was about 3, and then he moved on to other interests, but Mary is still my number-one fan.

     I am well versed in children's songs, having been a Pre-K teacher, but I  had no idea how useful it would be until I had Mary. Over the years, her favorite songs have changed, but she still likes my voice over anyone else's. Music opens up some kind of pathway to Mary, and she engages at a much higher level that during any other activity. She does not like to speak on demand, but if you stop during "Old McDonald," she will pipe in with the appropriate word, in her throaty little voice. I imagine when she does finally sing on her own, her voice will sound like Stevie Nicks'.

    It is handy to have built-in entertainment for Mary, and it certainly makes my diaper bag lighter, but sometimes even I get tired of hearing my voice. I recall driving to my brother's wedding rehearsal last fall, stuck in Long Island rush hour (yet another reason I am so grateful to live in a less-populated area), and Mary had hit her limit. I sang every song I could think of, from "Itsy Bitsy Spider" to "The Farmer in the Dell." I even threw in a few Christmas numbers and American folk tunes, before I ran out of songs. I just couldn't think of another thing to sing, and boy, did that piss her off. Not a pleasant ride that evening.

    But other than that, singing is my favorite way of communicating with Mary. It's funny how she demands routine in most areas of life, but when it comes to songs, novelties are welcome. Her Papa does a delightful variation of a well-loved children's ditty titled "Necks, Armpits, Butts and Feet" that sends her into gales of laughter, and give my throat a break. She's come to associate certain songs with certain people, and makes that their special thing to do whenever they see each other. My advice for those who know Mary, but can't seem to gain her favor - get a signature song. Mine currently is "Wheels on the Bus," especially the verse where the babies go "Wah wah wah." Mary thinks that's hilarious. Either she has a short memory, or she's sticking it to me, I can't tell.

     My last two postings have been song titles - anyone else want to help me keep it going?

  

Slow Ride

    There just isn't anything better than holding a baby. Those little, warm, sweet-smelling bundles are absolute heaven. It makes parents wistful for the time when their children were that tiny and precious. Any time there is a new baby around, somebody always sighs and says, "I wish they could stay this way forever." I have never been one of these people - infancy is nice, but I'm the type of person who has to rearrange my furniture every six months. I crave change, and one of the best things about having kids is watching them grow. They're always progressing, evolving, learning.

    Except when they don't.

     Mary's development is painfully slow. The time she takes to acquire a new skill is at least four times that of a normal child, and so change is nearly impossible to see until it's already there. Despite the patient guidance of numerous therapists, Mary does things on her mysterious timetable. Her typical m.o. is to watch an adult demonstrate a task, melt down and refuse to try it, and then practice it alone in her room later. As a result, her test scores are always quite low, and she functions as an 18-24 month-old child.

    I just can't stop and smell the roses here. I have had a baby for nearly five years now, and it is tiresome. Kids can be tedious in general, with their love for repetition. I shuddered recently when my son pulled up "Rookie of the Year" on Netflix, remembering the summer my brother watched it every single day. This was worse than the previous summer, when "Larry Bird: A Basketball Legend" whirred through the Betamax constantly. It's like when your kid wants the same bedtime story every night for a month. Green Eggs and Ham gets a little stale after a while. Now imagine reading it for a year and a half - although, in my case, it's Moo, Baa, La La La, which is mercifully shorter.

     I won't deny that there are some benefits. I still get all of the snuggles that I want. I don't have to deal with a preschooler who wants highlights - yes, that particular trend is going around at Ben's school. Mary is in no danger of growing up too fast, but I long for the kid she is going to become. I would kill to hear her say "No" fifty times in a row. Of course, anyone who's spent five minutes with Mary can tell you that she says no in many, non-verbal ways - head tossing, crying, throwing herself on the floor, or everyone's favorite, the motorboat. If I ever figure out how to post videos on here, you'll see what I mean.

     I will stop whining soon, but I'll leave you with one more thought - I have been changing diapers for eight years straight, and I only have two kids. Those people who say, "I wish they could stay this way forever"? Come on over - I dare you!