My Purple Hayes Daze

You’re probably expecting me to report that the founder/director of Hayes’s school and I had some serious exchange of words at Greene Hill’s open house the other night.  But really, we spoke only briefly–and it was totally pleasant–because we didn’t go into how crazy it was that we were both there–even though I couldn’t stop thinking about it and knew she probably thought the same.  Avoiding the obvious is always awkward.

The best part was the dynamic created between the parents and the school administration.  You can guess what happens when someone smart who thinks you should send your child to their school stands in front of you and gives a statistical explanation of how children don’t learn anything substantial on computers rather than just say they don’t have computers at the school yet.  (Because, let’s be clear, if they could have computers at the school, they would add it to the list of amenities and raise the tuition in a heartbeat).

And then there was the moment when they schooled us on the difference between traditional school and–no, not non-traditional school…progressive school.  So, yeah, the administrators came across as a little self-righteous to me.  And as a result, we parents fired back with some good ones.  Here are three of the best (with my thoughts):

• Where do you see yourself in five years?  (Oooh!…Good one)!

• What about science?  (Yeah, after all that talk about literacy and math, what do you smarty pants’s ’s’s have to say about your science curriculum, huh?–huh)?

• Does the tuition cover the staff salary?  (Now this question is a genius in disguise.  This is the tuition is too dang high question–since there is only one official staff member, only seven children in the school, and is located in a one-bedroom apartment.  And then we all just sat back like, yeah…what…now answer that).

Yeah, we got ‘em good.

Right.

Now that Hayes is almost four, the school search has officially begun.  I’ve been told by the experienced mommy masses to start early.  And while I promised in an earlier blog post that I’d start the tell-all with PS 11, last night’s experience at Greene Hill, an independent school, made me realize that, really, I should start with the funnier of the two schools I’ve visited so far.  So, let’s discuss…

Wait.  Allow me to preface this story by admitting that I find New York school culture odd compared to…well, everything else I’ve experienced.  For example, Hayes’s current school was originally located on the ground floor of a brownstone.  And as much as I am convinced it made Hayes’s transition from home to school smother, I also think a private home is an odd location for a school that you pay tuition for–no matter how precious accommodations may be in this city.  What’s better than that is that Greene Hill is housed in a huge apartment complex–in a one-bedroom, to be exact.

And as soon as I walk into the one-bedroom apartment school, who do I see?  The founder/director of Hayes’s current school.  The person I give Hayes’s tuition check to each month.  Talk about awkward.

(to be continued)…

Hayes and I recently shared a big moment that was unlike any big moment we’ve had until now. In fact, it was so big that I cannot even exactly recall the details.  Because everything before the big moment happened, was, in comparison, simply not important.

It started in the bathroom while Hayes and I examined our faces in the mirror.  We pointed out our features and talked about how we are the same and how we are different.  And somewhere in the discussion of it all, Hayes suddenly became sad.  He stood on the toilet seat facing the mirror with his head in his hands and told me…that he doesn’t want to be a boy.

This was definitely uncharted territory for me.

My mind was racing as I consoled my emotionally distraught child.  I remembered an old talk show episode I once saw about young children who were convinced they were born in the wrong bodies and tried hard to recall what the visiting therapist had said.  I settled on the least damaging response I could think of.

“If you don’t want to be a boy, Hayes, I think that’s fine,” was what came first.  Then I braced myself for the next question that I knew would make my son tell me, at three years old, that he wants to be a girl. And then I would know for sure that he was born gay.

“So if you don’t want to be a boy, what do you want to be?” I asked gently.

“A bee,” He said from behind his hands.

Once my brain had come back from the depths in which it was heading, I laughed (a lot) and realized that moments like these are what make kids so incredibly amazing.  Nothing is merely black or white, this or that, boy or girl with them.  To them, this world is full of such wonder and possibility that a little boy could actually someday be a bee.

I’m a parent.  And I totally get that I signed up for the job.  But, really, if I’m going to be expected to model commendable behavior, maybe I should just give up now–on the behavior, not the job.

In an attempt to teach Hayes a firm lesson in patience, I decided that we would plant lavender and sunflower seeds in flowerpots and watch them sprout and grow on an indoor windowsill until…well, until I figure out what to do with them next.  (Yes, I’m that kind of mom).

But, honestly, I wasn’t even sure the seeds would actually sprout, since I certainly was not born with a green thumb–and, well, it is wintertime, even indoors at times.  Although, I suppose it isn’t exactly important that they grow at all, since the whole point of a lesson in patience it to accept whatever the outcome may be without allowing frustration to overcome you (and by you, I mean me).

As it so happened, the sunflower seeds sprouted right away.  And, I must admit, it’s been pretty exciting watching the eight tiny buds grow stronger and taller each day.  But the lavender, on the other hand, is still just a pot of soil.  And, the other day, I actually caught myself complaining to Hayes about how the lavender is not growing.  Not exactly exemplary behavior here, I know.

I am fully aware of the lesson I am suppose to be teaching.  Afterall, I chose it.  And I also know the value of knowing how to be patient in life.  But here’s where I start to mess up and just don’t give a darn: I daydream about those fresh lavender petals swimming in my bath water.  And, for me, that day can’t come soon enough.

1.  I am thankful for the hour-and-a-half of totally interrupted rest I got this morning.  Because I could have gotten none at all.  And, really, it was very nice of Hayes to let me to stay in bed after seven thirty.  And I am equally grateful for my reliable friends Nick, Noggin and PBS who I can always count on to entertain my kid in the event that an occasional sleepy stupor overtakes me.

2.  I am thankful that I know how to cook my family a Thanksgiving dinner, and that the tofurky always comes out just right even though I can never fully commit to following the recipe.  And that we all go back for seconds and thirds.

3.  I am thankful that my kid actually managed to take a nap today–a sheer miracle considering that this is a very overstimulating holiday.

4.  I am thankful that I didn’t lose it on my ‘been bouncing off the walls since seven this morning kid today.  I simply and calmly prayed for a miracle.  And the gods heard my cry and made naptime happen.  Which is why I am also thankful that I am not pregnant again.

5.  Finally, I am thankful for my family, friends and the SpongeBob Squarepants Movie that made me laugh so hard that it might deserve to become a new tradition.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Sometimes I think that it must be hard being the kid whose mother is teaching the class.  And that’s when I start to feel sorry for Hayes.  On the other hand, I think it’s kinda cool that Hayes gets to tag along with me to the children’s classes I teach.

Now I’ve been doing this long enough to know not to expect perfection from any child–not even my own.  But I still make an effort to talk to Hayes before each class only to remind him of my expectation that he listen to his teacher (that would be me).  And it somewhat works.  But usually–or I should say–eventually the message wears out, since he starts out behaving nicely but over time becomes a total maniac so that by the end of the class I’m giving him the look.

And in that regard, today was no different.  The only thing that was different was that today’s class took place in a public school with about twenty kids.  Kind of funny that I’m in the midst of a school search and I find myself with this opportunity to observe Hayes in a public school setting interacting in real time with a actual public school class.

I must admit, it was an eye-opening experience.  I was surprised by how much Hayes was drawn to the mischievous behavior being played out by the other kids in the class.  I mean, he was a total magnet who couldn’t help attaching himself to whatever disturbance was going on.  But with so many kids, I couldn’t single him out to reprimand him–much as I wanted to.  Although I tried to send as many telepathic messages as I could.  None of which he payed any attention to…at all.

It made me think about how difficult it can be to have as much fun as everyone else when your parent is the teacher.  But mostly I worry about what Hayes is going to be like when he’s in real school someday.  If today was any indication, he’ll be a small classroom, sheltered private school kid all his life.  And I might have to be OK with that.

In the three and a half years that I have been a parent, I must have heard it said at least a gazillion times that in New York City, getting your kid into a good school is like getting him into a good college–and it’s best to start the search early…as in, a few years early.

Apparently, in these parts, either you luck out by living in a stellar neighborhood and can take your pick of suitable public school options, or else you’re forced to shell out what people outside of NYC consider a mortgage payment to send your child to a private school.  Of course, there are those of us who desperately resort to the tactic of infiltrating schools outside of our neighborhoods, and then find keeping the secret that they’re not supposed to be there more stressful than all the effort it took to get there in the first place.

But then, there are people like me who live in a newly gentrified, up-and-coming neighborhood surrounded by other newly-gentrified up-and-coming neighborhoods with, like, one or two stellar public school that we are not zoned for but could possibly enter their lottery and get into.  (More on the lottery concept later).  Of course I always have the option of paying the amount I pay in rent to send Hayes to a private school.  But then, I would have to hold down more jobs than I care to only to pay the teachers to do what I wouldn’t be around to do, since I’d be at work all day trying to pay his way through school.  And I’m not hating on the moms and dads who sneak their kids into school, but I hope to God I never have to threaten Hayes to keep quiet about our address just so he can get a good education.  Because he’s got a pretty slick mouth, and we’d be booted out for sure.

So, I took everyone’s advice, and last week I joined the masses of anxious parents on the school search.  Finally, the school tours that I have been dreading have begun.  I’ll be keeping a brief but detailed journal of my finding and feelings right here.

I’ll begin with PS 11.  (To Be Continued)…

So far, I’ve received good advice on how to handle the inevitably non-vegan International Thanksgiving feast that is being planned at Hayes’s school next week.  But since I had not yet settled on sending him to school with a bowl of sweet potatoes flavored with soy butter to share with his friends or not sending him at all, I decided to consult the food sign-up list for some direction.  I hadn’t even read half-way down the page when my mind was made up and my decision firm:  Hayes is most definitely not going to school next Wednesday.

Now this whole Thanksgiving-thing has me thinking:  Hayes is vegan.  The world is not.  How am I going to do this?  Unless I expect him to ditch every non-vegan social situation (which I don’t), I’m going to have to get strategic about how to raise him to be OK with being vegan no matter what situation arises.

Then, I remember a book my dear friend Carmen told me about.  It’s called Raising Vegan Children in a Non-Vegan World.  And it’s just the kind of thing I’m looking for.  So, I googled it and clicked on the Amazon link for a look.  When I read the subtitle, “A Complete Guide for Parents,” I knew I had hit the jackpot.  A manual is exactly what I need.

What’s cool about Amazon is that it gives you the option of searching inside the book, which I did.  The table of contents alone had me reeling with excitement.  And after I read a few introductory pages, I had decided this book was the key to me figuring out how to best raise Hayes to be OK with being vegan.  So, I perused the price list section.  Click here for what I saw next.

(Sigh).

I hope that Hayes grows up to be thankful for everyday things.  So, in an attempt to instill a sense of gratitude in him, each night before he goes to sleep, I ask him to tell me about his favorite part of the day.  It’s quite heartwarming to hear what sticks out in his mind, and what he finds important and exciting in an otherwise uneventful twenty-four hours.  Then, I always ask him to turn the best part of the day into a thank-you prayer.

Tonight, he prayed a particularly interesting prayer.  It went something like this (my thoughts included):

Dear God,

Thank you for me riding down the ramp on my scooter.  (Hmmm…I never would have thought to say thanks for something as simple as that.  But, hey, I’m learning a lot from this kid).  And for me sharing my scooter with Kimani.  (Umm…not entirely true, little one.  Actually, I had to force you to share your scooter.  You didn’t want Kimani anywhere near your scooter today, remember)? And that Kimani came to my house.  (Sweet).  And that I punched him in the face really hard.  (Wait a minute…What?  Where was I when that happened?  Omigod, is Kimani OK?  Should I call his mother)?

Well, I didn’t call Kimani’s mother.  And I didn’t question Hayes at all about the alleged incident.  Instead, I decided to give it the good belly laugh it deserved and sleep well tonight, knowing that my boy is on his way to becoming the appreciative man I had always hoped he would be.

I’ve been biting my tongue for way too long.  Normally, I don’t have much to say about reality shows because, by now, we all know they are far from real.  But let me tell you something about those Real Housewives. DeShawn, NeNe, Kim, Sheree and Lisa managed to, collectively, make women with children on TV look just as awful as women without children on TV do.

To be fair, a lot can be said about reality TV production.  I mean, the original Orange County crew was depicted as the cute and cool Cali girls they are supposed to be.  And the NYC women were as straight-talking and snooty as everyone thinks New Yorkers are.  But this season’s Atlanta bunch took typecasting to a whole new level.  And Bravo managed to highlight all the southern stereotypes and pump them full of steroids.  For example, after a paternity test, NeNe still doesn’t know who her biological father is.  (Was that episode supposed to remind us of a Jerry Springer show or what)? Sheree actually threw a fashion show without showing a single fashion.  (Um…Duh). When asked how to spell cat, Kim responded K-A-T and kept on talking as though she had spelled it correctly.  Oh…and she also has a really bad hair weave that might actually be a wig.  (Gasp)! DeShawn said that growing up, she always knew she would be somebody.  (What does that mean)? And Lisa actually admitted that she doesn’t do anything that doesn’t make her money.  (Who says that)?

I swear, I’m not making any of this up.  If you haven’t seen the ladies in action, there’s one more mud-slinging episode left.  The reunion is airing soon.  (Warning: Make sure the kids are in bed first).