Allison Says

Well, we got snow!

Sorry, everyone.

I had stopped looking at the weather. Day after day it’s been mild, maybe rainy at best, but never snowy. So, I just gave up. I stopped looking and just assumed the weather would be okay from now on. As I was leaving one location and heading to another on Friday during work, I realized there was salt everywhere. Working at a hospital means that if there is any chance at all, no matter how small, of snow the sidewalks will be salted. Like, super-crazy-covered-one-pound-per-square-foot covered. So, I thought maybe some snow was coming.

Well, turns out we did get some snow. Mostly overnight, so when we woke up on Saturday morning it was beautiful.

And now Alex believes me that it snows here. He can’t yet believe me that snow men can be built (the snow was really dry and wouldn’t even form snow balls), but maybe next year. I say next year because now that we had one good snow fall? I’m over it. Done. No more snow, please.

In his current “class” at “school” (I use those terms very loosely, as he is four and preschool is still daycare) Alex is one of the youngest. In fact, he may be the total youngest. With a birthday at the very end of August and cutoffs around this area of September 1st for Kindergarten, I realized a while back that his age could potentially be an issue.

An “issue” only in that I am scared. I am scared that it is an issue.

As the youngest in his class at school, he isn’t the most advanced. He isn’t the fastest; he hasn’t learned the most letters; he isn’t as close to writing out full sentences as some of the other kids; he has trouble sitting still for as long as they want them to. As the kids turn 5 month by month and Alex is still closer to 4 than 5, as the teachers have approached us with concerns that he is talking too much during circle time and isn’t picking up on his writing like his classmates, I worry. The teachers aren’t particularly worried, but just the fact that they brought it to my attention makes me feel like a worrywart.

I find myself doing all of this comparison that I swore I really don’t do much of these days. And I still swear I don’t. I got over most of it when I saw, time and time again, that kids are all different! It seems so obvious, I know, but it took me a while.

And now, here I am, back to comparing. I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be worried about whether my kid is smart. I don’t want to be worried about whether he will be athletic. I don’t want to be worried that he, like me!, will be called a “chatterbox” and be removed from activities in early elementary school. I don’t want to worry that he will be too young and the teachers won’t recognize that he is young and then blame his inability to sit still on ADHD or some such nonsense.

He’s four.

Four year old boys don’t sit still. And four year old boys will talk to their friends if they are sat next to each other. A four year old boy will throw things. And fight. And wrestle. And scream. And my four year old will always choose building with blocks over working on his letters. Every. Single. Time.

With many months of living ahead of Alex, I see his classmates and think, “Wow! Look at them go!” But…they are older. And, quite frankly, it doesn’t even matter. Every kid is different. Even if they weren’t older, I tell myself, it wouldn’t matter that they are writing their name better. It wouldn’t matter that they can recognize the whole alphabet and Alex can’t.

So, in a few months we will be receiving information in the mail about enrolling Alex in Kindergarten. The “Big K.” Real Kindergarten, in our public school system. Real Kindergarten, with the cut off date 3 days after Alex’s birthday. And here I am, wondering. Worrying. Contemplating.

At the end of the day, I want him to do the best he can do. I want him to learn the most he can learn. I want him to be as smart as he can be. I want him to be challenged, but not to the extent that he feels stupid. I don’t ever want him to feel stupid. I want him to like school. I want him to be enthralled by learning.

So, at the end of the day? I think we are going to give him another year. At his current daycare there is a full day, legitimate, Kindergarten program. I think we are going to let him do that. Another year to determine the best route for him (and us!) to take. Maybe after this Kindergarten year he will be ready for first grade. Or maybe another year will help us determine that he is a little boy and should be one of the oldest in his class instead of one of the youngest.

Part of me is scared at how mild this winter has been. But the other part of me is all, “Yeah! Bring it! Warm weather in February is awesome!”

Two years ago yesterday Alex was learning how to shovel, and now he doesn’t believe me that we get snow in Pittsburgh. So, let’s all work towards not killing the environment so that I can prove to him that snow is normal and fun!

He may be able to say his “L” sound when prompted, but generally speaking nothing is “slippery” it’s still “swippery.”

My favorite part: “Gwub, GWUB, OH! NO!”

I can’t speak for every single child on the face of this earth, but I can tell you in my experience with children this is true: Dress up is awesome.

Some kids seem to find more joy in it than others, but I haven’t yet met a kid who didn’t want to put on a costume of their favorite Disney character, or wear a cape and pretend to be a favorite superhero, or put on a hat and call it a “crown.” It’s completely natural, and in fact a sign of proper development, to “play pretend.”

In our house, dress up is a given. At any moment, there is a very, very, good chance that Alex is either wearing a costume or at least pretending that he is someone else. His current costumes include: Buzz Lightyear, another Buzz Lightyear, Captain America, Batman, a Vampire and a Knight. Of course, those are the actual costumes and don’t include the other characters that he will become when wearing one of them. It also doesn’t include his pajamas, many of which are costume-like: Spiderman, another Buzz, Woody. And it certainly doesn’t include his imagination; all of the times when he just says, “I’m _______ now!” and runs off and suddenly is that new character.

This past weekend Alex and I went to a birthday party. A sixth birthday party, to be exact. In this big beautiful house were approximately one bajillion kids, mostly in the five to six year range. Those one bajillion kids were loud and busy and did I mention there were at least one bajillion of them?

Naturally, because this was a birthday party at a girl’s house, the costume selection was, well, “girly.” A fairy here, a princess there. Costumes abounded with frills and poofs and cuteness.

Naturally, my child who is obsessed with wearing costumes wanted to wear a costume. So, he did.

For a long while he was Tinkerbell.

A very cute Tinkerbell who also happened to be “damaging” everything around with a “sword,” which was the wand. Alex ran around the house in that costume at top speed, chasing kids, being chased by kids, “BOOM”ing and “SMASH”ing everything in his way. He owned that costume.

I would be lying if I said, “I didn’t think anything of it!” because, well, of course I did. I’m about as open minded as you get, especially when it comes to gender norms, but I am not an idiot. I know that there are many people who have issues with a boy wearing something pink or frilly, or playing with barbies, or, in this case, dressing up as a female fairy. And, I’ll be honest, I almost said, “No” when Alex asked me to help him get the costume on. Not because I care, but because there were lots of kids and some parents there; kids and parents who I didn’t know.

The kids and parents there who I do know didn’t bat an eye, thought it was adorable, sweet, who cares?, wished their more “conservative” husbands could see it, etc. I got one eye roll from a parent I didn’t know, but I am even more sad to say that I saw multiple children making fun of my son.

It took everything in my willpower to not say something. To not pull aside those little kids and scold them for being mean. To not explain to their little five-and-six-year-old brains that making fun of anyone, ever, is not okay. That just because you think something or someone is different doesn’t mean it’s okay to make fun of it or she or him. But, I didn’t. I didn’t because Alex had no idea. He didn’t know that those kids were not simply stating a fact: “Look at that boy! He’s in a girl’s costume!” He didn’t catch the tone. He didn’t see the giggling and pointing.

He was having a blast, so I didn’t say anything.

I think it was the right decision, but I’m not entirely sure. They weren’t my kids to scold. They certainly were not my kids to attempt to teach. It just makes me sad that, in Kindergarten, these things start. That these kids may not have parents who think it’s important to teach their offspring that not only is different okay, but also it’s good. Maybe their parents are still a few decades back in their thinking, and it can’t be my business to try to change them.

Or maybe it means none of that. Maybe one kid was a little mean and the rest just followed suit.

I don’t know. But I do know that Alex had an amazing, wonderful, time that day. And I do know that the kids of my friends there didn’t care that he was in a costume, which reinforces that I am lucky to be surrounded by such amazing women and amazing children. Alex didn’t want to leave the party. He loved wearing some new costumes and on the way home continually asked me when he could buy a new one for his house. He told me: “I forgot to play with Alexis because I was so busy playing with her cool costumes!”

“I am not Minnie Mouse. I’m a princess. I’m a princess because now you have to bring me the food I want to eat. And chocolate! And I don’t have to clean. And you do my chores. And I can stay up forever.”

What kid wouldn’t want that?

I had no idea that having every weekend off would be the most amazing thing in the world.

I knew it would be great. I expected it to be wonderful, lovely, enjoyable, fun. I planned on the fact that having two full days off, at the same time as My Boys, would be a fantastic addition to our lives. I fully expected that I would love it, and that Zach would love it, poor guy having to be the one and only parent every other weekend and for days (and days!) at a time.

But the fact of the matter is that it is seriously, truly, beyond amazing. It is better than anticipated.

And the cool thing? It is going to stay that way. From now on, at least with this job, I won’t be working weekends. No longer will I have to work every other Saturday and Sunday, leaving my family behind on their only days off of work and school. No longer will I have to say no to friends and family when they want to stay out late on a Saturday night. I don’t have to turn down every other birthday party, gathering, baby shower, enjoyable event in life that occurs on a weekend because that is when normal people aren’t working. No longer will I be working overnight, missing out on both bedtime and wake up rituals with Alex.

It isn’t going to stay as perfect as it has been these first few weeks. I’ve been able to work mostly 7:30-3:30. I will have to work some evenings each week, two to three, but never overnight, and never weekends. Never holidays! It is with great joy that I can say that I will not have to work Easter, Fourth of July, Christmas. The “hazard hours” will not be fun, and missing out on dinner will be a bummer, but on the days that I miss dinner I should hopefully not miss breakfast too.

Instead, I get to be slightly more normal. Even though I will be staying up late some nights, I will not have to completely change my sleeping schedule every week or two. I won’t be screwing with my body’s natural rhythm, missing out on a million and one milestones in Alex’s development, declining events left and right.

If I hadn’t been home all of this week, I would have missed out on this:

The “L” sound! And at the beginning there is an “R” in there! My little man is growing up, day by day, and I hope that I can start to miss less of it. I got to hear him say “Thor” appropriately, and “Lock” with an actual luh instead of a wuh. As silly and inconsequential as it sounds (and, yes, it kind of it), it made my day. And I don’t want to miss these little things.

Like the constant costume changes. And the need to be playing characters all the time. And the literally nonstop talking. I don’t want to miss it, even though, I’ll admit!, it drives me nuts sometimes when he says my name over and over and over again. “Mommy, do bats fly, Mommy? Uh, Mommy? Did you know that bats are nocturnal, Mommy? Mommy, did you know dat? Did you know dat about bats, Mommy? Mommy?” (No, I am not even remotely exaggerating. The name he is using, whether it’s Mommy, Daddy or a grandparent, will often be the first word and last word in a question or statement.)

But I don’t want to miss a thing.

I have lost all blog mojo.

Whatever mojo I may have had started to dissipate when I went back to school
to get my BSN. The program was all-consuming, with little time to myself and only a small amount for my family that I made happen. There just wasn’t the ten minutes here and there that I would have liked to have in order to write. To share and remember those moments in blog form like I had been doing since Alex was a baby was just not making the top of my priority list.

And then I graduated, and thought, “Now! This is the time I can be better and document our lives again!”

Well, that didn’t happen, either.

I got a job, with ridiculous hours, and basically just drowned in my exhaustion and attempted to enjoy my days off. I kept Alex out of school about once a month in order to have the opportunity to actually spend a full day with him since I was working every other weekend. We had adventures, traveling to the zoo or simply running errands, apple picking in the fall, and enjoying quiet days at home.

And now, here I am, almost 14 months after I started my job as a registered nurse. Here I am, with a total of 20 posts for over a year of our lives. As I look back on it, I realize there are things that I didn’t post that I should have, because, let’s face it, I will not remember. I won’t remember the adorable way that Alex used to argue when he was just three years old. I won’t remember the way that he continued to play with his hair whenever he was tired even as he neared 4.5 years old.

Unless.

Unless I, this time, find my mojo.

I am starting a new job. This is very exciting, amazingly nerve wracking, and all-around new. My hours will be better and worse at the same time. But: I will be here every weekend. Every holiday. And for that I would have taken on a job that wasn’t very interesting to me. But this job? This job is interesting, and I think it is going to be an amazing opportunity.

And now I want to remember. I want to have documentation of our adventures. Little snippets of the things Alex says, the goofy things he does, the pictures of his smile and not-so-chubby-anymore-face.

So, here goes. If I manage to write even 50% more than I have in the previous 14 months I’ll be happy. I don’t want to forget all of this stuff. I don’t want to forget the little moments that slip away so easily.