Cerin Amroth

I discovered that one of the ways to get Ella to talk about preschool is to pretend with her. This morning, I was helping her get dressed. She decided to wear her t-shirt with her school logo on it. She was the co-op kid today, which means that Nate was the parent helper. She thought it was appropriate for her to wear her school shirt on such an auspicious day.

As I was conversing with her about the day ahead, she said, “See what shirt I’m wearing, Mrs. L?” Mrs. L is her teacher, so that was my cue that I was supposed to be pretending. I said, “That was a great idea to wear your school shirt for your co-op day.” I decided to push my luck as her teacher. “Ella, what is  your favorite part of preschool?”

Amazingly enough, she answered me. Mind you, there wasn’t just one favorite, but multiple — sandbox, play-do, and housekeeping (I think that’s playing in the pretend kitchen, not doing chores at school … although if it is chores, I’m going to start playing “housekeeping” at home!).

It wasn’t surprising that she didn’t list art projects as a favorite because – until today – she has refused to participate in them. They aren’t mandatory, so Mrs. L isn’t pushing her about it, but we’re trying to find ways to encourage her. What may ultimately make her change her mind is seeing the other students artwork on mugs and other paraphernalia. The school does this as a fundraiser every year, and it’s a nice keepsake. Unfortunately, Ella missed the deadline to submit a project. I’m going to check to see if it’s still possible because, of course, she’s now asking if she can have a mug with a fish on it.

The other episode of fitting into Ella’s pretend world happened while we were playing her new game on Sunday. The game has little plastic penguin figures that you take turns linking together to make a pyramid. Ella was really into the game aspect at first, but then all of her penguins became alive and started having arguments with each other about who was going to go on the pyramid next. Nate and I had to resolve arguments among some penguins and reason with others about why they should leave the house Ella had constructed and climb on the pyramid. We finally ended by saying if she just finished the game by the rules, she could play with the penguins however she wanted when we were done. This distinction between playing by the rules and pretending with the game pieces will be a reoccurring theme for many years to come, I’m sure.

I was in the doctor’s office with Dominic on my lap last week. He had been wriggling around trying to get his hands on things while I was talking to the doctor. Then he sat quietly for a while. During a lull in the conversation, he twisted around to look up at me and said, with absolute clarity, “Da!”

He’s been refining it since then … in the car today he said “Dada” and “Ewwa.” For the record, “Ewwa,” came first, followed by “Mama” and then “Da.”

He’s a much more adept crawler than Ella ever was … she only did it for a brief window, but for him it’s a preferred mode of transport. Watching him scuttle across the floor now is like watching him from a couple weeks ago on fast forward.

Sadly, he’s had a little cough for the past couple of weeks that has morphed more recently into a full-fledged cold. It isn’t fazing him any, other than the runny nose, but as is always the case we’re just waiting to see who gets it next.

Last Thursday, when I dropped Ella off at preschool, she waved happily to her classmates on the playground when they called to her and trotted ahead of me to join some of them on the tire swing. If you had told me six months ago she’d be behaving like this I wouldn’t have believed it. And come to think of it, if you’d told me she’d be potty trained I’d have been skeptical. And yet here she is. Yesterday, as a reward for making the transition to underpants-not-training-pants overnight, we went to the hobby store and picked out a game. (She selected, without prompting, her first Reiner Knizia title.) Then we stopped at a nearby coffee shop to try it out over a shared bowl of ice cream.

I’m sure I’ve experienced similar moments of contented bliss in the past year. But none are coming to mind.

Here are pictures of Ella’s first drop-off at preschool.

Ella had a few details to share about what she did on the first day of preschool — what she played with, what was for snack, etc. Driving her home on day two, however, she was much less forthcoming.

“Daddy,” she said wearily, “We did all the same things. I already told you.”

After some further discussion, it became clear that she saw her disclosure of events from the first day as fully completing her contractual obligation to divulge preschool activities to her parents, in perpetuity. After some negotiation I was able to get her to (grudgingly) agree to tell us about what happens in preschool “once in a while,” but clearly talking about it every single day is still right out.

So now it’s hitting me: Ella is going through what may be the most formative experience of her life thus far, and I am, for the most part, not privy to it. And that will continue to be the case, and increasingly so, for the rest of her life. Call it Realization That You Can Know In Theory But You Don’t Really Know Until You Experience It #3,422.

A couple days ago, Ella admitted that she was nervous about starting preschool. So in the car on the way there today, I reminded her that she could talk to Ms. L, her teacher, if she was worried or sad or had any questions.

“Daddy!” Ella replied in her dad-you’re-being-silly voice, “I’m happy about preschool!”

And so she was. Their day starts outside, and once she was ensconced in the sandbox she couldn’t get rid of Dominic and me fast enough. When I picked her up three hours later she was right back in that sandbox, and had been, according to Ms. L, “a delight.” She had loved playing by herself with the kitchen set (not a surprise), but had always interacted well with the other kids (a surprise) and had declined to take part in the group craft of making plaster imprints of their hands (not a surprise). She did not use the potty, which was a big surprise in that she hadn’t done so right before leaving home either, and, as of this writing, still hasn’t because she fell asleep in the car on the way home and is sleeping still.

Ella’s asked today, apropo of nothing in particular:

“Daddy, why don’t boy stuffed animals have penises?”

In other news, I realize that at some point Dominic will demand some form of entertainment other than crawling by himself to various spots around the apartment and trying to pull himself up on things. But I don’t think it’s going to be any time in the near future.

Let’s play “What Does Dominic Have In His Mouth?”

What does Dominic have in mouth now? Your choices:

1. 3 day old Cheerio
2. 1 day old Cheerio
3. Cheerio from earlier today that he’s been saving in his cheek, chipmunk-style, to savor later
4. A strand of Suanna’s hair
5. A clump of Suanna’s hair
6. An uncooked piece of macaroni
7. A squishy but otherwise completely unidentifiable mass, apparently non-toxic
8. Random swath of fabric
9. Mushed-up post-it note
10. Crayon shavings
11. Copious amounts of saliva that made you certain that he was chewing on something but no matter how deep you root around with your finger you can’t find anything. He’s toying with you, dammit, toying with you!