The Boy Begins Preschool.

Picture courtesy of Mitchell

#1 I, like every other parent, parent.  I just don't like talking about it.  Consequently, I don't care what you do with your kid, but, I also seethe inside when people start criticizing. Especially me and my parenting.  Or lack of.   I feel like I should say this, because I'm about to do a lot of un-necessary explaining.  It feels weird, but I can't help it.

"PICTURE WITH GOO GOO TOO"

#2  Mike and I, after a bunch of hormone led talks whilst impregnated with child #1, came to the decision that we "would do what was best for each child, and allow that 'best' to vary" regarding preschool, and other things we didn't quite agree on.  I thought that meant I got to make all the decisions for everyone.  This has led to some minor conflict.

#3 I find that a lot of people have opinions about preschool.  Like politics, there is a wide, dramatic scale of opinions ranging from "If you do not send your kid to preschool, he will shrivel up and die.  And he will never be prepared for kindergarten because you cannot possibly be qualified to teach him how to count"  to "Preschool is for lazy mothers who don't like their kids." So, I sit at the "Preschool is too expensive and a waste of time since I know the ABCs and sing the chicka- chicka boom boom song every day" mark while Mike sits at the "Mickey mouse clubhouse does not count as learning" mark.

Also, he started demanding ALL his buttons be buttoned.  Whatever, dude.

But then, Mitch had a speech delay.  I refused to believe it for a good half year, and then, after he was tested, decided to only tell people on a "need to know" basis, to avoid the criticism I felt was inevitable (refer to #1).   So, blogging about it wasn't going to happen.  Though, now I am, and I just want to say that even though Mitch scored in the 1st percentile for language, he scored in the 90th + percentile for gross motor skills, fine motor skills, and cognitive development.  My smart little athlete.   And that, friends, is why he can open the "child proof" lids.

So Mitch had a speech therapist working with him until he turned three and aged out of early intervention. She was wonderful.   The next step is preschool.  AHHH.  3 years of preparing for the preschool battle wasted.  Now, preschool did become the best option, and well, I don't like it.  Well, I do, it's just pathetically emotional, and now you get to read my entire thought process on the whole ordeal, because I can't post pictures of his first day of school without saying it's his first day of school and I don't want anyone to say anything about anything (#1).

Since all the testing was at the school, Mitchell was quite comfortable there.  He waltzed right in without saying goodbye, let alone a kiss.  Ali and I came home, and looked at each other weird.  I'm sure it was a little strange playing with the legos without her trusted hero, but she managed.  And then she took a nap.  Which was awesome because I had the entire apartment to myself, sort of, and it was quiet.  I had forgotten what that sounded like.  I did a little happy dance in the living room, and then started to clean it because mondays are always nasty.  And two hours flew by, and we picked up a very hungry Mitchell who only had milk for his snack because he's so picky.  So after some english muffins and fruit snacks, Ali and I learned that he played with blocks, and cars, and the house.  And the sink.  And his hands were clean. And someone got hit, but I'm still not sure if Mitchell was even involved.  And it was "so fun" and "so nice".  oookay.

Mama's current mantra: "2 hours twice a week is nothing. You are being pathetic" It's hard sending them away so little! I'll be fine.  Mitchell's definitely fine.

And the second day, I demanded a kiss and a hug and Mitchell pointed to the door and said "bye mom! That way!" in an angry sort of voice. The teacher, having seen my horror-struck face, walked Mitchell back to my arms and I stole my kiss and hug.  Stinky kid.  Why do they grow up so fast?

Also, I finally got tired of changing diapers.  So he's potty-trained.  It took 2.5 seconds and I can count the accidents on one hand (though, they were the grossest kind of accidents, and I might have cursed and/or cried each time, but we got there) and we're so proud.  I'm such a wimp.  I should have done it a long time ago.

Ali's first ice cream cone.  She ate the entire thing by herself.  This includes the cone. I'm still not used to the "eats everything" idea.

Miss Ali turns one next month.  The year went by so incredibly fast.  She's insanely close to walking, taking 2-3 steps at a time, and tackles and plays with Mitchell all day long.  It's so adorable watching them play together.  Mitchell is an awesome big brother, and shares his legos and all his toys with her.  And she gives him kisses and giggles at him all day long.  Also, she's stepped up her game as side kick to Mitchell.  Together, they're unstoppable.  Like the fruit snacks.  I keep hiding them.  Mitchell always found them.  I hid them behind all the pots and pans and they went a week without notice.  And then Ali found them and crawled a few packs over (via mouth) to her brother and he opened them and they enjoyed Mickey Mouse clubhouse together.  I was sitting right there.  It was just too cute to stop.  I did say "I'm sitting right here!" but she doesn't care.  And neither did Mitchell.  Fruit snacks are now behind the cosco size box of oatmeal.  We'll see if that works.

Mitchell (still) loves all things water, so whenever Ali gets a bath, Mitch joins in too.  I suppose it saves water, but Ali hasn't had a bath by herself, haha.  Mitchell's first order of business is dumping an entire cup of water over her head, but she hasn't complained yet.

And I, (presumably by example), taught Mitchell how to say "No big deal."  Spiders? No big deal, mom.  Poo all over the toilet? No big deal, mom.  You woke Ali up? No big deal, mom.  Monsters in the closet? No big deal.

That, and after watching a jungle-themed episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, he calls me, and mike, "jungle pete".  As in, "mama is jungle pete!" what? I am not jungle pete!  You are jungle pete! "Motch-owl is NOT JUNGLE PETE!" haha.  

And then, as I'm tucking Mitchell into bed one night, he looks at the dark sky and says "uh-oh dada fix it" which, well, he thinks that dad fixes everything, papa always has batteries, (and you know, I'm always jungle pete).  I say, "dada is going to fix the sky?" yes, says mitchell, of course dad is going to fix the sky.  "actually, no, dada doesn't fix the sky.  The sun will rise tomorrow and make everything light" "dada fix it?" "heavenly father fixes it" "dada fix it!" "yeah, dada, sort of.  we're not thinking of the same person"
"DADA FIX IT!" "fine! dada will fix the sky"

and when the sun did rise up the next morning, an excited Mitchell exclaimed, "Oh!! Dada fixed it!!" 

So, when I tell Mike this story, he says, "well, of course he thinks I make the sun rise.  All children do.  And women."

not funny.

So as we're leaving on our date, Mike says to Mitchell, "dada and mama are going to go bye-bye.  And when it's time for bed, dada will make the sky go dark.  And in the morning I'll fix it!"

NOT FUNNY!

so, around here, it's pretty common knowledge that dad controls the movement of the earth.  men.