Kindergarten Week One: The New World Order

Yesterday marked the end of the first full week of kindergarten and let me tell ya, whoever said I’d have more time on my hands once Greta started school is full of shit. I haven’t felt this frazzled and out-of-my-element since those first few days after we brought Greta home from the hospital. Seriously, it’s been non-stop since Monday morning.

One of my new mom friends equated this week with starting a new job, and she’s not far off. I was anxious, way too concerned with my hair and what I was wearing, tired as fuck (sorry, but my usual F-word substitute, “fudge,” just didn’t seem to express how truly exhausting this week has been) and completely overwhelmed with paperwork. Insanity!

And though there have been definite highlights and I’ve made fast friends with several very chill moms and dads of students in Greta’s class, I think all three of us are a little overwhelmed by the sweeping sea change washing over us right now.

So far, Greta has been loving school but it’s the getting up in the morning and going there that kills her. However, aside from Wednesday morning, which was just horrific — at one point I was literally dragging her to class! — she really loves her teacher and each new day was better than the last. So, that’s progress in my book.

Personally, I found myself finally getting into the groove around Thursday, which is great because it ended up being one of the longest days of my life. I got up at 7:15 (which, believe it or not, has been my start time all week!), got Greta ready, dropped her off at school at 8:25 and then headed to my first PTA meeting at 8:30. Luckily for me, I managed to squeeze in some breakfast, because it turned out to be a three hour meeting! Yikes…who knew?

Fortunately, the meeting got out a little early (at around 11:00) so I had time to run to Costco and Trader Joe’s before heading back to school to pick up Greta at 1:30. We then headed to the park for a mini reunion with some of our old friends from Greta’s pre-school days, and then headed from there straight to ballet class, where we shared an emotional goodbye with Greta’s beloved ballet teacher who started her maternity leave today.

After ballet, we ran home to change and pick up Mrs. Yeti and then hurried back to Greta’s school for a massive “Back-to-School” picnic. They had food trucks, music, a farmer’s market selling produce grown at the school’s onsite garden (!) and again, many chances to meet new parent friends. Simply put, it was awesome. If all the parents at Stevenson are as hip, artsy and totally diverse as the ones we met this week, this new world order might not be so bad after all!

Now, if we could just get a handle on the constant flow of paperwork coming our way, I think we might be ready to face week two. Wish us luck!

 

 

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Coney Island Meltdown

OK, I know that many of you are gonna blame what I am about to describe on Greta’s lack of normal sleep the past few days, and you might be right, but I am laying the blame squarely in the terrible twos category. That said, let me tell ya what happened.

It was day two of our adventures in NYC, Greta and I got our usual late start, grabbed some breakfast and then hopped on the subway’s N line to the last stop, Coney Island! Mrs. Yeti didn’t have any real interest in coming with us — and, I’ll admit it, the hour-long train ride there is no picnic — so, we planned this adventure for a day when she was working.

And what an adventure it was, chili dogs and fresh lemonade at the first Nathan’s Hot Dog stand in the country, cotton candy, kiddie rides for $3.00 a pop, and all the beautiful, old-school boardwalk and beach you could stomach. It was awesome! Yeah, some of the neon is definitely faded and the place is a little sketchy in spots, but, the people working there were great and we had a blast. Until the sun started going down…

I dunno what happened to her, but, after one final ride on the merry-go-round, Greta went, I believe the clinical term for it is, ape-shit crazy. She started screaming that she wanted to ride more rides (which was literally impossible since I had no more cash on me) and then ran off in the direction of the Bumble Bee ride, which was her favorite.

I picked her up, she hit me. I threw her over my shoulder to carry her, she kicked me. It was crazy, but, it was getting dark and I knew we had a long-ass train ride back to the city, so, I needed her to behave. Of course, that’s what made her more determined than ever not to!

So, we start heading to the subway station, her screaming bloody murder, me trying to stuff her into her stroller and all of our crap toppling over every time she kicks herself free of it. And for the next five or ten minutes on that boardwalk, I was “that Dad” and she was “that toddler”, duking it out like a couple of wild, red-faced hillbillies.

I swear to God, EVERYONE within listening distance stopped to watch the bad dad trying to get his hell child to bend to his will and obey him. At one point, I literally did not know what to do. She had knocked my hat and sunglasses off, the stroller was laying on it’s side and she was kicking and screaming so wildly that I almost couldn’t hold her. I’ve been at “this job” for two-plus-years now, and trust me, I’ve never seen a meltdown like this…it was brutal.

I tried reasoning with her, I tried spanking her, I tried changing the subject — you know, talking about the good times we’d had that day, her favorite movies, how nice our male maid was at the hotel, anything — but, nothing worked. And then, I spotted a “Dunkin’ Donuts” across the street and in a desperate, last-ditch effort to change the subject, I found a subject we could both agree on. “Hey, you want a donut?” I panted as she flailed in my arms.

Suddenly, she stopped cold and said, in a totally calm voice: “Yes, I want a donut.” And just like that, the tears and craziness melted away. She sat down in her stroller (even buckling herself in) and we crossed the street and got a donut for her and a big-ass iced coffee with extra Valium for me.

Whew…what a day…

Slightly less troubled sleep…

Hooray! The good news is that Greta fell asleep in her own bed tonight after only three very calm (on my part) “back-in-the-crib” with you interactions. The bad news is that that third time was a fucking killer, man! Yikes…

The minute I chucked her back in her crib, our little angel climbed out and screamed and shook and pounded on her closed bedroom door until it sounded like she might just rip it from it’s hinges — I’d apologize to my upstairs neighbors for the noise, but their kids were way worse than Greta at her age, so I figure it’s Karmic revenge — so, what did we do while all this mayhem unfolded in the next room? You guessed it, we totally ignored her.

It wasn’t easy — her tearful pleas to sleep in “Mommy/Daddy’s bed” were the most heartbreaking — but we stuck to our guns and sat together on the couch with the Tivo on pause as she screamed and cried for almost eight minutes. And then, something amazing happened…Greta stopped banging on the door, climbed back into bed and fell asleep on her own. Just like that.

So, we are either the worst parents on earth or the savviest. Either way, we’re all sleeping much, much better tonight…

Troubled sleep…week two!

I dunno what sort of developmental phase she’s going through right now, but we just finished our second week of major sleep issues with Greta. Lately, it doesn’t matter what time she naps (early, late afternoon, no nap, we’ve tried them all), when the time comes to go to sleep, she WILL NOT SLEEP.

And I ain’t talking delicate, little, “Let me just lay here for a while Daddy, I’ll fall asleep eventually.” I’m talking, screaming, shreiking bloody-murder, Gandalf-esque “You shall not pass!” refusals to even try to sleep. It’s insane. And, as you can imagine, it has done wonders for the sleep patterns of the other two people who live in this house.

It got so bad tonight that my wife actually threatened to leave if it didn’t stop. No word on where she would go (for the record, she is not a great planner on little or no sleep) but she did promise to leave a note when and if she does leave us. And, if you think I’m kidding, you obviously haven’t dealt with a surly, sleep-deprived two-year-old…or her surly, sleep-deprived mother. Yikes…

Short of spiking her last sippy cup of the night with Jim Beam, anyone have any ideas to help out? I was kidding about the Jim Beam (we’re more of a tequila household these days), but, we will seriously try anything at this point…so, please, comment away!