Straight from the Bottle : preschool

Bad Guys

GirlsGoneChild — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 22:50:00 GMT

Yesterday Archer came home from school and said a horrifying thing.

Responding to the sound of laughing voices outside he turned to me and said, "don't worry, Mommy, I'm going to shoot the bad guys with my sword!"

My jaw dropped. Up until yesterday he had never mentioned "bad guys" nor had an affinity for swords. Or shooting.

"Where did you learn about bad guys?"

"Harry...*"

"And where did you learn about shooting?"

"Harry."

"What else is Harry teaching you."

"Nothing. We were just playing superheroes and superheroes kill the bad guys with shooting them, mommy. It's okay."

"Um... actually it's not okay. Shooting bad guys is not okay," I said, before stopping myself. "I mean... unless these bad guys are trying to shoot you, in which chase, uh... I mean... actually. You can't... You're not supposed to... I- I- I- I..."

... gave up.

I didn't know what to say. Up until yesterday Archer had never mentioned swords or guns or violence of any kind. I managed to keep superheroes and "bad guys" and weapons and people behaving aggressively toward one another out of Archer's mind and day-to-day experiences. And even though I knew it was only time before this day would come, it still came as a shock to me.

I was unprepared. On one hand I was happy to hear him makebelieving with the other kids at school but at the same time? He was talking about shooting something with a sword. Bad guy or not, it was the last thing I wanted to hear.

"We don't shoot bad guys in our house, okay? Harry apparently has other rules but around here, everyone is a good guy, cool?"

Archer put down his make-believe weapon, shrugged and went to play Legos but I was shaking. Heartbroken. It was like watching my child strip himself of innocence in front of my eyes. I was unprepared. Completely. I've spent the last four years teaching Archer that the single most important thing a person can be is kind. Kind to themselves. Kind to other people and creatures, their planet, surroundings... no matter how awful things and people and the world can seem. No matter how painful a bee sting, you NEVER squash a bee. And now Archer was shooting things? Surely that was the MOST unkind act. And yet... trying to explain the whys and why nots seemed at once more violent than letting Archer go on with his friends and his make believe.

And so, I didn't bring it up again, dealing instead with my own arguing voices and angst.

Why must there be pain and bad guys and violence and darkness and swords that shoot bad guys. Why Why must superheroes fight violence with violence? Why must I be so naive? Why does Harry have to have such a BIG MOUTH?

The truth was, I wanted to strangle Harry. I wanted to strangle Harry's parents. I wanted to strangle the world for being so cruel and unfair and violent and painful.

But being the pacifist that I am, I simply cried.

***

*names have been changed

Make New Friends

GirlsGoneChild — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 02:52:00 GMT

Every day the same thing happens. I drop Archer off at school. He kisses me, waves and scurries off to the playground. I watch him from the window as he lands in the sand, looks around at the other children and suddenly becomes shy. Quiet. A very different boy than the one I see at home.

"Hi Archer," the other children say.

"Hi," Archer says back, kicking the dirt, looking down sheepishly.

I watch him until my five-minutes of parking in a drop-off zone are up and occasionally I cry because Archer's got that whole loner in the trenchcoat thing going and it's heartbreaking to watch my child sit alone, when the other children seem so happy to be together. I remember how it felt, as a young child, to be shy. Overwhelmed by crowds of children, I wandered aimlessly as well.

In the car, I always remind myself that Archer's happy. He's glad to be at school and on the playground even if he's playing alone. He's smiling. Always smiling. No need for me to worry about my happy little child.

"Does Archer have any friends yet," I ask.

The teacher always answers me in the same way. "All the children love Archer. He's like everyone's little brother... We all adore him. He's a gentle little soul..."

"But does he have a friend? Is there anyone in the class that he sits with or..."

The teacher smiles. "Not really," she says. "But he's happy. He loves to hold the flag and read books and he participates in all the activities."

It was true, of course. Archer is a sublimely happy child so it would only make sense he would be the same kind of happy at school. He loves school! Every morning Archer rushes the door when it's time to go, always thrilled to see his teachers and kiss me goodbye.

Last week, when I went to pick up Archer, I asked the teacher how he was doing.

"He's doing great," she said. "Oh! And guess what? He has a friend."

"He does? A real one?"

I wanted to cry. His very first friend he made on his own! Someone to play with at school! Who was he? I had to know all...

"This other boy, he is just like Archer. He's quiet and shy and usually plays alone. But one day! All of a sudden? These two boys were not alone! They were together! Sitting together and playing together and it was like they found each other! Two boys just the same!"

I listened, gathering Archer's lunchbox and stack of art-projects, crying behind my giant sunglasses. The thought of Archer making his own like-minded friend was too much for me to handle. The thought of two little boys, wandering the outskirts of the playground only to decide, one day, to wander together was just... yeah. Yeah.

Tonight, before bed, I asked Archer about his new friend. About school and whether or not he was excited to go tomorrow. Archer repeated the name of his new friend and smiled. And so did I.

I probably would have cried again, too, had I been wearing my humungous sunglasses.

***

Throwing Speech Therapy Out With...

GirlsGoneChild — Fri, 04 Apr 2008 03:06:00 GMT

Last week we decided to pull Archer out of speech therapy, mainly because in the last six-months of speech therapy, no one has done their job well. We went through four therapists all of whom flaked on us half the time. I haven't decided who I want to blame. Regional Center or the therapists themselves. At first we had the speech therapists coming to us. But like I said before, only a fraction of the time did the therapist actually show. Traffic was always sooooo bad. Maybe next week!

Because of our issues with flaky at-home therapists we decided to go into an actual office once a week but the flakiness continued. Several times not even an hour before our appointment, I was called and canceled on. And when we weren't (canceled on) the therapists seemed to have no idea what they were doing.

Archer es muy frustrado. His mama tambien.

"How's he doing?" I asked after our last session.

The therapist just shrugged and giggled. "He's doing fine," she said.

Uh... and?

Ironically, our speech therapists seemed unable to articulate what was going on with Archer's progress. No "he's getting stronger ever week!" or "Sorry, sister. Outlook not good." Just smiles and shrugs and "see you next week!"

Honestly, I really wanted to be open to speech therapy. Lordy knows Archer needed it. He still needs it. He's making progress of course but still has major speech-issues. He's about a year-and-a-half behind, we think, which is cool, but help is surely necessary at this point.

The final straw came last week when after three weeks of being flaked on, we were flaked on a grand total of four times in a row. Deservedly pissed off, Hal called to cancel therapy for good. We decided to instead put Archer in school five days a week. Because preschool doesn't call and cancel an hour before it starts and anyway, school seems to be working FAR MORE than speech therapy ever did.

Come on, Mom. Let's blow this popsicle stand...

Right about now I'm feeling pretty bad about Los Angeles' state-funded speech therapy (can you tell?). I really wanted to give it a chance but frankly it's been nothing but a waste of time for all of us. If we could afford to hire a private therapist I would do so but alas, we must depend on state-funded intervention and apparently, you get what you pay for 'round these here parts.

So preschool five days a week is Archer's only speech therapy. He sings songs. He paints pictures. He attempts to communicate with the boys and girls in his class and he's happy.

I couldn't be prouder of the progress Archer has made. Progress that hasn't been interrupted by flaky incompetents who cannot even make eye-contact with a concerned parent and/or do his/her job. Free preschool has been the silver lining of this whole experience. We love Archer's school and feel very lucky to have the support and aid of his teachers who have been nothing but patient with Archer and his delays.

It's hard enough for a parent to acknowledge that his/her child needs professional assistance. Harder yet when professional assistance isn't at all professional. Oy to the ARGH.

So no more speech therapy for us. Not unless we decide to hire someone out of pocket who will actually show up and you know, therapize.

***

Appearance Update:

Los Angeles: Book Soup (this) Saturday April 5th, 5pm

San Diego: Borders Carlsbad Wednesday April 9th, 7pm

for more appearance dates/times click here.

A Whole New World

GirlsGoneChild — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 05:57:00 GMT

Pardon the Little Mermaid reference but the life of a preschool parent is going to take some getting used to. Everything is so serious, now. So many new rules. Is it wrong that I just want to sneak out the back door and not buy into any of it?

...Outrunning everyone but his shadow...

Apparently there was some drama at the end of the year when a teacher left Archer's school without notice. Parents were livid and still are it seems, deciding to create a sort of "parent's union" and hosting underground meetings about their children's well being, voicing their concerns, etc. I RSVP'd for the meeting because I didn't know how to say no, and then I felt bad that I even wanted to (say no) because I really should be concerned with my child's well-being, too. And I am, but not in a "parent's conference" kind of way. It gives me a poopy stomach just thinking about it, getting together for lemon squares and chitchat about playground etiquette or whatever. It's times like these when I wonder if I'm even cut out for this parent-stuff. I think I'm a good mom and I love my son more than anything, obviously, but the bureaucracy of parenting is intimidating as hell, not to mention something I'm very uncomfortable with. I want Archer to make friends and learn stuff. I want his preschool experience to be as amazing as it possibly can be... but. Butbutbutbuuuuut... All the drama. Drama! Why!? WHY!?

Which kind of in a way brings me to my next point of weirdness: birthday parties. I almost forgot the whole "when it's your birthday you have to invite the whole class" thing... I hated it when I was a kid because for one, I didn't want everyone at my birthday party and two, I didn't want to be invited to some kid's party if he/she didn't want me there. Of course I understand that this "invite the whole class" thing is standard procedure for parents these days. No one wants to exclude anyone or hurt any child's feelings, which I realize is a kind gesture of loveliness. But it feels so... phony? Then I take a step back and think, "What the hell is wrong with you, Rebecca?" Seriously. What is wrong with me? Why am I so wigged out by this stuff?

Maybe I'm just reeling from the shock of sending Archer to school. Dropping my baby off in tears every morning is no picnic, and although he's wonderfully happy every afternoon when I come to pick him up, I'm starting to think my previous apprehension sending him to preschool early had less to do with whether or not he was ready and more to do with whether or not I was. The truth is... I'm not ready. Everything feels like it's moving way too fast, all of these milestones like butterflies I can't catch and I'm sort of standing here, dumbstruck, watching them flutter away...

...Why do you have to grow up so fast? Huh?...

I'm not ready for secret parent meetings and RSVPing for 4th birthday parties and trying to make small-talk with real adults in their adult houses with three (plus) bedrooms and backyards. I'm intimidated by the Angeleno elite who send their children to Archer's school and their fancy cars-- parents who have the space and monetary means to invite a whole school to their children's parties without flinching.

I feel like a child in her mother's high-heels trying to act way more grown-up than I am. It's one thing parenting a child in a world I'm familiar with. Quite another dropping Archer off in a new place where things just seem so, I dunno, different.

And a little sad, too.

***

Fast Times at Montessori School

GirlsGoneChild — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 07:14:00 GMT

"I'm going to sneak away, now" I whispered to Archer's teacher, just as Archer was making himself comfortable with the other boys and girls at the snack table.

"Sneaking out is a bad idea," she said. "Then he'll think you left him. Tell him goodbye, instead. Tell him that you'll see him in a few hours."

"But he'll cry!"

"Yeah, I know. They always do. But after a while he'll be fine. And pretty soon he won't cry at all. You'll see."

I crouched down next to Archer who was enjoying drinking his water from a Dixie cup.

"Archer? I have to go now but I'll pick you up in a few hours, okay? Have fun at school! Bye-bye!"

"Bye-bye," Archer said, as I scurried away.

Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back...

But of course... Because I couldn't help it, I looked back. A frown was forming on his face and I knew any second he would cry. I pushed through the front door just in time to miss hearing his wails.

His preschool was the one and only school we looked at, a little Montessori school up the road. I didn't even know what Montessori meant, to be honest. I still don't really. I just liked the teachers and the children and had a feeling it was a keeper. I liked that the school was painted red and the schoolyard had an area of dirt for the kids to roll around in. I liked that the children were from all backgrounds. I liked that classes didn't believe in parent-carpooling for fieldtrips, instead taking the children to and fro by way of the Metro bus. I liked that there was nothing neurotic or phony about the place. It was laid back. As preschool should be, me thinks.

I never bought into the whole preschool hysteria. Maybe I missed the gene, but I just don't get it at all. Reminds me of waiting in line for an hour outside the "cool club" which is only "cool" because Jared Leto's band played there once or something. In my experience the "coolest" clubs usually suck. But hype is powerful and parents want to do the right thing for their kids at all costs and sometimes that means visualizing the emperor's robes. (I'm not discounting the probability that I too will compliment the emperor on his invisible platinum jock-strap. I've most definitely done it before. )

After leaving Archer, I sat outside the school in my car for several minutes, waiting for the teacher to come get me but she didn't come. So I drove to the gym and worked out. I went home and took a long shower. Wrote some emails. Did some errands. Had a quiet afternoon to myself, checking the clock only sixty-seven (thousand) times. Not bad.

When I went to pick Archer up he didn't see me right away so I stood in the back of the class and watched him. He was eating his lunch quietly, surrounded by the other children. He was smiling and humming and pointing. He was happy as I've ever seen him.

"Archer. You're mommy is here," one of the little girls in Archer's class screamed.

All the children waved. "Hi, Archer's mommy!"

(Last month Archer and I visited the school two days a week to get him acclimated, which was why all the kids knew be my name. And by name I mean "Archer's Mommy")

Archer looked up from his lunch and smiled at me.

"Mommmmmy!!!" he shrieked, running to me. He put his little head on my shoulder and looked up at me again. "Aw, Mommy yuv."

Then he proceeded to drag me around the room, pointing out a puzzle and a peg board and showing me the rug he sat on for storytime, before waving to his teacher and the other children and saying, "bye, bye cuel!"

On the way home I asked him what he thought of preschool and he pointed out the window.

"Cuel! Cuel! Cuel!" he shrieked. "Cuel!"

He was beaming with pride and so was I. We both made it out relatively unscathed. Some tears shed on both sides of the school-door but that was to be expected.

"Gimme five!" I said.

Already one-step-ahead of the game, Archer held out both hands and gave me ten.

that wasn't so bad after all!

***