Kid Amnesiac

It may seem strange to say about a 22-month-old, but Simon enjoyed his first real weekend day today.

He’s been alive for about 86 weeks, but until now the difference between Monday and Saturday was pretty slight. He may have had a nanny on Monday, but he was still at home, one-on-one with an adult, and setting his own pace.

Now that he’s a little school-boy*, Mondays are entirely different from Saturdays. He liked school all this week, so it’s not that Mondays are bad and Saturdays are good. It’s that Saturdays are different, and entirely more laid back.

Today was the kind of day that I would have felt guilty about a month ago. We were a lazy, lazy household. I thought about going to the zoo, but didn’t. I thought about going to the pool, but didn’t. And Matt tried to take Simon to the park, but he wasn’t interested.

So what did we do? We loafed, lounged, and hung out. Which is to say, we did nothing. The entire household slept in until just past eight. Simon stayed in his PJs until nearly eleven. Instead of going to bed at his regular nap time, he fell asleep on our bed an hour earlier than usual. He had two snacks before dinner. He spent much of the evening sitting in my lap and reading books while keeping an eye on a Who tribute concerts. And he went to bed in his tee-shirt and PJ bottoms nearly an hour later than his regular bed-time.

He’s not even two, and he’s already figured out what weekends are all about.

* I realized tonight that I cannot call Simon “the little school boy” ever again, because that is the translation for my favorite cookie of all time, Lu’s “Le Petit Ecolier”. I called him that tonight and immediately began thinking about where I could go to get a box, which Matt and I would be guaranteed to gobble in a single setting. That way lies ruin.

I’ll collect my thoughts later. For now, my single observation about life is that everything is happening at once, and not all of it is good. As a result, I’m pretty frazzled right now. If I squint, I can just make out a clearing on the horizon, but much like Vegas, I’m worried that everything is really much further away than it seems.

A quick tally:

1. Annual list review (a work thing): My documents are due in eight hours, and I fly to Boston next Tuesday. I’ve been gunning so hard that I missed convention speeches to work on this. I hope I can find them later on YouTube!
2. Annual budget (another work thing): First pass complete
3. Corporate alliance pitching (a huge work thing): First two passes complete. Possible third pass tomorrow and trip to Las Vegas in two weeks.
4. Preschool: Continues to go well this week. Now must sell cash-books for fall fund-raising. Will miss annual parent night due to business travel.
5. Gardening: Sitting at about 50%. Presently halted due to items 1-3 and the presence of mosquito bites, itch mite bites, chigger bites, and a patch of poison ivy from which I need to recover. The latter must have been tangled in with some Virginia Creeper I was working on. There is no prevention for itch mites, which live in my pin oak tree, and the others are getting me despite my being hosed down in 40% deet and wearing long pants. I am the Helen of Troy of the insect world. I want a personal bat to sit on my shoulder and eat all these horrible, horrible creatures.
6. Sleep: Way behind. Simon is suffering terribly from rag-weed allergies. Despite medications and trip to the doc, he is too clogged up to sleep well.  Therefore, Matt and I have been up with a cranky, coughing, sneezing, runny-nosed child at midnight and the wee morning hours all week. Can I give him Valerian tea? Do they make Baby Ambien?
7. Photos: Have taken a few. Have uploaded none. See points 1-6 above.

Fingers are crossed for a bit of respite this weekend. I like to keep busy, but this is surely taking it a step or ten too far.

Such an unusual state of mind for me, but no less true for it. I had been a font of negative prognostication this weekend. Simon, Matt, and I had a lovely, low-key Saturday and Sunday, featuring sandbox play, coffee houses, yard work (thanks for all the help, Jim and Evie!), dinner with friends, and lots of just hanging out. Sometimes even in PJs.

Simon slept a bit better, a condition I attribute to his reduced stress levels. Unfortunately, his “kennel cough” has turned out to be allergies, so the nose is still overflowing. A highlight from last night occurred when little Sophie, who will be three in two weeks, grabbed a napkin and wiped off Simon’s nose. She didn’t have the gentlest approach, but I give her huge props for being adorable and getting the job done.

The one dark cloud suspended in these otherwise sunny skies was the prospect of Monday. I had the notion that Simon was in decompression mode, and that when he hit KIP this morning he’d rebel mightily. To be honest, I pictured the worst screaming, crying, kicking fit yet.

But I was wrong! Matt tells me instead that Simon whimpered a bit in the car, then bucked up, walked from the parking lot to the building, whimpered a bit more, bucked up and began to play with a puzzle in is room, then whimpered only slightly when Matt left. Matt stood outside the door and testifies that within ten seconds, Simon was happily back at his puzzle. This is only the second time he has not had to be escorted out of his room for special one-on-one attention with a teacher.

Progress! And it could not come at a better time, for one week from tomorrow I head out to Boston for another business trip, and I’d very much like to be over the worst of the stress of a new schedule before I leave him for three days.

That would be the handsome fellow pictured below.

A huge congratulations–and an impatient post again, already!–to dear friends Tony and Katherine on the birth of their second child, and to Master Thomas on the birth of a sibling. All I know about baby two is that he/she (but probably he as per a slip of the tongue of the sonogram technician) arrived at around 3:31 a.m., that everyone is OK, and that the new baby weighs 8 pounds 5 ounces. Adorable pictures can be found here. I think this one looks like Katherine to start.

Speaking of Katherine: She was 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant today, and so I’m sure is immeasurably delighted to be delivered of a child.

I have been checking Tony and Katherine’s website, Nijibaby, at least three times a day for news about the new arrival, and I’m sure I’ll check a dozen or more times before I find out whether I’m boxing off Simon’s 3-6 month wardrobe for this child and, if so, what name goes on the mailing label.

Very exciting news all round, and a thoroughly delightful news post to start the day with.

Rarely have I been so happy to wake up to a Friday. And I’m not alone. The entire Whitworth-Goldstein household is ready for the long exhale that is a weekend, having come through a pretty challenging week. The one who most needs it the most is Simon, but Matt and I are trailing close behind.

It was a week of highs and lows. I know the balance will tip the other way shortly, but this week at least the scale tipped to the low side.

It’s not just that Simon cried every day when we dropped him off and had to be taken out of the room to be comforted. It’s that he’s taken his stress home with him, too. It’s been over a week since Simon has slept as well and readily as he used to. He’s cried when we put him down at night, he’s awakened frequently at either midnight or 4:00 a.m. and needed to be comforted, and he’s barely napped at all. Coming from a child who previously all but begged to go to bed and regularly logged 11 hours at night and 2-3 during the day, this represents a huge shift. I can only hope it will also be a temporary shift, as currently our entire household is tired and cranky.

Then there are the stress-related behaviors. Simon hasn’t let go of dirty dog for a week. It practically takes pliers to separate himself from his pacifier. I’m sure if he were older, he’d either be binge eating or smoking, so clear is it that stress is manifesting itself in an oral fixation. I suppose it could be worse: at least he’s not twisting his hair out of his head or biting his cuticles, two hideous obsessive-compulsive habits found in my immediate family. And I’m happy that he’s eating. I’ve been cruising on erratic junk food binges myself, having not much appetite for actual food.

For the icing on the cake, Simon currently has a runny nose and eyes. Now, it could well be that he’s spent a fair bit of time outside, the allergen count is high, and he’s stuffed up accordingly. Or, it could be that he has his first case of what a dear friend calls “kennel cough.” Notably, the runny nose began his first full week in school, and the child has had only been sick once (a mild stomach bug) in his previous 22 months.

The upside stuff takes up less space. Wednesday afternoon I took him to visit his friend Christopher after his barely-there nap. When we got there, Simon charged in to greet Christopher immediately, initiated play in a way I haven’t seen before, and followed a few two or three step commands I gave him without hesitation. He also saw Christopher’s late lunch set out on a toddler table (fish sticks and ketchup), sat himself down in a chair at the table, and helped himself to a taste of something he’d never had before. That was new as well. These differences are subtle but noticeable, and I think are attributable to time spent at KIP. He’s already learning.

He’s also picked up a few new words that are hilarious in their randomness. From a new toy he’s picked up “yak”, after months of reading about the festival of lights he said “Chanukah” last night, he’s told us that the animal on his backpack is a “shark” and yesterday he made his first ever attempt at “Grandma”, as in “Yay! Grandma!”

I’m hoping that next week will be a bit easier on all of us. If only I could gaze into a crystal ball and see Simon at school in a month or so, I know the next few weeks would pass faster. In the absence of such magic, I’m relying on the everyday magic of the weekend. TGIF.

I’m telling on my husband. But I’m not mad at him at all. Quite the opposite, I really feel for him. Yesterday he made the mistake I’ve been expecting to make. It, of course, involved preschool.

I took Simon to KIP yesterday because I had a big, big call from 12:00-1:30 and wouldn’t be able to pick him up, which is my regular assignment. It wasn’t a pretty scene. The minute I turned into the Keneseth Israel drive off of Taylorsville Road, Simon realized what was going on and began to cry. By the time we reached his room, he was kicking and shrieking and reaching for me. A teacher immediately whisked him out of the room, and I left feeling awful. Again.

At lunch time, Matt picked him up. The minute Simon saw Matt, he began to sputter. But the teachers immediately told Matt not to be fooled, that he had had a great day and continued to improve. He participated in art, liked the music, and ate a good lunch. Success!

Buoyed, Matt escorted a no-longer crying Simon into the parking lot. Then they got to the car and the full horror of the situation revealed itself. Matt had taken the wrong car. We have a semi-permanent loan of my Dad’s old Camry, and it does not have a car seat in it. (Dumb, yes, but we don’t feel like the car is really ours. We haven’t taken off the very un-us “God Bless America” window decal my dad affixed in 2001, either.)

So there’s poor Matt. Standing with Simon and looking at a car with no seat. He tells me he felt sick, and I believe him. He tells me he tried to call family members to come rescue him, and I believe him. He tells me he seriously considered putting Simon on the floor in the back seat, and I both believe him and admire him for not doing so, as I would have been sorely tempted myself. Would it have been dangerous and stupid? Absolutely. Would it have been tempting nonetheless. You bet.

Instead of breaking the law, Matt gathered himself on a bench for a bit, then did what he had to do: returned Simon to his class so he could go swap cars. Poor Simon completely fell apart and had to be taken out of the building this time, and I’m sure the staff at KIP-fine, compassionate people that they are-were none too pleased with us. Again.

Thankfully, there is an elegant solution to this problem. And it’s not to be more careful in the future. We’re going to buy a second car seat this weekend. Thankfully, this is one problem for which throwing money at it offers a simple fix.

Somewhere in the large and cluttered main office of Shary Hyman, the Director of Keneseth Israel Preschool, I imagine a thick file folder marked “Whitworth, Simon”. If you were to peek inside, you would find a group of papers neatly clipped together. The top of the stack is comprised of the usual boring administrative stuff: emergency contact information, enrollment papers, Simon’s immunization record. But just below that you’d find Shary’s ever-growing dossier on us, Simon’s parents.

Note 1

“January 2008. Mother stopped by to ask about son’s registration. Not pre-registered according to my notes. Mother seemed agitated despite our having an opening to accommodate her. Still enroll? Could be trouble.”

Note 2

“August 14: Both parents arrive to drop off rather timid child. You can sure tell those older first-time parents! My son is currently driving from California to Guatemala! Child went home with school property (car).”

Note 3

“August 15. Both parents arrive again. Both parents also picked up child yesterday. Unemployed? Ask Billie in accounting for tuition check status. Child went home again with school property (car).”

Note 4

“August 18. Child wailed on entrance to school. Agitated mother arrived for pick-up at wrong time and spot, and then talked to 4 of child’s 6 teachers as they tried to help with school lunch. Total neurotic.”

It is, I tell you, painful to be the living, breathing embodiment of a stereotype. But here I am, exhausted after the emotional highs and lows that accompany being the neurotic, agitated, older first-time parent to a rather timid boy entering the Keneseth Israel Itsy Bitsy class. The drop-off today was pretty bad. By mid-morning, I was editing a Power-Point presentation for a big meeting Tuesday while simultaneously making plans for what to do if/when I am forced to disenroll Simon from school.

By 11:45, when it was time to go pick Simon up, I was in a complete lather and sped all the way to school while an array of images of Simon sobbing played in my head. I literally ran through the parking lot and the back door, where I was greeted by his head teacher, Lana, who told me that they weren’t sure when I was coming today, so Simon was eating lunch with the other kids in his room.

He was? Not huddled in a corner, too weak to cry any more, clutching his (er, the school’s) toy car for dear life? That was certainly unexpected good news.

Lana gave me a bit more information as we chatted. Despite the drop-off disaster, Simon actually did better today. But he is having a hard time adjusting-more so than the other kids. He’s also not participating much, and he doesn’t like being in the midst of a crowd. While the other kids worked on art at the big table, he was off in a corner with a teacher. When it was story time, he avoided the big circle and instead sat on a teacher’s lap away from the group and flipped through books on his own. When the kids played outside, he found a ball, found a quiet spot, and played on his own.

Lana even used the “o” word: Simon is an observer. “It’s OK,” she assured me, “he’s very sweet, and he’ll get used to it here. And he needs this, because we can tell he’s very smart. He needs the enrichment.” I listened to her without interruption, but once she finished, I’m afraid I launched into a neurotic barraged of questions. “Is he having the hardest time? Are any of the other kids having as hard a time? Is he sucking up an unfair portion of classroom resources?  How long does it usually take for timid kids to come around? How long do we have?” I even teared up a little.

Next I bumped into Fira and Laura outside the lunch room. Both added to the picture Lana painted. He’s not good at transitions. He doesn’t like being in a crowd. When the door opens, he thinks class is over and makes a run for it. But he’s very sweet, very social in a one-on-one setting, and very smart. Fira even leaned over to whisper in a conspiratorial voice “It’s always harder for the smart ones. They understand everything and are the most sensitive.” She then went on to tell me how they discovered today that Simon loves books, balls, cars, and cheese crackers.

Finally, on my way to the office to pick up an entry badge, I ran into Inessa. She smiled and told me how much better Simon did today, detailing his areas of improvement. This should have been reassuring, but some of his areas of improvement included items I hadn’t realized were problems. Then she, too, joined the chorus: “He’s such a sweet boy. And we can tell he’s smart.”

By now I’m beginning to suspect that “smart” is preschool code for “chicken.” Certainly the “s” word is pushing my buttons. On the one hand, I want to think he’s smart. On the other hand, they’ve seen him for nine hours. How can they know? And anyway, I have personally seen one 18-month-old who could work a puzzle of the United States and a 22-month-old who speaks in three-word sentences in Mandarin and English. He ain’t that smart!

Fifteen minutes and four interviews later, I finally mustered the courage to get up on my tip toes and watch Simon through the door. He was seated at the end of the table with his back to me, one of about eleven kids arranged in tiny little chairs. I could see him eating his sandwich, drinking from his cup, and talking to the other kids and teachers in the room. I could tell he was smiling by the divot in his cheek in profile. Once or twice he turned around and I could see his smiling face before I ducked down out of sight.

It may seem a small thing, but seeing him part of the group-even if were only for 15 minutes out of the entire day-made the rest seem worthwhile. I am shored up for another day.

OK, more info soon but when I picked Simon up today, he was sitting at the table with the other children, happily eating his lunch, and talking to the kids and teachers.

Panic averted.

I had a whole different post planned for today, but it’s not seeming terribly relevant at the moment. Maybe later.

Matt dropped Simon off at Keneseth Israel this morning, and he began crying the minute he realized where he was. He managed to give the school director a high-five at the door, but this promising beginning soon dissolved into whimpers in the hall and full-on shrieking once he arrived at his classroom. When Matt  left, Lana and Laura were attending to Simon while he cried and lifted his arms to Matt, begging to go home.

Matt tells me the other kids seemed fine. I feel terrible. I’m sure we’ll get through this, but knowing that Simon is more upset than any of the others is not making me feel good this morning. I’ve got so much work to do that my head is about to explode, but instead all I can think about is Simon. And let me tell you, this has triggered the catastrophic thinking like nothing else in ages. Will I need to withdraw him? Will they kick him out for being a disruption? Is he fundamentally under-socialized?

The most likely scenario is that he will continue to cry for a week or so, then settle into the school and have a great time. That’s what they tell me, and that’s what I’m trying very hard to hold on to. I know this. I know this. I know this. But I really wish I could go pick him up right now and have Molly back for six months.