Punky's Houseguest

When I arrived at school to pick Punky up last Monday, she was across the room playing with her friends.  I headed to her cubby to get her crap together and found a backpack in it that didn't belong to us.  Just as I turned to tell a teacher about it, Punky came zipping across the room at top speed.

"Mommy! Mommy! I get to go first! I'm the first one that gets to take Sloppy Joe home! Look, Mommy! Look at his backpack!"

I stood there dumbfounded as her teachers tried to contain their laughter and fill me in on the joke.  I obviously missed something.

Finally, Miss Jackie said, "His name is Jungle Joe, not Sloppy Joe, and he's all yours for the next week.  He's in the backpack with all his things.  Just remember to write in his journal before bringing him back next Monday!"

Punky was dying to open the backpack and show me Jungle Joe, but I made her wait until we got home.  The backpack weighed a ton.  I couldn't imagine what the hell was stuffed in there.  I really hoped Jungle Joe was not a living, breathing animal of some sort.

As soon as we got in the door, Punky dumped the entire contents of Jungle Joe's backpack out on the couch.  I was relieved to see that J.J. was just a little stuffed bear in a safari outfit, and boy did he have the stuff.  A flashlight, cellphone, blanket, story books, toothbrush, and extra outfits were just some of the things crammed in the backpack, but most of the weight came from the journals stuffed in the bottom of the bag.

As it turns out, the pre-K class at the daycare has been taking J.J. home for years, and all of his visits and adventures have been documented by the parents.  Some wrote daily diary-like entries; others wrote only once at the end of his visit.  Some included photos of their kids with J.J.; others had the kids draw a picture of him.  Some were neat and well-written; some were sloppy and rushed.  But as I started reading back through years past, I was amazed at all the places the stuffed animal has been and the sheer number of kids that had the experience of taking him home.  

While I lost myself in reading the adventures of Jungle Joe, Punky showed him the ropes.  She gave him the grand tour of our tiny house.  She showed him both bathrooms in case he needed to pee during his week-long stay. She showed him the pantry so he knew where to get a snack if he got hungry. She showed him nearly all of her toys, one by one, so he could find things to play with if he got bored.  

For the next seven days, she toted him everywhere.  He was within arms reach at all times.  Whatever she did, he did, too.  She brushed his teeth every morning and night.  She snuggled him close at bedtime and made sure he had his special blanket to sleep.  She talked to him, sang to him, and told him stories.  They watched cartoons, colored pictures, and played musical instruments.  He even accompanied us on a trip down state this weekend to visit family.  And, when we sat down last night to write the story of their week together in his journal, she cried because she didn't want to take him back to school today.

"But I'll miss him so much, Mommy!" she muttered through her sobs.  "I won't be able to play with him anymore!  I'm so sad, I can't stop crying, Mommy!"

From reading his journals, I was able to offer her a bit of comfort.  It seemed like every kid had two turns to take J.J. home each school year, so I assured her that he would visit us again soon but she needed to wait until it was her turn again.  Once she finally stopped crying, I finished the journal entry and taped a picture of them in the book.  After she fell asleep with Jungle Joe last night, I packed all his things in his backpack and set in next to her school bag.  
When she first brought him home last week, I wasn't exactly sure what, if anything, she was supposed to learn from the experience, but now I can easily list about ten lessons that can be learned and/or reinforced through a week with Jungle Joe.  What a clever idea.  The little fuzz ball and his two-ton backpack are welcome here anytime.  Punky's already looking forward to his next visit.

Moving On Up

We had our annual parent/teacher conference at daycare this week.

While we weren't a bit surprised to hear how intelligent Punky is, we were a tad bit shocked to hear that her behavior at school is almost stellar.  Don't get me wrong, that's a good thing, but it means she's saving all the whining, crying, hitting, and full-blown tantrums for us.  Better than decking some kid at school, I suppose.

Her teacher conducted the standard evaluation, but then the daycare director spent a few hours with Punky one on one to evaluate her further.  She took her through a series of skill sets and was amazed to see her easily completing tasks that most kids fail at age five.  Based on her discoveries, she made some phone calls to fellow teachers for advice on what to do with Punky to keep her learning and engaged.

The problem, first and foremost, is that it's a daycare.  They strictly follow the guidelines as far as what to teach children based mainly on a number: their age.  They confirmed our suspicions in that the decision last fall, to keep Punky with her current teacher instead of moving her up with her peers, was made because she was only two.  She was eight months younger than the closest child in her original group, so they held her back and stuck her with kids months younger than her.  It did wonders for her maturity, let me tell you.  We had previously kicked many behavior issues only to have them return in October when she was surrounded by kids still in the biting, hitting, whining stage.

Another problem is that they are simply not staffed to provided a custom education program to one individual child.  There isn't really a need; most kids that age fall within the norm of development.  Her current teacher told us that she really struggles with Punky in class now because, with a group of rambunctious toddlers, she doesn't have the time to devote to take lessons a step further for Punky's benefit.  As a result, Punky is definitely bored and gets frustrated when her teacher makes her wait to answer while the other kids take turns guessing.  But, on the flip side, she said Punky is really helping her teach the younger kids.  While they have a tendency to tune the teacher out quickly, they pay close attention when Punky steps in and explains things.  

Based on all of these observations, they have devised a plan.  For the next three months, they are going to move Punky up into the next class where she would have been if she moved with her group last fall.  After the summer break, they are planning to move her into the pre-K group even though she will only be three and a half.  Based on the director's evaluation, Punky already has most of those skills nailed the way it is.  

The only other factors to consider are her social skills and level of maturity.  On the social end, she is way ahead of the game.  No worries there.  On the maturity end, I have some concerns.  I think she would have been fine if she moved with her group last fall, but I think the past six months spent with the younger group has hindered her some.  The next three months will determine her fate.  If her attention span, in conjunction with her ability to sit still, keep her hands to herself, and follow instructions, is where it should be then she will go to the pre-K group in September.

If the plan comes together, she will have completed the pre-K course before reaching age four and a half, and then she'll have almost sixteen months to wait until she can start kindergarten because of Pennsylvania's strict guidelines for public schools.  A child must be age five by September 1st, or else they have to wait another year.  No exceptions.  No testing.  No consideration for advanced kids whatsoever.  The only way around it is a private school.  They will admit a younger child if she passes the required testing.  Once kindergarten is completed in a private school, a public school has to admit the child into first grade.

While this decision is still over a year away, we've briefly discussed it.  It will be a tough call, that's for sure.  We want to do the best we can for Punky and we don't want to push her if she's not ready.  And at the same time, I have no idea where the closest private school is to us or if we could even afford it.  But, on the other hand, she is starting to read now after just recently turning three.  She's doing basic addition and subtraction.  She is teaching herself Spanish, for God's sake.  Chances are that by the time she is able to start kindergarten in a public school, she'll be reading on a third grade level or higher.  And we'll have set the stage for more years of boredom and frustration.  

We are so proud of her, how could we not be?  Before Punky was even born, I worried about her development.  What if there was something wrong?  What if she was behind?  What if she had a hard time learning?  Now, on the other side of the fence, I have just as many worries and concerns about her future.  One thing for certain, there's no shortage of shit to stress over in the world of parenthood.

The Town Crier

I got pulled over last night.  Its been about seventeen years since my last traffic violation.  I suppose I was due.

As much as I hate doing anything on a work night, there were a few things we absolutely needed from the store.  When I picked Punky up at school, we grabbed some dinner at a restaurant before tackling the grocery shopping.  I knew if we came home to eat, there was no chance in hell I would venture back out that night.  Given the fact that we live miles from anything, and doing things with a three-year-old in tow takes way longer than they should, it was almost eight o'clock till we left the store and headed home.

As I started to drive, Punky entered whine mode.  After being gone the whole day, she was anxious to jump on her trampoline, scatter toys around the living room, and rule the TV for an hour before bed. 

"Mommy, I want to get home now!" she yelled from the back seat as I got on the highway.

"I'm going as fast as I can.  If I drive any faster, the police will pull me over."  Believe me, by that point I was just as ready to be home as she was.

"What does that mean, Mommy?" she asked.

Even though we discussed it several times in the past, I launched into a brief explanation of speed limits and pointed out the signs with the numbers on them.  "If I go over that number, the police will make me stop the car.  Then he will come up to the window and tell me I broke the rules.  He might even make me pay piggy money!  And we have much better things to spend our money on at the moment."

"That wouldn't be good, Mommy."  It seemed she understood my explanation and agreed with my reasoning.

Twenty seconds later I passed a cop who was sitting just around a bend on a dark section of highway.  I didn't see him until I was ten feet from him.

"Did you see that, Punky?  We just passed a policeman!  If Mommy was driving too fast, I'd be in big trouble!"

She didn't see him.  And I wasn't worried.  I had the cruise control set at a comfortable sixty-eight and all my lights are in working order.  I exited the highway six miles later and turned onto the rural road that leads to our house. 

As I pondered how long it would take me to carry all the bags in the house and put the groceries away, a car came up behind me and was clinging to my bumper.  I have a talent for accurately identifying cars by their headlights at night - a little trick an ex-boyfriend taught me years ago - and I was 99.9% sure it was a cop.

But why the hell was he tailgating me?  He was making me nervous.  I kept staring in my rear-view mirror as he followed me like that for nearly a mile.  I was about to pull over and let him pass when the red and blue lights started flashing.  And Punky immediately freaked the hell out when I stopped the car and told her what was happening.

"Do you know why I pulled you over?"  I stared at the obviously-rookie cop like he was from another planet.  I swear he didn't look a day over fifteen with his Justin Bieber bangs jutting out from under his ski cap and completely obstructing his vision.  Yes, I said ski cap.  Apparently he didn't pay attention in the class that informed him he needed to be in full uniform when conducting a traffic stop, which includes the traditional state trooper wide-brimmed hat, or any ticket he issues will be null and void.

"I haven't a fucking clue," I said.  In my head.

"No, I know I wasn't speeding."  I said.  Aloud.

"When you exited the highway and reached the stop sign at the bottom of the ramp..." he began.  

"I stopped at that stop sign.  I know I did."

"...you failed to use your turn signal.  I wasn't going to stop you, but once I got behind you I saw you cross the fog line several times."

I then realized he was questioning my sobriety.  

"I truly mean no disrespect here, but if I crossed the fog line it was because I was staring in my rear-view mirror trying to figure out why a cop would be riding a mere two feet off my bumper.  If I so much as tapped the brakes, you would've been in my trunk."

As I handed over my license and registration, I realized that probably wasn't the smartest observation to make at that moment.

While he took his sweet time doing whatever it is cops do while you sit there and ponder your fate, I tried my best to console Punky.  She was scared, and crying, and making an already difficult situation even worse.  I don't want her to be scared of the police.  I want her to see them as safe heroes she can run to if she's ever in trouble and can't find us.  The picture I've worked so hard to paint was erased with a single traffic stop. 

When he finally came back to the window, he handed me my warning.  Maybe he realized he forgot his hat.

"Can you do me a favor and talk to her for a minute so she sees that you are not scary?" I asked as I rolled down the back window.  Punky immediately stopped crying and chatted him up like a long lost friend.

"Mommy? Did he make you pay piggy money?" she asked as we got back on the road.

"No, not this time, sweetie," I answered.

"Good!" she chirped.  After a ten second pause, she added, "I can't wait to tell Daddy!"

She didn't forget come morning.  It was the first thing out of her mouth when he woke her up for school today.  And, as I discovered when I picked her up this evening, it was her favorite topic all day.

The daycare director greeted me with a grin and then looked down at the floor as she said, "We heard about what happened last night."  Then she burst out laughing, along with the two other teachers still present.  They told me all about how Punky went from teacher to teacher and filled them all in on the news: "Mommy got pulled over last night!" 

I, of course, felt obligated to then explain what happened because I'm sure Punky's rendition of the story left gaping holes and made me look like an unfit mother in one way or another.  

It makes me wonder what other news she may have over-shared with the entire school.  Apparently we're living with the town crier.

The Rest in a Nutshell

January has come and gone in record time.  Usually it drags more than any month, but for some reason it just flew by this year.  I'm not complaining by any means.  I think it's great, in fact.  One month closer to spring.  Since I failed miserably at blogging this month, here are the highlights:

-  A change in routine in December has negatively impacted my ability to write.  I started enforcing bedtime, not just for Punky, but for me as well.  Instead of struggling to get her to sleep by eleven, and then staying up way past midnight to write and have time for myself, I've been starting her bedtime routine around nine.  She's been asleep just after ten most nights, and I've fallen asleep right behind her.  I've also been getting up about an hour earlier in the morning to regain some much needed "me" time, but writing first thing in the morning is too much of a struggle.  By the time I get rolling, I have to get ready for work.

-  Two days after our ER visit, Punky started coughing.  She had a cold that persisted all week, but by the following Sunday the cough was really nasty.  We took her to the doctor on Monday and, even though she sounded terrible, her chest was clear.  But, guess what?  She had an ear infection!  Score another point for mother's intuition.  So, sadly, our streak is officially over.  Hopefully it won't be a recurring event all spring like last year.

-  I got to enjoy yet another wonderful visit to the dentist.  No toothache this time, just the repair of some old fillings that were hanging on by a thread and ready to cause trouble at any moment, plus a routine cleaning afterward.  Even though I was there for over three hours, and I left completely numb from my eyebrows to my boobs, the visit was sweet since I actually managed to get some dental insurance that kicked in the first of the year.  Now to just pay off the outstanding balance I racked up previously.

-  Speaking of paying things off, I made my final car payment just before Christmas, about six months ahead of schedule.  Resisting the urge to trade it in on a new one is tough for me.  I know that buying a new car is about the stupidest mistake you can make financially, next to leasing one that is, but I just feel safer somehow with a new vehicle.  I drive about twenty-five thousand miles a year between work and frequent trips home, and a new car gives me peace of mind.  Yes, I know even a new car can break down, but the odds are definitely in my favor when it's new.  That's always been worth the car payment to me, but now that we are embracing this financial restructuring of sorts, a new car is a big no-no.  So, I will continue to drool over the new cars zipping by and cross my fingers that nothing goes to hell with mine.

-  I also made my scheduled six-month visit to the thyroid doc this month.  According to the blood test, my thyroid is running a bit overactive again.  According to the six pounds I gained over the holidays, the blood test is full of shit.  When I argued that I'm sleeping well and an overactive thyroid generally causes the exact opposite, she found another culprit to blame for my fatigue: vitamin D.  The blood test revealed that my level is dangerously low and she told me to start taking between 2,000 IU and 3,000 IU a day to build it back up, which will take at least three months based on her calculations.  In the meantime, she left my current thyroid prescription alone so long as I monitor it carefully, skip a dose or two a week, and call her if I experience heart palpitations. 

-  To add to the list of medically related bullshit we've dealt with this month, I've also come to the realization that I may be starting menopause.  My mom started around my age, and the doctor told me it's hereditary when I asked while pregnant with Punky.  The late period after Halloween was followed by another late one and two extremely short ones.  One month I actually ovulated on day 7 of my cycle, and faced a period on day 20.  It sucks, big time.  For one, I have absolutely no clue when I will ovulate.  This, if you remember, is our major means of birth control.  I could always feel it, and it was always somewhere between days 12-14.  The month I got pregnant with Punky, it happened on day 11.  Now my body is pulling stunts like day seven?  Talk about throwing a wrench in a perfectly good system.  The other gripe here is that I have absolutely no idea when to expect my period which caught me completely off guard these last two cycles.  Since I haven't had any cramps to speak of since Punky's birth, I have no warning whatsoever.  The flood gates suddenly open and there it is, full force gushing.  I guess I need to schedule an appointment with the doctor to get the official diagnosis, but it can wait a few more months.  I've had enough docs for now, and let's face it, it's not exactly curable.  It's simply inevitable.

-  In other news, we have really been enjoying Santa's bounty this month.  All the new toys, books, puzzles, and board games have brought some much needed variety to play time.  She is particularly taken with one game that focuses on letters, their sounds, and learning to read.  It's amazing how quickly she is learning through this game, and we play it almost every single day.  Also, when she was sick a few weeks ago, I put some games on my iPod for her to play while she relaxed on the couch.  Most of them revolve around the skills needed to read and the fundamentals of basic math.  I even put a Spanish flashcard program on there for her and she flips through them and repeats the vocabulary.  Her yearly evaluation at daycare will be in a few weeks and I'm looking forward to it.  I really want to know what she's learning there now, if anything.  I hope she's not as bored as I fear she may be.

So, that's about it.  January in a nutshell.  I'm going to try really hard to pick up the pace a bit and write more often.  I just need to make some time management adjustments.  I'll get right on that when I find the time. 

Thirty-Five Months

As we enter the last month of the terrible twos, I'm sad to see it end.  Yes, she can be a real handful these days, but truth be told, I wouldn't change a thing.  She's acting up, acting out, acting downright annoying at times, but she's acting exactly as she should at this age.  The only way to learn the limits is to test the boundaries, and she's an excellent tester.  She's sneaky.  She's intelligent.  She thinks outside the box.  She's a challenge.  She's perfect.

I mentioned before that I wondered if something triggered her sudden change in behavior.  I think I got my answer.  A few weeks ago, the daycare sent their seasonal newsletter home.  We discovered that the rest of Punky's group moved on to the next class, so to speak, but Punky stayed with her old teacher and three younger kids moved up into her group.  This transition occured mid-September, and the behavior change hit hard by the start of October. 

When Punky started daycare in January, they wanted to keep her with the babies.  She had just turned two the week before, and it was their policy for kids age two and under to be in one room.  Of course we fought it, and once they realized we were telling the truth about her ability to count, and recognize all 26 letters and numbers one through ten, and her knowledge of all the colors and shapes, they quickly agreed that she would not do well in a room full of newborns and baby toys.  In the next group, the closest child to her age was almost eight months older.  At her evaluation two months in, her teacher told us that her biggest challenge was teaching the other kids because Punky would answer before any one else had a chance.

So now, all of her friends have been moved to a new group and she's left behind to repeat the exact same curriculum she had last year.  She has to be bored out of her mind.  As much as it angers me, I have not said anything to the daycare director because I don't think it would change anything.  I'm sure they would argue that she's right where she should be based on her age.  Plus, the other group now has around twelve kids the way it is while Punky's only has four, including her.  And it's not like she has no contact with her friends from her old group.  They only spend around two hours a day in their groups; all of the children are together for the rest of the activities and free play time.  But, I still think this change at daycare was a catalyst for her sudden behavior shift. 

I know she's the exception, not the rule, but I still wish they could spend more time really working with her on her level.  This month, the lights started to flicker.  Sounding out words for reading is beginning to click.  She's very interested in written words right now, and can read/recognize around twenty.  She always wants to know what stuff says, like the signs on the highway, the banners at the store, or any random piece of paper that mysteriously ends up in her hands even though she was told sixteen times not to touch the pile of mail on the edge of the counter or the novel on my headboard that's been collecting dust since before she was born.  At this rate, I probably won't read it until retirement but I want the pages to remain unwrinkled until I do.

Just Say No

I thought we were done with this shit for the year, but here we go again. 

Another daycare field trip is on the schedule for Friday.  Apparently when they informed us about the three field trips per year, they meant more like six or seven and we failed to read between the lines. 

If you remember, each of the previous outings was the source of great stress and debate in our house.  Okay, more like in my mind.  But, still.

The first was resolved when my mom volunteered to accompany Punky on a trip to a local campground for the day.  The second crisis was averted when, after we went ahead and signed the permission slip for her to go to the children's museum, she backed out herself because my parents came for a visit and she wanted to stay home with them instead.  I was able to get the day off from work to go with her on the third field trip to the county fair in August and, after witnessing first hand the chaos that resulted from a complete lack of organization on the part of the daycare, I was so relieved we wouldn't have to deal with the issue again until next summer.

When I found the permission slip in her cubby, my stomach instantly turned.  This time they are going to a pumpkin patch for some autumn/halloween activities.  Once again they are looking for parents to volunteer to provide transportation, which means Punky could end up in a car with someone we don't even know, let alone trust, because neither of us can take the day off to go with her.  When you layer on my experience with the last field trip, saying I'm hesitant is a gross understatement.

Her dad and I talked about it for nearly a week before finally signing the paper.  Okay, I talked about it and he nodded a lot, tossed out a few supportive grunts, and changed the subject at every available opportunity.

We checked the "no" box.  She isn't allowed to go.

Our plan is to take her to school a little later than usual on Friday to spare her the tantrum that would surely ensue when all the kids get ready to go and she has to stay behind.  Yes, I know she's smart enough to realize something isn't quite right when most of the kids aren't there that day, but I'm trying to minimize the blow.  I'm sure she'll ask questions and I hope her teachers answer them carefully.  Punky is a sharp cookie.  One wrong answer could lead to one very long day for the teachers.   

I'm confident I made the best decision for her safety, but I can't help feeling guilty.  It's not like we never tell her no; she hears it a lot.  But, just in case she puts two and two together and realizes that all the other kids got to go somewhere fun and she couldn't because her mommy has paranoid delusions that a mildly intoxicated soccer mom with a suspended license and a minivan not capable of passing state inspection will drive them off a cliff while sexting her secret lover on the way to the pumpkin patch, I've lined up something fun for us to do on Saturday.

Field Trip at the County Fair

On Wednesday, Punky had her final field trip of the year to the county fair.  My mom took her on the first one, she backed out of the second one because my parents were in town, and I was finally able to get the day off to take her on this third one. 

Let me just start by saying that after spending the day with these people, I can't believe I actually let them watch my child.  Talk about unorganized.  We we supposed to leave at 9:15; it was 9:50 till we actually got on the road.  Once we arrived at the fair, we stood in the parking lot for almost forty minutes while the daycare director searched for her cell phone and finally figured out she left it at the school.  I was the only one that had supplies on me like diapers and wipes.  When it was finally time to leave, one of the vans was completely dead which lead to even more time hanging out in the parking lot and I ended up having to use my car to jump it and get it started. 

Anyway, it was family day at the fair so they had special activities for the kids.  Punky got to make a bracelet, take a pony ride, and she got fitted for a free bike helmet by the state police.  We spent a lot of time in the animal barns and my allergies were insane.  Sneeze after sneeze after sneeze.  It was the first time Punky saw many of those animals up close in real life and she loved it.  A dairy cow looked right at her and gave her a long, loud "Mooooooo!"  She thought it was the greatest thing ever.  A real cow talked to her!

The kids got a free lunch on the fair for family day and we also got to watch a reptile show.  I was fine with the lizards, but once they started pulling out snakes and carrying them around the audience for everyone to see, I got a bit panicked.  Punky, true to her nature, had no fear whatsoever.  When a guy stopped to show us a red, slithery, evil-looking snake, Punky didn't hesitate a bit.  She reached right out to touch it... on the head of all places.  I just about had a heart attack when I saw her reach for it.  After that episode, I quickly talked her into going to see the cows again.  I'll take sneezing my ass off over snakes any day.

Punky was really disappointed because the daycare wouldn't allow the kids on any of the rides at the fair.  Some parents wouldn't give permission and I understand their thoughts completely.  It wouldn't be fair to let some of the kids ride and others not, so none of them were allowed to do it.  Of course, it's the one thing that all the kids kept asking to do.  Over and over and over.  Punky included.  But she handled it fairly well, no temper tantrums or anything.  

She fell asleep in the car on the way home and continued to sleep when I carried her in and put her on the couch.  I took a little nap on the recliner and Punky's dad woke us up when he came in from work an hour later.  After hearing her disappointment over the whole ride situation, we decided to head back to the fair for dinner.  And to let her on some rides, of course.

Wheeeee!

She rode, and rode, and rode while her dad and I munched all that good fair food.  Yeah, I think I created a monster this summer.  She's definitely taking after me in the ride department.  She rode the kiddie rides herself, and I took her on a couple bigger things, but I drew the line at the giant slide.  Waiting in line on steps high in the air just isn't for me.  It was her dad's turn to step up to the plate and take her on the slide.  And he did, over and over again.  I think it was her favorite thing at the fair.  We never got home until almost ten o'clock and I was exhausted.  And stuffed.  What is it about fair food that makes it seem so incredibly delicious?  

I'm glad I got to go with her on at least one field trip this year, and I'm glad there won't be any more to worry about until next summer.

Daycare Dilemma

Punky's daycare has announced its first "real" field trip since she's been enrolled.  They take the kids on walking trips often: to the park, to the library, and even to the bank and post office.  These jaunts make me a tad bit nervous.  After all, my kid's easy to lose.  She's a runner, she's damn fast, and she's tiny to boot.  It's not hard for her to disappear (hence the purchase of the kiddie leash disguised as an adorable monkey backpack for our upcoming trip to meet the mouse).

Anyway, this field trip is to a campground about fifteen miles away.  We actually camped there when Punky was six months old.  It's really a great place to camp with small children.  They have a train ride through the woods around the campground, a beautifully restored carousel, a pool, an enormous sand pit full of toys, a playground with all the usual equipment plus extras like a pirate ship, a ball pit, huge boat swings, carnival type games that are free to play, and more.  It sounds like it will be a fun day for the kids.  But...

(Of course there's one, or the title wouldn't contain the word dilemma...)

The school is asking parents to help provide transportation and chaperon duty, and the timing couldn't be worse.  The field trip is scheduled for the day before we leave for vacation.  Punky's dad and I both have the following ten days off, and there is no way for either of us to extend our approved vacation time by another day.  Neither of us is able to go.  Period.  

Given that fact, we are left with two choices and they are equally shitty in my book.

The field trip is only for kids over two years old, so the daycare will still be open that day for the babies.  The director told me that Punky will be able to stay at the school if we'd rather she not participate, but I can't seem to make a decision.

Punky is only two, but she's sharp.  She will definitely hear the kids and teachers talking about it the day before the trip.  She will definitely notice all the excitement that morning as they get ready to go.  She will definitely be upset when the rest of her class leaves and she's not allowed to go along.  She'll be bored all day at school while confined to the baby room without the classes, toys, teachers, and friends that are normally part of her day.  And, come the following morning, she will definitely feel like she missed out on something fun as the kids yap about the great time they had on the field trip. 

The flip side?  We let her go. 

In a stranger's car.  With a parent we don't know.  On a 65 mph highway without knowing the condition of the vehicle or the safety-consciousness of the driver.  And once at the campground, there's the chaperon thing.  Who will be watching my child?  A parent who knows nothing about her aside from her name?  Will they hold her tightly on the carousel, and sit beside her on the train, and monitor how high she climbs at the playground?  Given the chance, Punky would jump off the moving train to chase a squirrel she spots in the woods, try to stand up on the back of the carousel horse, and be all the way on top of the monkey bars in an instant.  I know my child.

And to be quite honest, if I were in charge of watching a group of three or four kids on a field trip, I know I would pay closer attention to the care, wants, and needs of my own.  I don't think that makes me a bad person; I think it makes me a mom.

So, do I deny her the opportunity and feel like the worst mother on the planet?  Or do I suck it up and trust a stranger with my precious little girl, and spend the day in a constant state of worry, and then feel like the worst mother on the planet if something bad happens?  Either way, I lose.  

Until now, I felt confident with all the decisions I've made for Punky.  I knew where I stood, listened to my gut, and I have no regrets.  I am firmly stuck on the fence with this one.  Am I being way over-protective and paranoid?  Do I need to lighten up a bit?  Or should I follow my gut and choose her safety over her pleasure?  She'd get over it, right?  Probably quickly with us heading to Disney the very next night.

I welcome your opinions but I don't expect them.  I've come to terms with having the quietest group of readers in the blogosphere.  I can see you, you know.  I'll let you know which way the cookie crumbles, but with my blogging habits as of late, Punky may be seven till you know the outcome. 

Same Old, Same Old

I long to write about things other than infections and bad weather just as much as you would like to read about things other than infections and bad weather.  My next post will mention neither.  I promise.  But for now, please humor me and read yet another bitch post on these awfully disgusting topics.

As we sat in the pediatrician's office on Friday, I already knew the diagnosis before the doc stepped foot in the room.  I told her my suspicions but she wasn't convinced.  Punky just finished some heavy-duty antibiotics five days earlier.  The doctor fully expected to see clear ears despite my story about coughing, sneezing, whining, low fevers, and Punky's flat out refusal to eat that day.

A quick glance in her left ear put an end to the doctor's optimism.  Another double ear infection.  I knew it.  A mother's instinct is never wrong.

So, after she wrote a script for yet another potent antibiotic, we briefly touched on the topic of tubes.  The doctor thinks it's too early to refer her to an ear, nose, and throat specialist.  Her argument is that aside from the last five months or so Punky has generally been very healthy.  This season just hit her exceptionally hard with daycare now in the mix.  She wants to wait for the weather to break, and cold/flu season to pass, and then evaluate the situation.  If she stops getting sick, there is no need to go any further.  If the cold-induced ear infections continue into the summer, tubes it shall be.  Cripes.

The next visit for a follow-up to this most recent infection isn't until April 5th.  We finished the antibiotic yesterday.  Ten bucks we will be back at the doctor for another possible ear infection before then.  I hope I'm wrong.  I really, really hope.

Now for the second shitty topic: snow.  Mother nature pulled a fast one once again.  We awoke to an easy eight to ten inches this morning (they were calling for one to three) and then got a few more after daybreak.  She topped it all off with a generous dose of freezing rain, sleet, and even about fifteen minutes of hail.  Mighty impressive.  Bitch.  Look at the damn calendar, would you?  I thought we were finished with this shit.  

The ride into work was the absolute worst one I've experienced since starting this job over three years ago.  I passed five accidents on my morning commute, and ended up sideways and almost off the road myself three times.  By the time I got to work...an hour and thirty five minutes after embarking on my usual half-hour ride...I was literally shaking and in the midst of a massive anxiety attack.  I'm thankful that my boss kept his distance for a while; it was taking every ounce of strength I had not to storm into his office and utter the famous line, "Take this job and shove it."  Which would've been followed up with the words, "I quit.  I'm never driving on that effing road in a snowstorm again."  And those words would've been followed up with days of crying and panic when I realized what a stupid move that was.  

By about eleven, I was calm and level-headed again; work is an awesome distraction.  Then the phone rang and I was right back where I started.  They decided to close the daycare.  I had to go get Punky. 

Of course, this is the week that Punky's dad and I are both dayshift...so it's my week to take her to daycare bright and early in the morning.  I was awake before five-thirty.  I got myself ready for work.  I woke Punky at six.  I fed her.  Dressed her.  Combed her hair.  Brushed her teeth.  Packed her things for school.  I spent twenty minutes outside in a blizzard cleaning mounds of snow off my car.  Then I needed to change my clothes because I was totally soaked.  I took Punky out in terrible conditions and risked her life just to get her to daycare.  I then risked mine further on the long, treacherous drive into work as cars all around me were ditch diving left and right.  I suffered an anxiety attack to the point where I contemplated quitting my job.  I finally calmed down...and then they decided to close the damn daycare.  Enter anxiety attack number two.  

I lost track of all the hours I've missed at work in the last few months.  Between Punky being sick, me being sick, doctor appointments, and bad weather, I can't remember the last time I worked a full forty-hour week.  If this keeps up, I won't need to ponder quitting; the decision will be made for me.  Needless to say, I dreaded telling my boss that I needed to leave yet again.  Plus I was facing the same miserable, dangerous ride I barely survived a few hours earlier.  I was not happy.  Not one bit. 

If they would've closed the daycare first thing in the morning, like all the rest of the schools in the area, I could've avoided all the stress and aggravation.  Well, I still would've missed an entire day of work, but at this point that wouldn't have made me look any worse than I already do. 

Ready to race down the slide!

After all the whining and bitching above, this post deserves a happy ending.  On Sunday we decided to say screw the weather, screw the infections, and screw the date on the calendar.  It was sunny.  Only forty degrees, but sunny nonetheless.  We packed on layers of clothing and headed to the playground.  Punky's been dying to go, and all the snow from the last storm was gone, so we decided to surprise her.  We didn't tell her where we were going.  When we pulled into the parking lot, the look on her face was priceless.  Given today's storm, I'm glad we took the opportunity while we had it.  At this rate, it may be June until we can do it again.

Twenty-Six Months

This month we had our very first parent-teacher conference.  

(I couldn't help but giggle as I typed that sentence.  It sounds way too official given the fact that we sat at a teeny-tine table, on teeny-tiny brightly-colored plastic chairs, in a teeny-tiny room filled to the brim with legos, dolls, matchbox cars, and such, and we discussed topics like singing the alphabet, dirty diapers, potty training, and snack time.)

At any rate, Punky's teachers officially confirmed what we had suspected all along: she is very intellectually advanced for her age.  She is the youngest in her group (seven kids) but she is the most advanced.  Her skill set is closer to the four-year-old group than her own.  When they do their "centers" (the time each day they spend directly teaching content like colors, letters, numbers, shapes, opposites, and such) the teacher makes Punky sit along side of her so she doesn't see the information at the same time as the other kids in the group...because if she does, she answers right away without giving any of the other kids a chance.  The teacher lets Punky answer if all the other kids get it wrong.

On one hand, that makes me extremely proud...yet on the other, it's sad.  She is stuck in this group for at least a year.  She already knows all the content stuff, and then some.  For example, they don't even teach this age group the lowercase letters at all, and Punky can already identify most of them.  They don't cover lowercase until the pre-k group for kindergarten prep.  That is years away for Punky. 

She is elevated in her communication ability as well.  At one point during the day, all of the age groups are mixed together for free play and additional opportunities for interaction.  The teacher said that Punky normally chooses to play with the older kids; she feels it's because her ability to communicate is more in line with that age group than her own. 

I have this vision of her asking the other two-year-olds, "What does duet mean?" and the blank stares she would get in return.  When she hears a word she doesn't recognize, she wants to know what it means.  And once we tell her, she doesn't forget it.  She soaks up vocabulary like a wet sponge, and then quizzes us to make sure we don't forget the definitions either.

Despite my fears, thus far Punky's been almost angelic in the behavior category.  There has been no hitting, no kicking, no tantrums, and no extreme defiance of any kind.  No behavior bad enough to qualify for two minutes in the time-out chair...yet.  She is doing better with the transitions from one activity to the next, but still gets upset sometimes when she is really enjoying what she's doing.  Music class is a prime example; she hates when it's over.

The teachers went through her written evaluation with us line by line.  She's right where she should be or advanced in all of the categories...except one.  The thing to work on at home?  Getting undressed by herself.  She makes no attempt to take her clothes off at school and apparently that's a necessary fine motor skill for kids her age.  I suppose we need to work on getting her proficient in stripping. 

I'm sure I'll be so proud of her fine motor skill development when she completely undresses herself in the frozen food section of the grocery store when I turn my back for half a second to grab a box of Brussels sprouts.

The Lowdown on Daycare

I may have been a bit snotty about it in my last post, but all in all I would have to say it's going...okay.  Now that we have a full month under our belts, I figured an honest update is in order.

Of the fourteen days she's gone thus far, she bawled her eyes out thirteen mornings at drop-off time.  I expected the whole separation anxiety thing the first week or two, but I can't believe she's still suffering.  She's such an independent and daring kid; I really thought she'd get past it quickly.  I don't know if it's harder on her or us.  Turning my back and walking away while she is literally screaming for me is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.  Thankfully, I only have to endure it three days a month.  Her dad got the short end of that stick.

So, on that note, I made it through my first three-day cycle of morning duty, but damn it was rough.  When her dad takes her, she doesn't go until 9:30 and he gets to come back home for hours before going to work.  When I have to take her, we are both working dayshift and it makes for extremely early mornings.

I usually sleep till 6:45 and still make it to work on time...thirty-five minutes away.  Those three days started for me at 5:30 so I could get myself ready before waking Punky at six.  As I anticipated, it was almost impossible to get her moving that early and she was far from pleasant.  So was I.

They serve breakfast at daycare but not until 8:30...and that won't cut it for my kid.  She isn't up two minutes when she tells me, "Mommy, I'm hungry.  Cinnamon toast crunch, please!"  I swear, she's a miniature version of her Aunt P sometimes.  As a kid, my sister would wake up before sunrise, eat two bowls of cereal, and go back to bed for a few hours.  She was always hungry and ate constantly, yet she was a skinny, little runt.  Punky is exactly like her.

So anyway, I had to give her enough time to eat before we left.  Daycare is a few miles away, in the opposite direction from work of course, so we need to be out of here by seven.  The teachers were all in agreement that her crying fits at drop-off were much worse with me than her dad.  I figured as much; she's a mama's girl.

I was worried about her actually learning...rather than just running around all day...and I have to say I think she is.  A teacher told me she heard Punky count to nineteen unassisted and without missing a number.  She's picked up a whole slew of new vocabulary words and phrases.  The last few nights she's been pointing to the words in books, rather than the pictures, and asking me, "What this word say, Mommy?"  She's about three attempts away from spelling her name...she gets stuck on the middle letter but has the rest down pat.

We have our first meeting with her teachers at the end of this month.  They are almost finished with their initial evaluation and I can't wait to hear what they have to say.  I know she's smart; I'm more interested in hearing how she interacts with the other kids and her behavior in general.  She has a temper, and she likes to do things on her schedule, so I'm sure she's had a couple less-than-angelic moments.

Once she gets over the initial separation, she is fine the rest of the day.  She really loves music class.  It's what she talks about the most.  Well, that and riding bikes in the gym.  Oh, and playing play-doh.  And painting.  Beyond those, I have no clue what she does there all day.  They are the only four answers I ever get.

She eats well while she's there, and she's not afraid to tell them when she's hungry or thirsty.  And they've actually succeeded in getting her to take a nap every day but one so far.  Two things about that: I can't get her to sleep until about eleven at night every single day she naps at daycare, and to get her to sleep they've relied on rubbing her back so now it's a demand I'm given every night as well.  "Rub the back, Mommy!"  I should've put those on the list of thanks in the last post.

She really seems to like it, and I know it's good for her, and I know she needs to learn socialization, and exposure to germs isn't a bad thing so she builds immunity, blah blah blah...

But I have my gripes about it, too.  I hate leaving her there.  I hate not knowing what she's doing.  I hate the fact that she's been sick since she started (another double ear infection now).  I hate worrying about her safety.  Life was so much easier when she was home all day with either her aunt or Grammy.  Warm, safe, healthy, and happy.

Love and Thanks

...an appropriate topic with Valentine's Day just around the corner, don't you think?

Punky is all about the love these days.  She loves, well, everything apparently.  Once in a while, something hits the "don't like it" list, but for the most part it's love all around...

In the past twenty-four hours, I've heard each of the following phrases spew from the lips of my dainty, little girl:

"I love boogers!" (This one she chose to scream across the room at me when I walked in to pick her up at daycare yesterday...and I made the mistake of saying, "What?"  So, of course, she yelled it again.)

"I love earwax!" (Out of the blue for no reason at all.)

"I love potties!" (Now if she'd only learn to use them.)

"I love boo-boos!" (Maybe her way of coping with the black and blues that still cover most of her body at all times due to the sheer gracelessness she inherited from her mother.)

"I love dust!" (Her response to my attempt at getting her to come out from the corner by the toilet in my bathroom by telling her it's all dusty back there.)

"I love meat!" (I think this one is truth; she always asks for seconds.)

"I love diapers! I love water! I love crayons! I love pillows!  I love my blankie! I love cars!  I love stop signs! I love toothbrushes!  I love refrigerators! I love ice! I love ceilings! I love germs! I love stinky socks!"

There were more, but you get the gist...

"I love you, too, Mommy." (Tonight when I tucked her in to bed.  The embarrassing "I love boogers!" incident is forgiven.)

Now for the thanks...to daycare...

Thank you, daycare, for calming our fears over peanut allergies by totally disregarding our instruction.  I know it's silly, but Punky never tasted peanut butter.  With my history of food allergies, I was holding off as long as possible...like till she was old enough to say, "Hey, Mom! My throat is closing up! I can't breathe! Call 9-1-1, please!"  

We told them she never had peanut butter when we signed her up, and that we would give it to her when we felt comfortable, and we'd let them know when that happened.

But alas, there she was, inhaling a huge PB&J when her dad picked her up one day last week.  Sigh.  Part of me truly is thankful that they pushed us across that hurdle, but mostly I'm ticked at their lack of attention and respect for our wishes.  And hell, if they screwed up this simple request, what else will they do?  I'm rethinking the field trip permission slip already...

Thank you, daycare, for causing round two of that wonderful stomach bug to invade our home this past week.  Punky coated the living room Saturday night, in the same fashion as before, but at least this time her dad was home to help with cleanup and it didn't result in another ER visit.  My turn came Monday night.  Punky's dad pulled up the rear on Wednesday night.

And yes, I did ask if it's going around the daycare, and I was told, "Oh yeah, the kids have been like little puke fountains erupting all over this place the last two weeks!"  See?  I'm not blindly pointing the finger at them.  But it we are forced to endure round three of this shit, someone's going to die.  And we're going to need new carpet.

And last but not least, thank you, daycare, for filling my upcoming Sunday afternoon with the task of writing out almost thirty valentines to a bunch of kids I've never even met, and figuring out how to attach some sort of candy, trinket, or other token object to each one as to not appear cheap and heartless in comparison to the other moms, and crafting some type of Valentine's Day bag/box/bucket contraption to collect all the junk treats I was already warned that Punky will be bringing home that day.  Ugh.

But first I need to buy the damn cards.  And figure out what treat to attach that is safe for all the children at daycare.  And I'll probably need to pick up some construction paper, glue, and whatever other shit crafty people would use to create the treat receptacle.  And I need to find some hearts to trace cause I sure as hell can't draw one.  Well, I can, but they always tend to look a tad deflated on one side.  And I can't send her to school with lopsided hearts.

Oh, the pressure.  I hadn't even considered this aspect of daycare and I am fully unprepared for the task at hand.  I better get my act together.  St. Patrick's day will be here before you know it and I'm sure I'll need to come up with some imaginative green food to send that day.  Or teach Punky to dance the jig and dye her hair red for the occasion.  Or sculpt a four-leaf-clover from of a mixture of play-doh, sequins, and the marshmallows from Lucky Charms cereal. 

Not This Already

Punky and I spent two straight hours coloring our hearts out last night.  After a long day at work, and a tiring fifth day of daycare, it was nice to have some downtime to relax.  Coloring is almost mesmerizing; it's easy to lose yourself entirely in back-and-forth crayon strokes.

Aside from an occasional comment about the picture she was coloring, or the color she was going to use next, or a random song lyric here and there, we mostly colored in silence...lost in our own thoughts.

Out of the blue, I heard Punky say something like "Keeevvviiinnnn..." in a sweet, adoring, sing-songy way.

"Kevin?  Did you just say Kevin?" I asked.

"Yeeaahhhh..." she replied in the same sweet tone.

"Who's Kevin?" 

"A boy!" she said and smiled ear to ear.

"Is Kevin a boy at school?"

"Yeeaahhhh... Sooooo cute!" she chirped.

I smacked my forehead in disbelief.  Five days of daycare and she's already crushing on a boy.  Great...

So, when I picked her up tonight, I couldn't help but ask the teacher if there is a Kevin in the class.

"Kevin?" she asked, "No, no Kevin, but we have a Gavin."

"Oh, that's probably who she was talking about..."

"She adores Gavin," the teacher added, "He's only twelve weeks old and she always runs over to his bassinet and tells us he's soooo cute!"

Whew.

Love it!

Well, Punky survived her first week at daycare with only a few minor meltdowns.  In some ways, I think it was much harder on us than it was on her.

Her dad had drop-off duty all three days and he had a rough time coping.  She was excited to go to school, but the minute he'd turn to leave she would burst into tears.  It was utterly heartbreaking for him.  As you'd expect, one of the teachers would grab Punky and tell him to go.  They would get her calmed down after a few minutes but her dad suffered all day just thinking about it.

He also picked her up on the first day but the next two were mine since he had to work.  When I walked in on Thursday, she certainly didn't seem upset.

"Mommy! Mommy!  Hi, Mommy!  School!  School!" she yelled and spun in a circle.  "Love it!"

Hmmm, she loves it.  Well, okay then.  Not quite the reaction I was anticipating but I guess it's the best one possible given the alternatives.  I mean, I certainly didn't want her to hate it...but she could've missed me a little bit.  It took forever to get her out of there; she didn't want to leave.  All grown up...at two.

She is having some trouble with transitions.  I thought that would be the hardest thing for her and I hit the nail on the head.  She is used to doing what she wants, when she wants.  If she wants a snack, we give her one.  If she wants to color for an hour, we let her.  If she gets bored with something after two minutes, we do something else.  All with reason, of course.

At daycare, life happens on a schedule.  Once she gets involved in one activity, it's time to transition to something else...and she has a meltdown.  She's fine again once they get into the next activity...but then it ends and the tears come again.  

I know it must be hard for her to understand why they keep stopping her when she's having fun.  Those are moments we embrace in this house.  If she is happy and amusing herself, shit gets done.  We let her play it out and when she's ready for something different she tells us.  I'm sure it will get better as time passes and she adjusts to the whole routine.

She's amusing the hell out of her teachers.  They crack up at the things she says and the way she says them.  I guess they never heard a two-year-old say, "Holy moly stromboli!" before... 

First Day of School

I've gotten nothing but positive remarks from all the teachers about how well she talks for her age, the crazy vocabulary she has, and the fact that she tells them colors, numbers, letters, and counts things.  "She's so smart! I can't believe she just turned two!"

Aaahhhh...music to a mother's ears.  Oh, shut up and let me enjoy it.  I'm sure the day will come when the conversation at pick-up time revolves around Punky decking some kid for taking her toy, or throwing one of those ever-lasting temper tantrums, or slipping a four-letter word she heard at home.  It's only a matter of time. 

Yeah, she is a smarty-pants, no doubt about it.  But she's two, and she's good at it.

Bye-Bye Aunt Mimi

In this case, the term "babysitter" is overly simplistic.  I have used it in blogging many times, but it doesn't do justice to the relationship Punky has with her Aunt Mimi, or the appreciation I have for the time they were able to spend together.

I was terrified when I had to return to work after Punky was born.  My mom offered to come up one week a month (as she still does), but we needed help for the other three weeks and I just couldn't bear to put my sweet, beautiful, tiny little baby in daycare at eight weeks old. 

Punky's dad had a suggestion.  His brother's wife had already been off work quite a while.  She loves kids and was so excited when she heard we were expecting a baby, but my hesitation rested in the fact that I really didn't know her.  Some small talk a handful of times was all I had to go by, but Punky's dad told me to trust him.  I needed to take a chance; we really had no other choice.

Over the past two years, I can honestly say I haven't regretted the decision.  Not once.  To my surprise, she quickly gained my trust...and that's not always an easy thing to do.  It was evident that Punky was in good hands right from the start.  And as the weeks and months passed, Punky formed a special bond with her Aunt Mimi.

When she was here, Punky had her undivided attention and they would play for hours.  They went for walks, did crafts, read books...  And through all of that fun stuff, Punky learned.  And learned.  And learned some more.

I have to give her a lot of the credit for how amazingly smart Punky is now.  Between working full time and juggling the household to-do list, I simply didn't have enough hours in the day to teach her all the incredible stuff she knows...nor would I have even imagined she was capable of learning some of it.

The best example I can think of is letter recognition.  Punky was a mere seventeen months old when Aunt Mimi started writing letters in sidewalk chalk and asking her to say them.  Within a matter of days, she knew six or seven letters.  By the end of summer, she knew them all.  Even if I were a stay-at-home mom, I don't think I would've even considered doing that at her age.  I didn't think it was possible to learn that stuff so early.

We always knew there was a possibility that she would get called back to work...we just took the "ignore it and it will go away" approach.  The longer time passed, the more we put it out of our minds.  I should have at least done my homework and researched the daycare options available in our area...but I didn't.  Just thinking about the D-word makes my stomach turn.

So, when we got the call on this day, I was immediately launched into panic mode.  She had to be at work the very next morning.  Nice of 'em to give her a whole twenty hours notice, huh?  I locked myself in my then-toxic bedroom and started making phone calls...

By five o'clock that day, Punky was enrolled in daycare.  She starts tomorrow.  Sigh.

Most of the options near us are in-home centers.  I didn't want that environment, not because in-home providers suck or anything, but because I am being stubborn.  If Punky can't be at our home, I don't want her at anyone else's.  Yes, I'm being a total brat, but it's my perrogative.  My child, my decision.

Ruling those out immediately left only one option within a few miles of home... and I held my breath as I made the call.  Were they accepting new kids?  Would they work with our crazy schedule of different days and hours every week?  What about safety and security?  How do they handle food allergies?  Do they actually teach things or just let the kids run around like maniacs?  How does this whole daycare crap work, anyhow? 

If I asked her one question, I asked her two hundred.  Finally I was satisfied with my greulling phone interview and decided that we needed to go visit...that same day.  Hey, we were both home from work due to Punky's puke-isode and ER visit the night before, so it was the perfect opportunity and the only chance we would have prior to the holidays.  I knew my mom would be up for a week after Christmas...but come January 5th, we would need to have something arranged.  And I didn't want it hanging over my head through the holidays...I wanted it resolved.

We arrived at the daycare at 4:00.  Punky took off at 4:01...and we had to drag her out an hour and a half later.  All those toys!  And books!  And a herd of people her size!  She was in her glory...but she could see at least one of us at all times.  I'm not sure she'll be so brave when we're not there...

The director took her time and showed us all around...while patiently answering another barrage of questions.  When she finally ran out of things to show us... and I finally ran out of questions to ask... the moment of truth was upon us.  We signed the registration forms.

We spent the last two weeks talking about "school" at every available opportunity...how much fun it will be, all the exciting things she'll get to do, the plethora of kids and toys to play with...  Tomorrow we'll see if our propaganda worked.  And true to the life of a working mom, this is yet another milestone I will miss.  Her dad is off work tomorrow, so he gets to have that terrible moment where he turns his back and leaves her in a strange place, full of strange people, for hours on end.

We thought it would be a good idea to have him at home on her first day...just in case it doesn't go well.  If she has a total meltdown, he is only five minutes away.  Come Thursday, we'll both be at work and she'll be on her own.  Damn, here come the tears, again.  I've been weepy all night.

So, with a heavy heart and teary eyes, we bid farewell to Aunt Mimi.  I can't thank her enough for the quality time and care she gave Punky over the last two years.  I know they will miss each other so much.  And any time she feels like visiting, she is more than welcome.

Tomorrow will be rough for all of us.  In fact, the next few weeks will suck as we adjust to this new arrangement.  It'll be hard at first, but hopefully in time Punky will grow to love her new school...and I will learn to trust them with my precious little girl.