The Little Ballerina

A few years ago, my sister came across this book in the storage room at my parent's house. I have the very fondest of memories of reading it when I was young and I know my sister did too. With the hope that she would enjoy it as much as we did, she set it out for Sophie. I've had it since then, but only recently introduced it into the reading rotation because I was worried that it would be too long or detailed for her. When I finally did bring it out, she absolutely fell in love with it. She asks me to read it every day before bedtime and naptime. She prances around the house doing the ballet moves described in the book.

Unfortunately, the book is more than 30 years old and has been much loved. The pages have fallen out and it is only my careful handling that keeps it together. I can't leave it in her room anymore because she doesn't have the most gentle hands and on more than one occasion I have come in to find its delicate pages strewn about her room.

So I got on Amazon to see if I could find a new one. I'm not sure if I expected it to still be in print, but the answer is that it is not. Which isn't surprising, it is a VERY dated book, a la Fun with Dick and Jane. Amazon does have some copies for sale, but they are in the same age range, or older, as my copy and are now considered historic pieces* and are quite expensive.

When I did a search for the book, I found another book of the same name by a different author. Based on the description, it looks to be similar to my book although not quite the same, but I thought "hey, maybe this one will do." So I scanned down to the reviews. The top review was from a woman who says that what she loves about this book is that the titular ballerina doesn't get the lead and dance in toe shoes, that books with that sort of stuff give kids unrealistic expectations.

The more I think about it, the more that bothers me, because I feel like that sort of attitude is an epidemic these days. Why is telling stories about children who do wonderful things setting them up with unrealistic expectations? True, not every child will be the lead in the recital, but does that mean it's wrong to teach them to dream for that? I just don't understand this attitude. Maybe it's Ayn Rand-y of me to say, but why is teaching excellence bad?

So while I can't quite talk myself into spending $50 for an authentic replacement of my book, I simply can not buy this book that tells my daughter that all she should hope for is mediocrity. Maybe that's good enough for some kids, but not mine. Nobody ever achieved big things by dreaming small. Whether she actually achieves them or not isn't really the issue for me. I just want my daughter to try.

* I also recently saw a toy that I LOVED as a kid in a museum. True story. My age is showing.

My Daughter, The Pre-Schooler

It's official. Her first day was last Friday. She goes Tuesdays and Fridays, 9am-11:30am. The first two sessions all of the parents accompanied their new little students for the entirety of the class, but today, yea, this very day, I dropped her off and went on my merry way.

During the first session, I was a little nervous. Although she spends a considerable amount of time among other kids in the gym's childcare and she had VBS last month, she has never been in a situation that required much in the way of structured group activities. And certainly very few situations where she had to follow directions other than those barked out (or screamed) by her mother.

True to her rebellious form, she was not among the kids who quickly lined up when asked, or that stayed lined up for more than 10 seconds once there. She participated in activities as it suited her whim. And she felt very strongly that SHE should be the line leader. Let there be no confusion, she's an alpha, that girl of mine. Someday, when her high school principal calls because she's been caught doing something bad, I will be fairly certain that it was she who led the expedition.

However, it would not be fair to not point out that she boldly did all of the activities asked of her while many other children stood back timidly. She may have lost interest and moved on before some of those kids even had a chance to step up to the table, but there was no fear. Also, she was unfailingly friendly, the quintessential social butterfly.

At the second session on Tuesday, she was more willing to follow the direction of the teacher and while she still has a long way to go, I was proud at how quickly she had picked up the routine of the day and the cues that indicated the beginning of a new activity. When I went to pick her up today, her first solo outing, she was happily chatting with one of the other kids, a little girl she named Purple Dress. For obvious reasons. Reports from the teacher were positive. And she is excited to go back next week.

Myself? I spent the time running errands. It wasn't exactly pampered "me" time but tasks that normally take half a day, I accomplished in less than 2 hours. And for a busy mom, that is luxury enough.

Hooray for pre-school!

The obligatory first day of school picture.

Yet Another Reason I'm Going To Hell

We here in the land of Bean are not religious folk. In fact, saying we are not religious is overstating the issue. On any given day our opinions on the topic range from apathy to confusion and occasionally anger.  I was not raised in a religious home. I was not baptized and I can count the number of times I have attended church for anything other than a wedding or funeral on one hand. And most of those were during my exploratory youth. Some kids tried drugs, I tried religion. It didn't stick.

Which is why it surprised me that I even considered the idea when Katie suggested sending Sophie to the same Vacation Bible School that Christopher was set to attend. My first reaction, not surprisingly, was a very unladylike snort. I never went to VBS as a kid and if I'd ever been asked, I would have said I had ZERO plans to send my child to it, either. But when she said that it ran from Monday to Friday, 9-12am, and cost a mere $25, suddenly it didn't seem so outrageous. In fact, I'm fairly certain my eyes glazed over as I considered all of the things I could do in those hours.

So with more than a few rationalizations, I got on the website and signed her up.

When the first day rolled around, I nervously walked in to the church. Fears of lightening striking, or at the very least, some hard stares from all of the godly church folk when they noticed a heathen in their midst. But to my surprise, they were welcoming and kind, and I quickly found myself chatting with other moms during dropoff and enjoying the special VBS music that blasted over the church's kickin' sound system. By the end of the week, Sophie and I were belting out to Jesus with the best of them. I'm not gonna lie, we've even listened to the VBS CD on a few* occasions since.

And those hours to myself. Sweet, delicious, precious time. The first day, I came home and just sat on the sofa for an hour before I did anything. Just sat there. Not reading. Not on the phone. Not playing on my phone. The second and third days, I came home and took a nap. On the fourth day, I went shopping. On the fifth day, I was lounging around at about 10:30 when it hit me how completely I had wasted a precious opportunity to really indulge myself. Why hadn't I gone for a pedicure, or to get my eyebrows done, or for a much needed massage? The answer is that I honestly didn't think of it. The glut of ME time overwhelmed my brain's processing functions. If only I'd had a few more days...

It was then that I began evolving a plan for next summer. Every church in the area has a VBS, if the signs that line the streets in front are any indication. And since there doesn't seem to be any requirement to be a member of the church, would it be so bad if we just went from church to church attending vacation bible school after vacation bible school ALL SUMMER LONG? I know. It's ingenious.

I am a terrible, terrible person.

*MANY. Those songs are just so catchy! 

Lest even one person think I am serious. I AM NOT. I have no plans to send my daughter to every VBS in the area, tempting though the idea is. However, now that we've got our foot in the door at this one, you better believe we'll be going back next summer. VBS! VBS! VBS!

Almost There

Leading up to my decision to start Weight Watchers, I wasn't exactly a fan of the program. I viewed it as I did pretty much all diets, it was for people who were too weak to exercise and control their calorie consumption. Not ME. I was accidentally overweight. MY weight was due to a difficult pregnancy. And it was just a matter of time before it fell off of me. Fell off, people. But three and a half years and it wasn't falling off. I was working out like crazy and feeling like I was eating sensibly, but I wasn't losing weight. Clearly, I was one of those people who couldn't control my calorie consumption.

So one day while sucking down a milkshake at Chick Fil A, (And I wondered why I couldn't lose weight. REALLY?) Katie suggested we do Weight Watchers together. I should note here that Katie is a very dear friend for doing this with me because she didn't really need to lose weight but she knew, cause she's intuitive like that, that I needed a nudge, and maybe that nudge was someone to go to meetings or weigh-ins with me. So that very night we went to the neighborhood Weight Watchers and signed up.

Since then I have been to exactly two meetings. But I go for my weigh-ins every week and I follow the points system religiously. And people it is WORKING. I've lost 30 pounds! I'm down two sizes and, most surprisingly, a half a shoe size. I'm running more and faster and easier. My heel spurs are gone. I didn't realize how much weight I was carrying in my face. I swear I've lost a pound of nose alone. I'm smaller than I've been in eight years. I look like me again.

I'm not to my goal yet. And frankly, I was hesitant to write a "look at the fabulous job I'm doing" post yet because I really want a big before and after reveal when I hit my 40 pound goal. But its been a long road and I felt like talking about it a little. So there you go. Status updated.

Itsy Bitsy

I went to the gym this morning, as I do most days, all part of the continued effort to recover my 25 year old derriere. After depositing Sophie at child care, I headed for the locker room. I dropped my bag off in one of the lockers and walked toward the long mirror that runs along the wall across from them.

As I approached the mirror, I adjusted my iPhone armband and reached up to tighten my ponytail. Now just a few feet from the mirror, I noticed a small black spot on my neck. Peering closer, I noticed that the spot was MOVING. I reached up and brushed the spot, looking at my hand as I did. Which was when I realized that the spot was actually a tiny spider and quickasaflash I whipped my hand out with a scream, flinging that spider off into locker room oblivion.

With the threat now gone, I chuckled at my reaction and gave thanks that I was alone in the room. I'm not especially freaked out by spiders. In fact, I generally like that they eat all of the other little creepy crawlies that I really don't like. I am not a fan of having them ON MY BODY, but barring that, I'm a pacifist. Live and let live, I say.

But then the itching began.

A spot on my arm. Another on my leg. On my head. My chest. My skin was crawling like a meth addict coming off the crank.

Now, I couldn't actually see any other spiders, but I am fairly certain that hundreds of the little bastards were working their way up my body. My best guess is that they were hatched from an egg sac in my belly button and they were on a mission towards my brain where they planned to burrow in and take over my body. I was ground zero for a massive spider conspiracy to take over the world.

Damn my innie genes. If only I had an outie, the rise of our arachnid overlords could have been averted.

War and Pees

Three weeks ago, the prospect of my daughter using the toilet was still just the stuff of fantasy. Her reactions when faced with that option were violently negative. So I went out and bought another giant box of diapers and resigned myself to more more more diaper changing.

But we hadn't given up. We regularly talked to her about how big girls go on the toilet and that she HAD to be potty trained to start pre-school this fall. Truthfully, I didn't really think it was sinking in because her typical response to the big girl argument was that she didn't need to because she was a "wittle girl."

But then last Saturday we decided to give it a go. Institute our own version of potty training boot camp. I wasn't optimistic, but she's well behind most of the kids we know her age in this department and we felt maybe it was time to make a hard effort. So as of that morning we said no more diapers. During waking hours anyway, we're not insane.

At first, we took her to the toilet every 15-20 minutes, but we very quickly found that she only actually used the toilet when she instigated the trip. So we stopped setting our timers and let her lead the pace. And just like that, the switch was flipped. Since last Saturday, eight days now, she's had maybe a half dozen accidents and the bulk of those were in the first couple of days. On the third day, I took her to the gym with me, nervous to leave her completely to her own devices, but when I picked her up, the report was that she had gone three times, all on her own.

We're only eight days in, so the final tally is hardly set, but thus far I am completely blown away by how well she is doing. I had prepared myself for more accidents or to struggle with going #2, but she has been a rock star in both. I would like to pat myself on the back for my fine parenting but it's all her. The only thing I did right was exercise a little patience and wait for her to be ready before pushing her towards it.

So now the big question is, would it be a bad example if I used some of those leftover diapers myself? I haven't made it through the night without a bathroom visit since she was born and I could really use the sleep.

All I've Got Is A Photograph

 

Sorry for the long absences, friends and fellow denizens of the internet. Turns out kids take up a lot of time. Who knew? Sure as hell not me. If you'd asked me before Sophie, and I'm basing this on the behavior of the soap opera watching baby sitters of my early youth, taking care of kids was a piece of cake. The reality is, this stuff is work. A lot of it may be fun work, but make no mistake, it puts a real damper on a person's laying around, bonbon eating time. So fun stuff, like writing blog posts, talking on the phone (I used to talk on the phone?), and most other forms of normal human interaction have been abandoned.
 
I have a metric ton of stories of the goings on around here lately. Visits to the nature center. Camping on the surface of the sun, also known as Virginia in May. Touring amazing natural wonders. We've spent a little time in the Emergency Room. Not to worry, we're all fine. At some point, I will post about that. There's blood and drama, the very hallmarks of a fine blog post, if I do say so myself. My weight loss journey continues, successfully, but I won't really talk much about that now because, SNORE, aren't you all tired of hearing me go on about it? I'm tired of talking about it and I love talking about me. Obviously.

So anyhoo, this was just a quick HI! to let you know that we're all still alive. And that hopefully I can get my diminishing posterior in gear at some point and write some posts, because I miss this. And all of you.

*In case some of you were fooled by my masterful Photoshop skills, that is not an *official* Def Leppard Size 3T concert tank top. I KNOW. It's uncanny. I am an artiste.