The Preschool Edition, Part 1

Today's photo is one from the archives.

In September Zoe will begin preschool or some other away-from-home toddler program. There are a large number of schools to choose from and last October I started looking into them, going on tours and sending in registration forms and deposits. The deposits do not guarantee Zoe a spot at the school, but simply put me in line in the order in which the registration was received. But even that does not guarantee me a spot. Many of the schools determine their enrollment by other factors, including (but not limited to) race, ethnicity, sex, miscellaneous diversity and even proximity to the school. Administrators of popular schools like to create an air of exclusiveness, which leaves one with the impression that getting into their school is highly unlikely. They always, however, suggest that you send in your registration fee as soon as possible, just to be safe.

I looked at, looked into, or applied to about a dozen schools. One of the more popular schools had a three-tier level of rejection. If you received a level one letter you actually had a chance of being accepted. Those applicants who received a level two letter where warned that in order for you child to have any chance of getting in a good number of level one children would have to be kidnapped by the Taliban (and held until the start of the age three program). At level three, the level of rejection I received, there stood a better chance of this blog winning a Pulitzer than my child getting accepted in.

These schools toy with us parents. One school that I spoke with on a number of occasions had me believing that I (Zoe) was a shoe-in. It was a small school that claimed that they took most children based on recommendations from current students parents. I know two couples who currently send their children there, and they both put a good word in for me. Not only was I unceremoniously rejected (a message was left on my answering machine), but when I showed up for the tour (just in case an opening occurred) I found that the director had forgotten that she had scheduled with me and did not show up that day. Another school, one that I would very much like to get Zoe into, informed me that I did not make the cut, only to call me later the same day to tell me that there had been a cancellation and I made the very bottom of the list. I’m not necessarily in but I am allowed to take the tour. And if, on the day of the tour, there is an opening than I need to give them a deposit then and there.

I haven’t made a final decision yet because some schools don’t notify parents until March. However, other schools have already told me there are openings and they are filling up fast. Ultimately, between the few that I have narrowed down (and that I have not been rejected from) it probably doesn’t really matter at this point, at least not this first year. I realize that some Ivy League’s will base their decisions on whether classical music was played to the child in utero, but really all I want is for Zoe to be happy; happy and able to do calculus by first grade.

Two, and Other Favorite Words

For the last two weeks or so, as we walk by the room that will soon be Zoe’s new bedroom (soon after the arrival of number two), I have asked Zoe whose room this is, and she will say, “mine.” Then I will ask her what color she wants it, and she will respond, “Blue.” She has answered ‘blue’ every time I have asked her what color she wants her new room. Every time Alison asks her she answers blue. So today I went out and bought a $50 gallon of zero VOC (volatile organic compound) paint. On the way home I told her I bought the paint for her new room. She said, “Yellow.”

Zoe knows a large number of words, but is not yet stringing them together, except for, “No, mine,” which actually means, “I would like to do it myself,” or, perhaps, more accurately, “If you touch it I will have a falling-down tantrum.” This is fine at home, where I can simply step over her and continue what I was doing, but she has dropped to the (disgusting) wet floor of the men’s ‘family’ locker room at the YMCA after swim lesson while I am standing in a small space crowded with a variety of naked men and children with only a four-inch-square towel wrapped around me. Fortunately all that’s usually needed is to say I won’t touch it and she will continue as if there had been no interruption. That is until she screams in frustration because she has managed to get both legs jammed into one leg hole of her pants.

A word Zoe knows well is two. I like to impress my friends (and strangers) by asking Zoe questions, such as how many cats do we have? Or, how old are you going to be? Or how many daughters does the new President have? She always gets the answer correct. She will even hold up fingers in such a way that one could interpret it as two. What I don’t want to do is hold up one finger (or three, four, etcetera) because she will say two. I asked her how many doggies were on her pajamas this morning (they have a doggy print, so I’d guess between fifty an seventy-five) and she answered two. On the other hand, she may know what she is talking about, because when I asked her how many grey hairs I have she answered two. Smart.

Separation Anxiety; Not

Last night Alison and I went into the city to help celebrate a friends 40th birthday. Zoe was left with Diane, a coworker (and friend) of ours. Although Zoe now has a nanny a couple of times a week, we still have not left her with someone who is feeding her dinner and doing the whole bedtime routine, so I was a little nervous. First I expected that Zoe would be in tears as we left. She was not. “Bye Mommy and Daddy,” we heard as we rushed out the door. Zoe waved to us from the window and shed not a tear the entire night. Zoe helped Diane find light switches, turned on the heater in her room at bedtime, showed her what books she liked to be read, and generally took charge of the situation. Ultimately I think she liked being the host and showing someone new around her toys. Diane probably acted excited having tea with her, whereas I have done teatime at least twice a day since the holidays. We even took her tea set on vacation with us. Enough with the tea! Anyway, with preschool starting just seven short months I’m happy that Zoe is capable of being separated from her parents, something I was beginning to have my doubts about.

We are in the midst of a handful of minor construction projects in preparation of the arrival of Zoe’s baby brother in seventy-one days. One of our projects is the preparation of Zoe’s new bedroom, the room that was previously our office. We told her that the room would soon be hers, and she seems excited about the prospect of a move down the hall. Every time we walk by the room she yells, “Mine,” and when we ask her what color she wants it she always answers blue, which surprised both me and Alison because green was always her favorite color until she learned how to say yellow. (For the record, she can identify a number of colors, but she can say red, blue, green and purple. And since I’m on the subject of identifying things, she recognizes the letters B, D, G, M, P, T and Z by specific words; baby, daddy, grandma (she says mama), mommy, grandpa (she says papa), Tallulah and Zoe. And as far as numbers, everything is two.) The move to her own room, which will probably take place at some point before we move the baby into her current room, will include the transition to a real bed. We are hoping that the novelty of having her own ‘grownup’ bed will outweigh her desire (and ability) to climb down and make the trek to our room.

Yellow

I asked Zoe to try a piece of squash. She first said no, but I asked her again nicely (and she was in a giving mood), so she stuck a piece on her fork and hovered it just above her upper lip. She shook her head, indicating that she did not like it. I asked her if she could put her tongue on it, so she stuck out her tongue and almost imperceptibly touched it to the squash. She paused, stuck her tongue on it again, and then slowly put the piece in her mouth. She ate two pieces.

We are all just returned from a trip east, to Connecticut and Florida. In CT we had a sprawling, wonderful time celebrating Zoe’s cousin Sam’s Bar Mitzvah. Alison and I each had a small part in the service; mine was to carry the Torah in the procession around the synagogue, a role that is considered an honor. We were already running late (Dunkin’ Donuts) and as we pulled up to the temple I developed a bloody nose. Alison went ahead, and after I staunched the flow of blood I sauntered into the synagogue, only to be immediately approached by my mother-in-law and quickly ushered onto the bimah. I was already a bit disorientated (light-headed from loss of blood?), but fortunately the speed in which everything happened prevented me from angsting over a possible fall down the bimah steps with the sacred scroll (I was mini-smitten, a.k.a. bloody nose, for stopping for coffee, imagine the smite if I had dropped the Torah?). Zoe also enjoyed the trip, although I don’t think she really understood why we were dragging her all around. But she had fun swimming in the hotel pools and pressing the buttons in the elevators. And through all our travels she only threw up on Alison three times; on the plane (a little), then again while we were in CT (a lot! Zoe’s got a little Linda Blair in her sometimes), then again in FL (a little).

For a long time Zoe's favorite colors have been green and blue. She never fails to point out an item of either of those two colors. It's possible that those two colors are her favorite because those are the only two colors she can say. I know she knows other colors, as she will point to the correct color when tested. Over the last couple of weeks she has sporadically said the word yellow, but she was shy about using the word, and would barely whisper it when she was pressed to say it. So this week we really pushed her to say the color when she saw it. Every time she would say yellow we would praise her like she had just won a Pulitzer, and by the end of our trip she was saying it at every possible opportunity. On the plane home she said it approximately forty-seven times in a row (she was pointing out each yellow light on the runway as we taxied). Our next goal is red, so check back frequently for the BIG breakthrough.

Recent photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/dbglass/ZoeMichel22ndMonth#
Buy the book at http://blurb.com/bookstore/detail/193034

Let Me Tell You a Story

Zoe has developed a few cute and quirky mannerisms. One of the things she is doing is recognizing that some action she is involved in should be funny, or is funny but just not funny enough to have a real laugh. But since she recognizes that some attempt at fun is being made she will try to participate in the good times by putting her hands on her head and doubling over with a fake little laugh. Trust me, it’s really cute. Another idiosyncrasy she has picked up, and I swear I had nothing to do with it (although now I imitate her), is when she responds in the positive she will not just say ‘yaa’, she will say ‘chyaa’, as in “Chyaa, that’s really gnarly.” When teenagers say chyaa they are obviously trying to be cool and quirky, so it comes off as a little, well, irritating. When a twenty two month old says it, it’s just, well, cute.

As parents we become attuned to our child’s thought process. A single word, seemingly unrelated to a situation, is enough to drive an entire conversation, albeit a conversation in which one party is responding in single-word sentences. For example, this afternoon I was reading Zoe a book of colors. We flipped to a page that had a picture of an umbrella. Oddly enough the word ‘umbrella’ is one that Zoe knows and can say (in a manner of speaking). However, instead of saying umbrella, she said moo (as in what a cow says). I remembered that a while back we took a trip to The Little Farm to feed the cows stalks of celery. It was a rainy day and I was carrying an umbrella. It’s almost as if I can see the gears of her mind working, the bits of memory piecing together to tell me a story. Because her vocabulary is so limited, she has to rely on the single most defining aspect of the story that she is able to speak. Here’s a conversation I had with Zoe recently. We were reading an A to Z book and we get to E for Elephant when Zoe interrupts me.
Zoe: Tallulah. (Tallulah is Zoe’s best friend.)
Me: You saw an elephant with Tallulah?
Zoe: Yah.
Me: Did you see an elephant at the Zoo with Tallulah?
Zoe: Yah.
Me: What else did you see at the Zoo?
Zoe: Blank stare.
Me: Did you see a giraffe?
Zoe: Yah. Tallulah.
Me: Tallulah saw a giraffe at the Zoo too?
Zoe: Yah.
Being able to quickly deduce and respond to what she is thinking is one of the pleasures of being a parent, and what probably makes everyone else kids seem like they’re babbling incoherently. I mean if I was reading a book to someone else’s child and they said moo when I showed them an umbrella, I would assume that they were a bit slow. It’s no wonder that the stay-at-home parent craves adult conversation.

Here's a blog tip: if you click on the photo you will see its full size.

Recent photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/dbglass/ZoeMichel22ndMonth#
Buy the book at http://blurb.com/bookstore/detail/193034

Pull my Finger: Getting Caught Up, Part II

Recently we had a few days when the temperature dipped into the thirties. I was forced to forgo my flip-flops for a couple of days, and almost had to slip on a pair of socks. It was cold enough that our seasonal rain became snow on the ridge above our house (way up at 1754 feet above sea level). I was of course obligated to take Zoe to play in the snow, so I put the car in four-wheel drive (not really) and drove the mile or so into the blizzard (again, not really). I don’t think I put enough layers on Zoe, and I forgot her mittens (who needs mittens in California?), and she was definitely not impressed with my snowman (although it was only two inches tall), but at least I got a cute picture of her, which is really the only reason I took her up there.

A sure sign that Zoe is becoming a real person (rather than just an eating and pooping organism) is her budding sense of humor, her ability to make believe, and her keen sense of how to test our patience. Her sense of humor is limited, but can be spot-on on occasion. For example, she has learned the exaggerated ‘noooo’ response. On a recent morning we were all lounging on the bed and Zoe started saying pee (her new, favorite word). Alison asked her if she was peeing, and Zoe responded yes. When Alison asked her if she wanted to sit on the potty, she gave us a big grin and dragged out a long ‘no’. I’ve also taught her the fine skill of fake sleeping sounds, which she practices but is not yet using to its full comedic potential. (Alison can teacher her trigonometry, I’ll teach her how to fake-snore like the Three Stooges.) And teatime has a little more depth now that she knows to add the fake milk and the fake sugar, how to stir the fake tea, how to blow on it because it is fake hot, and how to fake pour it on daddy’s head (her favorite part of teatime). She also eats the fake cake, although for some reason when she eats the fake cake she sticks three fingers deep into her mouth.

Did I mention that we now have a nanny? Now, you may ask why we need a nanny when my job description is stay-at-home dad. Could it be that our garden takes that much of my time? No, we have a weekly gardener. Could it be the house requires that much attention? No, we have a weekly cleaner. Could it be that my tennis game is suffering horribly? Yes! But mainly I’m trying to get the house ready for arrival number two. However, the kicker is the nanny we hired. Kris is a retired coworker of Alison’s. That’s right, we have the most over-qualified nanny in Berkeley, a retired surgeon. What that means is that if Zoe needs an emergency appendectomy at the playground, she is in good hands. More on my tennis game later.

Recent photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/dbglass/ZoeMichel22ndMonth#
Buy the book at http://blurb.com/bookstore/detail/193034

Getting Caught Up, Part I

It’s been a dog year since my last post, and if you remember my last entry I pounded out something at the last minute. So, what’s going on that I suddenly don’t seem to have the time to write? It can’t be her sleep schedule, which has actually improved dramatically in the last few weeks. And it can’t be the number of big projects in the works in anticipation of Number Two’s April arrival, since I have always had ongoing projects. But rather than dwell on the sad shape of this blog I will quickly move on to Part I of my Life with Zoe getting-us-caught-up blog.

This year for Hanukkah / Christmas Alison and I made an attempt to prevent our carbon footprint from expanding (although conversely we did little to bolster the sagging economy). In our efforts for a greener gift-giving holiday we did not overwhelm Zoe with gifts. She received a Sit’N Spin, which we purchased used on Craigslist. Almost immediately I rechristened it the Stand’N Fall. We also dusted off a Little People zoo and farm that we had received second-hand. It had been cornered away in the garage for over a year, and except for a couple of missing parts turned out to be in almost new condition. I expect to be tripping on little people for the next few years. She received a tea set made of 100% post consumer recycled material, and is fully recyclable at the end of its life. More on Zoe’s increasing understanding of make-believe in my next blog. She did get a few less than earth-friendly do-dads, but overall Alison and I can give ourselves big haughty pats on the back for saving the planet (or at least not adding to its destruction)

Zoe started a gymnastics class a few weeks ago. There are about ten kids Zoe’s age and one instructor. Let’s just say that Zoe will not be ready for the Olympics anytime soon. However, one exercise she did learn was a trampoline move called a seat drop, in which one lands in a seated position with the legs straight. Being the proud papa, I will brag that Zoe seems to be—and please, parents, correct me if I am wrong—the only child in the class coordinated enough to leap up and throw both of her legs out in front of her. However, she has taken this beyond the class. I have seen her perform this move at the top of the slide before catapulting herself down. She will automatically do this very time she is on the couch or on a bed. And when I am stretched out on my stomach on the floor and she is balancing on my back she will often perform this trick just to hear the whoosh of air escaping from her flattened father.

Part II of my Life with Zoe getting-us-caught-up blog will follow shortly, so check back soon.

Early Indication of Turning Two

I usually work on this blog across the span of a week, slowly and meticulously building it into the Pulitzer prize worthy blog that you have come to enjoy almost every week (unless I am away on a speaking engagement). This week we are going to do things a little differently. I am going to pound out a blog in the span of a half hour, ignoring standard conventions such as proper punctuation and spelling (unless my trusty assistant—otherwise known as spell check—catches my error). There could be two reasons I am doing this. The first could be because I want to be more spontaneous, creating a blog with an edge; what my former colleague used to call gonzo journalism. The other, and the more likely reason, is that I didn’t get to it this week, and here it is Sunday, my unofficial deadline, and I have nothing. That reason would also explain this long, pointless introduction.

This week Zoe has not been sleeping well. Actually it’s been more like two weeks. It began with an illness that brought her into our bed. It also has something to do with our bedtime routine that we have vowed to change, starting last night. Normally we bring her into our bed, give her some milk, read her a stack of books, and then let her fall asleep in our bed. Once she is asleep, anywhere from ten to thirty minutes later, I will carry her asleep into her room. Lately she will either wake up the moment she touches her mattress, climb to her feet and commence crying. Or she may wait an hour or two before waking up. Either way, our nights are filled with Zoe. Last night was the wake on contact version, so instead of letting her cry for an hour (as we did the previous night) or pulling her into our bed to get her back to sleep (two nights previous) we sat in her room and spent about an hour calming her down and getting her lay down. When we left she cried for about ten or fifteen minutes, but then slept until six-thirty. Obviously we can’t sit with her for an hour every night, but her bedtime routine will now take place in her room. Obviously I will keep you informed as to our progress (as long as you check back here frequently).

Zoe has developed another habit, which we think she learned from her friend Tallulah. She has started stating that objects are ‘Mine’. This is normal in children her age, and someone explained that is actually a good thing. This statement of possession is paired with her other favorite word, ‘No’. She is not too empathetic yet. For example, she may state that something is ‘mine’ but if we ask her if we can have it she will hand it over. And as for ‘no’, she will often use it before she has even absorbed the question. For example, if we ask her if she wants a cookie, she will first say no, then realize what we asked her and say yes. This only means that I ask her what she wants as a matter of protocol. Ultimately she gets what I give her.

Recent photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/dbglass/ZoeMichel20thMonth
Buy the book at http://blurb.com/bookstore/detail/193034

Early Acceptance Program

Recently I have been having some anxiety that I have missed an important deadline concerning Zoe’s education. Next September she will be two and a half, and maybe I have waited too long to get her into the ‘right’ preschool. As everyone knows, the ‘right’ preschool will guarantee that she is accepted into an Ivy League college. It is a child’s preschool that determines whether said child will have a bright and glorious future or a dark, lonely life filled with failure and misery. With Zoe’s future in my hands I have begun the arduous task of researching and touring and sending in waiting-list deposits (greasing palms is not out of the question). I have a long list of requirements and I have very high standards that must be met. Currently my first choice is the school that is a block away from the coffee shop with the free Wi-Fi. Actually my only criterion at the moment is that the school be near a coffee shop with free Wi-Fi. Tasty baked goods are also high on my list. I’m a firm believer in the, ‘No Croissant Left Behind’ act.

While having a conversation with a friend recently I was distracting Zoe by dangling her upside-down by one ankle over my right shoulder. My friend was visibly nervous and asked if I was worried about dropping her. Obviously I was not, otherwise I wouldn’t have been holding her like that (or maybe I’m just a risk taker?). But it got me thinking, and I realized that sometimes I play a little rough with Zoe, and it is not rare that while we are playing Zoe will get hurt in some small way. Twice I thought I had broken one or both of her legs (I had not), and she is always bumping her head (though I have yet to knock her cold). Although I am not always the direct cause of the head bumping (or other small injuries) I can often take some of the blame because I either urged her forward or did not discourage her from some risky action. Personally I don’t think of myself as a rough and tumble sort of guy, and I don’t directly put her in harms ways, but I didn’t discourage Zoe when she wanted to stand on one end of the seesaw, for example. Situations like that, I feel, help her develop her balance; and builds stamina when she falls off. Today at the park I told her to try walking up the slide part of the slide, which she did, only to stumble at the top and whack her head against a post. And I didn’t stop her when she wanted to stand up in the Eames chair, and boy weren’t we both surprised when it tipped over. I don’t want her to become a daredevil when she is older, I’m too nervous for that, but I don’t want her to be afraid to try things because there is a risk. Of course it’s easy to say that now when I can control most situations she gets into. I’ve already decided to forbid her to get a drivers license.

Recent photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/dbglass/ZoeMichel20thMonth
Buy the book at http://blurb.com/bookstore/detail/193034

It's A Boy

Well, the news is out. All you folks whispering in the corners, filling the airwaves with speculation, can now sit back and wink knowingly to one another. Yes, Alison is pregnant. Based upon a series of ominous signs, gut feelings and scientific tests we have concluded that we are having a boy who will arrive sometime in April. I’m not sure what I will call this blog at that point (as if I will have any time to write) but I am considering LifeWithZoeAndTheOtherKid.com. Stay close to your computer for frequent (or not) updates.