My day at preschool aka, could we get a little more glue over here?

As promised, it's finally time for me to tell you about my experience going to preschool with my daughter.

I must admit that I sometimes get a little nervous when I'm around little kids or dogs. When I was a little kid, I had a bad experience with a dog and I think it traumatized me for life. When I was a little kid, I also had a bad experience with a little kid, and well, I've been afraid of little kids ever since.

I also was scared I would stick out in the preschool class given the fact that I'm at least 2.5 feet taller than all the other kids, I no longer own any Mary Janes, and I will never again wear leggings during this lifetime outside the privacy of my own home.

But fortunately, I had my brave, self-confident preschooler to guide me through the long hallway to the preschool class and tell me what to do.

We got to class with our big piece of posterboard and despite the fact the class had a substitute teacher that day, she immediately knew I was THE Mom.

We washed our hands and when I wasn't looking, my daughter correctly spotted our last name on a magnet on the chalkboard and placed it under her emotion for the day. The kids have just started recognizing their last names, rather than their first.

I looked up to see she had placed us on Excited, and that made me feel very Happy. But we only had one last name magnet, so I decided it was best for me to feel Excited, too.

As we were hanging up our coats, one of the boys announced that Aidan* was wearing sandals.

"But we won't be going outside today so his socks won't get wet," the boy said in a very loud voice.

I looked around to find the culprit. Sure enough. There was a little boy wearing socks with sandals. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt that he must be having an allergic reaction to his tennis shoes or perhaps he had a sweaty foot problem. But then I remembered all of the times my boys insisted on wearing socks with their sandals in preschool and realized he might not have grown out of his strong-willed toddler years just yet.

Soon, it was time for our circle time. My daughter and I excitedly walked to the corner of the room and excitedly sat down on a little plaid sofa while all of the other kids sat in a circle on the floor in front of us.

The Substitute told the children that she was recovering from a case of laryngitis. She asked all of the children to say the word laryngitis, and amazingly, they all said it perfectly. Her doctor had instructed her to speak very softly, she said, so the kids would need to be very quiet and listen carefully to her speak.

I had a sneaking suspicion she was making this up. But whatever the case, I thought it was an excellent story, and one I planned to use in home school instead of my usual tactic of using my harsh, mean voice when my boys were running around during math time.

It was time for us to explain the photos on the "All About Me" poster we had so lovingly and painstakingly made together. My daughter immediately skipped to the middle photo on the bottom row and explained that this was the one in which she and her brothers are dressed like INDIANS! Then, she was done.

My thoughts were racing: What about all of the other photos?!? What about your baby picutre?!? What about our fabulous trip to Rio de Janeiro?!? And what about DisneyLand?!? And haven't I told you a hundred times to say NATIVE AMERICANS?!?

But then I remembered that kids don't even develop a memory until they are about 4 years old, so how could she possibly be expected to recite the details of more than half of the photos. I guided her through the explanations we had rehearsed of the other photos and was relieved to be done with our presentation.

"We usually have questions," the teacher's aide said.

Oh.

The hands shot up and I have to say that my daughter handled herself like she was the press secretary at a news conference.

"Yes, Olivia," she said, pointing at a blond girl to the left.

"What is your favorite color?"

Whew! An easy one. As if the pink posterboard and the purple outfit weren't a dead giveaway.

My daughter scanned the children.

"Yes. Ally?"

"What is your favorite fruit?"

"Strawberries," she answered calmly.

WHY didn't I THINK of putting a strawberry sticker on the poster?!?

Finally, we had time for one more question from Aidan.

"What is you favo-ite yo-ga?"

"Excuse me," I asked, hoping the kid wasn't inquiring about her favorite Yoga move.

"Yo-gut?"

Yo-gut?

"Yogurt?" Yes, that was it. "What is your favorite yogurt?"

"Vanilla," my daughter calmly answered, which I thought was really good since the true answer is: "Well, I love strawberry and blueberry yogurt, but my mom is so cheap she will only buy the big jumbo container of vanilla."

Next, it was time for everyone to bring out a secret item from their backpack for the letter of the day, R.

All of the girls brought rabbits and all of the boys brought racecars, except for one very creative little boy who brought a Red Robot. Oh, and Aidan. He brought a rocket. The same little boy who had called him on the sandals also argued that his vehicle wasn't a rocket at all.

The teachers and I looked at the blaster on the back and defended him, "Oh, yes. It's a rocket." But inside, I think we all had the same thought: "That thing is totally a hovercraft."

OK... It was finally time for us to go to our first station. This is where we had to color pictures of various weather conditions and draw a line connecting them to a child playing outside in the same type of weather. We got ours done in no time and carefully colored our pictures using identical color choices.

We then spent the next five minutes trying to convince a little boy that although it can be windy in winter, the picture of the wind would best go with the kid flying a kite, rather than the picture of a girl playing in the snow. "But I already used that one," he kept telling us as we tried to convince him to change his line. We finally gave up and left the teacher's aide to argue with him.

Next, we went to the other station where we had to use squares of various sizes and colors to create a mosaic-type picture. The teacher said only three children could work at this station at once because the class only had three glue sticks left.

To say they even had three glue sticks was a bit of an exaggeration, since all that was left was a tiny bit of blue glue stuck to the very top of the inside twisty part.

Without thinking, I said, "Boy, honey, I think we should have brought some glue sticks to school today."

"Oh, the glue sticks will be arriving this afternoon!" The Substitute reassured me. I'm sure she was afraid I might be thinking: "With the hundreds of dollars I spend each month on tuition, you people can't even afford GLUE STICKS?!?", but I wasn't thinking that at all. Nope. Not even for one second.

(I might have been thinking, "Yeah, and you have laryngitis, too," but I wasn't. I just thought that would be kind of funny to write.)

Finally, it was time to have some free play. We joined a table where we got to build with some little blocks that were sort of like Legos, but not Legos because they were nearly impossible to get the tiny bricks apart. All of the kids were building tall towers with their bricks. And one little girl showed me a secret trick to pull them apart.

I decided this would be a good time to use my years of training as a Toy Lady and suggested we build our towers in patterns. Then, I realized we COULD put the bricks together in directions other than UP.

I built a little base for mine and then started placing the bricks in alternating directions.

"What IS that?!?" one of the kids asked. Soon, a few more kids had gathered around to see the square tower I had created.

I decided to try something more complicated and built a rainbow, then a frog. Nearly the whole class had now gathered around us.

"Can I play with that?!"

"Will you build one for me?!" kids asked. Soon, I was whipping out brick structures faster than a balloon-sculpting artist at a kids' carnival.

Despite my tall stature and my lack of fashion, I was becoming popular!** Now, I WAS excited! I wondered if all of the other moms were this popular when they visited, and I decided that they probably were. It was finally time for me to go, and I have to say that I wished I could come back another day.

But it was time for home school. And time for me to use a few of the phrases I had learned that morning in preschool, which means that I learned a few things myself in the land of 4- and 5-year-olds.

* The names in this post have been changed to protect the innocent.

** If you were able to make it through all of my sarcasm, then I thank you very much for reading.




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Ribbons and bows and flowers, oh my!

I've never been a girly-girl.

I can't remember ever in my life wearing a bow in my hair. I don't think I've ever owned a ribbon. I look horrible in pink. My favorite colors are green and brown.

I was born 16 months after my older brother and spent most of my childhood playing outdoors with him and his friends. I liked to ride bikes and play kick ball.

I wasn't necessarily a tomboy. I liked to get dressed up, and I've always loved fashionable clothes. But I've just never been overly girly.

So then God had a big chuckle when he sent me our first daughter. She loves dresses and ribbons and bows. Even when she was about 2 years old, she would cry if I didn't dress her in pink. I'm not kidding. She would cry and shout the word, "pink"!

It hasn't come naturally to me to dress her up like a girly girl. I love to buy her cute, trendy clothes. But I simply forget about all of the little accessories.

After five years and now with a second daughter in the family, I am finally starting to catch on. In fact, I might even be becoming girly!

I have been thinking I should try to make some bows to put in my daughter's hair. Never before would such a thought have crossed my mind.

So last week on our big trip to the mall, I was drawn to a kiosk in the middle of the hallway filled with big bows, headbands and flowers. Much to my own disbelief, I suddenly became an impulse shopper.

I purchased things like this:


That big flower can be worn as a barrett. Or it can be attached to baby's headband.



The pink bow can be removed and worn on its own or attached to my older daughter's pink headband. Here's another version in purple:




Now, to all of my mom friends who have known about things like this for years, please don't laugh. You can see how excited I am about this new discovery in girly accessories. I'm even blogging about it!

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steel-her heart

I thought that after that bombshell I dropped on y'all yesterday, that maybe today would be a good day to write about nail polish.

But if you did miss yesterday's post, it might be a good idea to go get caught up. Otherwise, you're going to be a little confused when I bring up weird stuff like why I'm eating a chicken pot pie at 9:30 p.m. Which I am. And it is so good.

Nail polish.

OK, it's sad to say, but until about five years ago, I had never even stepped foot inside a spa. Never had a massage. Or a pedicure. Definitely no manicures for me. I grew up in a small town where we went to the beauty parlor to get our hair cut and permed. And that was it.

About five years ago, my sales director with Discovery Toys invited me to hang out at a spa for a day with her and a bunch of other leaders as a Christmas gift. I was a little apprehensive at first, but after a few hours, I was hooked. Eating snacks all day. Chatting with friends. And getting spa treatments.

Hello, dear Day Spa? Where have you been all my life?

A few years later, I promoted to Sales Director, too, and started hosting spa days for the ladies I worked with. I even earned the amazing reward a few years ago of flying on a private jet to an exclusive spa in California to be pampered for three days.


I went from never-had-a-pedicure to Little Miss addicted to mud wraps, hot stone massages, chocolate scrubs and paraffin wax treatments.

But still, I see going to the spa as purely a social experience. I don't ever go by myself. I love hanging out and getting pedicures with friends.

I love a pedicure, but for the most part, I paint my nails myself. Which finally brings me to the point of this post... nail COLOR!

I love seeing how different people choose completely different colors of nail polish. What does your color choice say about you?


My friend with the sweet, quiet spirit chose the lightest color of pink on the shelf. The girl with the great tan and fun-loving attitude picked out a bright shade of coral.

In that photo, my toes were about as bright as they get in that shade of purple at the very bottom. I tend to go toward the darker hues.

What does that say about me? I like to think it means I'm creative and want to push the envelope a bit. But darker colors also seem to go better with my skin tone and match my wardrobe, which is made up entirely of black, brown, green and purple, with a little blue here and there.


I am loving my new nail polish color that I picked up for $4.99 at Target. It's called Steel-her heart by Revlon. It's a swirly metalic shade of steely grey. Depending on the light, it can look silver, grey or purple. So, it pretty much goes with all of my clothes.

It looks awesome with dressy sandals and just as good with black flip-flops. A girl should not love a nail polish color this much. It's just weird.



I think it might even replace My Private Jet by OPI as my favorite nail color. This one looks really dark in the bottle. But when you get in the sunlight, it has flecks in the polish that make it look purple or grey.

Don't worry, My Private Jet. I still love you even though the salon said you are discontinued. If I could find a case, I would buy you to keep on hand for future generations.

So, what about you? Are you a spa addict or never had a pedicure? Do you feel naked without your toes painted? And what does your color say about you?

I really DO want to know!

senor and the roses

I was thankful to sit in the darkness for nearly two hours. I didn't have to worry about any of the people seated next to me and what they would think about the tears streaming down my face.

Things like this always make me cry. The adorable little 3-year-olds in their bright pink tutus, spinning when they are supposed to kick. Raising the right hand, when it's time to lift the left. Tapping their tiny little ballet shoes. Their cuteness makes me cry.

Then the 7- and 8-year-olds come prancing onto the stage. They are old enough to do their dance almost in synchronization. Their little skirts flow behind them as they run in a circle. Now it's the beautiful music that makes me cry.

Out comes my daughter and her class in their bright red tutus. They are "Senor and the Roses". Senor is often facing the wrong direction, lifting the wrong arm, spinning the wrong way, but he's so cute in his bright red sparkling bow tie. And there's my daughter, leaping, running back and forth, spinning and tapping her foot in her first ever ballet performance. I better find a Kleenex.

The acts continue. Pre-teens. Teen-agers. Adults. I sit there in my solitude thinking about all of the women who choreographed each dance, all of the hours the kids spent practicing, all of the time their parents spent driving them to class. And, of course, it makes me cry.

I know I'm feeling a little more emotional than usual because I'm there alone. I'm squeezed between grandparents, parents, brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles who came in groups of six, eight and 12 to see one little performer.

I'm wishing my husband wasn't in China right now. I'm thinking how nice it must be to have family living nearby. I'm missing my boys, even though I know it's better that they are enjoying the beautiful day outdoors at a playdate. They sat through the dress rehearsal yesterday and, even though they loved seeing their sister perform, that was enough ballet for them.

When the show finally ended, the people sitting next to me didn't want to move. So, I waited behind a stream of people to fight my way toward the waiting room where I could find my 4-year-old.

She came running toward me and then pulled me down to her level.

"Mommy. All the other girls got flowers," she whispered. She had a tear in her eye.

It hit me.

She had been waiting as each parent came to pick up his or her child. They entered the room with their bouquets for the little performers. She probably thought the flowers were an automatic benefit of being in the show.

I, on the other hand, had walked right past the table where they were selling flowers. Just as I had walked past the T-shirts and the personalized street signs, with words like "Danceforce Way", one could purchase for a child's room.

It hadn't occurred to me that the other moms of the 3- and 4-year-olds would present their daughters with a bouquet after their 1-minute segment in the show. I saw it as one more extravagance. I mean, wasn't it enough already? The $100 to take the class? Another $50 for the costume? Then the shoes and tights? And the professional video? The class photo? I had sprung for all of that. But it hadn't entered my mind to buy the flowers.

She kept saying it all the way out of the high school and the whole ride home. "Mommy, all the other girls got flowers."

"I thought maybe we could get you a movie!" I suggested.

"OK! A movie AND flowers."

"Hey, let's go get hot fudge sundaes!"

"OK! And then flowers?"

She was tired after sitting in that room nearly three hours. The girls colored as they waited for the show to start, and they played during all of the other acts. It was a long afternoon for the little girls who didn't get the benefit of watching the other dancers.

She was tired. Too tired to run in a store and grab some flowers. Not that it would have been the same.

Sometimes I feel so inadequate as the mom of a girl. I spent the first half of my eight years of motherhood parenting boys only. As long as their clothes were somewhat clean and their hair wasn't sticking up, they were presentable.

But a girl? I've never really been all that girly. So, I have to think hard to come up with a plan for how I will style her hair. How will I get that little flowery thing to stay put on the top of her head for three hours? I thought I was doing well to suggest she put on some pink lipgloss for the special occassion.

When we got there and met up with her little group, I hoped she didn't notice the other girls had glitter in their hair, eye shadow and make-up. I hadn't thought to go to such lengths to make my 4-year-old beautiful.

We drove home and enjoyed our ice cream sundaes. I let her watch a movie on the way to pick up the boys. I know it wasn't necessary.

I was feeling guilty that she had no one but a single parent in the audience. Why didn't I think about putting glitter in her hair? And the flowers. Those darned flowers.

Several hours later, the flowers are nothing but a distant memory to her. She probably won't think about them again. But me? I'll probably go buy some tomorrow. And I'll think about her in her bright red tutu, spinning like such a big girl on that enormous stage.

And I'm sure it will make me cry.