Rivendell

Today I took Eliza to Rivendell for a group playdate that is part of the admissions process. I can't believe I've been a mom for nearly 6 years in NYC and found this to be my first personal exposure to the crazy preschool admissions process. With Max, we applied to preschool after they'd already filled their class, but because they were moving to a larger space they had room. He went for his playdate the day we called and it was just a few teachers and me and Max in the classroom looking at snails and getting out the montessori mats. Very relaxing and even kind of fun.

Today, while we were waiting with the other kids and their moms, there was a mom who was combing her child's hair and telling him, "I just know you are going to be great." I got so nervous being in the same room with her that I felt it projecting onto Eliza. We were clinging to each other, as I tried to get her to eat ham since all she'd had at school that morning were donut holes and cupcakes because it was Brett's birthday this week, and she was celebrating. She ended up with so much ham in her mouth that she needed to spit it out and I was fumbling for a tissue in the bathroom keeping one door open so we wouldn't miss the elevator that was coming for the rest of the group. How many years until Eliza is puking in the bathroom before high stakes audition-type situations on her own? Note to self: sign her up for ballet...

Once we got into the room, the other children started to play with the snails, the trains, the phones. Eliza discovers the anatomically correct dolls and begins lovingly fingering a white baby's penis. Linda, the education director looked at her doing this. "Her first anatomically correct dolls." I said. And then because I was like, Hey, if they don't like that she's penis obsessed, she shouldn't go here, I said, "Eliza, who do you know who has a penis?" and Eliza said, "Max!" And I said, "What do you have?" and she said, "A vagina!"

Other than that the playdate was relaxed and mellow though you could sense the mom tension in the room, and as I found when Max went to Rivendell, it's one thing to spend that much money on preschool, but something else to be surrounded by other people who are also doing it.

Also weird to think that Eliza was such a little baby when he started and now she's as old as he was then.

Oh, yeah, I have a daughter

Cleaning: No one in our house is particularly psyched about it, but I've felt alone for a long time as the person who enjoys having it being clean - Rick and Max have just never seemed to care.

Rick sometimes seems to take it farther: For him sometimes, cleaning is an annoying inconvenience to be avoided (OK, he's vaccuuming the kids' room as I write...). My cleaning is often annoying to him - he hates not being able to walk on a wet floor, he considers anything beyond the basic measures as excessive. The closest he gets to gratitude is when I clean for guests before he gets home from work and we then don't have to do it together the night before they arrive.

Max is worse. He screams and yells when something has been put away. He hates the sound of the vaccuum. He spent many years pulling the mop out of my hands.

But today when Max and Eliza were down playing in the basement and Rick was grilling I vaccuumed and mopped the floors. Eliza came up first, by herself and was just thilled. "It smells nice!" she said. And I said, "Yes, I cleaned." She took a deep breath. "Thank you for cleaning Mommy!"

I feel so much less alone.

Do Dancers Talk?

Got an email from Eliza's teacher Brett today that they will be learning a few dance steps from Andre's mom Stephanie who is a dancer. Eliza thought about that for a minute, and asked, "Do dancers talk?" She was thinking about the Nutcracker, because her followup question was, "Does Clara talk?"

But I kind of knew what she meant. Sort of. I was rushing to get her ready to go and so I was like, "Sure, baby girl, they talk. Just not while they're dancing. Get them backstage...."

Fortunately I did have enough pistons firing in my brain to tell Stephanie about Eliza's question when we saw her, and Stephanie gave a much, much better answer. "Dancers talk with their bodies."

And I was like, of course, duh. And then I was thinking about how many different things dancers are able to say, and how like different languages allow us to express different kinds of thoughts, dance is important because it communicates deep, felt, physical things.

How do you explain this to a two year old?

I tried: "Dancers can say, 'I feel sad.'" Then I said, "How do you think you can say 'hi' without talking?" I showed her waving. And then I said, "How do you say I love you without speaking," and I pulled her to me and gave her the kind of kiss Eliza especially loves, lingering, soft, on her cheek which is somehow relaxed and open to it in a special way that she has.

She was kind of melting into my arms at this point, and Stephanie said, "Do you have a place you write these kinds of questions down?" And I was like: Oh, God.

So here it is. This may be all I remember from this past year with Eliza. She's a girl with deep interesting thoughts, but also full of kisses, and loving to be touched and loved.