Well, At Least She Learned Something in Pre-K This Year!
June 4, 2008
The following exchange happened earlier this evening…
(Buttercup, with crayon in hand, writing on a manila folder)
Buttercup: “Mommy, what’s the next letter in ‘the’? I’ve got T-H.”
Me: “E, honey.”
she writes an E
B: “Mommy, how do you spell ‘egg’?”
Me: “E-G-G, honey.”
writes it
B: “Mommy, how do you spell ‘by’?”
Me: “B-Y, Buttercup…”
writes it and starts writing her name
Me: “I’m guessing you know how to spell your name…” smiling.
B: “Yes, but Mommy? How do you spell ‘illustrated’?”
I burst out laughing in surprise
Me: “Um, that one is a little longer honey.”
Yes, she actually had me spell the whole thing out for her and wrote it on there… but wow.
I mean, I realize they talked about that sort of thing at school, because we spent a month singing the praises of “Eric Carle” and “Leo Lionni” but I wasn’t expecting ‘illustrated’ to come out of her mouth just then.
Kindergarten should be fun next year!
You’re Not the Boss of Me. You’re Not the “Teller of Me What to Do”!!
February 5, 2008
Because the snow is a bit deep today, Buttercup’s preschool was a bit light on the staff, so I volunteered to come in and help if they needed it. Buttercup’s teacher Miss M. asked me if I’d come about 1/2 an hour before school let out because some of the subs were having to leave early… and I readily agreed.
When I did show up, things were pretty much under control, so I had the chance to kind of spend the last 30 minutes helping and observing in her classroom.
Oy vey.
Buttercup has a best friend – let’s call her Trixie (and I just put her in the Cast of Characters – because she’ll definitely come up again!) – who goes to preschool with her. When they were just babies, Trixie’s mom and I were both in the same “Mommy & Me” playgroup for a few months. Then she ended up popping up at the annual picnic for Buttercup’s first school (PDO & Preschool) and it turned out they went to the same place but different classes. Since year two, they’ve been in the same class – and when we moved Buttercup to school #2 (the present one) Trixie’s folks decided to move her there too. After having moved only a mile south of us over the Summer. This was fortuitous in our eyes, and we really like Trixie’s parents and her. Buttercup adores Trixie with all the power of her little heart. She’s got a little girl crush on her best friend and wishes they were sisters, or even twins if it were possible.
Unfortunately for Buttercup, Trixie is a more laid-back sort of child. She’s kind of a take-you or leave-you girl – and therefore, the most popular child in their class. Everyone wants to be Trixie’s friend, boys and girls alike. Trixie is fine with that, as long as it doesn’t require terrible amounts of emotional attachment on her part. She has a 1 year old brother and another sibling on the way late next Summer. She’s not suffering from only child syndrome as does my darling Buttercup. She’s everyone’s ‘best friend’ but I wouldn’t say that Trixie sees anyone as her ‘best friend’ – unless you count both Buttercup and another ex-classmate of theirs who used to vie with B for T’s attention.
Now, at least 4 out of 5 days, I give Trixie a ride home from preschool. They get out in the middle of her brother’s usual naptime, and with Mom pregnant and exhausted, it just works out well for me to grab her and drop her off before we head home. So I get to see a lot of interaction between the two of them.
But today I saw this horrid new little development in their interaction during that last 30 minutes of class. My daughter was trying to boss Trixie around… and when T wouldn’t do what she wanted, she was trying to tattle on her to the teacher.
Urk!!
Okay, I know it’s totally normal for a 5 year old to try and exercise her authority over others. She’s trying to test the boundaries and see what she does and doesn’t have control over. She does it at every opportunity at home. But with parents? There’s just an admonition and the reality that she doesn’t control the universe – or even our household. She might be a Princess, but that makes me Queen.
The thing is, when you do that to other kids your age, they just get passive-aggressive and start ostracizing you. They don’t say “excuse me, but I hate it when you try to order me about.” They just ignore you, or call you bossy, or start being mean in retaliation. I know this because if she gets this trait from anywhere – she gets it from me. Life as a would-be child tyrant was not a bowl of cherries when I was growing up.
So I had this little chat with her on the way home… about how asking someone to do something nicely tends to get better results than ordering them to do something. And how no one really likes being bossed around – especially not by their friends. And how GeekMommy knows this as she had the same problem as a little girl – just ask her Uncle J, who will confirm that GeekMommy tried very hard to order her older brother about as children and it never worked and only made him angry.
So far, despite many attempts to get this point across nicely, it seems to be falling on deaf ears. At first, she apologized to me. I said “no, I don’t want an apology, I’m just trying to save you a world of heartache sweetheart… I just want you to be happy and liked and have fun with your friends…” Then she told me that she liked being bossy, it was good. Argh.
I think I finally got through to her best when I said “Listen, Buttercup, there are only 3 beings in the world you are presently the boss of: you, the dog, and the kitten we just got you – although those last two won’t necessarily do what you want them to do either.” She asked me, “but what about the other cat Mommy?” and I told her no one is the boss of the other cat… that’s just how cats are.
Still, how do I head this one off at the pass?
I don’t want to quash her little spirit – but I already know the heartache that this path has in store for her. The tighter you cling to some illusion of control over other children, the more they wriggle away in annoyance. My own mom never did anything to help me change this behavior in myself – heck, I don’t think I even started to change that really until I met GeekDaddy – so I have no idea how one parents this issue.
Help? Thoughts, suggestions, and prayers welcome!
What You Didn’t Know About the Private School Kindergarten Process (and neither did we once)
January 15, 2008
There was a point in time where I laughed at sitcoms showing nervous parents trying desperately to get their children into private schools that were tougher in their admissions process than Ivy League colleges. Oh the humor in watching parents jump through ever higher hoops and ever more stressful situations in the hopes of getting little Johnny or Suzy into the ‘right’ preschool or kindergarten!
That was, of course, before GeekDaddy and I gave birth to Buttercup and agreed that we’d sooner cut off our own arms than send her to most public schools.
Given that we don’t live on either coast, I didn’t suspect that we’d be subjected to quite as rigorous a process as might be expected in areas where the wait-lists for preschools start at birth, and a year’s tuition is comparable to a semester at Harvard.
Still, the experience has been enlightening and it has its brighter moments. Or at least, its moments of humor.
This is actually our 3rd year in the process. The first two years involved only one school. In the hopes of avoiding the masses that start showing up at Kindergarten level, we applied to the private school my niece has attended for the past 9 years for preschool when Buttercup was just turning 3 years old. Gritting our teeth and telling ourselves that it was an acceptable price to pay 2 1/2 times the tuition we were already paying at her then preschool if it meant assured enrollment at one of the better schools, we began the dance.
The numbers at 3 and 4 year preschool in terms of applicants versus acceptance at that point was only 8-to-1. Apparently, in Kindergarten, the numbers go up anywhere from 10-to-1 to 25-to-1 or more, depending on the year and the school. I’ve been told from a reliable source that one of the local private schools (where she works) has a 40-to-1 applicant to availability ratio starting with first grade.
Despite everything I won’t bore you with here, we were wait-listed the past 2 years at that school. Buttercup was the first non-sibling, non-faculty-member’s-child, girl on that wait-list. If she had been a boy, apparently, she would’ve gotten in. But as it was, we breathed a sigh of relief at not having to pay the tuition for a couple more years, and still having the familiarity with that school. At least because she was wait-listed, we don’t have to pay the application fee again, just say “yep, put us in the pool for this year…” and get her teacher recommendation and go.
But this year has been a little different. And by ‘different’ I mean ‘more stressful.’ Most of the private schools around here pretty much start accepting kids at 5 years old. Whether K-8 or K-12, they leave the preschool to ‘feeder’ schools and the big influx starts at kindergarten. So we began the process as early as we could – starting the investigations of the potential schools last Spring.
After much research, we narrowed the field down to 5 schools to tour in the Fall, and after touring – 3 to apply to. I’ll spare you the details on how that was decided – but suffice to say, even when you are just ‘touring’ the schools pre-application, there is much scrutiny on the part of the school as to whether or not you are the type of family they would welcome an application from or not.
Of course the vetting process begins long before the formal application/interview/selection process does. From the first moment you are on the phone with an Admissions person, you are being assessed. No, not your child – you. Private schools aren’t all about the child, you see. They are also about the family. Unlike public schools, private schools rely on a sense of community to further their school’s success. Tuition doesn’t cover the actual costs of running these schools – there are fund-raisers, donations, and fees as well. It’s important to have a community of families that is willing to work together to make sure the school thrives. Much of the process is about the prospective student, but believe me when I tell you that the parents are just as scrutinized.
Late September and early October begins the touring process. In most cases, this means both parents coming in to meet with someone in Admissions and get shown the campus (sans child) and have the school’s philosophies, practices, and environment explained. This might be done with or without the child (mostly without) and it might be just you, or you might be grouped with another couple or two, depending on the number of applicants. In October and November come the Open Houses. Despite having already toured the campus, parents show up (again, whether or not child-friendly depends on the school) and re-tour it with large hordes of other parents. This is done when they can meet with faculty and administrative types and wander about ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ when the children aren’t busy using the facilities themselves.
Once the touring and Open House hopping is done, parents must begin the application process. This means pages of applications filled out, teacher recommendation forms delivered to the current teacher(s) with stamped envelopes and instructions to return them in December (after they’ve had time to get to know the child), photos, parent statements, and if you have a child over 1st grade applying, testing.
Oh, and check-writing. Did I forget to mention the check-writing? Even here in the middle of the country each school has a ‘non-refundable application fee’ that is anywhere from $35-$150 but averaging about $75 per school. This makes sense when you realize that it keeps the number of ‘well let’s just apply to all of them and then decide later’ types down. But it still kind of hurts to write a check to a school that might never even consider letting your child go there, or knowing that it’s just money that you spent as a backup in case your first choice didn’t come through.
January. Ah, January! We’re in January now – and this is when the dance starts in earnest. At this point, we have gotten all of the applications, teacher recommendations, checks, photos, statements and whatnot completed. And so begin the “Kindergarten Roundups.”
If the term “roundup” conjures to mind a cattle-drive, I suspect that is not entirely unintended. These are group dates – wherein all those little would-be Kindergarteners come and visit the classrooms and the prospective teachers (and other evaluators) en masse. This is to see how your little Suzy or Johnny interacts in the classroom environment. It’s all well and good that you said on your application that your child was not only as brilliant as Einstein, s/he was also as angelic as Mother Teresa, and as sweet as honey… and that your child’s present teacher wrote glowing lines bordering on poetry about how s/he was a delight to teach and the light of each day… They want to actually see whether or not Johnny or Suzy is prone to eating glue, kicking other children in the shins, or emulating their favorite WWF character.
My heart goes out to some of these kids when we do this. It’s clear that there’s always a handful who are terrified when they face this ordeal. Clearly, they’d rather be anywhere other than a classroom full of prettily dressed but terrifyingly unknown other children vying for coveted spots in this school. To say that we’re lucky is an understatement. Buttercup seems to have a knack for this sort of thing and is her own best ambassador. We’ve watched her walk over to a crying child trying desperately to cling to her parents’ legs in hope of not being left and say directly in front of the teachers “it’s okay, this will be fun, why don’t you come play with me? Look, here’s a horse!” Wilting violet she is not.
However, whilst the children are being corralled at said roundup, the parents are lead elsewhere on the campus. There’s always coffee and food involved. Sometimes there’s a presentation. Sometimes there’s just socializing with the other parents. Sometimes it’s a Q&A session with the head of admissions or the Headmaster of the school. Again, depends on the school. But let not the unwary drop his or her guard! This is yet another time for someone at the school to assess the parents. Who showed up? Just Mom? Both parents? Are they talking to anyone? Are they staying at the fringes?
In some cases (but not all) there is yet another step – the ‘parent interview.’ We’ve been through 2 of these now – one 3 years ago at school number one – and one today, at school number two of the three. This is definitely a non-child event, and requires both parents to be there if there is more than one parent.
The ostensible purpose of this is that you, the parents will ’shed further light’ on the nature of your darling offspring. Having read your application, parents’ statement, and seen your child in action – you will be asked questions to help them to get a better picture of your potential scholar. Essentially? It’s a job interview. But you’re being asked more about your child than yourself.
Don’t get me wrong here – these people know what they are doing – they do it every year. They learn quite a bit about you without asking about you directly. Questions like “how do you spend your time together when you are with your child? Would you say it’s structured or unstructured?” tell more about your parenting style than the child’s readiness for kindergarten.
The thing is – whenever we’re there, going through these arcane processes and hoop-jumping, I can’t help but be reminded of those sitcoms I mentioned above. It makes me laugh… and you know, laughter is a good thing. It reminds you that while none of us like to feel that we are being judged and perhaps found wanting, at least there’s some good to be gleaned from the experience.
Apparently, most parents forget to laugh in their driven determination to assist their offspring in overcoming the competition and gaining the coveted invitation to enroll. I know this because every time we end up laughing or kidding around, there’s sort of this awestruck look on the face of those on the other side of the equation. I suspect they are far too used to dealing with tense, stressed-out parents on a regular basis – and not unlike traffic cops who are always met with anything other than friendliness when they pull someone over – they get accustomed to steeling themselves against the waves of emotional turmoil emanating from prospective parents. When met with genuine laughter and humor, there’s usually an initial look of confusion replaced by relief.
Take, to whit, what happened on our way out of School #2 today. We were leaving just as school was letting out for the day – and so, ensconced in a heaving mass of scurrying schoolchildren, we found ourselves coming out the front door of the main building just as the Headmaster was coming in.
He greeted us warmly (points to him for remembering!) and said “oh! Are you here for the interview? How did it go? “
I looked at him and said, wryly “Oh, fairly well – probably would’ve gone better if we hadn’t spilled coffee all over her and called her names there at the end…”
Which warranted me a confused smile and a momentary pause, until GeekDaddy chimed in deadpan with “Yep, fortunately, we were able to keep the Tourret Syndrome under control this time!”
The Headmaster looked back and forth at us, caught the gleam in our eyes and the grins starting to form that we couldn’t help and burst out laughing himself. “A sense of humor!” he said, “That’s a very good thing to have around here… Very good!”
And we smiled and replied “and we’re glad to find out that you have one as well, sir!” and took our leave.
Next week, school #3 – the Catholic one. Should be fun.
She’s ahead of a few grownups I know…
December 30, 2007
My daughter is in no short supply when it comes to the ability to overact. She comes by her Drama Queen nature honestly – as I know I still have my moments.
She has, for the past year, been known to look at us in tears whenever something has brought her to that point and say gaspingly “You broke… my heart… and you… threw it in… the trash!!” followed by a true wail of despair.
It’s hard not to hug someone and cuddle her when it’s so clearly obvious that her heart is actually breaking due to even minor disapproval.
Last night tho, someone took my sweet little angel and replaced her with a Demon-child. Demon-child didn’t want to behave. Demon-child wanted to ram into Mommy & Daddy as if training for a future WWF career. Demon-child was pushy, whiny, demanding, and surly. Demon-child was spoiling for a fight.
Unfortunately for Demon-child it was bed-time.
So there I was, trying to read a book to my Buttercup, not yet realizing that Demon-child was going to sabotage this any way possible – including screeching in my ear, trying to push me off the bed, and putting her hand in front of the words of the book. This is notably odd because there is nothing Buttercup loves more than reading. Given a chance, she’d have us read 10 books a night or more rather than the 3 or 4 stories she gets.
I finally sigh and say “honey, if you keep this up – no more reading. You will go straight to bed, lights out, no cuddles, no singing just darkness and sleep.”
Of course she kept it up.
One minute later finds me sitting in the rocking chair, lights out, white noise machine on, child shrieking as if she has been stabbed.
The litany “I. Want. To. Read. I. Want. To. Read. I. Want. To. Reeeeeead!” amidst sobbing.
A few minutes of this pass and I say “honey, I’m not going to stay and listen to this – I love you, good night” and kiss her and leave the room.
I’ll spare you the intervening escalations – but finally shrieking Demon-child informs me that she is in dire need of the potty, lest I find myself changing her sheets.
*sigh*
A few minutes later, I relent and take sobbing child into the rocking chair with me for cuddles and singing. She has worked herself into a complete and utter frenzy and it’s clear she truly can’t get out of it at this point. So we rock, and we sing, and we cuddle. And every 2 seconds she attempts to reverse the decision and get me to turn on the lights and read more.
Finally, somewhat calmer (and by somewhat I mean, only sobbing between sentences, not syllables) she says to me
“Mommy… why are you doing this to me?”
“Buttercup,” I say, “I’m not doing anything to you. You had choices. You were told you could be good and we’d read more, or you could be bad and we’d go straight to bed – and you chose to spit at Mommy and scream ‘no’ and ‘I hate you’ instead. It was your choice. You were in total control there.”
“But Mommy, I want to change my mind. I want to start over. I promise I’ll be good this time.”
“Sweetie, I’m so sorry. I wish we could. But you promised once already and broke that promise. I know it’s hard – but I can’t change this. Next time, I know you’ll make a better choice. Tomorrow we’ll read a lot, but tonight we must live with your choices and go to sleep.”
“But why do we have to live with our choices?”
“Oh honey – that’s one of the hardest lessons. That’s how life is. Sometimes, we know what will happen, and sometimes we don’t – but we always have to live with the results of our own choices. It’s just how things are.”
Full-blown sobbing resumes… and at the first gasp for breath comes out of my daughter’s mouth:
“Moooommmeeeeee!!! No!!!! I… broke… my… own… heart!!”
Seriously. My not-yet-5-year-old already has a sense of personal culpability? There is hope for the future.
Meanwhile, she eventually fell asleep calmed and comforted – and yes, we will read many books tonight. Demon-child seems to have returned to the nether realms.
Down and Dirty
December 28, 2007
A fast mommy-oriented post.
This conversation occurred between Buttercup and me today. I had to share.
Buttercup: Dogs get to poop outside.
GeekMommy: Yes, they do.
B: And dogs get to pee outside.
GM: Yep – outside in the cold and the snow
B: I want to be a dog. I want to poop outside.
GM: *laughing* You so don’t want to be a dog.
B: I do! I do want to be a dog!
GM: If you were a dog, you’d have to eat dog food, and sleep in a kennel like our dog – no nice princess bed for you! And you’d get shooed off the bed all the time. And yeah, you could poop outside, but trust me, it’s cold out there (notes the foot+ of snow in the back yard and the single digit temperature.)
B: Okay, then I want to be a cat.
GM: Being a cat would be so much worse than being a dog.
B: How? I want to be a kitty! How is being a kitty worse than a dog??
GM: How many times have you seen the cat drink out of the toilet around here?
B: Ew. Eww. I want to be a little girl Mommy. I’ll just be me, okay?
Watching the Gears Turn
November 26, 2007
Possibly the most interesting part of parenthood for me is the daily disabusement of my preconceptions.
Before having a child, I was fairly certain of many things. After having spent a few years at this, the only thing I know is that I’m just as likely to be wrong as right when it comes to my assumptions.
For instance – my child now has her letters pretty much down. Which means most of my day is filled with two types of questions: 1) the archetypal “why” question and 2) the “Mommy, what does X-x-x-x spell?” question.
The first one I was prepared for. I pretty much answer whatever whys I can, and those I can’t I either answer with an “I don’t know, let me find out” or an “okay, that’s enough why questions for now” (that second one usually happens somewhere around “but why don’t you know, Mommy?”)
The second one I didn’t really expect.
I kind of thought that learning to read was more a matter of memorizing letters, learning their sounds, then sounding them out. Not with my kiddo, apparently. She’s a ‘whole word’ kind of girl. Not for Buttercup the ’sound it out’ or ‘phonics’ method. She sees words as whole entitities.
She also made an observation the other day that was something I didn’t notice until somewhere late in grammar school.
Going through the alphabet, she asked me why some letters start with their sound and some end with it.
Think about it. A, B, C, D, E, G, I, J, K, O, P, Q, T, V, Z when you say them out-loud all start with the sound they make. F, L, M, N, R, S, U, X, Y all end with a sound they make. H & W have nothing to do with their names soundwise.
This is because English is such a mish-mash of other linguistic roots.
The ancient greek alphabet has all of the letters starting with the sound they make. Makes it easier to learn what each one sounds like.
This is something that most of us native English speakers take for granted. We memorize the names, we memorize the sounds they make, we learn to read, we move on. Few of us take the time to analyze it. But apparently my 4 year old noticed.
That wasn’t something I expected. But it’s kind of neat. Because with every new thing she learns, I learn something new too. Bonus!!
Aargh…
October 31, 2007
G’dammit can something go right today please??!?
My darling daughter, not unlike her mother, tends to pride herself on being somewhat original.
She spent weeks and weeks telling me she was going to be Sleeping Beauty for Hallowe’en, only to suddenly change her mind about a month ago in the Disney store and say “Mommy, I really, really want to be Mulan for Hallowe’en this year… I can be Sleeping Beauty next year,” I was a little surprised, but figured I knew the cause… “Is somebody else going as Sleeping Beauty this year?” I asked. “Blondie,” she said.
Okay, so Mulan – I get it, quirky, kicks butt, and not terribly ‘common’ as princess infatuations go. Sure. Mulan it is.
We get the whole ensemble.
She is excited about it for a month.
Today, I tell her “let’s not do the black hair spray, wig and make-up for school today honey – we’ll save that for tonight,” trying to keep the school vs. ‘costume malfunction’ issues down to a minimum.
She says okay.
So I put her hair up on top of her head with the appropriate Mulan hair-thingy and she is enchanted.
She preens about the mirror and the house. Thrilled.
She insists that the ’special’ Mulan shoes aren’t too small – although they clearly are – damn growth spurts happen at the most inconvenient times.
She flutters about with the ’special’ Mulan fan, telling me “the dog doesn’t even recognize me Mommy, she thinks I’m Mulan…”
We go to school. She’s excited. We are the first in her class to arrive.
Standing outside of the door, we look over the list of what everyone has said they are coming as for Hallowe’en… “there Mommy! See? It says ‘Buttercup – Mulan‘ that’s me!!”
The list contains the usual assortment of other princesses – Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Snow White, Ariel… a smattering of animals, Leopard, Bear… a few fire fighters and pirates and whatnot. There are no duplicates. Apparently it’s a class full of individualists.
Or so I think, until her little classmate Michelle* rounds the corner wearing – you guessed it… a Mulan costume.
I glance back at the list – ‘Michelle – Snow White’ – hrm.
Buttercup’s face falls… she sees that Michelle is wearing elaborate eye make-up… and her naturally long black hair is done up. Michelle looks up at her Mother, who says in Spanish “oh, another Mulan?” and Michelle says in Spanish “yes Mama, but I wanted to be Mulan like her, it’s okay if I’m Mulan too, yes?” Her mother answers “yes, yes, you are both beautiful princesses.”
You see, Michelle doesn’t really speak English. While her mother is fluent in it, she’s not at all. Buttercup befriended her several weeks back – and has tried to overcome the language barrier… often asking me ‘how do you say XXX in Spanish Mommy?’ so that I can translate for her and she can use it later. One of the first phrases she asked me was “how do you say ‘big hug’?” She’s a sweet thing, my girl.
I may look as Caucasian as they come, but I speak enough Spanish and French to get by… something I’ve noticed most people don’t expect of me. It’s amazing sometimes what people will say in front of you when they think you don’t understand the language they are using.
Given the situation and what Michelle said, I suspect Buttercup has been paid an oblique compliment… but she’s 4 1/2, so she sure doesn’t see it that way. I could see as her little gears started turning – assessing her costume versus Michelle’s – which was better despite only minute differences? She said nothing. But I can read my daughter like a book. She liked both dresses equally, but she was envious of Michelle’s hair and of the make-up. She decided it was balanced out by the fact that she had the fan, the hair thing and the shoes Michelle didn’t… but she’s SO not happy about being one of two Mulans.
My poor boo. She’s not yet 5 and she already knows the embarrassment of showing up to the party wearing the same dress as another woman. I suspect it will be awhile before she buys off-the-rack again for Hallowe’en. I guess I’d better get my sewing skills up to par for next year. Sigh.
The list said ‘Michelle – Snow White’… dammit.
*I’m not changing her name, I don’t expect her to be a recurrent player, and besides, there’s about 8 zillion Michelle’s out there, eh?
Ew. Ew. Ewwww!!
October 24, 2007
Today’s preschool field trip (yes, they do those, who knew?) proved enlightening on a very interesting front.
First let me diverge by saying I’m pretty carnivorous. Yep. Loooove meat. I’m not ashamed of it in the least. While many of my friends are vegetarian – I’m the gal that thinks that vegetables are what food eats. Oh, alright, I’ll eat broccoli and a host of other veggies too, but if the choice is between animal protein and plants? I’ll take mine medium-rare, thanks. I have no issue with the fact that something on my plate may have once wandered around on two or four feet – the only issue in that vein I’ve ever had is leaving the fish-head on – I want to eat my dead animal, not have a staring contest with it.
Meanwhile, my darling Buttercup is pretty much a self-imposed vegetarian. The closest she comes to eating meat is the chicken soup broth that surrounds the noodles at Sweet Tomatoes. If it weren’t for Boca Burgers, edamame and dairy, I don’t know how we’d get protein into that child.
So now that I’ve thrown in a seemingly irrelevant tangent, let me get back to the gist, shall I?
Today’s field-trip to the Wildlife Center was interesting. We carpooled with Buttercup’s best friend (ooh, she needs a name… hm… let’s call her Blondie – because that kiddo is a serious towhead and I can remember it) and her Mom. We arrived at the center to a handful of preschool classmates and their assorted adult-escorts (parents, grandparents, what-have-you) bipping about playing with the “hands-on exhibits.”
One of which was a coyote skin. Well, I guess you’d call it a pelt, since there wasn’t any coyote in it… just the fur, the preserved head, paws, and tail. But it was draped over a 4 year old crawling on the ground pretending to stalk another 4 year old… Buttercup’s first reaction was not unlike mine. Ew. Why is she wearing that?
It got better of course when the grandmother of said pelt-covered-child grabbed the unstuffed-but-preserved carcass of a skunk and threw it on the floor for coyote-girl to pounce on with an encouraging “get it! Kill that skunk!”
There was an entire basket of pelts and other dead furry bits for the kids to play with. That should’ve been my first clue as to what we were in for, but I must be more of an optimist than I realize.
Shortly after we arrived, the aging-goth-chick nature-guide-lady (let’s call her Nature-chick for short) circled the kids on the floor in the other room and told us parents to make ourselves comfortable in the chairs behind them. I’ll spare you most of the details, but the next 30-40 minutes was a lecture involving hand-puppets such as deer, owl, coyote, beaver and prairie dogs, that would then be compared to their preserved skulls and bits and pieces of the dead things – a deer’s antler, coyote skin, etc. brought out for the children to see and ostensibly touch.
It was like a parade of bizarre taxidermy. I wasn’t exactly expecting a disembodied owl’s wing, a detached beaver tail, or a preserved owl’s claw, talons spread. I’m fairly certain the kids weren’t either. Buttercup was the first girl to voice her objections loudly… when Nature-chick said “you can touch it” about the first item up for grabs (a deer skull) she didn’t even hesitate to belt out “I’m not going to touch that!” and was echoed by a handful of the girls who were clearly trying to back away.
I convinced her to touch the deer skin by saying “it feels soft like a kitty, honey” and that emboldened all of the girls to try it – but once the detached beaver tail came out, they were done.
It didn’t help much that Nature-chick’s explanation of why the coyote had such long canines and the owl had such a sharp beak were variants of “that’s so he can go outside, pounce on a squirrel, shake it to death and rip its throat out and eat it…” and “that’s so he can swoop down silently from the sky and seize a bunny with his sharp talons and kill it and rip into it with his sharp beak to shred it and eat it.”
Seriously?
Did you seriously just repeatedly tell my child that nice old Mister Owl and Mister Coyote like to pounce on the fuzzy woodland creatures that Snow White adores so and rip them to shreds and eat them? Because I was thinking I’d like to have your phone number, Nature-chick, so that when she wakes up at 3 a.m. with the “Mommy! There’s an owl in my room and it’s trying to kill me and eat me!” nightmare I can call you and ’share’ the experience with you.
Don’t get me wrong – I think rabbit tastes delicious. I’m just fairly certain that it does me little good to censor what she sees on T.V. when you’ve decided that it’s appropriate to talk about predators and bunny killing with my child before I do…
Oh – and don’t even get me started on telling the kids that a male deer’s antlers are there to attract the ‘lay-dees’ and demonstrating to them how he ’struts’ to show off and trying to get them all to emulate you by wiggling your hips with a horn on your head and telling them “strut!! Strut with me!!” At least none of them went along with you on that, Nature-chick… so you were the only one looking silly.
So now the likelihood that my daughter is going to be eating meat any time in the near future? Slimmer than it was before, if that’s possible. Seriously, couldn’t we have at least pretended that hamburger comes from the store for a few more years?
Ah well. Live and learn I guess. It just makes me all the more leery about the next field trip. I mean, I know we go to Home Depot at some point later in the school year. Do I have to worry about someone showing my daughter how to use a Sawzall to dismember something? Yikes.
Now that I think about it, I wonder if Nature-chick did the taxidermy herself? Hmmm…
Geek Moms Like Science, Honey…
October 19, 2007
I didn’t mention that the other day when I was “helping” out in Preschool, there was an activity going on that the teachers were thrilled to have my assistance with.
See, being ambitious sorts, they had come up with a baking project for the kids – whereby neat little hedgehog shaped rolls with raisin eyes were created and baked by the kids.
Sure, sure, that part’s normal enough. It was the part where they said to me “oh we’re so glad you’re here to help with the shaking… see the kids are going to make their own butter to go on the rolls using heavy whipping cream and jars… and our arms are tired from doing most of the work this morning.”
Now, in grade school, I was the kid paying attention during “Prairie Week” when the strange adult outsiders came in with their nifty “How the Pioneers Did It” exhibitions… so I can tell you exactly how a lead musket ball is made by melting down scrap lead in a crucible and pouring it into a bullet mold (despite not having seen it in 30+ years, it’s still vivid) and I can tell you how freaking sore your arms get trying to churn butter the old fashioned way. Because I was one of the 2 kids who didn’t lose interest in that in oh, 30 seconds, after seeing that it mostly consisted of slamming a pole up and down inside a thin upright barrel-thingy.
So I was a bit dubious of this “preschoolers making their own butter” experiment, but more than excited to be allowed to help out.
Here’s what happened…
Ms. M took four well-washed baby food jars. She poured cold Heavy Whipping Cream into each one… about 4/5 full. She poured a tiny amount of salt in her hand – roughly 1/8th of a tsp I’d guess – and dumped it in. She sealed the jars. She handed one to me, kept one for herself, and handed two girls (one of them Buttercup) the other two jars and said “okay, now we shake!!”
For the first couple of minutes there was me shaking furiously, Ms. M shaking half-heartedly, and two girls shaking like preschoolers do – with great enthusiasm but not much rhythm or effectiveness. Then the girls started getting bored, so the jars got passed on to the next victims helpers and we moved on. Ms. M tried valiantly to make it interesting by singing little “shake shake shake your butter” songs that she had made up for the morning class.
I sat there trying not to burst into either “Shake shake shake, shake your booooooty, shake your boooooteeeeh” or “Shake, shake, shake Senora, shake your body line…” neither of which is appropriate for a Catholic preschool room, nor something I want to have to explain to another parent where their child learned that song, thank you.
After much less time that you’d think, it devolved down to me and the three boys at the table. Fortunately, the boys were having a bit of a competition to see who could “turn it into butter first.” The answer of course was – me… I could. Because I’m the adult with the actual ability to shake the crap out of the silly baby food jar in the hopes that it might suddenly decide to do what abused cream does and chunk up.
However, I also know that the best method to keep the boys “helping” me was to suddenly shout “annnnnnd TRADE!!” every few moments so that I would be able to slide further progressed jars to each one. In the end, it took us maybe 10 minutes? I’d get the jars to the point of “a few more shakes and it’s butter with skim milk on top” and pass it off to a boy… then when it clumped up, tell him to run give it to Ms. M for draining and processing.
I really wanted to grab the jars and poke and prod them to see the consistency and taste the fruit of my GeekMommy labor… but you know, trying to provide a good example and all… So I waited.
You know what? It’s pretty cool. I got to eat a hedgehog roll (note: fun for the kids to make, not so much on the eating part) with butter that came from my own sweaty, hyperactive labor. I kept telling myself that since I ‘churned’ it, surely I burned off a comparable amount of fat and calories to what I was eating. (I know, I know, but I wanted to fool myself, thanks.)
I figure this will be fun if and when Buttercup ever hits that Girl Scout phase… so I’m storing it away in my brain for future “what to do that will either make your daughter roll her eyes at you OR say ooooh cool!! how do you know how to make butter?” reference.
I will say that I wonder what they’re making Catholic Preschool teachers out of these days though… both Ms. M and Ms. L were astonished that we had 1/2 the number of kids in the afternoon class but it took us less than 1/3 the time to make the butter. I guess one determined GeekMommy is worth two ‘why did we think it was a good idea to shake butter?’ preschool teachers any day.
Now, in the event of a butter shortage at the store – I am fully prepared. As long as there is Heavy Whipping Cream and baby food in jars.
So Let’s Start With Today… Anubis Disapproves.
October 16, 2007
I should be asleep. I’m sick, I’m achy, I’m shaky and I’m exhausted.
But I just have to share this one before I can let the mad stew of pills I had to take earlier overcome me and send me off to disturbed slumber.
Today was the first day that I got to go “help” out in Buttercup’s new preschool. I’m sure I made an interesting impression.
In the old preschool, parental presence in the classroom was verbotten… I assume that was really due mostly to the fact that none of the trophy-wives wanted to have to spend their time in the class with all of those annoying kids, so the made it against the rules. That way they didn’t need to feel guilty when some parent who actually wanted to be involved with their offspring’s education showed up regularly but they didn’t. Seriously – those of us without au pairs picking up the kids regularly were looked at as potential enemies on that front.
So I was all kinds of giddy about being able to come help out in the classroom this year whenever I wanted!! We had to wait until October – to give the kids the chance to get used to just being with the teachers – but there were several of us chomping at the bit. Last week, I signed up for today – forgetting that Tuesdays the class has less than half the component (unrelated long story) but fortunately, it was baking day, so the teachers were happy for an extra set of hands.
Hands.
That’s where this is going, you know… Hands.
See this?
That’s Anubis.
Anubis is an inside joke in our family… and a joke we’ve shared with so many for so long that it has spread across the country to other circles of friends.
See, if I weren’t just using an old photo I already had up on the internet of it to illustrate, I’d probably add one from the head on position – so that you can see that extending the 1st and 4th fingers, while resting the 2nd and 3rd on the thumb gives an uncanny resemblance to the Egyptian god Anubis.
Animated gifs could show you the wide variety of emotional expressions Anubis has, if I weren’t too lazy to make them.
Anubis does many things. Anubis approves. Anubis disapproves. Anubis blows chunks. Anubis will help you find your keys or something to eat in the fridge. Anubis will make your toddler laugh hysterically.
So I suppose it’s only natural that our 4 year old daughter can and regularly does utilize Anubis as well. No, of course she’s not up on the mythos… but she can roll right along with the rest of us, thanks.
So now, take yourself back with me to earlier today. We’re at preschool. Buttercup’s Roman Catholic Preschool. You know, the kind where the preschool teachers are there because it’s what you do when you’re a good Catholic and a teacher? The kind that asked us if we were in the parish (we’re not, we get charged extra) and made sure we knew ahead of time that God/Jesus etc is mentioned there (duh, it’s a Catholic preschool…) but are willing to educate our heathenish child nonetheless.
Not nuns, mind you. Nuns-as-teachers aren’t really shockable (trust me on this one.) Nice Catholic preschool teachers? That’s a different matter.
We’re sitting in a circle. Ms. M (one of her two teachers) sticks up her index finger, not unlike this:
And launches into that old Christian classic children’s song “This Little Light of Mine” – Ms. M gets just a few words in when my child, sitting next to me says loudly for all and sundry to hear “Hey Mommy!! That is almost just like Anubis!! See?” and proceeds to throw up the ears.
Ms. M lurches to a halt. A silence descends over all the children. Creepy that.
“What’s that Buttercup? What does it remind you of?”
My hand shoots out to cover my daughter’s trying desperately reconfigure it back to the little make-believe candle the rest of the preschoolers have up… Ms. M looks directly at me and says “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that… what did she say?”
Could it be possible? Or is she just giving me an out?
*Cough* *Cough* “I’m sorry for the interruption Ms. M – it’s an inside family joke… please continue with the song, I just love this song!” whilst still attempting to wrangle my small child’s wriggling hand back into conformity.
Buttercup mumbles something else about Anubis thinking that I must not have heard her – and I lean over and whisper “not now Buttercup, we’ll talk about it later…” and launch into that godawful Little Light song as lustily as I can without seeming too weird. And to her credit Ms. M only looked askance at me once more during the song.
When we got home – I explained that Anubis was a family thing – we didn’t share it with outsiders… certainly not with teachers. Buttercup corrected me that we could share it with family and some friends, but only friends of the family – and I agreed. Seriously.
We are going to be known as “that” family if we stay with parochial school… you know?
Well I suppose it could’ve been worse. She could’ve flipped off the teacher and said “hey, that looks like the symbol for Fuck You!!”
I’m still laughing about it…
But Anubis? Anubis disapproves.
or Subscribe by Email!!
