This Week at Preschool

I live for the almost-daily email reports that we get from my son's preschool teacher. Seriously, it's almost pathetic how excited I get when I see them in my Inbox, and how disappointed I am when she misses a day.

These updates are interesting only to me and a close circle of my relatives (as in, my husband, my mom and my mother-in-law), but I'm still going to post them here.

Tuesday 6/9/09
Our weather man Cameron had fun working with the connector blocks this morning. He made a sun with lots of hot rays coming out from it. He told me that today the sun is hiding in the clouds but that soon it will get too bright and it won't be able to hide there anymore. Then, after a long day of shining on people it will go down and the sky will get dark.

Wednesday 6/10/09
Cameron got out all the Legos and built a long train this morning. There was a lot of detail on his train. The cars were in a pattern: yellow, blue, yellow, blue. He had a seat for the conductor and he even included a smoke stack (because it was a steam engine).

Thursday 6/11/09
In the afternoon we did our Apple sensory investigation. It was so much fun and the children loved trying all the different types of apples….Cameron said his favorite part of the experiment was getting to taste all of the different apples. He told me that he thinks we should eat lots of different kinds of apples everyday for snack.

Friday 6/12/09
Cameron was really interested in puzzles this morning, he spent a lot of time at the table working on them all. He really liked the occupation puzzles and the emergency people puzzles. He would take one all apart and then put all the pieces back before moving on to the next one.

As the Noggin commercial puts it, wouldn't it be great if life were more like preschool?

Classroom Doctor Visit

My son's preschool lesson plan for the week is "Healthy Bodies." Today they talked about their health with their "classroom doctors." Here's my son's health check-up sheet:

In case you're wondering, my son is 3 1/2, not 10 or 100, although sometimes he does seem wise beyond his years. He does weigh a lot (hello, 95th percentile), especially when I have to carry him upstairs to bed. And he does in fact have all 10 fingers and 10 toes. OK, maybe accuracy isn't his strong suit at the moment, he is 3/12, for god's sake.

What's the best story your preschooler's made up?

A conversation I never thought I'd have (or share).

"Cami, do you want to come here and go potty before your nap?"
"No thank you!"
"I'm going potty, and I'm going poo-poo, too!"
"Good job, mommy!"

A snapshot from my wasted youth.

If you want to get a glimpse into the experiences that have made me what I am today, head on over to this post on Zhadi's Den. Then come back here and make fun of me.

Zhadi's Den is the work of my childhood friend Dana Fredsti. Dana and I have been friends since junior high and, because I have the memory of a goldfish these days, I can't remember how we met (but she will). Dana and I are hard at work on What Women Really Want in Bed.

And we're both writing for Ravenous Romance (although my guess is that she's the one actually "writing," as lately, all I've been doing is thinking about writing).

By the way, in case you're too busy making fun of me to read the comments on Zhadi's Blog, know that it wasn't "booze" that we were drinking. Heck no. It was Scotch and sweet vermouth, also known as a "Rob Roy." I feel a little queasy just thinking about it.

Who says we're not reading?

I belong to a group of women writers. Once a month, we meet at someone's house to eat, drink wine, and talk about "the craft." We try not to discuss "the industry," but inevitably, the talk turns to marketing and publishing, and how horrible the situation is. (Then we drink more wine.) This past Sunday, when the talk turned to the supposedly dire state of the publishing industry, someone in the group announced, "No one reads anymore!" Cue chorus of agreement.

But I disagree. While I can understand where my fellow (fella?) writers are coming from, I think people are reading. How else do you explain the popularity of book groups, and conferences like Book Group Expo dedicated specifically to people in book groups? How do you explain the fact that every week, I get an invitation to a new book-related social networking site? I now have my lists on GoodReads and Shelfari, to give a few examples; I've gotten to the point where I can't even keep my virtual bookshelves up to date.

There's something else I wanted to tell my writers' group. From the time our children were blastocysts, almost every mother I know has been inundated with the importance of reading to her child. My niece has belonged to a book-of-the-month club since she was about 3 (she even picked out her own books). I could swear to you that I remember hearing a suggestion that I read to my son while he was in the womb as a way to get him used to the sound. I didn't do that--although I was reading The Apple's Bruise by Lisa Glatt when my water broke--but I did read to him from about the time he was born.

Here he is thumbing through his book collection at 15 months, looking for the good parts:

He's now almost 3, and yes, I was thrilled beyond words when one of his preschool teachers termed him "the class bookworm." He also likes to watch trains on YouTube, but he still loves his books. I have now read Where's the Poop more times than I would like to count.

Granted, I will admit that I'm part of an overly educated demographic. You could call our kids "Generation 529," so concerned are we about getting our kids into (and being able to pay for) good colleges. When I lived in San Francisco, I belonged to a mothers' group where women were frantic about getting on preschool lists before their children were actually born. Every family I know has shelves of children's books in their home. I realize, of course, that many families are not so fortunate.

There seems to be a disconnect between the dire predictions about American education, and the fact that many colleges have to turn away qualified applicants. Stanford received 24,000 applications for its Class of 2011--a record high (but accepted 10.3%--a record low). A "a significant fraction" of those accepted, says President John Hennessy, are "prepared to do Stanford-caliber study." Test scores and GPAs are higher than ever.

How can that be, if no one's reading? I'm curious to know what you think. Like I said, I realize that I'm part of a particular demographic, and that the picture isn't so rosy for a large segment of the population. How can we instill a love of reading in all children, regardless of income? And I don't think the answer is more computers in schools or access to the Internet. But we shouldn't throw up our hands and say "no one is reading," either.

It's not going to stop writers from writing, anyway.

Parenting and sex (and the lack thereof).

Spot-on post today on SFGate.com's "The Poop" blog about parenting and sex. Or the lack thereof. The comments are almost as good as the actual post. I particularly like the M&Ms solution used by one parent.

But what if your problem is not lack of time (say, for example, your son is reliably asleep by 9pm for the rest of the night), but...well...sheer exhaustion?

If after a full day of work, daycare pickup, dinner and bedtime routine, all you want to do is flop on the couch with your TiVo remote? Would it be any wonder if one's libido was MIA?

Not that I'm naming names.

BlogHer '08 in San Francisco

Just signed up for the BlogHer '08 Conference, July 18-20, in San Francisco. I'm pretty psyched. I attended Web 2.0 Expo in April (seems like it was just yesterday), and really enjoyed it, but women were a definite minority.

BlogHer has several breakout sessions devoted to "MommyBlogging": I'm not so sure I'm crazy about the term (I haven't seen many references to "DaddyBlogging"), but I'm very interested in the topics: "Is MommyBlogging Still a Radical Act?", "Public Parenting and Privacy," and "Mirrors: Ours, the Media's, Our Cultures' and Our Kids'."

And there's also a session on infertility: "When the Road To Motherhood Is Anything But Smooth: Infertility, Adoption and Miscarriage Bloggers."

Oh, and there are even birds-of-a-feather sessions on "Sex and Relationships" and for "Entertainment Bloggers." So it looks like I'll have all my bases covered, no pun intended. And you thought I was just indecisive in my choice of blog topics.

If you're going to BlogHer '08, let me know!

The China earthquake.

First Burma, now China. And with this latest disaster, the stories that break every parent's heart: schools buried under tons of rubble, entire families lost. I just read a CNN story about the tragedy at Juyuan Middle School, where hundreds of kids are still trapped. The sound of firecrackers fills the air each time a body is found; it's a Chinese tradition to ward off evil spirits.

A reporter says he hears firecrackers every five or ten minutes.

I think of China's one-child policy, and I almost can't read any more descriptions of grieving parents hurling themselves on their child's body.

The truth of the matter, which a lot of people don't talk about, is that when you have a child after miscarriage and infertility, one of the things that makes you want to have another child is the fear that something will happen to the first. Not that the second child could make up for the loss of the first. Nothing could. (Note: I didn't say that these feelings made sense. That's why another word for these feeling is "neuroses.") In fact, one of the feelings you have to manage, as the parent of a "singleton" (especially a singleton who almost didn't happen in the first place) is fear. Because if you don't find a way to manage the fear, you'll live your life like you're walking around with a gun to your head.

So in an effort to do something other than drive myself crazy and make donations to disaster relief (which I've done), I asked my brother the architect a few questions.

Cynthia: So why did all those schools and buildings collapse? Other than the magnitude of the quake. Don't they have building codes in China? Give me your architect's opinion and I'll put it on my blog. [Editor's note: If this sounds a bit like a sisterly demand, remember that this is the brother whom I once threatened, in my diary, to sue for ruining my childhood.]

Cynthia's Brother: The media is saying it's because of the vast right-wing conspiracy. Just kidding. Don't put that on your blog.

Seriously, I don't know enough about the facts to offer any type of opinion. [Editor's note: As you can see, my brother does not live in Silicon Valley.] It could be due to the amplitude of the quake, just as much as the magnitude. Amplitude is the measure of the quakes wavelength. Imagine ripples across a pond. Either they come in big rolling waves, or short frequent ripples. A building has amplitude also. If the amplitude of the building matches that of the quake, it's bad news. Thats what happened in Mexico City back in the 80s when that big quake hit, and why there were so many failures of a certain building type, such as newer 3-to-8-story apartment buildings, while a 150-year-old cathedral right next door was left undamaged. Sometimes it's just bad luck.

Cynthia: OK. But I don't understand how a building can have amplitude? (Sorry, English major here.)

Cynthia's Brother: A building is either built extremely rigid, or designed to flex. It depends on a lot on the structural system used. Imagine a Bundt cake taken out of the mold. One cake is Jello, the other is regular flour cake. Then you shake the plate it's sitting on. The Jello one wobbles (at a certain frequency/amplitude), the other one stays relatively rigid.

Cynthia: Which is better? The one designed to flex (Jello), right?

Cynthia's Brother: You want the building to flex to a certain point, but again, you don't want the amplitude of the building to match that of the quake. You have to shake pretty hard to get the flour cake to fall off the plate, but if you get the jello one going just right, it will wobble-roll right off.

There's one state-of-the-art high rise being built, I think in Taiwan, where they are placing a giant suspended counter weight at the top of the building to counter the oscillation of the quake.

A structural engineer would really be able to give you better information. If you'd like I can put you in touch with my structural engineer and she could fill in the blanks. [Editor's note: This is loving brotherly code for "I'm busy, sis, get back to work."]

Cynthia: Thanks, dear brother. (OK, I really didn't say that. But I should have.)

So now I understand the science of earthquakes and building a little bit better. I still don't understand the why. Not "why are there earthquakes?" I get the stuff about tectonic plates and all that. I don't understand the why of children buried under earthquakes. The why of firecrackers.

Dance first!

Every day, my son's teachers write a few lines about how his day was. Here's his report from yesterday:

"Loved to dance with his friend. Went [sic] I said "Snack time" he answered "Dance first"*

Indeed. One should always dance first.

* (Note that my son loves music more than anything, except maybe trains or books or his grandmothers. )

Unnecessary play, and an a-ha moment.

About a week or so ago, I attended Web 2.0 Expo. Lots to talk about there, but that's not what's important right now. What is important is something that happened after the conference one day. Something that had nothing to do with the conference, and yet it did.

On Thursday of the conference, I left early to go to a meeting at my son's school for the parents of kids in "junior preschool." The director of the school, Rachel, has these meetings about once every three months to give us a chance to vent about what little monsters our children are. Ha ha. Not really. The meetings are to talk about child development, and anything else we have on our minds. On this day, the topic was "The Necessity of the Unnecessary in Play," based on a newsletter article Rachel had sent us recently.

So Rachel, a very cool woman who has cropped white hair and great African jewelry, started out the meeting, as per usual, by showing about eight of us "junior preschool" parents video of our kids. And there, right off the bat, was my son, building a Lego tower. We all watched as my son's tower kept breaking apart, pieces flying off out of camera range. He continued to rebuild it, unperturbed, while I waited for him to scream in frustration, which is what he would do if either of his parents were in earshot.

But no, he just kept working on it, even though it broke again and again. I couldn't believe it. "He's so focused," said one of the other parents.

Then Rachel pointed pointed out that my son wasn't building a tower. He was just building. Just building, for the sake of building.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I had just come from a conference that was all about social networking, and blogging, and Twittering--all for a purpose, whether that purpose was to get recognition, or sell something, or make a fortune, or whatever. And I had been drinking the Kool-Aid. But now I thought, When was the last time I did something just for the sake of doing it? When was the last time I wrote something just to be writing, and not to meet a deadline, or sell books, or get people to link to what I had to say?

When was the last time I watched a movie without thinking about the review I was going to write? Went for a walk without calculating how many calories I was burning? Helped someone without hoping to be thanked? Or, most poignantly for anyone dealing with infertility, when was the last time I made love without trying to get pregnant? When everything you do has a goal, your whole life is living in the future, and you don't ever get to play, and you very rarely have much fun.

"Children aren't busy," I once heard someone say. Yes. And I'm jealous. I want more Legos, and fewer deliverables, in my life. I want more fun.

The unfairness doctrine.

One of the most frequent, and most heartbreaking, complaints you'll hear from anyone suffering from infertility goes something like this: "It's not fair that [insert name here] gets to have children, and I don't."

And by "[insert name here]," I don't mean that we begrudge our families or friends their pregnancies, even though there's always a pang when you hear on the day of a negative pregnancy test that your cousin-in-law, say, is pregnant with her third.

I'm talking about the people who abuse or neglect their kids. Who abuse or neglect themselves, when they have kids. Here, a certain fallen pop star is often mentioned. Example: After the failure of our most recent, and final, attempt to get pregnant, I whined to Dr. R something along the lines of, "It's not fair that Britney Spears gets to have two kids, and I don't." He chuckled sympathetically. "A lot of my patients are mad at Britney right now," he said.

Every day, it seems like I read or hear about some horrible thing some parent has done to their child. Just today, I read a news story about a Dallas woman who threw her two sons off a freeway overpass. Miraculously, they all survived, but I can't tell you how many similar stories I've read recently where the poor kids didn't. In fact, I could make a weekly feature of candidates for "World's Worst Parents." It's enough to make me start a self-imposed news embargo.

I'll tell you this now: I haven't met ONE infertile couple that wouldn't make great parents. These are the people who really want to have a child. They want to shower a child with love and affection. And for those of you who are going to say, "Well, you/they can adopt": yes, infertile people can adopt. But that doesn't take away the pain of infertility. And it doesn't take away the pain of hearing about people who abuse their kids, when you want one so, so badly.

It just doesn't seem fair, and I still haven't heard anything to make me feel better about it.

When toddlers get hold of your credit cards.

My son sent me a bouquet of roses yesterday (with a little help from Dad).

I really am lucky to have two such thoughtful males in my life, even if one of them doesn't quite get the concept of Valentine's Day yet. However, he did seem to like (for about 3 minutes) his Valentine's Day card, which featured a picture of Thomas the Tank Engine and made a very annoying "peep peep" noise when he opened it again and again and again.

In blog-related matters, yes, I'm really behind in my posting. I sent to the American Fertility Association's Family Matters conference on Sunday. Lots of news from that. Most notably, I found myself on all fours in a room with Brenda Strong. (Calm down. We were doing yoga.) Story to come, but let me just say that she is my new girl-crush.

How to make a working mom feel like crap.

My son knows exactly how to buy me a ticket to a Guilt Trip, First Class.

Until recently, we had no problem with the morning day-care drop-off. (OK, that's not exactly true: the first month was HELL, but that was back in September. ) We based this delusion on the fact that Cami would run to the toys and books, and begin playing. He'd even sometimes point to the door and wave "bye-bye" to us.

Well, the first rule of parenting is "Never get too comfortable." Our Golden Age of daycare drop-offs ended about 3 weeks ago. Now, as soon as we make a move toward the door, Cami begins screaming bloody murder.

My husband, who has been doing the drop-offs, told me about this new phenomenon, but I didn't quite grasp the implications. (I was choosing to forget those days in September, when I would walk to the car in tears, and Nima, off on a business trip, didn't "get it.")

This morning, I took Cami to daycare. All was fine--despite his insistence on having his binky and lovies, and on my reading him the same book three times--until I told him I had to go to work. He began crying and hurled himself across my lap. As I disengaged him and slunk out of the room, telling them that I loved him and would see him at 5, he began shrieking.

All I could think of is the email Nima sent me after his first day care drop off, back in September:

Let me just say, that regardless whether you're a mom or a dad, until you drop your child off in a foreign place and watch his eyes swell up with tears and the piercing shriek of his discontent fill the hallways out to the roadside, you do not know misery.

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. I suck.

Knit a Viking hat for your baby. Seriously.

If you're sick of all those fey little baby bonnets out there, here's your antidote: a baby Viking hat from Bella Knitting. The only catch is that you have to knit it yourself, but that's a small price to pay from a baby accessory that will set you apart from everyone else in your playgroup.*

What saves this from being sort of weird is the funny commentary by the creator, Sarah Fama:

How, you may ask, is a baby like a Viking? At a glance, the two may appear to have nothing to do with one another.

Vikings are remembered for their elaborate tattoos, skilled metalwork, and possible settling of the New World before Columbus. Babies are known for their inability to walk upright, which generally prevents them from visiting tattoo parlors, working at forges, and discovering continents.

If only--if only--I could actually knit. My mother, grandfather (may he RIP), mother-in-law, and grandmother-in-law: all knitters. Me: The last garment I sewed was a slutty Quiana dress I made back in the '70s for my junior prom. In other words, I am not a knitter.

But I can certainly appreciate a knit Viking baby hat. And I pray that I have another baby if only so that one of the other knitters in my life can give me one of these. (Knitters: are you listening?)

Thanks, as always, go to the ever-cuddly Great White Snark, whom we would all like to wrap in a warm Log Cabin Blanket. If only we could knit.

* Playgroup, n., an excuse for moms to get together and drink wine while their babies engage in parallel play.

The happiest robo-tot on the block.

Scientists at Osaka University in Japan have developed a robot that acts like a toddler in order to "better understand child development."

No word on whether the Child-Robot with Biomimetic Body (CB2 for short) will have authentic toddler tantrums, or whether that particular feature will have to wait for Toddler 2.0.

You know, I'm for anything that helps me understand my toddler better. But I dunno...I just find CB2 kind of...well, creepy. And I feel like a big meanie for saying that.

(AP photo by Koji Ueda, courtesy of SiliconValley.com.)

Tennessee teachers terrorize teens.

Yes, the title of this post sucks. But my mind is reeling faster than Britney Spears through the doors of Promises Malibu Treatment Center.

It seems that some teachers from Scales Elementary School in Brentwood, Tennessee, decided it would be a simply fabulous idea to stage a fake gun attack on sixth-grade students who were on a field trip to a state park. (Watch the video from ABC News here.)

You know, 11-year-olds don't have enough to worry about. Let's traumatize them. That'll win us a teaching award.

They told the kids that there was a gunman on the loose, and made them lie on the floor or hide under tables. Soon-to-be-unemployed Assistant Principal Don Bartch, who led the trip, said, "We got together and discussed what we would have done in a real situation." And then they held hands and sang "Kumbaya." No, just kidding.

Principal Catherine Stephens said later that the incident "involved poor judgement." Ya think?

What worries me today.

My son's favorite teacher is in the hospital. We don't know what's wrong, other than that she has very high blood pressure.

Yesterday morning, Cami hit me for the first time. Apparently I wasn't getting him his breakfast fast enough. He didn't hit me very hard--a light tap, really. But still. All sorts of things went through my mind, most of them culminating in his eventual incarceration at the age of oh, 5.

I got down on my knees, took his hands in mind and tried to make him look at me.

"No, Cami," I said. "We don't hit. Mommy doesn't like that." All the things you're supposed to say when confronted with a discipline issue.

Last night, after his bath, as Nima was trying to give him a hug, Cami kind of slapped him on the head. And then looked at his father to check his reaction. Again, "No, Cami. We don't do that." Very serious tone. Very serious face.

Is he testing us because that's what a 19-month-old does? Or because he misses his teacher, and when you're 19 months old, you don't understand why someone you love suddenly disappears?

What worries me.

Stuff like this.

Some guy lost control of his SUV and hit 13 students at Ralston Intermediate School in Belmont. Pinned 4 of them under a car. No one was killed, amazingly enough. The police still don't know what happened. The driver was on his way to pick up his granddaughter. His wife thinks the brakes failed.

Random, freak car accidents at school. Just another thing to worry about.

Slow down, people. (Especially those of you who speed past my son's daycare center, where the speed limit is 25mph. And you know who you are.)