The Sock Hop

I had hoped to bring the Monkeys in costume to the Sock Hop, their first school function, a dance party for preschoolers. I had found found really nice poodle appliques obviously meant for circle skirts, but my sewing machine had seized up over a bobbin thread. I took the machine apart as much as I dared, could see the problem thread but could not remove it. Sigh. No period costumes.

I do have friends with sewing machines, but I didn't call anyone because I've never sewed on an electric. Yes, Miss Video Production sews on a foot-powered machine, a Singer treadle. That's what I learned on, and I really don't feel like going any faster. Of course, with video editing there's no way I'd stick with the Video Toaster and Amiga system I learned on.

I put in some parent volunteer hours with set-up, and being the tallest person, I hung all the glittery garlands, crepe paper ribbon, and decorative records. Duct tape really works best on cinder block walls, though it seemed like overkill with the crepe paper. Also, the cafeteria chairs proved much studier to stand on than the step-stool someone brought for the occasion. The music man was setting up too, a couple of keyboards and his speakers. I heard a whisper that he had played as part of Haley and the Comets years ago.

The Monkeys were intrigued when I explained that admission ("the ticket to get in") to the Sock Hop was a pair of new socks. Monkey1 picked out a six-pack of white cotton socks, calling them "Money Socks." I did have to clarify that we can't use Money Socks at the grocery store.

Monkey2, age 2 and 3/4, made a beeline for the dance floor right in front of the music and danced and twirled and found partners. She doesn't even attend the preschool.

Monkey1, age 4 and 3/4, hung back, eyed where her classmates were, sampled the food table, and then visited the activities station, where she put on two temporary tattoos, little hearts on one arm. The fascination lasted about five minutes, and then she was clawing them off, tearfully telling me she didn't want them. Soap did not remove them, but a little rubbing with a wet paper towel did the trick. Then she chased around with her friends, taking the little inflatable table decorations -- microphones, guitars, etc. -- and whacking each other with them. During one careening chase around the room, the inflatable jukebox was "mistaken" for a punching bag. Since one of the parents had had to inflate this over-four-foot tall object without a pump, I intervened.

I bundled the Monkeys into their pajamas before latching them into the car, Dad to put them to bed while I helped take down the decorations. Reportedly Monkey2 cried all the way home because she thought Mommy was staying to dance without her. Walking down the dimly lit halls, re-checking that doors were locked, I recalled my lock-up duties in the college theater building. Funny how the cast of shadows were the same, yet what worlds away that was, before everything that is now.

Well, not before the sewing machine.

Back to Washing Diapers

The underpants lasted a half and a day.

Monkey2 wanted her diapers back. She had quite a case of performance anxiety on the afternoon of the whole day, and two large accidents, so I'm not exactly anxious to push her on this step.

At one point with Monkey1 I looked at the library for potty training books; faced with an entire shelf of books, I chose the slimmest volume. Chapter after chapter, it said, "You can try this... but it won't work if he's not ready.... You could try this... but it won't work if she's not ready." And people pay money for this advice? Good thing I use the library!

Also long ago, I had heard from a mother, who had asked a friend and mother of six or eight kids how she did it. The answer was she let her kids BEG for underpants. That sounded really easy on mom, and just my style -- since I'm willing to put up with diapers (having the cloth ones helps), and I consider preschool optional.

I'll admit, Monkey1 had a 10-minute screaming fit when I identified her as "ready," but a few hours later she was quite proud of being diaperless. Sure there were accidents, but both of us were in a ready mental state to deal with them. Well, most of the time.

So the "Princess" training pants are in the drawer, where Monkey2 can contemplate or ignore them, ready for when she's ready to try again.

Baby No More?

August 2008: I ask Monkey1 if she needs a "freshie," she says No, Wait, screws up her face, and then whips off her warmly wet diaper. That's when I knew it was time for the underwear.

January 2010: In the locker room before swimming lessons, Monkey2 holds onto her diaper's waist, saying, No, Wait, and then relaxes and wants her swim diaper.

Oh. This again.

But then I forget until later in the day, when she sees some of Monkey1's pink ones laying around, and she protests, No PURPLE! So together we investigate the mysterious locked closet (the door sticks), and I pile out the cushy training underpants. We have an enormous stack of them: pink, flowered, hearted, white, and two pair that say "Princess" and feature crowns, carriages, and high-heeled dancing slippers. These are the ones Monkey2 wants. She walks with a funny wiggle as she gets the feeling of this new item of clothing.

And we're off.

Ballet Shoes

Part of Monkey1's going to school this year was a promise that if she went to pre-school, followed the directions of the teacher, and all that, she would be able to go to Ballet School after Christmas.

So, one of her presents under the Christmas tree was a leotard and tights, a reminder that she was keeping up her part of the bargain and that Ballet School was coming. This particular leotard was for playing around the house; the ballet school requires a certain uniform one, yet to be purchased. However, this week, the registration finalized, we bought her first ballet shoes -- those leather pink ones with an elastic strap and with hardly any sole. She gleefully danced up and down the aisle in Payless, and in the car clutched them firmly in her hands, impatient to get home and put them on again. I had told her that she may wear the ballet shoes at home, as well as for class, but NEVER outside.

She asked me to change the radio station from "mommy's country music" to "dancing" music. I was delighted to find "Dancing Queen."

She was not amused. "But Mommy, that's not Ballet Music!"

Inside the lid of the shoe box was a little story about Sarah Lane, who dances with the American Ballet Theater, who had her first pair of ballet shoes from Payless. My husband was skeptical; did she really? was it just a marketing ploy? The lid says, "First pair of ballet shoes, Payless ShoeSource, Memmphis, TN 1988"

Not that it matters to my little hopeful ballerina. She put on the ballet shoes, leotard, and tights, as soon as we were in the door, excitedly pointing her toes and stretching her legs high and pointing her toes again. Next she had out her books, and the illustrated ballet books that take the reader through a beginner's class day, from warm-up through curtsey at the end, and she worked through them methodically, narrating her imagined ballet school class.

She tried to wear the ballet shoes to bed, but after a few minutes she took them off. They were on again at 6:30 a.m.

To help with the month before the spring semester starts, I gave her a calendar, and every morning she is excited to cross off one more day towards ballet school.

I just hope she likes ballet class as much as she likes the idea of ballet.

Peacefully

This week, Monkey1 was a different kid. She went to school without a quibble, kissed me good-bye without a tear, and happily screamed and waved upon sighting me at pick-up time.

Yeah, that was My Kid

Today was worse.

I ended up hauling a screaming and kicking Monkey1 out to the car barefoot. It was about 20 degrees outside.

Once she was strapped into her carseat, I told her that she had school today, or we would not play with certain friends tomorrow, and I told her to think about that on the way to school. I hated to lay things out that way, but it was the only thing I could think of. She had been looking forward to the Friday playdate all week. Each morning she asked, "What's today?" and I'd tell her, and she'd say, "And then comes Tuesday, and Wednesday, and Thursday, and THEN FRIDAY!"

Monkey2 wailed at the idea of no playdate. Otherwise, it was a quiet drive to school.

In the school parking lot, I handed Monkey1 her socks and shoes, which she put on her cold feet. She refused her leggings.

I had a choice of taking her directly to the second dose of flu shot clinic or delivering her to her classroom and letting the school personnel escort her to and from the shot. I took her to the flu shot. It took me and two nurses to get it done and the band-aid on her arm. She refused the lollypop but then loudly had second thoughts about that once we were out of the room; fortunately Monkey2 had taken two off the table. With the commotion of the hysterical 4-1/2-year-old, no one had paid much attention to the 2-1/2-year-old's heist.

We walked down the hall to the school office, signed in late, and despite usual procedure, I was allowed to walk her to her classroom.

I don't know if Monkey1 will ever want to go to school again.

Day 51

Today was Monkey1's fifty-first day of preschool.

Today was also the day that I thought was going to happen in September: Monkey1 refused to let go of my leg, cried, and the assistant teacher had to hold her while I picked up Monkey2 and RAN out of the classroom.

By the time I had buckled Monkey2 in the car, another mother came over to reassure me that as soon as I was out of sight, my daughter had stopped crying. "She went from 10 to 1 like that. It was impressive," she reported.

Unfortunately tomorrow is the follow-up H1N1 shot. What a way to end the first week back at school.