Up in the morning and out to school...

from the song School Day by Chuck Berry.

I'm sorry that it's been a week since my last post. TFYO started kindergarten last week, and I was filling in on the night shift, to boot.

TFYO was very excited about getting to ride "the big girl bus". I was terrified. I'm sure I seemed like a helicopter parent, shouting instructions while she was getting on the bus, but I promised myself I'd let her go, and I would not meet her at the school.

As she was getting on the bus, I caught a glimpse of her clear backpack.* I realized she was missing something, something rather important, actually. She was missing her three-ring notebook which we were told at the school open house must absolutely, positively come with her every day. That binder holds her lunch money, her behaviour chart, notes from her teacher and any homework she's supposed to do or has already done.

In a panic, I fled back down our street from the bus stop, pushing the stroller at full speed. Baby J was less than impressed, and let me know by filling her diaper and spitting up all over herself. I must have literally scared the crap out of the poor kid.

So, even though I didn't want to, I ended up joining the horde of parents at the elementary school the first day. I had hoped to beat the bus, and make it to the classroom before TFYO. As I was speeding down the twisty two-lane highway, I noticed blue lights in my mirror. I began to pull to the side, convinced that I'd never make it to the school on time now, but he sped past me and pulled over the mom in the minivan filled with kids in front of me instead.

Now, normally I'm not the kind of person who rejoices in others misfortune. Not much, anyway. But I couldn't help smirking a little as I sped past her arguing with the deputy over how late her kids were going to be thanks to him. Hallelujah!

My joy was short-lived when I actually made it to the school, though. Traffic was already backing up at the entrance, and I could tell the parking lot was full. Wending my way through the throngs of tiny people carrying oversized backpacks, I managed to find a small strip of grass at the far end of the ball field that was not occupied by a pick-up truck, an SUV or a minivan.

Gathering up Baby J (who was howling with anger at being strapped in to the car seat), I huffed and puffed my way across the grounds until I could get in a door, where I was immediately told I had to go in the front and sign in.

Back out, and half way around the school, I pushed my way into the front entrance with seemingly every other parent in the county.

I was met with cries of "Sign in! We can't let you in unless you sign the sheet!" I scribbled something down on a line which may or may not have actually been my name. It was difficult to tell. Under reason for being there, I scrawled "forgetfulness", which was true.

Finally, notebook tucked under one arm, ten pound baby carrier containing thirteen pounds of baby straining the muscles of the other arm, I made it to TFYO's classroom. Her teacher looked puzzled until I displayed the notebook, unable to summon enough breath to speak. She smiled at me and asked if I wanted to say hi to my child before leaving. I nodded.

Was I met with a smile? Did I receive a delighted hug? No. All I got was...

"Tsk! Mooooo-ooom! What are you doing here?" And she rolled her eyes. My darling, sweet child, happy FYO...rolled her eyes at me.

Now that I'd managed to catch my breath, my answer was a bit tart.

"Well, I'm not here for my health. I'm bringing you the notebook that you forgot this morning."

"But Mommy, I'm too busy talking to Frankie to talk to you. Go home!"

"Who the heck is Frankie?"

"I'm Frankie!" said a little voice. It belonged to a cherub- faced boy with a mop of curls on his head. "I've got a loose tooth, see?"

Yeah, I could see. I could see that a loose tooth was much more important than mommy. TFYO gave me another look that plainly said "Beat it, ma. You're ruining me rep, here."

So, I slunk back to the car, trying not to sniffle over my first born baby, who no longer needed me. It was then that Baby J laughed out loud...and filled another diaper.

At least I know I'm still needed!

*County school rules state that all backpacks must be made of mesh or clear plastic. Same goes for pencil cases. Purses and makeup cases are subject to search.

So let's go on with the shoooooow...

Just picture Ethel Merman singing that title, and you'll get the idea.

It seems I am awash in awards again. Both Jo Beaufoix and Rotten Correspondent have seen fit to give me awards.

I have to say, it would be nice to give them awards occasionally, and since we know all the same people, it also makes it tough to pass these awards along sometimes. But here we go!


From Jo, I got this:






And as she says on her blog, "Excellent, dude!" I'm not bodacious, my blog is. I'm going to put it on my resume. For those of you who have forgotten your 80's slang, Merriam-Webster has this to say:

Main entry: bodacious

Pronunciation: bO-'dA-sh&s
Function: adjective
Etymology: probably blend of bold and audacious
1 Southern & Midland : OUTRIGHT, UNMISTAKABLE
2 : REMARKABLE, NOTEWORTHY
3 : SEXY, VOLUPTUOUS - bo·da·cious·ly adverb



So, my blog is sexy, and I can live with that.

I'm giving it to (where's an embedded drum roll audio clip when you need one?):

Bellevelma at Running with Books. She's a runner and she likes books, too. She must be bodacious, and her blog surely is.

I've also decided to give one of these to Willowtree. Not because he needs the ego boost (he really doesn't), but because I'm on a quest to see how many of these things he can squeeze in his sidebar. He's got an interesting recipe for baked beans over there today.


Rotten Correspondent gave me this:




I'm calling it the Splat award, because that's what it looks like. But it's actually for blogging that "hits the mark".

I'm giving it to Dumdad at The Other Side of Paris. He's got a series going on his early days in Fleet Street, and I love reading those posts. That, and he's wonderfully funny and plays a mean game of ping-pong (table tennis, depending on where you're from). So, Dumdad, that one's for you.


Today, we are off to the child psychologist for testing, but I'm feeling much more relaxed about it now. Had a run in with the school psychologist last week, and we exchanged some words. The best part about her visit to the school, though, was that my child was a perfect angel the whole day. TFYO sat still for the entire forty-five minutes of circle time, raised her hands to answer questions, quietly helped her classmates complete their projects after finishing her own and played nicely on the playground with all of her peers. The only way the day could have been better is if she'd had a giant middle finger sticking out of her head and aimed at the school psychologist who is so hell bent on putting my child in a "special ed" class. I know that's petty, but she was really putting the pressure on my to let her do an evaluation. She was incredibly unhappy when I told her we were having an independent evaluation done. Both me and TFYO's teacher, Mrs. P, are on the same page with this. TFYO wold likely wither and die without being mainstreamed. Mrs. P doesn't like the school psychologist, either, which tells me something.

Hang the blessed DJ

With thanks to the Smiths for the lyric (see video below).

I'm not sure what I'm going to do with myself today. I don't have to go to work.

That's right, I'm not on the schedule today to fill-in for anyone, and it's the first time in eleven days. But it's also the first time in I don't know when that on a day off work, I didn't have to take care of TFYO. She won't be here. She'll be at school.


WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO FREAKIN' DO WITH MY DAY???


This brings home the realization that I've lost my chief excuse for working out now. I always used to say I was too busy taking care of my child to get up and go for a run, or go to the gym. Damn it. Now I'll have to lose weight.

I suppose I'll mow and edge the lawn this morning before it gets too hot. Then trim the hedges. Maybe head to the great and powerful Walmart for some groceries.

OH MY DEAR GOD I'M GOING TO BE SO FRICKIN' BORED!

Oh, don't mind that. That's my little inner Type A voice panicking. It's just that I've always been TFYO's caregiver, along with Ray. When I wasn't at work, I was with our child. The few moments that I actually spent alone in the house were when Ray would take her to the store or the mall for an hour.

I'M GOING TO BE ALONE IN THE HOUSE FOR SIX HOURS!

It's okay. I'm going to be okay really. This should have hit me last week, but I was so busy being a part-timer working full time hours that this little crisis is just hitting me now. I'll just have a cup of tea, or maybe two. Maybe three. It's a bit too early for wine. I don't think we have any anyway.

YOU FORGOT TO BUY WINE??!!

A spoonful of sugar...

TFYO started her very first week of school this past Monday, and by Wednesday she had brought home her very first school cold. Those of you with kids understand this. When kids all get together, inevitably there is one with a runny nose and a hacking cough whose mother decides to send him to school anyway. And then that kid infects the entire class. So, instead of just one whiny, snotty four-year-old, there are now sixteen of them. It's sort of the same principle that lies behind zombies and vampires. Once you're bitten, you're one of them.

Well, Wednesday night, TFYO had a sore throat and a slight fever and she couldn't sleep. She was up every couple of hours wailing for water. I asked her, begged her, pleaded with her to take a Children's Tylenol to help calm down her throat pain so she (and I!) could sleep. No dice.

This requires a little background information.

TFYO hates medicine, and has since she was a teeny tiny thing. When she was about two years old, she came down with a virus. Our pediatrician at the time said to give her some children's Tylenol to ease her symptoms, and everything would run it's course, no problem. Well, we tried giving her the drops, but truth be told, they tasted awful. She'd run around the house yelling "No med-cine! No med-cine!"

We'd be following behind with the bottle, saying "It's just Tylenol, it's okay!"

So, our pediatrician suggested we hide it in something. I had the brilliant idea to mix it with the milk in her sippy cup.

As an indication of her intelligence, she already seemed to know something was up. I handed her the cup. She sniffed it. She looked at me suspiciously with those big blue eyes. She took a sip.

And then all hell broke loose.

She glared at me. She slammed the cup down on the table. She only said one word, and she said it with vehemence.

"TYLENOL!"

She then sat on the floor with her back turned to me and began to sob.

I felt like the worst mother in the world. I'd broken her trust, and we both sat on the floor and sobbed until Ray came home. Eventually, she crawled into my lap, and I told Ray the story. He laughed, which just made TFYO more upset. Even so, Ray is smarter than I am. He mixed the medicine with vanilla ice cream, and it was downed very quickly.

So, now, trying to get her to take anything, no matter how good it tastes is a struggle. It's a little like giving medicine to a cat. That, and for months afterward she would pick apart any food I gave her and sniff it to make sure I hadn't hidden anything in there.

All day Thursday we went back and forth, "Please take a melt-away, they taste like a cherry candy." Which they really do, by the way. They actually taste really good.

"No," she'd say "It's Tylenol, and I don't like Tylenol."

She finally collapsed from exhaustion Thursday evening about 5:30 p.m. She slept through the night and woke up Friday seemingly better.

"Hi, Mommy, I'm not sick anymore!"

"Oh, you're not, are you?"

"Nope! And I didn't have to go to the doctor, and I didn't have to take any Tylenol! Ha! I'm all better without it! HA! HA!" (That last bit should sound like evil laughter)

TFYO is now invincible. She is immune to all of my mommy powers. Except, perhaps, for vanilla ice cream.

What you gonna do in those shoes?

My little girl is off to school today. And I am off to my first full day as production assistant at the cluster of stations where the husband and I work. Yes, they've added to my duties.

TFYO is going to be learning some social skills, I'm sure, like how to sit in a circle without immediately jumping into a game of "Duck, Duck, Goose", and how to share. Being an only child right now, sharing is something that she's still having trouble with.

I'm also going to be learning some social skills. For example, how not to kill a salesperson who insists that I can squeeze sixty seconds of copy into a thirty second spot. Or how to be gracious when someone puts a production order on my desk five minutes before I'm supposed to leave, and then insists it has to air by 10 a.m. the next morning.

TFYO has new clothes, a brand new backpack for her school things, and a fabulous outlook on what her new school life will be.

I bought a new pair of red tennis shoes, and received a whole barrel of anxiety to tote along with me to work this morning. You see, the production director is out of town through Wednesday this week. That means, I'm in charge. I've spent less than three days with this new order processing software. And now I'm responsible for it. The commercial production I can do in my sleep. I just didn't realize I'd have to schedule the orders, too.

And of course, I've got the "weepy mom" business of sending my only child off to "big kid" school for the very first time. I worry that she won't make friends (that was something I was never good at), I worry that she'll be bored by sitting in a circle reciting the days of the week (which she already knows) and I worry I'm going to be getting a phone call round about noon-ish informing me my child refuses to eat, but is taking great delight in draping banana peels on her classmates heads.

I think there's only one cure for this. More red shoes.

Get on Back to School

Lyric courtesy of Jimmy Buffet and Dan Fogelberg from Domino College

There are some things I love about living in a place like Effingham County. I love the small-town atmosphere. I love how my hair dresser knows a really good local place to get a sandwich, and how they know a really good local place to get mulch for my garden. Everyone knows everyone, and everyone looks out for everyone, in a very down home, "Hey, I brought y'all some fresh biscuits" manner.

There are also some things I don't like. The schools here are fabulous, which means everyone is moving to this area to take advantage of the cheap land and good schools (we're part of that group), but the schools aren't ready for it. Not by a long shot. So much so, that my daughter was on a waiting list three months ago for a slot in the state funded free public pre-kindergarten program, and was still number eleven on the list yesterday as school started.

To say I was in a panic would be putting it mildly.

Ray and I spent most of yesterday calling every state funded program we could find in the county, and everyone had waiting lists a mile long. I looked at churches, but most of the ones in the area that we could afford to pay for were way too conservative for us. But finally, some of those phone calls paid off.

Ray called a bunch of places listed in the local phone book. Most of the day-cares and private pre-kindergartens had been put out of work by the elementary schools getting into the pre-k business. One phone number led to a woman who used to work at a pre-school in Springfield, up the highway about ten miles or so from where we live. She just happened to have the number of a woman whose daughter was opening a brand new state funded pre-school in Old Guyton, not far from where we are. So we called the woman, who gave us her daughter's cell number, which went to voice mail, but had the number of her new pre-school listed. And we hit the jackpot. They had three slots left open.

The building isn't much to look at. It's an old county building across the street from the Guyton Volunteer Fire Department, and half a block up from the county sheriff's building in town. But the folks were nice, and the Four Year Old loved the classroom, even if they hadn't finished putting everything up yet.

And so now she has a place to belong. She's one of only six girls in two pre-kindergarten classes. Truthfully, she's probably not going to learn anything academic from her new school. She can already read, she can print simple sentences, she knows some addition and subtraction, and her multiplication tables. But she's going to learn about dealing with other kids, which makes me happy.

And all because a woman knew a woman who had a daughter with a business. I love Effingham County.