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• A Whole New World

  Pardon the Little Mermaid reference but the life of a preschool parent is going to take some getting used to. Everything is so serious, now. So many new rules. Is it wrong that I just want to sneak out the back door and not buy into any of it?   ...Outrunning everyone but his shadow...   Apparently there was some drama at the end of the year when a teacher left Archer's school without notice. Parents were livid and still are it seems, deciding to create a sort of "parent's union" and hosting underground meetings about their children's well being, voicing their concerns, etc. I RSVP'd for the meeting because I didn't know how to say no, and then I felt bad that I even wanted to (say no) because I really should be concerned with my child's well-being, too. And I am, but not in a "parent's conference" kind of way. It gives me a poopy stomach just thinking about it, getting together for lemon squares and chitchat about playground etiquette or whatever. It's times like these when I wonder if I'm even cut out for this parent-stuff. I think I'm a good mom and I love my son more than anything, obviously, but the bureaucracy of parenting is intimidating as hell, not to mention something I'm very uncomfortable with. I want Archer to make friends and learn stuff. I want his preschool experience to be as amazing as it possibly can be... but. Butbutbutbuuuuut...  All the drama. Drama! Why!? WHY!?...   Read More... Posted Jan 23 2008, 09:57 PM by GirlsGoneChild with | with 36 comment(s) Filed under: fear, growing up, preschool

• Fast Times at Montessori School

  "I'm going to sneak away, now" I whispered to Archer's teacher, just as Archer was making himself comfortable with the other boys and girls at the snack table. "Sneaking out is a bad idea," she said. "Then he'll think you left him. Tell him goodbye, instead. Tell him that you'll see him in a few hours." "But he'll cry!" "Yeah, I know. They always do. But after a while he'll be fine. And pretty soon he won't cry at all. You'll see." I crouched down next to Archer who was enjoying drinking his water from a Dixie cup. "Archer? I have to go now but I'll pick you up in a few hours, okay? Have fun at school! Bye-bye!" "Bye-bye," Archer said, as I scurried away. Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back... But of course... Because I couldn't help it, I looked back. A frown was forming on his face and I knew any second he would cry. I pushed through the front door just in time to miss hearing his wails.    Read More... Posted Jan 07 2008, 11:14 PM by GirlsGoneChild with | with 21 comment(s) Filed under: growing up, preschool, first day of school

• With the Appearance of Freckles

  Before Archer was born I figured people were born with freckles, or maybe it was something I never thought entirely about. Not until Archer was born pale and unspeckled. I've always been fond of freckles. I think they're adorable on children and sexy on adults. Growing up I memorized the freckled patters on my arms and legs: the pattern that forms a little dipper on my right arm. I remember, in Kindergarten excitedly finding Cassiopeia on my left shoulder and how I was with the boy I had a crush on as we counted our freckles together under the slide. I kept my favorite freckles a secret and when I couldn't find constellations on my skin I drew them myself. A giraffe down my stomach. A robot on my calf. Sometimes I would find a new freckle and give it a name. And every year more of them would appear, multiplying under the sun, having freckle babies in the night when my eyes were closed. I have been waiting rather excitedly to see whether or not Archer would become freckled, covered with constellations, speckled with little moles he might one day call "his favorite". They recently started to appear, the freckles, popping up like little mushrooms, dark scattered specks upon his toes and fingers and scrawny knees. The first freckle I noticed was on his toe. He was wearing sandals and then POW! It existed. Out of nowhere. Several weeks ago, it happened again, except this time on his face-- two tiny dots appeared:   Skin no longer a pure porcelain. When you're a new parent, every little thing becomes a major milestone, just like every silly scribble-drawing becomes a masterpiece. I am more in love with Archer's quirks-- the things that make him unique. The marks and spots that appear and form, the scars.   Read More... Posted Oct 11 2007, 09:38 PM by GirlsGoneChild with | with 5 comment(s) Filed under: growing up, freckles

• Crying With Scissors

  I have been dragging my feet about the whole hair-cutting thing. Sure, I've trimmed Archer's locks once or twice but I've never sat down to give him a bonafide haircut.   Any new parent knows that a haircut is so much more than just a haircut. It's this weird new world of non-babydom. Where hair grows like a weed and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Even though it seems too soon. Too soon for haircuts and size 9 shoes and 3T clothes. How is he already in a 3T? HOW!?   First or even second or third haircuts are a hard pill to swallow for some parents. Myself included. And I'm pretty sure Kate Hudson knows what I'm talking about.   Today I bit the bullet and decided it was time to cut Archer's hair. Because it seemed like maybe it was bothering him, falling down in his face as I pushed him on the swing. One hand on the chain, the other in his face, pushing his bangs out of his eyes.     Archer in "The Before."   It took about an hour to get it right, carefully snipping little bits at a time as not to stab him with the scissors. Trying to distract him with the television as I scurried around him on my knees.   The whole time I kept shaking my head, muttering to myself like a mad woman.   Read More... Posted Sep 17 2007, 08:52 PM by GirlsGoneChild with | with 26 comment(s) Filed under: Toddlerhood, growing up, first haircut

• Nightmares on Crib Sheets

  My earliest memories involve nightmares. Waking up screaming and sweating, waiting to be rescued by my mother in her nightgown or my father rubbing his eyes. Most nights they would take me back to bed with them, or my mother would sing to me or my Dad would scratch my back. The nightmares persisted, almost every night for five years. Eventually the nightmares became less. I started sleep-walking instead. Once I sleepwalked to the staircase and tumbled all the way down. I woke up bleeding from the head and totally confused. But most of the time I just woke up in the bathroom or on the bedroom floor. There was nothing worse, though, then the nightmares.  I had a recurring fear of skinny objects. A phobia. In my dreams toothpicks had legs and they were all marching side by side, thousands of them, kind of like that scene with the broomsticks in Fantasia. I hadn't thought about my nightmares in forever. Not until Archer started waking up screaming. Standing in his crib, holding open his curtains, staring out the window like he was watching something horrific. Sweating and shaking-- totally inconsolable. This has been going on, now, for the last few nights and I don't know what to do. I wish I knew what the dreams were about but he cannot tell me. He just screams and shakes and I do what my parents did for me, rub his back, sing to him... The ants go marching one by one, hoorah. ...Until he falls back asleep, up against me on the couch or in bed. Like right now. His little head on my lap as I type this from the safety of our couch, where nightmares cannot reach him for whatever reason. I remember feeling so safe between my parents, like nothing could touch or harm me. Like everything was going to be okay. I knew that Boogie-men couldn't reach me and there was no such thing as monsters under my parent's bed. Not even marching skinny toothpicks could find their way back into my subconscious. In many ways I still believe that-- that when something scary happens, or upsetting, that I can just run away to my parent's house. That they will take care of me. Protect me from boogie-men or the scary things in life. The complexities. The fears of having so much responsibility, of feeling unprepared for domestic life-- for marriage and motherhood and being an adult. Waking life can be just as scary, just as out-of-control as nightmares. Sometimes even worse. The inner-demons we wrestle with in our waking life cannot be killed with a lullaby or a parent's warm embrace.   Read More... Posted Aug 10 2007, 12:32 AM by GirlsGoneChild with | with 9 comment(s) Filed under: Nostalgia, nightmares, growing up