Pre-School University

Pre-School University

When you teach your child ridiculous pet names for their privates, you don’t really think that one day you will have to explain those names to their teachers.  There’s something amusing about making up a word and using it whenever referring to their little tushies/butts/behinds/bums- or in Hayden’s case, tookus. 

When we looked at different pre-schools for Hayden, it felt like the college search process.  We visited different schools in different towns.  We had to consider their tuition, their teaching philosophy’s, their credentials, whether Hayden could get in (waitlists? Are you kidding?)- Really, as a society we’ve done an incredible job of making the selection of a nursery school the most stressful experience for a new parent.  It’s seriously almost a status thing- I remember calling one pre-school and when I heard the tuition was over $30,000 a year, my heart skipped a beat.  One friend justified it though- She said it was the “it” pre-school.  Really?  There’s such a thing as the “it” preschool?  Most these kids still crap their pants.

We finally found our perfect balance of affordability (and I use the term “affordable” very, very loosely), location and got that “warm fuzzy feeling”.  The night of orientation for parents, I immediately fell in love with Hayden’s new teachers to be.  They were young and seemed fun- and I knew Hayden would love them too.   I was right.

After having panic attacks for many weeks, the first day of school came.  I can guarantee you that I was much more nervous than she was.  We walked into the classroom and something happened that I never suspected- Hayden ran up to one of her teachers and gave her the biggest hug ever.  She was so excited to meet her teacher and be at “big girl school”.  I was relieved, but the reality was I had to face the music.  I had to explain to these normal looking adult women, who were in charge of my child, all of her quirks.  I had planned it in my head exactly how I would calmly explain her slang words, weird actions and hardships- but when the smart/pretty young teacher asked me if there was anything special she should know about Hayden, this is what I said… (imagine me stuttering and speaking ridiculously fast)…

“Um, yeah, she calls her rear end a tookus, her vajajay is called a stellina which translates into Italian for little star (nervous giggle)- She’s afraid of puppets.  She watches way too much TV, it’s kind of my fault and I know that the Academy of Pediatrics doesn’t suggest that, I’ll stop keeping it on so much.  She doesn’t know any of her colors, my Mom thinks she might be color blind… oh, and she’s completely OCD about washing her hands.” 

Insert awkward silence.

“Don’t worry, most two year olds don’t know their colors yet.  She’s probably not color blind”

Sigh.

Hayden loves school like no other.  She can’t wait to go in the morning.  She adores her teachers.  Every ounce of work we put into finding this place and every penny was well worth it.  My good friend sent her daughter there as well.  We thought it would be a good idea to send them together so they would each have a familiar face.  This has worked out incredibly well and the girls love each other. 

One night, my friend and I were out having dinner and cocktails (NOT with the girls)- after a few glasses of wine, I checked my iPhone and sure enough there was an email from the director.  For the record, I wasn’t aware that the woman in charge of the school was called a director.  In the email, she asked if both of us would be the room mom’s for all the two year olds.  Of course, it was coincidental that we were together when seeing this email- and also coincidental that we had been drinking… So here is the response we sent…

“Dear Head Mistress,

We would be honored to be the room mom’s.  We feel as though there should be some mandatory uniform for us to wear to events.  We will absorb any costs related to this uniform. We also like name tags, please let us know if you would like for us to pick some up for our first meeting.

Thanks again!”

We thought we were so funny and hip.  We were humiliated the next morning.  I knew we had picked the right place once again, when the “head mistress” responded that she knew she had made the right decision asking us.  I’ll never know how stupid she thinks we are- but she does a great job acting as though we are normal Moms.

Ready for the part of the story where things get really sad?  Our pre-school burnt down last Sunday night.  Yep… It. Burnt. Down.

My heart is broken.  All Hayden’s stuff in her locker, the pictures she painted hanging on the walls, photos of all the kids laughing- gone.

I keep telling her that we’re on “vacation” from school and she doesn’t know any better, but she keeps asking when she can go back.  We’re having a meeting of all the parents this Thursday to talk about what will happen now.  I’m praying they can secure another location to finish out the year.  Out of all the dumb things that can happen… No one was hurt, fire is still under investigation, and the community out pouring of support is amazing. 

I’ll let you know what happens…

Potty Training 101

Potty Training 101

Everybody wants to give me parenting advice.  Let me tell you the truth, most of the time I pretend like I’m listening and take it in, but in reality I’m paying no attention.  But when it came to potty training, I was terrified.  I really had no idea where to start.  I listened carefully to everyone’s advice.  That may have been the wrong thing to do since I ended up with a mash up of weird, cockeyed approaches. 

Hayden has been ready to be potty trained for well over two months.  It was me that wasn’t ready.  I have this fear of being in the car, in traffic, on the 95, and Hayden screaming “Mommy I have to poop”- and me not being able to get her to a toilet in time.  Or worse, being at the mall and Hayden having some kind of accident that not only ruins her outfit but leaks brown diarrhea all over mine.  Yeah, I have a lot of issues. 

One day we were in the car, and she simply said “Mommy, I have to do pee pee”- and I answered “Just go in your diaper”.  I had a feeling that’s not what you’re supposed to say to a child who has been asking to use the potty and wear “big girl underwear”.

But an important thing happened, one of my good friends who has older children listened to me dramatically complain about my fears and she looked at me and said “You know, it all eventually works out, right?”  Duh.  I don’t know any college kids that still wear diapers.  I mean, I knew plenty that regularly went in their pants but it was usually after drinking way too much.  Pace University was a weird place, but alas, that’s another story for another time.

So when her pre-school offered parents a “potty training seminar” with a trained professional, I jumped all over that.  Granted, I spent a week trying to understand what kind of person makes their life work about getting kids to crap in a toilet, but to each his own.  Clearly, I couldn’t wait to go so there was a demand for this kind of speaker.  (Note to self: if this whole real estate/radio dj/baking this doesn’t work out- think about teaching my own potty training 101 class).

The class, although informative, did exactly what I was afraid of- it confused me even more.  I had yet another method to add to the 37 that had already been suggested. 

Last Monday morning, Hayden woke up and promptly said “Mommy, I go pee pee in the potty?”-  I took off her diaper and let her go.  More importantly, I didn’t put it back on.  I put on some old school gangsta rap to get my head in the game and went at it full force.  It was potty training time. 

I put down some newspaper down on the carpets just in case there were any accidents upstairs- For the record, no one suggested that to me, I thought of that all on my own.  When and if I teach a class, I will include that nugget of valuable information. 

One Mom said, keep her naked the whole time you’re home.  So, I kept her naked at first.  “Mommy, I’m cold”.  “Mommy, I want to wear pants”, “Mommy, can you be naked too?”- Hm- that wasn’t working out.  So I put her in underwear and pants. 

Things were going well, like another Mom said, every ten minutes I put her on the potty.  After a couple hours, she was ready to kill me.  “Mommy, I don’t have to go potty!!”  I spaced it out to 30 minutes.  At one point, she became so engrossed in Minnie Mouse on tv that she pee’d on the floor.  (No problem, I had the newspaper down)- So I changed her underwear, put her in new ones. 

Another Mom suggestion, bribery.  “If you pee in the potty, I’ll give you chocolate.”  Hayden’s a smart kid.  She could literally pee four drops, eat a piece of chocolate and go back and pee another four drops for another piece.  That wasn’t working.  So I made a deal, she could get a lollipop for poop.  That was a good compromise.

Mom number 13 suggested not leaving my house for five days while I was potty training.  Let’s be honest, there’s no way in hell I was sitting trapped in my house for five days.  So every morning, I would race the back roads to my Moms house so I could drop Hayden off for her to potty train her for a few hours while I ran to the gym/office/bar. 

Miraculously, she never had an accident for my Mom. 

Day 4, we had friends over.  Hayden was so involved with playing with her friend, that she pooped herself.  I freaked.  I took her upstairs and sure enough, it was disgusting- so I heard my hairdresser in my head… “Make it a dramatic show, cut the underwear off her, show her how you throw them in the garbage”…  Okay.  I ran downstairs and grabbed the kitchen shears.  Ran back up to her bathroom as she stood in shock and silence while I crazily explained that I had to cut her Cinderalla underwear off and throw them away because she pooped them.  She seemed pretty calm while I literally cut a pair of underwear off of her.  As I threw them in the garbage with a huge sigh- she looked at me and said “Okay Mommy, get me another pair”.  Hmm… Not the reaction I was hoping for.

Here’s the conversation I had with our babysitter…

“If she poops her underwear, go into the kitchen and get the big scissors in the butcher block, take her upstairs and cut them off her and throw them in the garbage… it would help if you cry a little and show her how disappointed you are in her.”

I don’t know, maybe I shouldn't have had listened to all the advice.

I did get this text from my husband last night while I was out:

“Hayden sh*t her pants!! Started to clean her and she reached around a grabbed a handful… gross”

I’m not going to lie, I’m glad I wasn’t there for that.  I would have had a heart attack.

So needless to say, this is a work in progress.  But it’s getting better every day. 

Here’s the best part, Paul had to cut her nails and scrub under them to get the poop out from her reach around.  Thank God I missed that- and I'm not going to lie, I laughed at what he had to go through.  Why should only Mommy have fun with potty training, right?

Ms. Libby Sucks

Ms. Libby Sucks

I, like many Mom’s, have fallen in love with Groupon.com/Livingsocial.com- Imagine my excitement when I saw a class for children in Greenwich being offered for only $49 for four classes!  I assembled a small mommy group and we signed up.  

I should have known this was probably too good to be true- I’ve spent literally over two thousand (shh, don’t tell my husband) dollars on ridiculous classes for Hayden.  She’s gone to a private ballet school for two year olds (in my defense, they had mandatory cute uniforms)… She’s belonged to a kids gym long before she could walk… She’s taken art classes… Story groups before she could talk… Gymnastics… The list goes on and on.  So, this class, at only $49 sounded affordable and fun. 

The moment I walked into the class (after sitting in traffic for a full 50 minutes to get there), I knew I was in trouble.  The teacher introduced herself but I didn’t hear a word she said.  All I could do was keep staring at her outfit.  She had on this dress that she clearly bedazzled herself with glitter glue and buttons.  At that moment, I named her Ms. Libby (clearly from the Billy Madison movie with Adam Sandler).  I would not remember or ever hear her real name again.  You always hear about how actors “test chemistry” with each other before they are hired- and I’ve been in interview situations where I had to “test chemistry”- so I know how it works.  And I immediately knew that Ms. Libby and I did not have good chemistry. 

I have a problem with teachers who have overly high expectations for their two year old students- and a double standard too.  Why in a million years, would you lay out tons of instruments and then demand that the children do not touch them?  To me, that’s like pouring a deliciously frozen extra dirty Grey Goose martini- then telling me not to drink it.  It just doesn’t make sense.  There were several situations like these over the never ending class. 

Apparently Ms. Libby plays favorites because when a rowdy three year old boy ran at me, full force, and cracked his large head into my crotch, she smiled… and his mother said nothing.  It hurt.  Really.  How embarrassing, I was just head-butted in my lady parts and I have to smile and pretend that I really want to teach my kid how to count to ten in French.  Let’s be honest, no one here in America, unless your family is from France, really needs to know French.  Not for nothing, I’m more concerned about Hayden learning how to count in English first- then obviously Spanish. 

So at this point, I strongly dislike Ms. Libby and I plain hate the mom of the boy who tried to make me unable to have any more children.  “Oh, he’s so spirited!” Ms. Libby says- Spirited?  Is that what we’re calling bad now?  I kept my mouth shut.  So Mr. Spirit then decides it’s a good idea to throw his maracas right at our heads.  Hayden, being the follower she is (I’m working on fixing this), also immediately throws her maracas too.  Mr. Spirits mom says nothing- I turn thirteen shades of red and grab Hayden.  We have a “talk” in the corner.  Mr. Spirit get’s a little too physical with all the smaller children and twice sits on Hayden.  No word from Ms. Libby (who at this point is rolling around on the ground singing about lady bugs)- No discipline from Mom.

The last straw comes when Mr. Spirit begins to throw rocks at the animals in the courtyard.  Hayden grabs a handful of rocks and joins in on trying to kill the poor chickens.  I grab her and tell her not to ever do anything that the boys are doing- Well, that finally got a reaction from Ms. Libby.  I was told that I was going to raise my daughter to be inferior to men.

Really?

Because I thought I was teaching my kid how to behave like a normal child that wasn’t going to grow up to be a serial killer.  But that’s just me.

I never went back to that class.  They can keep my $49.  From now on, I will stick to buying restaurant vouchers on Groupon.

My Favorite Age

My Favorite Age

So, here’s my first NEW blog post in a while- I can’t believe how fast time flies when you have a two year old.  I look back at older posts talking about Hayden’s tantrums and I almost laugh because that seems so long ago.  I remember the days when I was covered in baby vomit and smelled like a stale bottle of Merlot- The child was severely colic- and she cried.  And cried.  And cried.  And I wanted to sell her on Ebay.  Hell, I would have brought her into Pawn Stars if I thought they would take her.  It was the hardest first 18 months of my life. 

My mom is pretty much the best mom any person could ever have.  She raised me to be afraid of basically everything and normally threatened me with some kind of hell that I would be going to.  I sometimes think that the reason I am so outspoken and fearless is because I wanted to rebel against her.  Funny thing is- as I’ve grown older, I’ve realized that she has been and always be my inspiration. (Jesus, I could use that in a damn Hallmark greeting card- I no longer feel the need to get her a Christmas gift after that)-

Where was I going with this?  Oh yeah- At the darkest times with Hayden, she promised me that because she was such a terrible baby, that she’ll eventually be an amazing kid.  I’m pretty sure she made that up so I wouldn’t put her first grandchild up for adoption, but I held on to that hope.  Turns out she was right.  Hayden is now two and a half, and the child is the funniest kid in the universe.  And smart.  She can correctly use the word “crap” in several different situations.  Last week she told me to “stop leaving your crap all over the house”- then she grabbed a toy toilet and told me she was going “put her crap in there”- and my personal favorite, after spilling apple sauce all over her shirt she announced “there’s crap all over my shirt”.  I’ve never doubted that she is in fact, my kid. 

This morning she demanded her sippy cup- so I asked her what the magic word was- to which she responded… Abracadabra.  Of course that’s the magic word…. Of course.

So, there’s so much to talk about- Hayden’s first year at pre-school, the change to her “big girl” bed- so stay tuned and I promise to keep you updated on her antics.

No Halloween Here

No Halloween Here
I love Halloween. For eight consecutive years, I dressed up as Marilyn Monroe. I’m one of those Marilyn Monroe fanatics. Sometimes I would wear the white dress from Some Like it Hot… Sometimes the pink dress from Diamonds are a Girls Best Friend… Sometimes I would simply wear an outrageous evening gown, put on my wig and head out. I never broke character from the moment the beauty mark was painted above my lip. Those were great Halloweens.
Someone asked me one year; didn’t I want a little variety? The answer was pretty simple. No. See, every Halloween was a chance to be someone I admired- and it was great. Well, that and my college friends/sorority sisters are insane and we would regularly dress up (like every Friday) and go out. The outfits would be outlandish and hysterical. I would normally be seen out with my Jim Morrison American flag draped over my shoulders like a cape while wearing neon yellow sunglasses. Anyway… moving on. So, last year was Hayden’s first Halloween and I spared no expense. I had not one, not two, not three, but four, yes four Halloween costumes for her. The first was simple- Pig ears and pig nose while she ate breakfast. Fitting, I thought. Then for pumpkin carving, she switched into her Jimi Hendrix outfit. She had an afro and was wearing her onesie with a picture of good ‘ol Jimi on it… and legwarmers for good measure. As we headed to the first party of the day, I dressed her in my most favorite costume ever… a handmade Marilyn Monroe white halter dress with white dress shoes and baby blond wig. It was hysterical and I was so proud. (Please note, that when I say “handmade” I certainly do not mean by me. I cannot sew or do anything that involves needles and thread. I found a person on Ebay who would make it) I ended the day by switching her into a full length white tutu with angel wings and halo- oh the irony that my devil was to be an angel.
This year, I’ve been super busy with work (lots of houses to sell which is great!) and decided that since we went to Disneyland this year and she really liked Minnie Mouse, she would be Minnie. Cute, I thought. Best was that no one would think I would dress her so conservatively in such a normal costume. I drove her yesterday all the way to the Disney Outlet store at Woodbury Commons in NY. I happily grabbed the beautiful Minnie costume complete with matching shoes and ears. Her reaction? Full out tantrum in the middle of the store. She wouldn’t let me try it on her. She threw the shoes at me. She hated it. I tried to reason with her- didn’t work. I told her she could pick any costume in the store (there were so many beautiful costumes)- She didn’t want any of them. I literally had to throw her over my shoulder kicking and screaming and leave the store. I know Hayden. When she says no, she means no. So why pay so much money for a costume that will be a cause of headache? I’m sad. I have a black tutu leotard at home. Maybe I’ll just put that on her with her sneakers and call her a hot mess. Oh yeah, she won’t wear any of the beautiful boots I bought her either. Just her running sneakers. I’m going to eat all her candy as punishment.

She's a Little Runaway

She’s a little runaway…
Honestly now. Just when I think Hayden is behaving more like a “normal toddler” (and I use the term “normal toddler” loosely) she does something that makes me step back and wonder… Why? Why dear God? What did I possibly do to my parents that all these things happen to me?
She’s a runaway. Yep, you read it right. She runs away. She’s like a lightning bolt and you can’t blink for a second or she’ll be gone.
Runaway Episode One: I packed up the car, went back inside to get the diva and to get her Egg-O waffle- and slammed the door behind me. In the thirty seconds it took me to grab her waffle out of the toaster I yelled out “Hayden”… strange silence. I bolt to the door and I must have not closed it all the way or she may have learned to open the door. It’s wide open. I panic (I live in a huge condo complex). I run outside look to the right- no Hayden. Look to the left and sure enough there she is halfway to the mailbox…a good 50 feet away. An older lady was pulling over her car because she saw this little one and a half year old running down the side walk. Me=Mortified. Hayden=Amused. I swear, it couldn’t have been more than 30 seconds. I think it was more like 20.
Runaway Episode Two: My parents own Via Sforza Trattoria in Westport, CT. Hayden has grown up in the restaurant and basically runs the place. She has an obsession with going outside and playing with the flowers. I thought my Mom had her. My Mom thought I had her. Matter of fact: Nobody had her and she literally pushed through two sets of double doors (heavy wooden doors) and strolled outside and sat herself on the bench. Again, it couldn’t have been more than half a minute and she was out of there. She sneaked past three waiters and a busboy.
My husband was not pleased with our little runaway. Although he did find it mildly funny that this baby can outsmart her Mommy.
Runaway Episode Three: While Paul was grilling on the back patio, he ran into the kitchen to grab a plate for the food. When he had returned, Hayden has managed to open the screen door and was chilling on the patio… by herself.
These episodes all happened within seven days. Needless to say, I do not find this funny. Actually, I blame the entire thing on my friends. I specifically put a harness leash on my registry. Not the cute kind that look like puppy backpacks. Kind of like a real leash. Everyone thought I was kidding and didn’t buy it for me. For the record, I wasn’t kidding and if I had a leash none of these occurrences would have happened.
She’s not out of my sight for a second any longer. In the future I will have to make sure her room is always on the second floor and that we super glue her windows shut. I will not have a teenager sneaking out of her room -Or a three year old for that matter. And I’m getting a leash. I plan on keeping her on it until her Sweet 16.
On a positive note, I’ve been getting a ton of hugs lately. I think it’s her way of saying “sorry” for getting me so upset. I forgive her, but she will have no mercy. She’s not leaving my site. I even take her to the bathroom with me. I’m not taking any chances.

She's got high hopes...

She’s Got High Hopes…
Sometimes I forget how strong willed Hayden can be. Everyone tends to have a new adjective to describe her recently. Some I think are cute, some are humorous, and some could be interpreted as offensive- luckily I have a very good sense of humor and am rarely “hurt” by some comments. Admittedly, the child has been very independent from a young age. She can’t help it- she takes after her mother. She simply wants what she wants, when she wants it. When she doesn’t get it, she screams, throws herself on the floor and holds her breath until she gets it. Seems logical to me. I mean, how easy would life be if I could just lay on the floor and scream “DIRTY GREYGOOSE ON THE ROCKS!!!” and someone would just bring it to me.
I would like to list some of the words I’ve heard this week: Manipulative (really?, she’s 18 months- how conniving can an 18 month old be?), Spunky (a personal favorite), Animated (she sure is), Theatrical (Oscar award winning, I think), and Spirited (I think that’s the codeword for misbehaved).
Here is where the problem comes into play. When she plays this little tantrum game with me, I don’t buy it. How does that slang phrase go? You can’t poop on a pooper… Okay, that’s not how it goes at all, but I try my best to keep this blog pg-13. I think you can probably figure out what I’m trying to say. She doesn’t get away with this act with me, but some weaker souls (my Mom for example) simply cannot say no her angelic little face. I truly believe that God made these little monsters so adorable so that we wouldn’t leave them in the woods when they acted this way.
Regardless, it doesn’t make it any easier to accept the fact that we’ve entered the “terribles” zone and I’m not really sure how to handle these outbursts. At home, it’s easy. My new pediatrician (who I love, by the way) strongly encourages “Ignore and Isolate”. You put her in a safe place (her playpen since she no longer uses it and it confines her) and then close the door and ignore her until she calms down. Since I’m a sucker, I won’t leave her in there for more than three minutes. She has performed several marathon tantrums. On Monday night, I almost lost my mind when we entered the 75th minute of tantrum. All I did was try to keep my hand under her head so she wouldn’t keep banging it on the floor. Every time she saw me looking at her, the act would get louder and more involved. I’m not emotionless and the truth is that I hate these outbursts. What Mommy doesn’t? So, sometimes I cry. I won’t let her see me cry though. That would be an act of weakness on my part and I’m pretty sure she smells fear. But I’m getting better with them. Last night, I made the decision to take her out to dinner with me and two of my single girlfriends. I remember the nights where we would sit at the restaurant table for hours, polish off a couple bottles of wine and discuss anything and everything- last night we barely got through one small pitcher of Sangria and I have no idea what we talked about. All I kept trying to do was keep Hayden quiet and occupied. She only threw herself on the floor screaming twice. A success, I think.
What boggles my mind is that she is so good when she’s out with other kids. She’s polite and loves playing with children her own age. She follows the older girls around at the park (they’re mean to her though and it takes every ounce of my being not to yell at them and remind them she’s just a little girl)- She’s beautiful, loves to sing and so funny. How do I possibly get through these random acts of tantrum?! I asked the doctor when she would stop. He told me 25. Cool, I thought. Cool.