Tales of the Daycare Teacher

There is a little boy in Alice's class, who I will call Tyler. They spent some time in the nursery together as infants and later in the one year-old room. But he was having a hard time with the transition to the two year-old group, and cried over and over again one morning for "Mama." Eventually, they made it to lunchtime, and everyone sat down at their tables to eat. This little boy continued his crying at the table.

At that point, as the quote goes, that's where the wheels came off the wagon. Alice stood up, slammed both hands down on the table, and said, "Tyler. YOUR. MAMA. NOT. HERE." And then she sat back down and ate her lunch.

Y'all, she's TWO.

The teachers were caught offguard by her outburst, then promptly fell over laughing, and raced to tell the teachers in the next room what just happened. The story spread like wildfire around the center. By the time I arrived that evening to pick up the kids, two teachers had shared it with me before I even made it to her classroom. Over the course of the week, nearly every single teacher laughed with me about that story. At the end of the week, I cautiously asked, "Has anyone told Tyler's mom that story?" Turns out, no, they hadn't. And that evening, after I left, Tyler's dad arrived to pick him up. Tyler's dad normally drops him off later than we do in the morning, and the few times I have crossed paths with him, he always tells me that he is a huge fan of Alice, that she always has a smile for him or greets him when he comes in. So when the teacher told his dad the story, he roared with laughter. Then he looked at Tyler and said, "Son, I'm sure that won't be the last time a woman tells you that."

The End of an Era

While I was pregnant with Alice, I toured a new daycare center. This was after nearly 3 years of childcare provided by a decent center right around the corner from our home. You can't beat that kind of convenience with a stick. So, looking farther away was harder, and mentally a bit of a block for me, but having two kids, affordability was the biggest factor in making a change. I also knew that every 3 months, Helen got a new teacher. With that kind of turnover, it was hard to get any rapport built up, and I was beginning to worry about her reaching a crucial point in her development and learning with a revolving door of instructors. She's a sharp kid but I didn't want her to suffer with all the short-timers.

The teacher I met on the tour of the new place was very reassuring. She had previously worked at the center where Helen was, and she knew what I was worried about with their staffing issues. She assured me that turnover was very low. She herself had been at the center for 4 years. Helen's class was taught by the owner. Alice would have teachers who had each been working there for a minimum of 2 years. That was excellent news to me.

October 1 will mark 2 years of attending this daycare. Helen now has some very near and dear friends in her class, and she loves each one of her teachers. Alice turns into a bright ray of sunshine in her classroom. You can tell she truly enjoys herself. I love how the teachers hug her. Jane is smiling every time I leave her in the morning and is being cuddled whenever I show up. I have landed in a great daycare and I wouldn't leave them anywhere else for the world.

Except, sometimes, it's time to go.

I was not prepared for this scene. I knew that it was coming for a couple of weeks, and I had been working hard to get the house clean for a visit from her PeePaw, and get a potluck dish made and delivered, and managed the logistics of getting a family to arrive on time and neatly dressed - so essentially, I'd been focusing very closely on the trees and suddenly the forest appeared on stage. Seeing her walk out in that outfit, it was a very startling moment for me. She keeps telling me she's 5 now, but dang if she didn't just grow up right there in that cap & gown. Plus, she was so cute up there with her friends.

Seriously, I'm just a little bit sad that the daycare doesn't run an elementary school, too.

Bring on the Baby Pictures!

When you arrive at daycare to pick up your kids, and one of them looks like this:

... if you wake that baby up, you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

Helen is in LOOOOOOVE.

I have changed names to protect the innocent, but there is a little boy in Helen's class that we'll call Peter. Helen played with Peter quite a lot when she first arrived at daycare, and talked about him at home, but then she gradually moved on to playing with girls. To be honest, I was sort of relieved about that, because Helen was one of very few girls at her old daycare. Apparently there was a baby boy boom in that neighborhood for about 6 months, and Helen was the only girl for miles. So for the first 3 years, she naturally played with all the boys. When she moved to the new daycare last year, old habits took over and she joined up with the boys, but this new room was about half girls, and I think eventually that "playing kitchen and babies gene" kicked into overdrive, and she came home talking princesses and ponies and unicorns and told me all about her new best girl friends. This fall I haven't seen hide nor hair of that little boy, so I assumed he might have moved on to kindergarten.

So it sort of surprised me on Friday to hear her in the backseat on the way to the video store telling me that she loved Peter SOOOOO much (cue weepy teen angst voice, really) and wanted to play with him ALL the time. Turns out he's still there; he comes to school later and gets picked up earlier so I hadn't seen him. When I asked her why she loved him, she said it was because he was nice, and sometimes he played with her, and sometimes he did not. Plays hard-to-get, that kid.

Seriously? People, she's FOUR. I think I was about 13 when I went full-on boy crazy. I certainly never told my parents that I loved anyone SOOOO much. Not that I remember, at least. And the last time I actually told Brian that I loved him SOOOO much was when he steam-cleaned the living room carpet.

So yeah, I'm not really sure where all of this comes from. All I can say is, it's a good thing she sleeps on the 2nd floor, and that our stairs are really creaky. Just sayin'.

One Million Questions

Helen starts the day with a long list of questions to ask.  Some of them are important, pertinent to maintaining a conversation, provide information on that day's agenda, or educate her on a topic of interest.

The other 99.9% are completely useless chatter - the proverbial talking just to hear herself talk.

I could be stirring something in a pot on the stove, and Helen will ask me, "Mommy, what are you doing?"  Or I could be watching a football game on TV, and she will ask me, "Mommy, are you watching football?"  Brian comes into the kitchen after putting on his coat and getting ready to leave for work, and Helen will ask him, "Daddy, where did you get that coat?"

I realize asking questions is the only way a 3-year old will learn anything.  God knows I'm doing a horrible job of teaching her.  But the questions.  Good lord.  There are times that I pick her up from daycare where my day has been busy and I'm exhausted, and I know before I even head home, I need to go to the grocery store and figure out what to have for dinner.  So the last thing I need is a long list of questions to answer.   But I have spent the entire commute screwing up my courage to the sticking point and then the whole way home forcing myself to answer as many questions as I can.  No matter how many I answer, or how hard I work on being patient and helpful and friendly - there are times when I reach my limit.  "Enough with the questions!" I tell Helen.  That's usually when she will respond with, "Mommy?"  Oh, yes - one more question.  Just what I wanted.

Conversation with Helen is fine.  I enjoy talking to her, and hearing her describe her day, and telling me about her friends.  It's when she decides to chatter, just to hear herself talk, and especially when I'm trying to get other things done, that the nerves start to fray.  I tell her to shush when I'm feeding the baby, because her talking will distract the nursing process.  I usually have to tell her twelve times to shush.  Her favorite response to "Shhh!" is "But Mommy ..."  

Sigh - 

Whoever talked about Terrible Twos must have offed the kids before they reached three, because THREE IS WAY WORSE.

So, about a month ago one of Helen's teachers left to care for a family member, and I finally met the new one about a week ago.  When I introduced myself, she said, "Oh, I love Helen.  She's very ... inquisitive."  Yes, Dear Reader, the teacher PAUSED and made up a nice long word to describe my child.  I couldn't help but laugh.  She had no idea that both my mom and my sister are teachers, and I'm more than familiar with this kind of doublespeak.   

Anyway, I told the new teacher that if Helen got a little overwhelming with the questions, the code word to make it all stop is, "Helen, enough questions."  She said, "No, she's fine.  Very sweet little girl."  And I said "Thank you," but what I was thinking was "LIAR!"  Must have caught her right after a bunch of Helen's questions, don't you think?

Which reminds me - a tidbit to share with you from one of my favorite bloggers, Mimi Smartypants, who talks about her daughter, Nora. Somehow, this feels like a preview of my future:

Third quarter report cards for kindergarten are out---mostly a collection of letters, W for "well-developed skill," P for "partially developed," and I forget what else, maybe C for crappy? Something like that. In the narrative portion of the card the teacher wrote, "Nora had an excellent academic quarter. She has a lot of knowledge to share." Oh yes, teacher-lady, I feel you. Nora has a lot of knowledge to share, and share, and share.

Daycare Drama

Yesterday I got a call from the daycare about Helen. Apparently, for the 2nd day in a row, she has called one of her classmates "idiot." The teacher had put her in timeout the first time, thinking it was a one-time deal, so she didn't call to tell me. When Helen did it again the next day, the punishment was both timeout and a phone call to mom.

With steam pouring out of my ears, I gritted my teeth and said, "I'll handle it. Can you put Helen on the phone?" I could hear the teacher say, "Helen, your mom wants to talk to you." In the background, I could hear Helen's response: "Nooo!" and the teacher said, "Take your hands off your ears - your mom wants to talk to you." There was some negotiating back & forth, but the teacher couldn't get Helen to take the call.

(At this point, your line is "Oh, no, she didn't!")

I told the teacher I'd be out there shortly to deal with her. She thanked me, and we hung up. I made plans to leave work around lunch.

Often, when the bizarre child-rearing event takes place, I call my sister for a little support or a good laugh.

Mandy: So, you're going to drive over there and beat her?

Jennie: (laughing) I'm trying to picture what our mom would have done if we had tried that.

Mandy: She would have gone through the phone. THROUGH THE PHONE.

Jennie: (picturing it, wincing) Yeah. She would. It's too bad the daycare is so far, I can't be there right away. Is yours still close to where your husband works?

Mandy: Yep. And he would be there in a heartbeat. "Hold on to this for a minute, I'll be right back."

Jennie: I can't even stay for lunch. It can't be a treat, like I show up to eat with her.

Mandy: She's got to know you're serious. THROUGH THE PHONE.

Fortunately for Helen, some co-workers talked me down, and instead I called her back about an hour later. Helen took the call that time, because she had forgotten all about it by then. Oh, how I ambushed that kid. I told her in no uncertain terms what she did wrong (including not taking the call), and that we would be having a very long talk with Mommy & Daddy about it at dinner.

Later, when I came to pick her up, her first reaction was her usual excitement to see me, and then she froze as she remembered she was in trouble. She cautiously approached me and I told her to get her jacket and get ready to go. We headed out to the car, and while my usual question is, "So, Helen, what did you do today?" Helen pre-empted all of that by saying as we drove out of the parking lot, "Mommy, I don't want to talk about my day today."

Yeah, yeah. As if that ever worked with my mom. Dear Reader, you'll be thrilled to learn it didn't work with me, either.

Party Pooper

So this weekend I caved. I took Helen to a child's birthday party.

I know, I know. I had sort of hoped that my year-long boycott would somehow start a trend and that people would finally give up trying to entertain toddlers with a $200 party place and goody bags and an elaborate cake and a one present minimum.

But for some strange reason, a child's birthday seems to have ballooned into an entire industry. Go figure.

Since we're at the new daycare, my reasoning for accepting just this once seemed sound: jump into the fray with an entirely new clique of parents. Meet people. Be social. You know - a good time to give this gig a second chance.

Instead, I was reminded of just how much THIS IS NOT MY GIG.

The party child sleeps on a mat next to Helen's at daycare, so they're friends. The parents were perfectly nice and took a moment to come over and introduce themselves to me. They said really sweet things about Helen, which I appreciated. But folks, I'm one of the first parents to drop off in the morning, and one of the last to pick up at night. So I don't know any of the kids, and I really don't know the parents. I think everyone else must have assumed I was family, because I had to walk up and talk to people to get more than a passing smile. And I couldn't reciprocate with nice things about their children, except "Oh, Helen talks about him all the time," while I'm thinking of David Spade from SNL, "And you are ...?"

The party took place at one of those indoor inflatable jump places, which sounded like a great way to wear Helen out on a weekend afternoon. But because of the blowers and the blaring party music, it ended up being noisier than the bars I remember from my single days. It was difficult to talk to anyone unless you were standing right next to them. So I spent most of my time holding Alice and watching Helen bounce. I think she had a ball - she ran around a lot, and she seemed to know the kids there. But to me, nothing beats the old-fashioned playdate: meeting a friend at the playground for some slides and swings and juiceboxes. I can chat with the parents and get to know them, instead of anonymously standing around and not talking to each other.

I've managed to give birth to two kids with summer birthdays - probably scarring them for life that they can't have cupcake day at school! Brian & I talked often about what we wanted for our kids, and a giant party they won't remember was definitely not one of them. So Year 1 was cupcakes in her high chair. Year 2: lather, rinse, repeat. Year 3: more cupcakes, plus a $2 box of popsicles for her classmates at daycare. Next year, we may get an inflatable bouncy something in the backyard. But we won't have to invite a dozen kids to make it worthwhile - Helen and Alice could have it all to themselves!

What I could see in future years to celebrate their big day: inviting a couple of their best friends over for some time at the neighborhood pool. Maybe they could have a sleepover if they wanted it. I'm sure they sound like boring old-fashioned parties that nobody has anymore, plus it's so much work and it messes up your house to have a bunch of kids over. But why spend weekends going to the same party places over and over? My greatest wish for their birthdays is a party they'll remember. I don't remember most of mine, although Mom swears up & down I had them. And for some reason, my 29th birthday is a total blank. Hmm.

What's the first birthday party you can remember? Let me know. I wonder if it's just me being ridiculous about this whole thing. I've seen scads of posts on parenting websites and while everyone has ideas for themes and games and cakes and goody bags, not one single parent expresses my level of frustration at having to stand around at these events with nothing better to do than watch your child. So maybe it's just me, and you can feel free to tell me to just get over it. And if it's not just me - speak up!

The Solution

We all have those mornings where we wake up in the wrong mood, or we don't like any of our clothes, or breakfast just doesn't sit right. Everyone you see crosses you the wrong way or says the wrong thing to you, and life is just monumentally unfair from the moment your eyes open.

Brian is saying to himself, "This is what Jennie is like after 8:30 at night!"

Hmm. Anyway.

Last week, Helen had that morning. We got to daycare, and she just wasn't ready for it. She knew the drill with the transition - get out of the car, get Alice to her room, give her hugs & kisses, and then head to her room - but as soon as I was shutting the door to the infant room, Helen went into full-on whine mode. As in, I don't want to go to daycare, I don't want you to leave, I don't know what else I want but right now YOU'RE NOT DOING ANYTHING RIGHT WHINE WHINE WHINE.

When you're three years old, life is hard. You think you can do it all by yourself, and you definitely want to, but you don't have any marketable skills to put on your resume except "makes messes" or "screws up a perfectly good schedule." If you can paddle your canoe upstream, just because you can, you do. Even if that's not what your parents want you to do.

From the moment she was able to speak, I have taught her Mommy's Rules, which are as follows:

1. No whining.
2. No crying.
3. Do what Mommy says.
4. See Rule #3.

These rules cover a wealth of mistakes and potential problems. If she's in timeout, she knows why. Not doing what Mommy said is usually the biggest offense. But the whining gets me mad in a hurry, and I've tried my best to get her to stop doing it. She's okay about it most days, depending on how much she wants to watch Little Mermaid.

Last week marked her second week in a new daycare, and she had been doing stellar up to that point. I wanted her to do well, and I wanted her to like the new place. But that morning she kept telling me she wanted to go back to the old daycare, that she didn't want to be in the new daycare. And she really didn't want me to leave. She just wanted to bury her head in my neck, wrap her arms around me and never let go. Oh yeah - and the whining.

And instead of being mad, for once I was really, really sorry for her. I understood. Everything was still so new for her. Having one day in the past two weeks as Whiny Kid at dropoff time - well, that earned a free pass. Sympathy kicked in. So instead of getting mad at her about missing my bus or needing to hurry or being late for work, I took a deep breath and tried to talk her through it. I gave her all the reasons why the new daycare was better (she gets to see her sister, she gets to make new friends, she gets to learn new things, her teachers love her, etc.). She wasn't buying any of it. Her grip kept getting tighter, and I could not put her down at all.

This is exactly why they tell you not to reason with toddlers. I mean, she understands it, but that doesn't mean she has to agree with it. "Because I said so" is a perfectly legitimate response from a mom. But today, I knew I couldn't use it. I wanted her to be happy when I left, so that the next day and the day after that and every day would be easier for her. Forcing the issue today would only make it harder for everyone tomorrow.

Finally, I called her teacher over and explained that we were having a hard time this morning, and that Helen really wanted to go to her old daycare. Her teacher was not the least bit offended, and in fact was very sweet and gentle with Helen. Telling her that she had a toy she wanted Helen to come over and play with didn't work. Tack #2 was the trick, though. She said, "Helen, you know what, let's go over here and play with this, and then, after snack, I'll let you go see your sister, and you can give her a bottle. Okay?"

Helen's head popped up immediately. She looked at me, smiled, kissed me goodbye, and leaned over to her teacher. I mean, she changed in a SNAP.

Bribery will get you everywhere with a three-year old.

Alice has nursed since the day she was born. For the entire maternity leave, I nursed her. I pump at work so she gets bottles at daycare. No one else has fed this baby except her daycare teachers. Not even Brian has given her a bottle. Helen hasn't even asked to feed the baby - I don't think it occurred to her to ask, since she knows Alice gets her milk from Mommy. So this was a VERY. BIG. DEAL.

The teacher took a picture of them together at that feeding.

She hasn't made a peep about going back to the old daycare.

Wedding Day

One of Helen's daycare teachers and sometime babysitter got married, and invited us to the wedding.   Brian had to attend a football cookout at his boss's house, so it was just us.   A girls' night out! 

Okay, so not really.  And you might ask what would possess a woman with a 3-year old and a 2-month old to pack up the kids and drive 45 minutes across town to a wedding that takes place an hour before dinner time.

You can ask. You won't get a response that makes any sense, other than "I hadn't worn my favorite little black dress in a *really* long time, okay?"

I spent the day thinking about timing and what I would need while I was away from the house.  When you nurse a baby, everything you do in a day comes down to a simple equation:  

Travel time (A) + last feeding time (B) = when is the next feeding? (C)  

where A = 45 and B = ...

oh, screw it, we all know C = NOW

So traveling that far with a baby who could be hungry upon arrival meant "BE PREPARED" or possibly "DANGER WILL ROBINSON."  Factoring in Helen's naptime prior to leaving and preparing everyone to get out of the house in wedding finery - well, I'm sure it didn't take this much work to get to troops to Iraq. 

The wedding itself was picture perfect. The bridesmaids were dressed in black satin strapless sheaths, with a fushia sash around their waists. They carried gorgeous white rose bouquets, and all of them looked like a million bucks. The bride wore a bright white strapless dress with plenty of tulle and sparkling sequins, and carried a bright pink bouquet of roses. The groom and his groomsmen wore black suits with black shirts. The groom's tie was white, and the groomsmen wore fuschia ties. Sort of a late 70's mafia look, which I'll admit is difficult for guys from the deep South to pull off with any degree of success.

The bride had not been over to babysit for us in quite some time, but Helen remembered her right away. She was the model child during the wedding - finding a pencil and something to write on, she busied herself with scribbling a few things for me. Fortunately, Alice took a short nap with a good pacifier, so we didn't have a single squawk out of either of them. And it was one of those quick Protestant ceremonies - no sermon, even - so we were out in about 12 minutes.

I should have known that would be the easy part.

The reception was at a nearby country club, which had a back patio set up on a hillside that overlooked a gorgeous mountain scene. The sun was about an 30 minutes away from setting when I got this great picture of Helen.


Shortly after this was taken, Alice decided to scream in agony about gas pains for nearly 30 minutes. This has happened before, and there's nothing I can do except give her a little bit of gas medicine and pat her back. Eventually she burps, but it can take a while. I felt horrible after about 2 minutes on the patio with all the wedding guests trying to enjoy the gorgeous view, and here was a screaming baby out there with them, so we ended up in the parking lot, with me in the car trying to soothe her and Helen running around picking flowers. I was inches away from giving up and going home when Alice finally burped. So we settled down, and I gave her a little dinner bottle, and that's when the bride & groom pulled up in their getaway vehicle.

Oh, how I wanted to get in behind the driver's seat and take off.  

Helen was all about the dancing at the reception. In fact, she was the only one who danced most of the evening. She also spent quite a bit of time chatting up the DJ.  I believe at one point she mentioned that her daddy knows all of the songs to the Lion King.  To his credit, he was the soul of patience and acted interested in everything she wanted to tell him.  He did, however, ask me to let him know when I was ready for the Chicken Dance.  I'm not sure if that was an insult or if he was serious, but I told him that I would NEVER be ready for the Chicken Dance.  Hopefully he got the message and sent it to other wedding DJs.  I'm here for you, people.  

Here, Helen shakes her groove thang.

I don't know where they got their cake, but it was amazing. Very heavy and moist.  Here, Helen contemplates the mystery of delicious, sugary frosting.

I didn't get any pictures of me in that little black dress, though.  Probably a good thing.

General News

Item 1
I tried 2 crockpot recipes last week, and both were a big hit. The meatloaf was especially tasty - very moist & juicy, not the least bit dry. The other meal was a chicken cooked in wine that was so tender, it fell off the bone when I tried to take it out. I think it was a bit tipsy. Even the carrots were singing Irish drinking songs. 

Thanks to everyone for all the recipes!  I look forward to trying them all as the weather gets chilly.  (And I should have known my aunts would have plenty of them to share.)

Item 2
Both girls are at a new daycare this week. I was sad to leave the old one, where Helen was such a Big Girl on Campus. Sometimes it feels like I'm raising the popular kid, because when we arrive, all the kids rush to her yelling "Helen!" And the teachers give her big hugs when she leaves each day. 

It's taken 3 years for me to finally notice that not every kid gets this kind of treatment. So taking her out of her element that she's known for her whole life - well, understandably I was nervous. Helen started with the 3-year olds in May, and had a great teacher for exactly one month. And then, that teacher moved to a different room. Instead of hiring someone permanent, they shoved a new floater into it every month. After 3 months, I knew I had to find something else.

And I was lucky enough to find a great spot. It's a smaller daycare, where the owner teaches Helen's class. I visited with Helen about a week before she started, so we could ease into The Big Change, and it would give us something to talk about at home when I mentioned "new daycare" to her.   

The teacher was very high energy and held those kids' attention extremely well. It reminded me how much I was not called to teach young kids.  Being "on" that many hours a day?  EXHAUSTING!!  But they're clearly focused on learning good stuff. The room also has 4-year olds in it, so Helen will be challenged - which is good.  She's eager for it. 

Alice's class has 2 teachers that are there for the long haul, and they really love the babies. Consistency and reliability at daycare is important to me, so I knew I'd found a great place when I saw it.

On Friday, when I picked up Helen, Alice's teacher remarked that Helen seemed to have made a lot of friends in her class already. She said that when Helen came by to peek at her sister, some of her classmates were heading for the playground, and they all said, "Come on, Helen! Let's go play!" The teacher said it normally takes a while for new kids to adjust, and for the others to reach out and be friendly. And here she was seeing that kind of behavior already. She was telling me this little story, I think, to reassure me that Helen is settling in nicely and I didn't need to worry about her.

The high school geek in me is cringing. I probably would have taken WEEKS to make one friend.

Item 3
There was an anonymous commenter in the last post who kindly suggested that I turn this blog into a book. I will point that person to THIS ENTRY where my sister did just that for me almost 2 years ago, as one very special Christmas present that made me weepy.  In that entry is a link to buy the book online. If you want to buy the book, I can assure you no one (me or my sister) makes any profits whatsoever - just watching the sales counter tick in an upward direction is reward aplenty.

Toddler Mayhem

This week has been a little crazy.  Helen had some incredible tantrums and power struggles with me and Brian, most of which ended with her in timeout.  Then I learned that the teachers were having a tough time with her, too.  Turns out she wasn't listening, or if they asked her to do something, she'd just smirk at them instead.    

This sounds like *no one* I already know.

So, it been a rough week where we haven't really been getting along and playing well with others.  So Brian and I would talk with her and fuss at her and after way too much crying and screaming and yelling, she'd promise to be good the next day.  And then we'd pick her up at daycare, and learn that she'd been in timeout again for not listening to her teachers.  It was getting really frustrating, and given the normal behavior of a 3-year old, I'm not sure things will be fixed any time soon.

Now that you have our week set firmly in your head, I'll back up a bit.  Right after Helen was born, I signed her up for a children's group that sends a new book to her each month. One of Helen's favorite books she's received is Llama Llama Red Pajama.  It's the story of a little llama who goes to bed and whines for his mama, who's downstairs doing dishes.  The llama's patience wears thin waiting on her, and he ends up screaming the house down to get her attention.  Mama Llama gets upstairs to remind him that "Mama Llama's always near, even if she's not right here," and she gives her baby llama kisses and says goodnight.  All ends well.

Fast forward to yesterday, when Brian arrived home to discover the sequel in our mailbox.

Moments of Clarity

One morning this week, Helen woke up crying. I ran upstairs to see what was wrong, and she was lying frozen on her bed. When I asked what was wrong, the tears came pouring out, and she told me that her neck hurt. My first worry was "Does her head hurt, too? Does she have a fever?" Because moms tend to panic about the worst-case scenarios first: meningitis, paralyzed, you'll shoot your eye out, etc.

Turns out Helen had a pretty bad crick in her neck. She's been sleeping in her big bed for nearly a month, after a short transisition period in a toddler bed, and what I've discovered is that after I tuck her in and close the door, she gets out of bed, turns on the light and piles up her bed with stuffed animals and books. Lots and lots of books. If she wakes up, she sits in bed and reads books.

That night, she must have had so much stuff piled on the bed that she ended up sleeping in an awkward position, and so her neck was in pretty bad shape. She cried so hard whenever I tried to move her, and she absolutely refused to take a shower or a bath to warm it up. So I ended up giving her a little ibuprofen and sitting with her until she finally moved around. That took a couple of hours. The entire time was a struggle - she was in pain, and not understanding why, she was really cranky about it. Everything was a battle that ended in tears, including getting her dressed to go to daycare. At times it was just a marvel to watch her fall apart so easily. It's truly a crisis, when the world conspires against you in EVERYTHING YOU'VE EVER WANTED.

I felt bad about taking her to school in that condition, but I had to make an appearance at work. The teachers were very understanding, and I hoped that a little bit of time playing with friends would make her feel better. I called to check on her that afternoon and the report was that everything seemed fine. Or so I thought.

I got back to the daycare that afternoon, and the director walked with me on the way to her classroom. Without even asking, he said to me, "Today, you know, there were moments of clarity, when Helen really got it and she could hold it all together. And then, sometimes, it was just one giant meltdown."

My shoulders slumped. I could see the entire evening stretched out ahead of me, just like the morning had gone. And once I was home that night, I wasn't too far off the mark, either.

The next morning, she woke up and told me very brightly, "My neck not hurting, Mommy!" Ah, thank you sweet Jesus.

But I haven't forgotten the director's comment all week, and the more I think about it, the more I realize that's a very good description of motherhood, too.

Helen and the Pacifier

On this blog, there are several pictures of Helen using a pacifier. For many parents, a pacifier is something of a godsend, while some see it as a necessary evil, and for others it's just plain evil. I can actually see all sides of the argument. From the day Helen was born, I actually encouraged her to take the pacifier, and she did very well with it. The first couple of months of an infant's life are typically fraught with gas pains and sleepless nights, and to top it off we had an early delivery, so if there's one thing she could take comfort in, I gladly provided it.

A friend gave us the pacifier as a gift in a bag full of baby stuff. It's a style of pacifier that I'd never seen before, and have spent Helen's entire life tracking down replacements at Target. Sort of a butterfly shape, it looked far too big on her as a baby. For a short time, she preferred it upside down. She eventually grew into it, and needed it more often than not. Especially on car rides, that pacifier became a crucial component of our lives. Everything comes to a screeching halt when you look for a pacifier. Not having it usually means a crying fit until it's located. But when that crying stops - ah, what bliss.

In January, Helen moved up to a new room at her daycare. It's a little early for this transition to a full-blown toddler room, but I've requested it because Helen is talking A LOT, and also eating with a spoon. It may not sound like much to anyone except her proud parents, but these two skills put her well ahead of her entire class. I wanted to make sure she was in a room full of kids already doing the same things.

As a bonus, it's a room full of new kids to teach her fire-alarm pulling skills.

But very quickly, we had a run-in with the teachers over the pacifier. It turns out that in the baby rooms, Helen got her pacifier at naptime, and at "stressful" times during the day. Essentially if she asked for it, her teachers gave it to her. I picked her up every evening and 4 days out of 5, she'd have it.

In the new room, however, it's a rule in our state that kids can't walk around with pacifiers. They can have them at naptime, but that's it. Because I let her have it at home as much as she wants, it was tough to go to daycare and play by different rules. Frankly, I was pretty skeptical about this law. But I sighed and made the effort to change it up this weekend. We put the pacifier away at a time in the morning when she wasn't looking for it, and kept it hidden all day except for her naptime and bedtime. Two days in a row. I was fearing the worst.

She didn't even notice.

I'm serious. It's like, "Pacifier? I didn't need it that much. Whatever, mom."

I remember the pacifier song she sang every night as an infant as I rocked her to sleep - holding it up, singing to it, then putting it back in her mouth, sometimes continuing to hum a little with it in her mouth. (My mom said I did the same thing as a baby.) Or when Helen wasn't quite through giving me grief over something, but she had the paci in her mouth - she'd sort of grunt and fuss behind it. Oh, how I laughed at that early version of backtalk.

When she's crying, it's so easy to hand her something that stops the crying 95% of the time. Do you have anything that works so well in your life? Don't you wish you did, just a little bit?

Maybe I'll have a harder time letting go of the pacifier than Helen will.