And Laundry to Do Before I Sleep...

I'll spare you the excuses for why I haven't blogged in way, way too long. Let's just say I've been an overworked blogger-slacker trying not to miss deadlines, or let the laundry pile up too high. Haven't missed a due date yet, but I can't say the same about the heaping pile of dirty clothes.

But alas, I'm back and while I can't promise a masterpiece post this time around, I can at least give you this adorable pic of J.J. rockin' out, and a couple of quick updates:

- We've officially entered the "why" stage... read my blog about it here. FYI: I was the Milestones blogger for GeoParent.com for the month of February -- check it out. See? I've been blogging, just not here. And I've actually just landed another paid blogging gig where I get to make fun of stupid stuff in the news from a parent's perspective. I'll let you know when it's up and running.

- I've enjoyed playing the "Easter Bunny" card for the past couple of weeks, as in "J.J., you have to listen to mommy because the Easter Bunny is watching to see if you're behaving." Pathetic, I know, but I'm milking it for as long as I can since I can't start playing the Santa card again until November. Hey, whatever works, right?

- J.J. is officially pre-registered for Pre-K. I say pre-registered because despite the hour and a half it took to fill out paperwork, that's only the first stage of getting him into the Catholic school program near my house. Next, I have to sit by the mailbox (it could be this week, or it could be as late as May, they said) and make sure I'm among the first 20 parents to rush over to the school to return the real registration form they mail out. It's like waiting for college acceptance letters all over again. Aarrggghhh...

- And, yes, you read right -- J.J. is starting Pre-K in the fall! I can't believe how fast he's growing up. He's really like a little kid now. Scratch that... he's like a short old guy. A snippet from a recent conversation:
Me: "J.J., wait one second and I'll get that coloring book out for you."
J.J.: "OK, mommy. In the meantime, I'll just play with this."
I truly forget I'm talking to a 3-year-old sometimes.

Well, it's been nice blogging for you again. In the meantime (see where he gets it from?), I'm going to play the "I need to get back to work" card. Back soon...

A Brooklyn Kid at Heart

So yesterday was my birthday and as JJ will tell you, "Mommy's old." Yes, I'm officially old, but not the kind of old that 31-year-olds say they are because they miss long drunken nights and carefree days slept away. Old because on my 31st birthday, I also became a homeowner. So I'm old in the sense that I finally feel like a grown up. Old because I'll no longer live in the place I grew up, the place where my mom and grandparents raised me.

You see, I technically never left home. Sure I have my own apartment in my mother's two-family house. But before that, it was Nanny and Pop's house -- they took us in when I was 5 and my parents split. When they both passed away, I knew they'd be happy knowing I'd live the best years of my life in the home they built, so I stayed. I got married and had the great grandchild that they never got to meet. It was here that Pop's namesake took his first steps and said his first words, and just yesterday, asked how come he's never met the Nanny and Pop he sees in old pictures. "They're in heaven," my mom told J.J., and he looked up as if he understood.

Because I've never physically moved off of good ol' 41st street, I still sometimes feel like the kid who used to run outside on Saturday mornings to play box ball, punch ball, red light/green light, and all those other fun Brooklyn kid games, and race back inside only when I heard the sound of Frankie's ice cream truck in the distance. Sometimes at night, I still hear Pop calling me back because I wandered a few feet too far from our stoop. And I see Nanny's content smile as she read her books every time I visit my mom downstairs and she's doing the same thing. And once in a while on those rare Sunday mornings that my mom or sister starts cooking the gravy early, it smells like Sunday morning 25 years ago, when Pop would fry up the meatballs in his white T-shirt. It's been great living here, but I'm a grown up now, and it's time to say goodbye.

So off I go with the great responsibility to create the kind of home for J.J. that I've always known. The kind of inviting place that keeps you, and nurtures you, and protects you (and drives you just a little crazy, but you can't help but love it anyway). The kind of home my grandparents gave me.

What's That Called?

It's official -- I've entered into the question stage of parenting. We're not quite at the "why?" stage yet, but J.J. has developed a voracious appetite for inquiring about EVERYTHING around him. Some real examples:

- What's that J.J. called? (when looking at a picture of himself as an infant)
- How do you spell elephant? (along with questions, JJ is also now spelling simple 3-letter words, but doesn't quite get that "elephant" is too hard to spell out with our limited fridge magnet collection)
- Where are we going? (asked every 30 seconds on the 30-minute ride home from school -- every day)
- What does a hedgehog eat? (yes, these are actual questions, folks, and many times such as this, I've been stumped)
- What does 'question time' mean? (when I told him "question time is officially over" after answering the 627th question of the day)

I have to admit that while I'm so excited that J.J. is showing such interest in the world around him (he loved his first museum visit, as pictured above!), all of these questions are exhausting me. I start the day very patiently, trying to carefully craft explanations that his growing mind will comprehend, but then the questions start coming at rapid-fire speed and by the end of the day, I resort to "ask daddy" or worse, I pretend not to hear him at all.

Then I wonder, if maybe he's pulling a role reversal and quizzing me the way I do to him when I want to show off his smarts to family and friends. Yes -- that's it -- revenge for all the "Old MacDonald" and "A-B-C" performances I've made him do. What do you think? Is that possible? Maybe he's secretly recording my non-answers to mock me on YouTube with his friends at nursery school? Or, could it be I'm just losing my mind from all his inquiries?! And, If I can't answer him at age 3, how am I going to handle grammar school homework, or the birds and the bees?

It seems I've got some questions of my own (now I see where J.J. gets it from). Actually, they're more like the rhetorical ramblings of a woman who's coming to grips with the fact that she doesn't have all the answers after all. If you happen to know what hedgehogs eat, however, I'd love to know.

B-T-S Jitters

I always loved school, but I don't think I ever slept the night before that first day back after a long summer. What would my new teacher be like? Would my friends be in my class this year? Who would come back with a dorky haircut or looking really cute? Last night, I had one of those all-too-familiar tossing and turning nights.

I honestly didn't think I'd experience that anxiety again, but sending my 3-year-old off to school for the first time was nerve wracking to put it mildly. What if he screams inconsolably when it's time for me to leave him there? Will the teacher remind him to go potty (and if not, will he be brave enough to speak up)? How will he act with the other kids, and what if they're way more aggressive than he is? Ahh, school days.

But to my surprise, J.J. walked right in, marched into his classroom and started checking out the toy shelf. He paused to say hi to his new teacher, and quickly gave me a kiss. I hung around, filling the teacher in on J.J.'s potty habits, where I stashed his sippy cup in case he had trouble with the regular cup, etc. Then I walked back over and watched J.J. figure out a puzzle he pulled out and started working on. I reassured him that he would have a great day, but who was I reassuring? He was already too engaged to pay any attention to me. I snapped a couple of pictures and gave him another quick hug before I left for work and couldn't believe that he barely looked back up at me.

All of the stress leading up to this day was centered on the wailing he'd do, how he'd cling to my hand and beg me not to go. I had hardly prepared myself for just the opposite -- the teacher telling me everything would be OK. And it was... I'm just not so sure I'm OK with it.

Which kind of mom are you?

This past Friday, I took a scary step toward enrolling J.J. in a daycare/nursery school program for the fall. I say scary because as luck would have it, a 15-year study about how daycare turns kids into monsters was just released today. Figures, right? But it's all how you read into things. On the flipside, the same study found that these same kids have better vocabularies than their future raised-at-home classmates -- see how CBS covered it. And, actually, the most important point of both articles was this: "The researchers said the increase in vocabulary and problem behaviors was small, and that parenting quality was a much more important predictor of child development." So why is this making major national headlines, I ask?

For one, it's preying upon the sad but true notion that Moms are guilty by nature, and will click that headline (I did!) to see if they are screwing up their kids. After reading it though, I learned the real truth: No matter how you parent, there will be someone wagging their finger at you for making the wrong choice, and ultimately putting a label on your parenting style. So which type of mom are you? "Crazy Overprotective Mom" (a.k.a. absolutely no Happy Meals for my family!) or "Ultra-Laidback Mom" (she's the one whose kids just knocked you over at the mall while she was chatting on her cell).

I'm not one for labels, so I'd like to think of myself more as "Middle of the Road Mom," although I admit at times I've veered off course in both directions. When it comes to basic safety, I'm definitely a bit more on the cautious side. If I see a small toddler playing near a construction area, for example, I can't help but want to find his mom and smack her upside the head! And although I'm hardly a nutrition nazi, there's no reason in the world why a kid should be eating cheez doodles at 8:15 in the morning. On the other hand, I think sometimes kids need to be exposed to germs, figure out how a puzzle works on their own, play in grass, and indulge in an ice cream cone once in a while.

Look, this is my first go-round at this, so I try not to take decisions about my son lightly -- whether it's putting him into a nursery school program a couple of days a week (we've decided to do it in the fall) or letting him have chocolate (only on special occasions, like in the above pic). Ultimately, I try my best (with my husband's input, of course), to make choices that are both good for J.J., and at the same time give him the chance to enjoy being a kid. In other words, what's good for him, isn't necessarily what's best for him.

Author Paula Spencer explains this notion a little more eloquently than me in this week's My Turn essay in Newsweek:

"You can't go around afraid of everything. It's too exhausting! No matter how careful you are, bad stuff happens (diaper rash, stitches, all your friends assigned to another class). And it's seldom the end of the world."

Amen, sista! I'll have to remember that the first time J.J. acts up in nursery school.

Growing Up

J.J. will be 2 and 1/2 on November 24th and both my husband and I have not gone away overnight together -- not even once! It's totally my fault. Thinking back, from night one, I've always had an excuse as to why I couldn't spend a night away from J.J. In the first few sleepless, C-section-agonizing days home, I refused my mom's offers for nighttime help, insisting the only way I'd learn how to care for a newborn was to do it myself. The truth is, I know I wouldn't have slept because I'd be up wondering if he was OK.

Once J.J. slept through the night -- lucky us, starting at about two and a half months -- that was our chance to plan an overnight getaway. After all, whomever stayed with J.J. would just have to hang around in the offchance he woke up during the night. But it wasn't even a thought at that point. I reasoned that if we broke our routine, we'd mess up his perfect bedtime ritual. Really, I just couldn't bare the thought of not being there for him. It's bad enough I was already dealing with the guilt of going back to work part-time. What kind of a mother would I be if I acted like some childless woman, following my every whim?

Don't get me wrong. I relished (and still do!) those daytime moments out of the house when someone would offer to watch him for a couple of hours, whether I'd get my nails done or just wander around CVS without a 20-pound stroller, diaper bag, and fussy baby. But nighttime is a whole different story. That's always been my job, and I pride myself in never having taken a personal day.

Then came the dark ages... when J.J. the Conquerer invaded our bed. Now I couldn't possibly leave him with anyone even though there were many nights that I wanted nothing more. After all, he was such a light sleeper, awaking at the slightest noise or movement. And if he called for me and I wasn't there, he'd go into a frenzy. I couldn't put anyone throught that.

Once the dark ages ended and a new age -- a big boy bed renaissance, if you will -- came to pass, peaceful nights returned. Well, mostly, except for the occasional inexplicable crying in the middle of the night. It happened just last night, in fact. We're not sure what causes J.J. to wake up screaming -- a bad dream, a headache, night terrors, the last of those molars coming in? It's anyone's guess, but lying awake last night, I realized that I was coming down with something: a severe case of separation anxiety. Yes, mommies, get it, too.

My case of it stems from what's approaching. You see, this Friday my husband and I will be spending our first night away from J.J. to celebrate my upcoming 30th birthday. The plans have been in motion for weeks now. He'll be sleeping at his grandma's house. I'm bringing his sleeping buddy, Curious George, and his favorite bedtime CD. And we'll really only be gone 24 hours or so, since we plan to head back on Saturday afternoon (can you hear me rationalizing?). Plus he loves spending time with his grandma and is used to taking naps there so there's nothing to worry about...right?

Nothing except of course, that he'll have one of his crying fits, calling for mommy and I'll be 100 miles away partying in Atlantic City, too drunk (hopefully) to drive home. Will all my fun be worth the pathetic look on his face if ever I try to leave him again? Or worse -- he'll curl up on his pillow, his hand on George's head, and sleep the whole night through without asking for me once. That'll mean my little boy's growing up. And I guess that means it's time this almost-30 year old does, too.