Interviews

Montessori has been quite the adjustment for us-- from dress codes, to the elimination of nap time, to schedule changes, social influences, and my (lack of) coping with the inability to control every detail of Toby's day. Needless to say, it has been an interesting couple of months.

Every night, Aaron and I interrogate Toby about his day. We get very little out of him and, when we do, it's usually just the very last thing he did at school, "I put my shoes on the right feet!" This can be incredibly frustrating because we want to know what he does, how he feels, and hear about his day. But, we got to a point where we realized we couldn't hound him with questions because it did nothing but get us a one-way ticket to irritation.

Today I tried something different and it ended up being a really cute activity that we both enjoyed. I decided to interview Toby. We sat across from each other at the dining room table and I explained what an interview was and I told him I was going to take notes. He was really excited to "play interview." It was pretty adorable.

Here are the results:

(He insisted I call him 'Mr. Toby' like the teachers at school.)

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what was something you noticed at school this week?"
Toby: "Ms. (Teacher's name) has sharp scissors."

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what is something you learned about this week?"
Toby: "Skeletons and apples. AND OCTOBER!"

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what is something that made you happy this week?"
Toby: "Going caca in the potty all by myself."
Mama: "Excellent!"

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what was your job at school this week?"
Toby: "Cleaning up at school was my job."

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what was fun at school this week?"
Toby: "Playing in the play yard. I had fun."

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what was something you didn't like about school this week?"
Toby: "I don't like the toilet paper at school."
Mama: "Too soft?"
Toby: "Yeah."

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what was something you ate at school this week?"
Toby: "A green colored pear. It was juicy and delightful."

Mama: "Mr. Toby, what was something funny this week?"
Toby: "Ummmm, (therapy dog's name) wouldn't lay down. Because he's a working dog."

At this point I could tell he was losing steam so I suggested we end the interview. However, Toby said he wanted to interview me.

Toby: "Ms. Mama, what was your job at work this week?"
Mama: "Talking to people who don't feel well."

Toby: "Who people? Sick people?"
Mama: "Kind of like sick. They have boo-boos on their heart or in their head."
Toby: "Did you give them Band-Aids?"
Mama: "A special kind of Band-Aid."

Toby: "Ms. Mama, did you go potty by yourself?"
Mama: (laughing) "Yes, I did."
Toby: "Excellent job."
Mama: "Thank you."

Toby: "Ms. Mama, did you remember to wipe?"
Mama: (laughing)"Yes."
Toby: "Wipe good?"
Mama: "Sure did!"
Toby: "That's good."

Toby: "Ms. Mama, is it your job to eat ice cream too?"
Mama: (hahaha) "It probably seems that way, doesn't it?"

Toby: "Ms. Mama, did you miss me while I was gone?"
Mama: "Big much. I missed you great big much!"
Toby: "I missed you too. But I stay home with you today and tomorrow and the next day and the next day, right?"
Mama: "You're right, Bud."

His notes were a little more difficult to transcribe. Luckily, I took notes to his question/my answers too.

I love that kid. And I loved doing this. He never ceases to surprise me.

On Dress Codes

If I had one complaint about Toby's Montessori school it would be this:

Dress Code.

Dressing Toby has always been a part time job for me. Or, as Aaron teases, he needs a part time job because of it. At Toby's school he can only wear khaki or blue pants with yellow, blue, or white tops. No logos, patterns or characters.

THAT'S IT!

I die. Every day a little piece of me dies.

So it's shallow, I know, but, I really like to dress my kid. More accurately, I LOVE to dress my kid. Dress code was a really hard pill for me to swallow, and something I gently challenged the director of school about.

Why? If Montessori is all about individuation, why couldn't I obsessively dress him why was he not able to express himself through fashion? Mostly, her answer made sense about distractions in the classroom, equality, and environments conducive to learning. Okay, okay, I see a point. Although, the defiant part of me did want to argue about conformity, individuality, yadda-yadda-yadda. However, I accepted most of her argument.

Except this part:

"Dress code is easier." She said.

"It gives you less choice in the morning." She said.

"It's cheaper. You only need a couple shirts of each color." She said.

Does this woman not know me at all?

Toby Mail!

Growing up, Halloween was a BIG DEAL in my house. My mom would pull out all the stops when the month of October rolled around. Years later, it's evident that her holiday spirit really rubbed off on me.

If you remember, when Toby was little, he had a mailbox we would use to put his personal mail in. It was just a tiny wooden mailbox and he quickly outgrew it. He didn't, however, outgrow his obsession with the U.S. Postal Service, UPS, or FedEx (probably because whenever they arrive there is, likely, something for him delivered.)

Ahhhh, he was so little :(

Recently we decided that since he gets mail pretty regularly (our families often send him cards/letters because they know he loves getting mail- and my mother gifted him subscriptions to three monthly kid's magazines) we decided we better upgrade his delivery service.

Halloween was the perfect time to do this because I was able to work in the idea of The Great Pumpkin. The goal is to use this mailbox much like his other one except he will also, occasionally, get prizes in it- year round. And, most importantly, his letters from Santa and the Easter bunny, etc.

When he woke up this morning and saw the mailbox for the first time he said, "Hey! Something funny is going on around here!" It was adorable and he was BEYOND excited.

His letter from the Great Pumpkin. (Drawing courtesy of my talented husband!)

His mailbox came from Home Depot and was under $15! The letters were under $2!
The Great Pumpkin left him a letter and gifted him a new set of personalized Halloween  magnets for his PlanetBox lunchbox!

The magnets on his lunchbox

The letter from The Great Pumpkin came complete with pumpkin-y fingerprints.
Toby was so excited to see the messy prints on his letter!

We were able to drill it into the wall by his bedroom door after he went to bed without him waking!

The only thing we changed from a traditional box was make a red paper laminated "mail flag" because I imagined he would come around the corner and clip the standard aluminum flag with his head. So, we just used red card stock and Velcro'd it on - so it's not dangerous.

This morning I stopped off at the Dollar Tree to pick up a few things to stuff in his mailbox between now and Halloween (to add to what I previously bought, because, well, I'm insane.) Blame my mother. It's all her fault that I go nuts during _________ (fill in any/every holiday.)

So, there you have it. A pretty inexpensive and personalized way for your kid to get mail (and prizes- hehehe.)

"Seasonal" Comparisons

As 2015 winds down and the sting of Toby starting school has been somewhat numbed by the passing of time (yes, I'm STILL a mess about it) I feel more compelled to write than I have in a long time. Writing is a form of therapy for me and sometimes it brings me so much joy to go back and read my older posts. While I do have a loyal number of readers (I love you guys- big much) in all honesty, readership is less important to me than the documentation is. I like to imagine that some day Toby might appreciate knowing just how much of a gift he has been to my life... and I have the words to prove it.

I've been going through a lot of pictures lately as I try to clean up my hard-drive and organize my photos. I/we take pictures of everything. Some are silly and some are meaningful. I never know how I'll interpret a picture a year later and it's really fun to open up a random folder full of pictures taken over a year ago and have my mind go back to that day.

As I was organizing some photos the other day I came across a picture of Toby at the 2014 "Day Out With Thomas" and it gave me all the feels. Then, it occurred to me, I've never done a comparison post. Many of the blogs I read do it, yet, I never took the plunge. So, while I'm sitting here licking my wounds about my baby going to school and, what feels like, his sprint through childhood, I figured it was as good a time as ever to do a comparison post. I mean, considering I'm already feeling feelings about the rate at which he grows up, why not twist the knife a little?

These pictures are  378 days apart

Day out with Thomas- Year I
7/11/2014

Day Out With Thomas- Year II
7/24/2015

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

These pictures are ~485 days apart

New England Aquarium
1/20/2014

New England Aquarium

5/20/2015

While to some, the changes in the pictures might seem subtle... or normal. To a parent, you know how much your child changed in that time. Physically, developmentally, emotionally. It's profound. When, in our life, do we change SO MUCH in such a short span of time? It blows my mind to think that just 3.5 years ago he wasn't even here. Now he's a person. Our person.

Before I had Toby a good friend of mine said, "The days go slow but the years go fast" and that isn't far from the truth. I feel really confused when I look at these pictures. I know I've said it before-- I absolutely treasure being Toby's Mama. He has been such a gift to my life. Not a gift in the way that he's a great kid; fun to be around, jolly and sweet. A gift in the sense that sometimes I feel I was never really alive until he became what I live for. I know I can speak for Aaron when I say he gave our lives an entirely new purpose.

I'm just rambling now but, as the seasons change, it makes evident the different seasons of life... and how fast the season of childhood/parenthood passes by. It's breathtakingly heartbreaking.

Transitional Tears

As I anticipated, the transition to Montessori was difficult for Toby. I knew, in theory, he would be really excited to "go to school," and through the summer, we visited his school as much as possible so he would be aware of the place he'd be going in September.

Since Toby was 3-months-old he has always had a nanny that came to our house. He wouldn't have to leave his secure area and she had fun things planned for him every day. Sure, there were days he didn't want me to go to work but, usually when I walked away he wouldn't meltdown or cry. I was always the one to walk away from him.

September 1st was the first day he had to walk away from me. It nearly killed us both.

For eight of the nine days he has been in school thus far, drop-off was something I dreaded. Drop-off left me with a broken heart for hours after he entered his classroom. Drop-off was the kind of thing nightmares are made of; you've probably seen it in your dreams-- the child clutching to your leg, wailing, grasping any piece of clothing or fistful of hair they can hang onto while you and the teacher try to pry their desperate little hands off. Yeah. It was that bad for us. I hated it and had to fight my natural instinct to bust through the door after he went inside and scoop him up.

I would assume many parents, like myself, have a really hard time tolerating and allowing their child to feel discomfort of any kind. Particularly emotional. But, I also knew I would be doing him a great disservice to not acknowledge how he was feeling and validate that. Meaning, I wasn't going to tell him he's fine or to not cry. I wasn't going to tell him that everything will be okay. Obviously it's not fine for him right now and I'm not going to insult his emotional intelligence by pretending this isn't difficult for him. So, during his first week (he goes to school 3 days per week) we would talk about drop off every night after school and in the morning during breakfast.

By the second week things hadn't gotten any better. I would actually say they got worse. In between the first and second week we went up to my parents farm in Maine (arguably, Toby's second favorite place in the world) and he was surrounded by his family and (most particularly) his Mimi and Papa who he has totally wrapped around his fingers. So, being in the company of his family for 4 straight days made the next school week exponentially harder. The first day of the second week was the worst.

The school has two options at drop off: Pull up to the curb and have the Director remove your child from the car, or walk your child to the door. Up until the second week, I had been walking him to the door. Week 2- Day 1 I tried the curbside drop off to see if it was easier on him.

That was a mistake.

Toby lost it when his teacher took him out of the car. He reached around the headrest on my seat and grabbed a handful of my hair, refusing to let go. He wailed. I could only look at him with tear-filled eyes as I drove away.

At that moment, I knew he would need that last little piece of physical contact before he left me for the day.

I did a ton of reading and asked one of my friends, who is an early childhood expert (and coincidentally has a son who started at Toby's school too- she has been such a support to me) if she had any suggestions to make this easier. She mentioned that routine would be a good place to start.

I know many other parents that have little ones starting out this fall so, I'll share what has worked for us (so far!) and maybe these things will work for you.

We developed a formula in the morning-- things we do every morning to not just reduce Toby's anxiety, but also make room for it. My kid has absolutely no sense of urgency about anything (he gets this from his father) so if I try to rush him, or not leave room for the things he thinks are important, I go to work feeling like shit. We've all been there. You have somewhere to go and your child notices a toy they've had for years and suddenly it's completely necessary they play with it. Then, because you're in a rush, you become this relentless asshole warning them, "We're gonna be late! COME ON! Hurry up!" Then you feel awful all day.

At night Aaron and I get EVERYTHING ready so the morning is as low stress as possible. Ironing is done, lunches are packed, showers are taken. Everything. The only thing we have to do is feed Toby breakfast and walk the dogs.

Just before Toby and I leave, we have a transition book. He gets to pick the book every day. We sit on the couch and read it. He knows this is the last thing we do before we get in the car so there are no surprises and he knows the next transition is to get in the car.

Immediately when I put him in his seat, I hand him this little plastic skunk we've named "Stinky." He ONLY gets to hold "Stinky" when he's going to school. I also give him three of his President crackers to eat. We drive the same route without deviation (which means I have to anticipate the night before if I need to get gas and I do it before I go home that evening.) On the way to get on the highway we always pass a gaggle of kids waiting for their bus and we wave to them from the car and talk about how they are going to school... just like Toby. One of the doctors at my practice also recommended a song that she used to play for her children when they would go to school. It is legitimately the cheesiest most 1980's song/video I've ever viewed, but I was able to buy the song and burned it to a disc and we listen to it (and sing it) all the way to school. Toby LOVES the song and I do too. (Click here to hear the song. It's attached to the video, so, close your eyes because the video is soooooo 1980s, LOL.)

Stinky

Once we arrive at school I park far away from the building and we slowly walk to the door together. He gets to hold "Stinky" all the way to the door. Just before we get to the door, I give him a drink of water, kiss him like a French person (a kiss on each cheek- he loves this- weirdo) he gives me "Stinky" and I whisper something I always say to him before he walks to the teacher.

At the suggestion of another Doctor at my practice, we have a set time where he knows both Dada and Mama are thinking about him. Every single day we pack a note in his lunch. Mostly, Aaron is in charge of this. Obviously, Toby can't read, so Aaron draws him a new picture for his lunchbox each day. We discussed with him that when he opens his lunch box, every day, he'll see the picture we drew for him. When he sees the picture he should pause for a minute and think about us and we'll think of him during his lunchtime too. So, when all three of us are thinking of each other, we'll be together in that moment, in our hearts.  We also explained that when he sees the lunchtime note, it means the day is more than half over and he'll soon get to see one of us.  His teacher told us that he LOVES his lunchtime notes.

Some of our artwork- hehehe

I've noticed since incorporating a routine that he understands, he feels way less anxious and the tears have significantly decreased. Yesterday, was a completely tear free day and he walked into the school with his little head held high. It was such a relief.

Toby says that he loves school and is always happy when we pick him up. He just doesn't like to leave Mama. Hopefully we've turned a corner and things will be mostly smooth sailing. Wish us luck!