Well, we're already behind. I can see it now... Jake will be asked years later why he never did anything with his life. His sorrowful response will be, "Well, I never had a reason to. You see, my mom didn't get me on a waiting list for the preschool in time, so I've just failed out of everything since."
Okay, so it's not that big a deal. However, I did find out some new information that shows just how unprepared we are for the academic experience. The private elementary school where we plan to send Jake has a waiting list such that kids have to be signed up by their 2nd birthday. Okay, a bit steep, but no rush, right? Well, the private elementary school has its own preschool program for the kids to take when they're 4 years old. The preschool feeds into the elementary
program, so it's advisable to sign up for the preschool if you plan to send your child to the elementary school.
NOW I've found out that there's a pre-preschool program that feeds into the preschool program. I kid you not. Jake would enter the pre-preschool program at the ripe old age of 3 to prepare for the rigorous coursework of the preschool program. So, it follows that if you want your child to attend the elementary school, he must first attend the preschool, for which he must first attend the pre-preschool. I don't think my vector calculus class in college was quite this complicated.
The sad thing is that the pre-preschool program seems to have more stringent admissions standards than my old college of engineering did. Firstly, we were supposed to put Jake on the waiting list at birth. Seeing as how he's already a year old, I don't know whether they'll even consider the application. Secondly, the number of enrollment slots for morning and afternoon sessions is 16, for a total enrollment of 32 children. And that's only if they have enough staff to handle that many kids; there's a probability that it could be even less.
Finally, the admissions policy states that "Independent toileting skills are desirable." We all know that means if Jake waddles into the admissions interview in pull-ups, he'll be politely passed over. Can I really promise that 2 years from now, having never attempted such a feat before, that Jake and I will have successfully finished toilet training? I read the "Girlfriend's Guide to Toddlers", and laughed over the section where the author concealed her daughter's lack of toilet skills by sending her to nursery school with big-girl panties pulled on over top of the pull-ups, and a nice fluffy skirt to conceal the whole thing. Now I'm wondering if Dan would object to the addition of kilts to Jake's wardrobe.
Worst of all is my realization that the main reason for sending Jake to the private school is that most of his buddies from playgroup will also be attending there. I thought it would be nicer for Jake to start school knowing that he already had friends in his class. (Plus the school does have a really good academic standing.) Right now though, all the hopeful expectations of all the playgroup mommies, including myself, seem particularly fragile. What happens if the other kids get in and Jake doesn't? What happens if Jake gets in and his friends don't? Neither prospect seems very pleasant; I think I might cry either way. Private school boasts many things, including higher test scores, better environment, less disruption and violence. But the one thing it doesn't have is inclusiveness. And that seems like a hard lesson to learn when you're only 3 years old.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Gulping and Galloping
MILK MALAISE
My husband and I have survived probably the biggest disappointment in our parenting experience thus far. Our precious, wonderful little boy.... has developed an intolerance to milk.
I should start with a conversation with a friend of mine in our playgroup. We were at her house, discussing the introduction of milk into our little ones' diet. Her little boy had problems with digesting milk, and I was sympathizing and lamenting with her the fact that her sweet little boy wasn't going to be able to have any rich, creamy milk to enjoy for a while. Meanwhile, I was relieved and rejoicing that Jake seemed to love milk and drink it easily with no problems. Nevermind that this was only Day Two in his new relationship with the white stuff. As far as I was concerned, there was only smooth sailing ahead.
After all, my husband and I are consummate milk consumers. Every trip to the grocery store involves the purchase of no less than 3 gallons of skim milk. In addition to that, I sometimes have to call my husband and ask him to pick up more milk on the way home. I've sometimes woken up groggily in the morning after a grocery trip and been confused: Did I forget to bring the milk up from the trunk of the car? No... the milk has just already been consumed in that brief 16 hours or so.
So, you can understand that after our playdate, when Jake started to act cranky and whiny the next couple of days, I just assumed it must be teething pain. I was also equally sure that his new multiple nightly wakings were just a sign that we'd been "spoiling" him too much by letting him come sleep in our bed. Even when my husband pointed out that Jake seemed to be rather gassy one night, I explained it away by pointing out that we had just subjected him to Mexican food recently.
But there was NO mistaking his latest round of poopy diapers as anything other than what they'd become: extreme toxic nuclear waste! There was no sniffing Jake's pants or lifting the elastic to peer inside necessary to determine if Jake had soiled his diaper. All he had to do was come stand next to me and my eyes would start to water.
Finally I grudgingly admitted that Jake *might* have a problem with milk, although it could have been the massive amounts of watermelon I'd let him eat too, you know. So I called a moratorium on both foods for a few days. Almost immediately, Jake went back to his regular napping and sleeping schedule (minus one midnight waking per night, as a pleasant souvenir of the experience). He reverted back to his usual active, happy-go-lucky self.
I did buy some more watermelon the other day at the grocery. I haven't fed any to Jake yet because I'm afraid to finally confirm what I know to be the inevitable truth: milk is no longer Jake's friend. After all, it *could* still be the watermelon, right??
TRUE TODDLER TIME
On a side note, Jake truly is a toddler now. After being through the exhilirating experience of witnessing Jake's first baby steps, I can determine now that those are not what defines toddlerhood. See, back then, Jake *could* take steps, but when he needed to get somewhere quickly he'd revert back to crawling. It's like Jake considered walking fine for entertainment but not sufficiently utilitarian to meet his transportation needs. Sure, taking steps was great for that wobbly feeling of being tall, but when you need to get to the refrigerator door quickly to grab the ketchup bottle before Mommy shuts the door, walking is too slow and unsteady, right?
The true turning point for being a toddler, I think, is when the child prefers using walking as a means of moving around. Lately, Jake has demonstrated such a preference. Grinning wildly, he'll push up on his feet to swagger across the room toward us. After a few steps, he'll crash on his bottom. Undaunted, he'll promptly push back up to toddle a few more steps before the next crash. Jake will keep repeating this process over and over in his determined attempt to walk
all the way across the room.
Now, sometimes later in the day when his poor little leg muscles are tired and his little feet are sore from trying to walk so much, Jake will revert back to crawling again. But there's no mistaking from the huge grins on his face when he is walking that it's his favorite activity, skill, and pasttime. Also, after a couple hours' crawling break, Jake is eager again to pursue us on his own two feet.
Now begins the true pitter-patter of little feet; let the race begin!
My husband and I have survived probably the biggest disappointment in our parenting experience thus far. Our precious, wonderful little boy.... has developed an intolerance to milk.
I should start with a conversation with a friend of mine in our playgroup. We were at her house, discussing the introduction of milk into our little ones' diet. Her little boy had problems with digesting milk, and I was sympathizing and lamenting with her the fact that her sweet little boy wasn't going to be able to have any rich, creamy milk to enjoy for a while. Meanwhile, I was relieved and rejoicing that Jake seemed to love milk and drink it easily with no problems. Nevermind that this was only Day Two in his new relationship with the white stuff. As far as I was concerned, there was only smooth sailing ahead.
After all, my husband and I are consummate milk consumers. Every trip to the grocery store involves the purchase of no less than 3 gallons of skim milk. In addition to that, I sometimes have to call my husband and ask him to pick up more milk on the way home. I've sometimes woken up groggily in the morning after a grocery trip and been confused: Did I forget to bring the milk up from the trunk of the car? No... the milk has just already been consumed in that brief 16 hours or so.
So, you can understand that after our playdate, when Jake started to act cranky and whiny the next couple of days, I just assumed it must be teething pain. I was also equally sure that his new multiple nightly wakings were just a sign that we'd been "spoiling" him too much by letting him come sleep in our bed. Even when my husband pointed out that Jake seemed to be rather gassy one night, I explained it away by pointing out that we had just subjected him to Mexican food recently.
But there was NO mistaking his latest round of poopy diapers as anything other than what they'd become: extreme toxic nuclear waste! There was no sniffing Jake's pants or lifting the elastic to peer inside necessary to determine if Jake had soiled his diaper. All he had to do was come stand next to me and my eyes would start to water.
Finally I grudgingly admitted that Jake *might* have a problem with milk, although it could have been the massive amounts of watermelon I'd let him eat too, you know. So I called a moratorium on both foods for a few days. Almost immediately, Jake went back to his regular napping and sleeping schedule (minus one midnight waking per night, as a pleasant souvenir of the experience). He reverted back to his usual active, happy-go-lucky self.
I did buy some more watermelon the other day at the grocery. I haven't fed any to Jake yet because I'm afraid to finally confirm what I know to be the inevitable truth: milk is no longer Jake's friend. After all, it *could* still be the watermelon, right??
TRUE TODDLER TIME
On a side note, Jake truly is a toddler now. After being through the exhilirating experience of witnessing Jake's first baby steps, I can determine now that those are not what defines toddlerhood. See, back then, Jake *could* take steps, but when he needed to get somewhere quickly he'd revert back to crawling. It's like Jake considered walking fine for entertainment but not sufficiently utilitarian to meet his transportation needs. Sure, taking steps was great for that wobbly feeling of being tall, but when you need to get to the refrigerator door quickly to grab the ketchup bottle before Mommy shuts the door, walking is too slow and unsteady, right?
The true turning point for being a toddler, I think, is when the child prefers using walking as a means of moving around. Lately, Jake has demonstrated such a preference. Grinning wildly, he'll push up on his feet to swagger across the room toward us. After a few steps, he'll crash on his bottom. Undaunted, he'll promptly push back up to toddle a few more steps before the next crash. Jake will keep repeating this process over and over in his determined attempt to walk
all the way across the room.
Now, sometimes later in the day when his poor little leg muscles are tired and his little feet are sore from trying to walk so much, Jake will revert back to crawling again. But there's no mistaking from the huge grins on his face when he is walking that it's his favorite activity, skill, and pasttime. Also, after a couple hours' crawling break, Jake is eager again to pursue us on his own two feet.
Now begins the true pitter-patter of little feet; let the race begin!
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