Fabricated Milestones

Today was my son’s first day of 4-year-old preschool. He is
going to the same preschool that he attended last year with a different teacher
and a larger class. His day went well. He likes his teacher. He knew some kids
in the class and he got to eat some chocolate chip teddy grahams (the highlight
of his day).

I got right back into my non-summer routine:

• Wake up at 6:00 a.m.



• Shower



• Make myself presentable



• Wake kids up



• Feed kids and myself



• Dress kids



• Drive to school



• Pull into the circle drive and let the staff escort my child from the car to his classroom. I don’t even have to take off my seat belt.

I ran errands with my daughter until it was time to pick my
son up. We pulled in the circle drive and let the staff place him in my car.  I felt great about my day. I got to spend some
quality time with my daughter. My son was thrilled to be back in school and I
felt energized as a Mom. I bid a fond farewell to the summer doldrums that have
plagued us for the past few weeks.

This feeling of elation stayed with me until about 2:30 when
I received an email from a friend. Her son is in my son’s class this year and
her email was entitled, Pics of Cody’s First Day at School. I opened it
up to find four pictures of Cody in various positions in the preschool. There
was one of him just before he walked in the door and three more of him engaged
in some type of preschool-y activity inside of the room. The first picture was
even narrated at the bottom with the phrase, Cody standing outside his classroom.

Crap. What kind of Mom am I? I didn’t even walk my kid into
the building, let alone snap some pictures of him entering the classroom. Hell,
I didn’t even take one picture of him at home in his cute outfit, all ready for
his first day. I am terrible at documenting milestones. I suck at pictures. I
suck at baby books and scrapbooking and any type of mementos that preserve when
my kids lost their first tooth, took their first step, rolled over for the
first time. I filled out my daughter’s baby book at the end of her first year
and made just about everything up. Granted, it was in the ballpark of accuracy
but completely fabricated. What does this say about me?

I am really good at documenting the bizarre behavior of my
children and my own mediocre parenting skills. Does this count for anything?

The Return of the Culotte

How do you know that you’ve reached a new level of
uncoolness? You find out that you are
out of sync with the latest grammar trends. Nevermind my lack of hipness in regards to fashion, music and
technology
(I purchased my first MP3 player less than 3 months ago and find my recent
upgrade to wireless internet to be nothing short of miraculous), I am now faced
with the knowledge that my punctuation, along with my wardrobe, is out of
date.

I learned today that the double space after the period in
magazine/newspaper writing has become obsolete. Who knew? I was taught
that those spaces were imperative to a successful writing assignment. In fact, as a student my grades would suffer
if I used one space instead of two. It
seems that, in order to gain favor with my potential editors, I’m going to have
to go against what my teachers and professors instilled in my brain. What’s next? No capitalization at the beginning of sentences? The return of the culotte?

The Birds and the Bees

My friend and I had a discussion at dinner this weekend that
managed to scare the pants off of me. We were talking about the inevitable "birds and the bees" discussion with our kids. She has
a five year old little girl and my son is four so these talks are still a
safe distance away but they are there, looming in a dark corner, laughing at
our fear.

I’m not doing very well in the field of sexual education thus far. According to most experts (and by most
experts I mean Dr. Phil and Supernanny), you should refrain from referring to
your child’s private parts with nonsense words like “pee-pee” and
“wee-wee.” Strike one. My son would hear the word, “penis” (not
from my mouth—I chuckle just thinking about saying it) and wonder what the heck
I was talking about. The fact that one
paragraph ago, I referred to sex as “the birds and the bees” does not bode well
for my future. Experts also suggest
that you should answer children honestly when they ask you questions about
sex. Strike two. My son recently asked me where babies come
from and I was taken off guard and mentioned something about God and tummies. I’m not really
sure what I said and this, I imagine, would not please Nanny Jo.

I guess I am in need of some education in this arena. I want my kids to communicate with me about
these things openly.  The first step in accomplishing this goal is going to
have to be taken by yours truly. I need to let
go of the taboo that surrounds talking about sex myself so that my kids don’t
feel silly or embarrassed when asking me questions. Until I am able to utter the word, “penis” without cracking a smile, I am
completely worthless as a sex educator. I’m off to stand in front of the mirror and utter the words “penis” and
“vagina” five times in succession. Say
it with me now…