1m2aSandbox

Maddie’s ballet class started back
up for the fall yesterday, and someone in this household was
particularly excited that the big day had finally arrived.


Cora.


I’m telling you, this girl is absolutely in love with ballet.
At Maddie’s school, the three-year-olds wear all pink, and
the four-year-olds wear lavender. So all last year, Maddie wore
pink and watched the next class come running in after hers, wearing
the so-much-more-sophisticated lavender. When summer ballet camp
rolled around, Maddie put her foot down and refused to wear her
pink togs; after all, she reasoned, she was four now! So we went
out and got her the four-year-old purple getup.


Which is the moment that Cora declared, “I get to wear pink
now!”

In our continuing efforts to Get Maddie
Ready For School, we recently went shopping for a couple more items
– the school bag, and the nap mat. And if you’ll
recall, I’d already stated my determination to stand fast and
refuse to buy a Disney bag. Was I successful?


Ish.

As part of a massive campaign to get
Maddie excited about – heck, just willing to go to –
school, I sent her over to her friend Elise’s house for a bit
of a practice day last week. The result?


I’d have to give it an A plus.


Elise is going to be in the same class as Maddie, and a week ago
her mom called me and suggested a practice lunch time. She
remembered how hard it was for Elise when she first started school
a year ago, and thought that giving Maddie a glimpse into the day
might take some of the mystery – and hence, the fear –
out of the day.

Maddie’s getting better at keeping
secrets than she used to be. In the old days, you’d be
guaranteed that anything you told her would be shouted from the
town square within minutes, but she’s learned the thrill of
surprise, and so now actually at least makes the effort to keep
something to herself.


Cora, though, still doesn’t understand secrets. She
understands “ambush” – she’ll tiptoe up to
someone to jump on their unknowing belly – but she
doesn’t get the long-term secret thing. Which is why,
yesterday, when I stood trying to make my mom a birthday cake in
the wee hours before I thought she’d be up and before the
kitchen got too hot, my mom stumbled blearily into the room and
Cora shouted happily, “Gamma! We’re making you a
birthday cake!”


Fortunately, I have not told her what we got Gamma for her
birthday. I’m hopeful, but not entirely unrealistically
so.

I’ve been running around during
naptimes buying supplies for Maddie for school, and much to the
dismay of my wallet, I’ve reached that feverish stage where
I’m throwing money at anything I see that looks as if it has
a remote chance in interesting my daughter in attending school.


We’ve determined we’re going to buy a messenger bag
instead of a back pack, and I’ve been scouring the city
trying to find one she’ll like. Maddie’s already
decreed that the only bag she’ll even consider taking to
school – IF she decides to go to school – will be a bag
with either Ariel or Tinkerbell on it. I am digging in my heels
here and trying to avoid letting any more of my money go to Disney
for a while, especially since I’m guessing (ok, hoping) that
she’ll be over the Ariel phase soon. So I said no to the
Ariel lunch bag, sticking with her very nice butterfly one for
right now. And I’m trying to find an uber-hip, totally cool
messenger bag that will make a four-year-old forget all about that
stupid mermaid and her purple shell bra. So far I’ve brought
home a couple bags, none of which have been accepted, and I have to
admit I’ve started sneaking looks at Ariel bags online. You
know, just in case I cave.

I’ve been a bit scattered in my
blogging the past couple of weeks – largely because during my
kid-free “down time”, I’ve been ingesting copious
amounts of alcohol.


Kidding.


A little bit.

I, know, you must think I’m making
this up, but I swear, my fantasies do not in any way involve
repeated vomiting and daily doses of Omnicef.


Yes, Cora woke up Friday morning after a second restless night in a
row, thirstily downed a bottle of water, and then threw it up all
over my bed. I sighed, cleaned it up, and settled in for the long
haul.