Knocked Up

Browse by Tags

(RSS)
  • The Daycare Drop Off Blues

    Axel's come down with a serious case of the daycare drop off blues.  It's been over a week now, and the weepies are still going strong.   After over a year of generally cheerful drop offs, with only a hint of sadness here and there, it's perplexing, not to mention heartbreaking, to see him wailing when we leave.

     

    When I put him in the car, he starts to get a little sad and worried.  I sing "Happy Birthday" about twenty times, because, even though that the endless repetitions of that harmless song are now sucking my will to live it makes him unreasonably happy.   He's equally sad when Sean pulls him to school in the bike trailer, despite all of the dogs and trucks they pass and the wind blowing through his shaggy hair.  When we get to school, he happily walks to his room, waving hello to other parents and kids in the hallway.  But then, once we enter his classroom, he starts to get anxious.  He doesn't want to play, not with his favorite kitchen set or the poppers or the toolbox or wooden animals.  He pulls me down to the floor, then plops on my lap - because if he's sitting on me, I can't leave - and does his best angsty toddler routine, which would be funny, because angst is the antithesis of a flushed-cheeked tiny blond moppet wearing saggy shorts, if it weren't so sad.

     

    The other kids bring him offerings - an uncapped blue marker, a plastic tiger - and he imperiously waves them away and says, "No!"  He does the same thing when asked if he wants to play with any toy.  He's just waiting for me or Sean to leave, and he doesn't want to settle in and get distracted, in case he misses our exit. 

    Read More...


  • Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod CHILDCARE!

    Full on panic mode here.  You can probably feel the hyperventilation through the computer.  Anxiety level is a 9.2 on a 10 point scale.  I'm grinding my teeth.   I can't stop eating salads with jalapenos.  OK, that has nothing to do with stress, but it is related to pregnancy and, as cravings go, it's one I'll take over a desperate need for brownies.  I wouldn't turn down a brownie, mind you, I just don't have to go to the same place every day and buy one, as I have to with salads.  The poor salad maker guy thinks I'm nuts, hovering over him, demanding he add even more jalapenos, despite the fact that all reasonable tastebuds would refuse to consume apples + pears + spinach + extra extra jalapenos +salmon. 

     

    When I'm not obsessing over the salad I just ate or the salad I really want to have beamed in front of me but can't go get because my husband's at work and Axel is asleep and somebody must stay home with the wee child, I am obsessing over childcare.  This is what it means to be a working mother - a quarter of your time is spent worrying about childcare.  (This may be true for many fathers out there, too, just not in my house.  Childcare anxiety falls on my to-do list, along with nursing and making risotto.  My husband gets to take the pets to the vet and take out the trash, and shows up when I schedule even more childcare center tours.)

    Read More...


    Posted Jan 07 2009, 07:41 PM by knockedup with | with 28 comment(s)
    Filed under: , ,
  • School Days

    Today marks the end of Axel's first week at a new childcare center.  The transition couldn't have been smoother - he just slid right into that new one to two-year-old room and started gnawing on a herd of plastic farm animals.  He's the tiniest kid in the class, but he hasn't noticed.  He's got the cold-turkey approach to life: smile, leap right in, and have fun.  It was almost a little too easy, and his total disregard for his parents made me wonder if he's even slightly appreciative of us.  But one morning, he got a little weepy when I dropped him off; the weepiness cleared up once Axel got his hands on a plastic goat, but it was enough to show that he thinks I'm good for something, even if it's just being a human snot-wiping machine with a never-ending graham cracker supply. 

     

    Whenever I pick up or drop off Axel, his teacher tells me how adorable he is - yes, she knows just how to get in good with the new kid's parents.  Flattery will get her something really good, like a whole bushel of apples, for Teacher Appreciation Day.  After eating meals in a highchar, he's now sitting in a little chair at a table and eating lunch.  He naps on a mat on the floor.  He participates in circle time.  Well, he's in the room when the other kids have circle time - while they're singing songs, Axel has been wandering around the room and pulling toys off the shelves.  His lovely, warm teachers have said that's just fine; they newer kids (especially the young ones) come and go during circle time.  The kids eventually realize, "Dude, something exciting is happening over there and if I don't head over, I'll never learn that Itsy Bitsy spider hand thing!"   And they head over of their own accord.  This is much more Axel-friendly than holding him down to participate in circle time, which would only result in tantrums and that freaky thing where he gets so mad he yells until he holds his breath and turns bright red.  He also does a lovely thing we call the Butthead Dance, which involves bouncing up and down while screaming.  I guess most one-year-olds have similar habits - they're not known for their patience and long attention spans. 

    Read More...


  • New School Nerves

    It's fall.  The leaves are sailing down, and Axel's investigating them carefully before putting them in his mouth.  We went to a fall festival/pumpkin patch this weekend, tramped through the mud, and brought Axel on a spinning teacup-like ride.  He endured it all while wearing the warmer of his two costumes - a lion.  As his father pointed out, he looked a little silly.  He also looked ADORABLE and festive (see evidence below), and I am the sort of parent who is going to force my child to wear things that I think are cute and funny in the very short timeframe in which I can do it.  And, yes, he has two costumes.  It's his first Halloween, and there's not much cuter than a baby in a costume, so I'm taking advantage of the occasion.   If they weren't so impractical (dry clean only, often lacking crotch snaps, a bit pricey, itchy), I might dress Axel in a costume every day. 

    Read More...


  • We're Staying....For Now

    The conversations I dread most, the questions I don't want to ask, the things I'm afraid of saying - I'm reminded time and again that those are the things that I should be saying, the conversations I should be having.    You guys were right.  Even as I wrote about the nasty comment that I overheard, I knew that I had to talk to staff at Axel's childcare center about it.  Whether we leave or whether we stay, that teacher is still teaching somebody's kids, and since I want to live in a world in which people help one another out and don't just stand by and watch as people do things they shouldn't, I had to say something.  

     

    It's often easier to stay silent.  It would've been in this case - to keep my mouth shut and quickly withdraw from the situation.  But we can't always check out.  There are many reasons to remain silent, depending on the conversation or the question.  I don't want to offend people.  I want people to like me.  Sometimes I want to keep on liking them, or keep a relationship in tact that wouldn't survive the airing of concerns.  I want to keep things simple and avoid challenges that might come out of the discussion.  But - at least for those who, like me, tend to mull things over instead of speak, would rather write than talk, forget to mention their plans for the day to their spouse because they're too wrapped up in their thoughts - speaking up is often the right thing to do.  It clears things up.  It forces us to deal with the problems in our relationships that we'd rather ignore, and prevents us from ending up in relationship limbo and then waking up five years from now and wondering why we're still having dinner with friends we don't really like or why we're still married to someone we never talk to.  It gives others the chance to clear up our misconceptions, or to show us that our perceptions were, for better or worse, right on.  It means we're really engaging in our schools and communities. 

     

     

    Read More...


  • Mean Teachers and Wait Lists

    Here's what I heard yesterday when I picked up Axel from his child care center: "He wants to be picked up again.  You know what?  Your parents don't pay enough for us to pick you up all the time.  Get up."  This was said to a 20-month-old who'd plopped down on the floor in front of the door to the hallway that leads to the classrooms.  It was not a joke.  His toddler class had been playing in the gym, and two teachers were herding the group through the lobby and back to their classroom. 

     

    I'd just walked into the lobby after making faces at two of the toddlers, who's paused to make blowfish on the glass doors.  I don't know if the teacher who made the comment noticed me waiting for the group to cluster and weave down the hallway.   Maybe he was having a bad day, maybe he did want to be carried all the time, maybe he was just being a not-quite-two-year-old and being difficult.  Maybe she was having a bad day and just wanted to be carried herself.

     

    The teacher was right - we don't pay enough for each of our children to be held constantly.  That would mean all the parents would have nannies and one-on-one care for each child, and, umm, they wouldn't be in group care.   Rarely are early childhood teachers aren't paid what they're worth.  

    Read More...


  • Playing Hard to Get

    Preschools are in high demand around here.  There's one preschool/daycare that had a waitlist so long for infants that, by the time a child's name came up, he or she would be two years old.  Since you can't put toddlers in the infant slots, the school went to a once-per-year lottery instead.  It's basically baby heaven, with blue-hued gauzy tents draped over the nap futons and a lunch menu that includes curry chicken and yam fries - on second thought, that sounds more like my kind of heaven.  The toddlers are probably just as happy chowing down on GMO chicken nuggets and transfat-laden french fries, even if their parents aren't. 

     

    I got on the list for Axel's daycare when I was five months pregnant, and he didn't get a slot until he was four months old - eight and a half months later.  At the same time I put my name down on that list, I also put it down on a waitlist at a daycare that's closer to our house, and that has part-time slots.  Around here, it's hard to find infant slots, and twice as hard to find part-time infant slots.  We're still on the waitlist for the closer center, and it's not likely that Axel's name will come up until he's about fourteen months old.  So, to get a spot, I would have had to put my name on the list before getting a postive pregnancy test.  And I consider myself to be someone who planned ahead - what do people do who don't start thinking about childcare until their child is six weeks old?  Bring boxes of bagels to the daycare everyday?  Sell their child's soul to the devilish waiting list queen?   

     

    Given the demand for infant slots, I figured I should start researching preschool options now.  The choices expand the closer Axel gets to two years.  Figuring out how the wait lists work, though, is it's own kind of science.  It seems like the waitlists should just be first come, first served - you know, take a number, sit on a hard plastic chair, and read your magazine, like the DMV.  But, no, that's not how it works.  Some of the waitlists operate by month - put your name on the list of the month for which you want a spot and, if a spot opens up that month, you might get it.  But if a spot opens up the next month and you didn't also put your name on the list for the next month, you're bumped to the bottom.  At another place, you put your name on the interest list.  Then, a few months before a spot or two might open up, the center director calls the interest list families, and there's a mad rush down to the place to put down the deposit and secure the highest spot on the waitlist - and even then, you might not get a spot.  I'm not even going to start on the interview and applications for some of the Montessori schools.  Just thinking about prepping a two year old for an interview freaks me out.  I mean, what do you do?  Remind him not to pick his nose before he shakes the prospective teacher's hand?   I don't even know what sort of preschool will be a fit for Axel but, with the length of waitlists, I feel like I've got to get him on at least a few, so that the balance of power is switched once he's ready to go to preschool, and we will get to choose from several options, instead of going with the only place that has an opening for us.

     

    The main thing I've learned in all this calling around to the preschools is that I am not important.  I am not desireable.  The preschools - at least before you get in - are the pretty popular girls, and I'm the drooling math genius desperate to tutor them just to get my foot in the door.  Half of them don't call me back.  I've yet to receive an email reply from any that I've sent - makes me wonder why the preschools even have email addresses listed on their websites.  They're all playing hard to get, and I haven't even figured out the rules.   There's a secret password I don't know.   Maybe I should start bringing fresh baked cookies on the information tours with me.

     

    When I started on this preschool quest, I heard something that frightened me even more: a coworker's wife told me that they'd put their daughter's name on the waitlist for her charter school before her first birthday.  She's just now five, and will be entering kindergarten at the school in the fall.  Oh. My. God.    Maybe I should just homeschool Axel and avoid all of the school craziness.  Then I'd be able to avoid being driven insane by the waitlist waiting game, and I'd never have to make cupcakes for 60 2nd graders or worry that I'd break 25 little hearts when the class hamster eate its young while staying at our house over winter break.  

     

    Really, though, I'm sure that it will all work out.  I went to neighborhood public schools, and I turned out OK.  As long as Axel's in a daycare or preschool that is safe, with loving and caring staff,that returns my calls and access to some finger paints and construction paper and a playground, I figure it will be fine.   But if you know the secret preschool password, please share it with me...

     



in

About the Blogger

Oz Spies

Oz Spies in Denver

Oz Spies lives in Denver, Colorado with her husband, a firefighter; their son, Axel; and a slightly obese dog and cat. She has a MFA in Creative Writing from Colorado State University.

GROUP BLOGS

  • Strollerderby

    The smartest, funniest, most exhaustive parenting blog in the blogosphere.
  • Droolicious

    Modern design for modern parents.
  • FameCrawler

    Your daily baby celebrity fix.
back to blog homepage