Elementary, My Dear Watson.

For the past few years, I've observed parents of soon-to-be Kindergarteners freaking out. What, I thought to myself every time, is the big freakin' deal?

Well, now I know. And, no, the big deal isn't that your "little man" or "baby girl" is embarking on a new phase of life or that his or her well-being will suddenly be in someone else's hands for most of the day. The big deal is the insane amount of forms to fill out, orientations to attend, and brochures to read.  

My five-year-old is starting Kindergarten in the Fall. And this past month alone, I've had three events to attend at the elementary school, plus numerous forms to sort through and complete. Registering your kid for K is practically a full-time job in and of itself. Medical forms, dental forms, tell-us-about-your-kid forms, please-join-the-PTA forms--it's never-ending. 

I'm pretty sure entering Kindergarten didn't require this much parental effort back in the olden days (the Seventies). Back then, K was just a half-day, and nap time was still a reality. Kindergarten then was more like how preschool is now. Play-Doh has been replaced with flash cards. Back in the Seventies, there was probably just a quick tour of the school and maybe a parents' night sometime in late August or early September.

But with four months to go before school even starts in the fall, I'm already stressed out. I know my son will do great--he's smart, friendly, kind, polite, and a voracious learner--so it's not him I'm worried about. No, I'm worried about ME. If this orientation process is any indication of the next 12 years to come, I'm going to have to start mentally preparing. 

And when I say "mentally preparing" I actually mean "stocking up on wine." It's going to be a long 12 years. Or maybe it'll go by in a flash. One or the other. Or both.

Tiny Dancers

Raising a 3-year-old girl is such a good time! I love the darling outfits and the pink shoes, and I have great fun styling her pretty, wavy, brown hair. But lately I've been wondering about something: When did ballerinas reach the #2 slot on the "Stuff Little Girls Love" list? (The #1 spot? Princesses, natch.)

I've known about the princess obsession for years, even before I had kids of my own (how could you not, they're everywhere). But this ballerina thing has really taken me by surprise.

When I was growing up, not every little girl took ballet lessons. But nowadays it's as if signing up at the local dance studio is a rite of passage that every girl must go through when she hits age three. I certainly understand the appeal; I've thought ballerinas were beautiful ever since I can remember.

But back then, girls didn't just dabble in ballet; if you wanted to dance, it was a major commitment that required hours of practice, hard-core dedication, and a major cash outlay. My best friend was a dedicated dancer. I fondly recall her tattered toe shoes and tight chignons. Watching her dance in the Boston Ballet's production of The Nutcracker was exhilarating, but also made me envious. I kinda wanted to do what she was doing up there on stage, but in those days it seemed like only the girls who aspired to be Principal Ballerina for the ABT took lessons.

Babygirl with two Tiny Ballerinas classmates

That's not the case in 2011, that's for sure. You can't go to the grocery store without spotting at least one little girl in a pink tutu. Our town's community center offers a Tiny Ballerinas class: eight sessions for only $72. Ballet for everyone!

Which is great...except it means one more thing for my little girl to obsess over: the ballet slippers, leotards, tutus, and tights--all of them the pinker the better. Sure, it's harmless now but ballet is not exactly an equal-opportunity activity, and if my darling girl wants to continue dancing, at some point she will most likely develop body-shape issues. (Well, she probably will even without the ballet, but dancing can only make it worse.) I know I'm getting ahead of myself, but do I really want to set her up for that?

So much in these little girls' world already centers around appearance--the princess dresses, jeweled tiaras, sparkly lelli kelly shoes, crazy hair accessories, pink everything--that it almost seems irresponsible for me to encourage something like ballet, the appeal of which is mostly the outfits. Yeah, yeah, I know...ballet is exercise, art, grace, discipline, and cooperation all in one. But that's not why the little girls love it.

It's all about the tutus.

What I Learned Today: Sheep Hate Having Their Butts Shaved

Seven years ago today, my husband and I were married on Cape Cod. It was a beautiful thing. Our years together have been surprisingly harmonious considering: 1.) we are raising two small children, 2.) I am opinionated, 3.) I am bossy, 4.) I pretty much always think I'm right (though, to be honest, I really and truly usually am).

Did I remember it's our anniversary today? No, I did not.

To be fair, we don't usually celebrate our anniversary beyond a nice dinner out (sans kids). We don't exchange gifts or make a big deal out of it. This is the first time I've forgotten all about it, however. But this year was a tough one; with our anniversary falling on Mother's Day and all my attention focussed on Charlotte's birthday party, I plum forgot. Luckily, my husband did not; he made a dinner reservation at a restaurant we've been wanting to try and even booked the babysitter and everything.

Ladies, if you want a husband who will do nice things for you, marry a man with sisters. Mine has three, and so far, he's never forgotten a birthday, Mother's Day, or anniversary. He even remembers his sisters' and mother's birthdays, which is pretty impressive for someone with a Y-chromosome.

For Mother's Day, he gave me a lovely bouquet of flowers, two cool tops, and two interesting books (Tina Fey's Bossypants, which I can't wait to read, and a bio of Obama's mother, which will probably make me feel like an underachiever). And I got to pick our day's activity.

I chose the sheep-shearing/farmer's market at Muscoot Farm. Muscoot Farm, originally a "gentleman's farm" begun in the 19th century, is now open to the public and free. It's only 20 minutes away so I take the kids there all the time. Gavin loves the two huge Percherons and Charlotte adores the cows and ducks.

My favorites are the piglets, though the two giant Tamworth pigs haven't had a litter these past couple of years. It's too bad for Charlotte because pigs are her favorite animals, but she has yet to see a real-life piglet in her three short years on Earth. I keep hoping we'll show up at the farm one of these days and there'll be a bunch of adorable oinking piglets frolicking around, but I think they would've been born already if it was going to happen this spring. Bummer.

The sheep-shearing was interesting. I know it doesn't hurt the sheep, but their pleading baaas made it clear they didn't exactly love what was going on. In particular, they did NOT like it when the dude shaved around their anuses. Wow, those were some angry sheep! But I thanked them for sacrificing their wool so I could have a cozy blanket to keep me warm all winter, and I think that made them feel better. The kids got to take home a piece of freshly-shorn wool, which made it all worth it.

And at the farmer's market, I bought myself a Mother's Day present: some Hudson River Apricot Kir wine, which is chilling in the fridge as we speak.

All in all, a pretty darn good Mother's Day (if I do say so myself). Oh, yeah...and a nice anniversary, too.

Pigs, Cows and Roosters, Oh, My!

Today was Charlotte's 3rd birthday party (though she doesn't actually turn three until Wednesday). I invited  a whole bunch of kids--probably around 10--but only 3 could make it, due almost completely to First Communions. I think I've been in denial that we live in such a Catholic town, but this made me have to face the facts.

The party was at our house; around here, having a birthday at one's house is quite rare. Most people have 'em at a kids' gym, karate studio, or wherever. Call me old-school, but there is something so wonderful about celebrating special occasions in the comfort of one's home. And I think my kids also like being on their own turf: parties can be so overwhelming but when the venue is home, it gives them some comfort.

And it's certainly a lot cheaper. I don't know what the kids' gyms cost in the rest of the county, but here in Westchester, parties run close to $400...which is absolutely insane!

So we had three adorable 3-year-olds at the party, plus one of my 5-year-old son's friends (a girl whom Charlotte happens to love)...and a bunch of parents. And it was really nice.

I made all the food myself, which (it's so funny and strange that this is the case) people are always impressed by. I always get a few, "Oh, wow, you made all this?" Like it's so hard to make chicken salad? I didn't actually have to kill and pluck the chicken, people! It's a little celery, honey-mustard, mayo, spices, etc. Not rocket science.

It helps that I don't work outside the home. I have the time and brain power to devote to planning a three year old's birthday party. If I had a job-job, I'd be booking the kids' gym and ordering pizza, too. Who has the energy to do both?

Of course when I was growing up, everyone had their parties at home, though in my town not many moms worked outside the home back then (in fact, I can't think of one!)  God forbid a mother ordered in the food! Okay, maybe the rich families bought a fancy bakery cake, but for the rest of us, it was mom's best efforts. My mom was pretty good at cake decorating. I remember she'd rummage through our box of Fisher-Price stuff for inspiration. She'd end up decorating our cakes with little people, furniture, vehicles etc., all arranged in a homey scene. Our cakes were tiny, beautiful, suburban dioramas.

Charlotte's party was a barnyard theme (little girl loves her some pigs & cows!), and I had SO MUCH fun decorating the cupcakes! I didn't come up with the idea myself--that's what the Internet is for, am I right?--but I have to brag that at least I am a very good copier. Anyway, here are the cupcakes:

 PIGGIES!

ROOSTERS!

COWS!

They were adorable and delicious!

So overall a success. The rain held off and the kids were able to play outside. No one got (too badly) hurt. No one threw up. The presents were really good...which is pretty much all a 3-year-old (and her mom) can hope for.

At Least Now I know Where the Expression "Scaredy Cat" Comes From

We got a cat five days ago. Paulina's cute, she's furry...and end of story. Okay, so it's probably too soon to judge, but I really wouldn't know. That's because I'm a dog person. I've never spent much time around cats and have never particularly liked them. So why did I allow one in our house, you ask? Ha, because I'm a sucker, that's why.

The literature the animal shelter sent us home with outlined how cats take a while to warm up, and that it might be a week before she even shows her face. Well, Paulina isn't that extreme. She does let us pet her...BUT you have to lie on the floor next to the bed under which she's camped (she's taken over the spare bedroom) and reach, reach, REACH your arm in to do so. Then sometimes she'll purr and use your hand as a scratching post. But you have to go to her; so far it's never the other way around.

I think my problem with this "cat attitude" is that I sort of have one myself. Throughout my life, I've not often been the one who pursued relationships; either they've just happened or else I've been the one pursued. It's just not in my nature to aggressively seek love and affection. Which is why I'm a dog person. Dogs do not hide their love; they slather you with it. With dogs, you get back what you give. With cats...not so much.

The way I feel is that, if the cat wants companionship, she'll come to me. I refuse to beg for her love.

My husband, on the other hand, is always up there reaching his long arm under the bed to pet her, trying to win her affection. Is this a guy thing? Perhaps all those years of wooing girls makes it come naturally to them? Is this learned behavior or innate? Because my son is up there even more than my husband, cooing to the kitty for ages. My daughter, however--whose 3rd birthday present the cat was to begin with--can't understand why the cat is always hiding under the bed, and probably wishes she'd asked for a new tutu for her birthday instead.

Maybe it's a gender thing, or maybe my daughter just takes after me while my son takes after my husband. Who knows?

What I do know is that cats can live a looong time. I also know that I don't plan on sharing my house with a feline stranger for the next decade.

You hear that, Paulina? You'd better start showing us some love soon.

(Oh, and FYI, by love I don't mean the pile of poop you left in our bedroom earlier today because you were too scared by three noisy kids running around to venture down to the basement to use your litter box. That is NOT okay.)

Talking to Girls About Duran Duran

One of the Christmas presents I received from my husband last December was Talking to Girls About Duran Duran by Rob Sheffield. I've admired Sheffield's music writing in Rolling Stone for years, and, as those who know me are well aware, I was a HUGE Durannie back in the day. So I was definitely looking forward to reading his latest book, which is basically a music memoir (as is his first book, Love Is a Mix Tape, which I have not read).

I'm enjoying Talking to Girls About Duran Duran and would recommend it--but mainly just to those folks who came of age in the '80s and will be able to appreciate all the era-specific references (Phoebe Cates, Soloflex Man posters, Square Pegs) and one-hit-wonder recording artists (Haircut 100, Kim Wilde, Tone Loc). If you didn't live it, I don't think you'll really get it.

Also, Sheffield's writing style suffers slightly in the longer format; he tends to repeat himself and over-explain things, as if he stretched 100 pages of material into a 274-page book. 

But that's okay, because it turns out Sheffield is even a bigger Duran Duran fan than I am, so I gotta respect that. I was a young girl when they made it big, and therefore my flame burned hotter (I doubt Rob wallpapered his bedroom with John Taylor photos). But his flickered longer: Sheffield still buys Duran Duran albums, while I stopped when the '80s ended.

One great thing Sheffield does is completely and utterly capture the way teenagers can infuse music with way too much meaning and importance. For example, this is what he says about Hall & Oates's "Maneater":

"But I love every minute of this song. The long, smoldering intro, building up tension beat by beat. The cheesy '80s sax solo to end all cheesy '80s sax solos.... And the way it warns me about those tough girls they were always singing about. The girl was deadly, man, but she could really rip my world apart? 

Why the hell didn't I meet any girls like this? Where did all these she-cats hang out?...Okay, so the beauty is there, but the beast is in her heart. Where's the downside, Hall? He wouldn't say. All he told me was, 'I wouldn't if I were you. I know what she can do.' And all Oates added was 'Watch out!' I have to admit, I was intrigued."

Clearly, Sheffield put way too much thought into each and every song he heard in the '80s. But didn't we all? Because, as Sheffield writes, these were the songs that "...warped my brain with dubious ideas, boneheaded goals, laughable hopes and timeless mysteries.... But I'm not tossing these songs into any kind of fire--I'm just shaking them to see what memories come tumbling out. And of course, a lot of those memories have to do with love, and learning about love through pop music." 

That's why these songs mean so much to us: because at the time, everything meant so much to us. We felt every aspect of life so deeply, and music was no exception. Nowadays, I can still occasionally get fired up about a song (like Adele's "Running in the Deep"), but it's not the same. I miss those days when I would rush out to the record store, babysitting money in hand, to buy an eagerly anticipated album the day it came out. Needless to say, that doesn't happen anymore.

Reading Talking to Girls About Duran Duran brought all that back to me. So thank you, Rob Sheffield, for the trip down memory lane.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

My upcoming 20th college reunion has got me thinking about old friends and acquaintances I haven't seen in years. Who will show up for the festivities? And what will they look like now that the glow of youth has faded? Seeing people after so many years can be an unsettling thing: Some folks look pretty good, which is to say they've aged gracefully. A few actually look even better than when they were young--those who coped with bad acne or lingering baby fat back in the day. Then there are the "What the hell...?" folks--the unlucky ones who have aged so horribly they're barely recognizable.

Here's a few of our favorite stars of the '80s and the categories in which they belong:

Category One: Looking Pretty Good for Your Age

Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface,
1983--perfection

Michelle now--just as stunning
(surely she's had plastic surgery,
but at least it hasn't completely
changed her looks)

John Stamos in his 80s
General Hospital days--
very cute!

John now--still gorgeous

Category Two: Better Than Before

Jeremy Piven--a bad case
of dorkiness-with-braces
(he was in Lucas and
Say Anything in the 80s,
but I couldn't find photos)

Jeremy now--sure, he's an
ass, but aging is working
in his favor

Sarah Jessica Parker in her
less-than-glamorous
Square Pegs days

S.J. now--never a beauty,
with age she's learned to work
 with what she's got and looks
 much better (though she's
almost certainly had a nose job)

Category Three: GOOD GOD! What Happened to You?!

Kelly LeBrock in Weird Science, 1985--
 so hot she could melt an iceberg

Kelly now--Oy, vey!

Val Kilmer--he was beyond
sexy in 1984's Top Secret

Val now--AAAHHHH!
Say it isn't so!

I'm hoping that most of the people I see at the reunion look great...except, that is, for the guy who broke my heart. Him? I'm hoping he makes Val Kilmer look like John Stamos.