Parent-Child Night

A was suffering from a stomach bug yesterday, so we called off our babysitter and Josh stayed home with her while I accompanied Z to school for one of the most hotly anticipated evenings of her young life, Parent-Child Night. As usual, she was thrilled to demonstrate all the new skills she's gained.

She started off tracing, coloring and labeling a map of North America, which really isn't all that impressive when you compare it to the maps of South America, the United States and Australia that she's been bringing home for a year.

We moved on to one of her favorite Montessori activities, tasting. She made me taste saline, her "favorite," and I gagged.

Then it was division,

and tonal bells.

We celebrated her progress with ice cream at the Brown Cow.

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Last year's Parent-Child Night

Maybe I have too much on my plate...

Just as I was berating myself for not blogging but not having the energy to blog about everything that's happened in the past week (trip to LA, company holiday party, company after-party, interview with the creator of Yummie Tummie, preschool holiday party, co-worker's holiday party, a fleeting case of pink eye, Chavurah Chanukah party, our new kitty, etc., etc.)... I find myself having a truly blog-worthy moment.

I filled up our electric teakettle with water to make tea... and put it on the gas stove.

This, ladies and gentlemen, this what idiocy (or maybe too much wine and too little sleep) looks like:

Now that I've gotten that out there, here are a couple of photos from the Montessori holiday party. First the kids sang their favorite songs in their individual classrooms. (A wanted to sit with her sister "on stage.")

Then we joined the rest of the school for food, face painting and a silent auction. I won a pizza lunch for Z and 9 friends with "Mr Bruce," the school business manager.

Z with Evan, who she's loved since she was in diapers

Julia, one of Z's best friends, actually spent much of the evening leading A around by the hand.

Stay tuned for highlights from my conversation with Yummie Tummie's Heather Thomson. I asked her how--besides wearing her tank tops--a girl can look thin and shapely in 9 degree weather.

The Halloween--er--Harvest Party

After spending weeks announcing to anyone who asked that she was going to be a bumble bee, A pulled an 11th hour costume switch and dug out this Tinkerbell getup from the dress-up box.

Still, as soon as we got to Z's school, A shouted "I'm a scary bumble bee!"

Tink got her face painted and then spilled water down her dress, rendering it too uncomfortable for her to bear. For the last 45 minutes of the event, my youngest was clad in flowery underpants, Crocs with socks and a Dora t-shirt from a friend's box of spare clothes.
Z wore her Cinderella costume, as planned. As did her friend with the same name. Two Zs, two Cinderellas. (Actually, there were at least 3 Disney Cinderellas wandering through the gym.)

And here's Evan, Z's friend since her pre-walking days at daycare, as sweet and photogenic as ever. That kid kisses more babies than your average local politician.

Preschool's back in session

Z is thrilled that "real school" has finally started.

Z's first Valentine's Day

When I got home from work last night, Z upended her "goodie bag" onto the living room floor. Out spilled 32 valentines and an assortment of glittery pencils, heart-shaped note pads, candy and other Party City gewgaw. Now keep in mind that Z is only 3 and she can't read. Yet she knew exactly who gave her at least 75 percent of the cards and gifts!

The prize for most creative item surely should go to the boy (I'm assuming he is one of the 5 year olds) who constructed a bi-wing airplane out of gum, 2 Lifesavers, a roll of Smarties and a rubber band. "It's very fragile," Z kept reminding me.

I'm a lazy preschool mommy. I just sent Z off with a box of Princess valentines. Nothing homemade. No extras.

Making progress at Montessori

Today was our very first parent-teacher conference. But since Z is enrolled in a traditional Montessori school, it was called "Observation."

Josh and I were invited to silently observe Z's classroom for about 45 minutes, after which we joined her head teacher for a conversation in the gym. We watched her do her "big work," which ranged from practical to sensorial to math. For each project, she'd unroll a carpet, carefully bring the materials to her carpet and ask the teacher to check her completed work. Then she'd diligently clean up and put all the materials and roll up her rug. When she was ready for her snack, she washed her hands and set her place with a china dish and a napkin. She served herself a handful of Cheerios and a cheese stick and poured herself a glass of apple juice from a small glass pitcher. It's amazing how capable and reliable preschoolers are when they're shown how to do something. Z beams with pride at her accomplishments.

We knew she'd been enjoying preschool, but now it is clear to us that she is thriving there. She's the youngest student in the school, but apparently she's keeping up with the rest of the 3-year-olds. Her teacher said she's always on task, very verbal, well-mannered and making friends. She even has a best friend, Sophie, who is coming over for a playdate tomorrow.

I'm so proud of her and glad I enrolled her. I'm already a Montessori true believer.

The unpretty preschool drop-off

In general Z's been doing great at preschool, picking flowers to bring to her teacher and telling us about the "work" she's been doing. But things deteriorated at this morning's drop-off.

Instead of merrily skipping into the classroom, she clung pitifully to my legs. It was hot and humid both inside and outside of the building, so I waited for the rest of the children to enter the classroom as the baby in my arms heated up my upper half and the toddler around my middle warmed and immobilized my lower half. I could feel my hair frizz and visualize the damp circles forming under my arms. It was like being in the world's most unpleasant body wrap, except I wasn't just sweating out toxins. I was wearing them, too. My otherwise adorable gray capris sported a generously-sized smear of baby poop on the right pocket. Yeah, I was a real class act.

Cross-posted to the Chicago Moms Blog

Her first day of preschool

"Noooo! I don't want to go to school today," Z cried this morning, "I want to go back to bed and sleep."

Who are you and what did you do with my daughter, I asked myself. Is this the same kid who has been talking about starting preschool since April? The one who responded to her daycare provider saying "I'll miss you," with "I won't miss you. I'll make new friends at school." The girl who's never slept in ... ever?

I started to doubt our decision to send our not quite 3-year-old to a Montessori preschool. A traditional, old-school Montessori where she's be doing "work" and going to the potty without grown-up assistance (I'm dreading the inevitable skid marks).

But since Z loves hearing stories, I decided to tell her about my first day at preschool. I have no recollection of it whatsoever, but I improvised. I told her about how scared I was at first, but how the nice teachers and new friends made preschool a lot of fun.

"Tell me again."

We were on a roll. Z got out of bed and headed downstairs where she ate a good-by-her-meager-standards breakfast. She watched an episode or two of Caillou (curse PBS for canceling it and forcing us to watch it on DVD) and got dressed without complaint.

We walked to her new school as a family and dropped her off without fanfare, as requested by the teacher. I picked her up an hour and a half later and she was ecstatic, jumping up and down with excitement. I didn't get much information from the teacher, but I gathered that she'd spent her phase-in morning working with an older girl on some "numbers blocks" and had cereal for a snack.

She seems to be looking forward to returning tomorrow.

I'm stuck on Mabel's labels

Z starts Montessori preschool this fall, and her supply list arrived in the mail along with a snack list and a stack of medical and dental authorization forms. In addition to requesting specific brand name colored and #2 pencils (sharpened please!), a box of tissues (white Kleenex brand!), 2 pocket folders (make sure they're blue!), slippers (Crocs are okay!) and two sets of extra clothing in marked boxes, we have been instructed to make sure everything is labeled indelibly with her name.

Easier said than done. I've discovered that masking tape is a one-day deal and Sharpie marks disappear when you run a sippy cup through the dishwasher. And in this age of tagless t-shirts, where am I supposed to write my daughter's name?

Enter Mabel's Labels. The company, founded by four equally frustrated Canadian moms, makes a variety of different personalized labels. They sent me a sample of their classic sticky labels, which I pasted onto Z's sippy cups and sent along to daycare. Two weeks of daily trips through the dishwasher, and none of the labels are any worse of the wear. Even our daycare provider is impressed!

Mabel's also makes classic iron-on labels for clothing, as well as a stick-on clothing label for the parent too time-pressed for pressing. Container Store fanatics will go nuts for the household label packages; there's a set for crafters, one for cord control and neat freak kit that lets you put a colorful, cute label every last one of those spice jars and 30 gallon plastic tubs.

I haven't caught the cutesy labeling bug, so I'll leave my storage bins marred with masking tape. But I will be ordering clothing and shoe labels before September comes.

My little scholar

Z aced her "interview" at the local Montessori preschool and is being offered a place in this fall's incoming class. Watching her interact with the head teacher and try her hand at the "big work," I thought I was going to explode with pride.