Tag Archives: growing up

On Graduating Pre-K

Parenting, , , , , , ,

Dear Readers,

Why  is it that when nearing an end, time seems to accelerate? There are 11 days of school left for Max. 11 days! What?! Max has been at his current preschool for almost two  years and he’s  done summer camp there twice. It literally feels like yesterday that we found this school and were the new kids on the block who didn’t know anyone.

This is Max’s little world.

Classroom door

There is the morning  drop off, the afternoon pick up. The small tables and chairs. The gazillion art projects. The incredibly warm, thoughtful, caring, wonderful teachers and staff. The parents. I’m not sure if  leaving  this school will be harder for me or for Max. I’ve got a  lump in my throat.  It will be difficult in parts and maybe easy in other ways, but I believe that we’ll both be OK. I know there’ll be tears. His. Mine.

I’m holding on to the moments as they fly by. But I have to keep letting go to make room for new moments.  I know I still have to show him how to leave, how to begin. But he’s also getting the hang of it on his own. I stay in the moment, but know the moment is ending even as it’s happening. Sometimes I wish for less awareness. I wish I didn’t feel some of this stuff. I wish  I could be like other people who seem to transition easier, people who can let go faster (or maybe they feel it too but are just better at hiding it). I’ve never been one of those people. I hold on. I don’t like letting go. I get very attached to people and places. That’s  how I’ve always been. It hurts  when it’s over, but then I think,  I had a full experience and felt something.  Better to have loved and lost.

By Max’s pal, Nina

We’ll  want to stay in touch with Max’s current circle of friends, my circle of friends. I know it will be possible and impossible (as it is already now with everyone’s schedules). I know that everyone is going off to various summer plans and then to different schools. I know that what we know now, exactly as it is,  will end.

Max art

I really  hope we  stay in touch and not lose everyone. I  can’t bear the thought of never seeing these people again. But I also know, as it is with small children, that the day-to-day changes when you go from place to place, from one school to another. I know Max’s world is expanding and that’s  a good thing. I know nothing lasts forever. I know Max is growing up and that’s  something to celebrate.

I don’t like goodbyes or endings, even if they’re inevitable and part of  life or are expected or perfectly timed, or are part of growing up or reality or how it is. I don’t like having to say goodbye or feeling the hurt of missing people I care about. Yet, I know I can and that I’ll be  fine. I know that Max can do it, too. But I don’t have to like it and neither does he. And I hope I find out that other parents feel the same way, so we can share in it together.

Maybe Max will be better than me at leaving, and I can look back at this and have a good chuckle. Silly me, worried for nothing. Last week, he was poring over a map on the back of a cereal box and said to his dad, “I’m looking at the map. I wonder what my new school will be like.” Andy said that Max was curious and excited. And who cares that he was looking on the wrong map to find his school? That tells me he’s processing things in his own way. Max knows he’s leaving his current school and he’s looking forward, too.

Recently, Max wanted me to watch him do a new trick on the monkey bars.  ”Only big kids can do this, Mommy!” Then several of his friends showed me their cool moves. They  do incredible feats with their strong bodies. I realized that I finally know everyone’s names. It sure took me long enough. I’m going to miss them all.

I love Max’s friends, their parents, and the teachers and how much I have learned from them. I will miss this time period, this place. It has been good. And who wants something good to end? It’s bittersweet.

Getting ready for one of the “best days ever!” Leap day, 2/29/12 wearing silly, mismatched clothes and underwear as a hat.

Then there will be the next place. The next circle of friends. Which is a bit scary, but is also very exciting. Kindergarten in public school. I think that’s a big deal. It certainly feels big. Sometimes it feels like I need to breathe into a paper-bag-BIG. A guardian angel in my life told me, “It is an accepted maternal tradition to be freaking out about kindergarten.” I was immensely relieved to hear this after I was doing everything I could to squash how freaked out I felt. Oh, I’m not freaking out. I’m fine. No really. 

His  teacher told me Max is absolutely ready for Kindergarten. What a relief to hear this. She told me, “He’ll be OK and you’ll be OK.” She gave me great advice. She suggested that since September is light years away in the mind of a 5 and a half-year old, it’s better to not over talk the topic of BIG NEW GROWN UP KINDERGARTEN. Or to build it up into something GREAT.  She suggested that we let Max bring the topic up and let him guide how much we talk about it (or not).  She said that sometimes children are afraid that getting older and going to Kindergarten means the fun is over. I’m doing my best to reassure Max that the fun won’t end. So far, this strategy seems to be working.

At the school playground

The reality is that what Max knows now will in fact be over and there will be a real loss.  I believe it’s important to allow ourselves a minute to let that sink in and let whatever feelings we have about it come and go freely. I imagine there will be sadness, anger, frustration but also excitement, celebration, and pride. Squashing feelings doesn’t move one forward faster, it usually is a set up to get stuck, instead.

The teacher also suggested that instead of us telling Max how it will be, since no one can predict or know exactly how it will be or feel like for him, that if he brings it up, to simply ask him questions or mirror back observations: “I hear that you’re excited/ scared/ curious.” Or leave things open-ended. “It’s true, going to a new school can be scary AND exciting. You won’t know how you’ll feel until you’re there and  find out.” Or something along those lines.

Max tends to get anxious if he knows too much (or too little) ahead of a big change. I’m a fan of the need to know information flow. Many things require advance notice and preparation and this does, too. But I agree with his teacher. Max doesn’t need to know every single detail before he’s ready, or before it’s much closer on the calendar, or before I’m a bit over my freak out that his preschool days are almost over. Which, by  the way, since I accepted how freaked out I was feeling, I’ve actually become much calmer about it. Squashing my feelings isn’t the same as presenting a calm front for Max. That I do as best I can. But acknowledging my real feelings helps me move through them so they don’t control me. To sum up: I’m both freaked out AND calm. OK, truth: calm-ish. Mostly ish.

When we know which school Max will be going to, we can start preparing him for the specific place (drive by and show it to him for starters, etc.). I think that unknown factor is contributing to my nerves. But our town has a system by  which we’re notified of placement in mid-summer, so I’m not the only one in the dark right now. And I’m pretty sure the schools organize orientations and help facilitate play dates for incoming Kindergarteners (and their anxious newbie parents, like yours truly). I look forward to those events where we can meet our new future friends and classmates and get a grip on what will become our new routine in the Fall. Gulp.

Max at home, May 2012, photo by Elana Halberstadt

Our family moved when Max was two and a half, leaving his first preschool. Then we moved again when he was three and a half, leaving his second preschool, so it wasn’t surprising to me that when he realized he’d be leaving his current school soon, that he was  concerned. “Are we moving again? I don’t want to!” I reassured him that yes, he’d be going to a new school, but no, we’re not moving. Big sigh of relief!

I’m also thinking of those first two preschools —both wonderful. I still have friends from both of them. It is good to remember that even with time passing and big distances, that some friendships last. And even if these friendships aren’t as present in our daily lives, we remember our  friends and our time in the world together: the babies, the 2s, 3s, 4s—they’ll  always have a place in our hearts.

Last night, Max and Andy had a chat. Max said, “I like our house. I have a lot of friends. You meet new friends your whole life. Right, Daddy?”

For now, I’m holding on to my gratitude for a terrific preschool experience. Blurry, mushy, fast moving and slow days. Minutes and months and all weather and a full range of feelings for how much Max has grown and how much I have, too, because of this specific place, with these specific people. I am immensely grateful.

Max on the first day of pre-K, Sept. 2011

I hope we have a good goodbye. We’ll celebrate what we’ve accomplished. And then, after that, with pounding hearts and sweaty palms, we’ll walk into the next place, with new people, and we’ll say, “Hi. It’s very good to meet you.”

You meet new friends your whole life, right?

Yes, you do.

Thursday in the Park with Max

Parenting, Uncategorized, , , , , , ,

Dear Readers,

We’re having glorious, picture perfect weather. Low 70s, dry, sunny, and blue skies. The kind of days where, even in the hustle and bustle of NYC, it is extremely pleasant, people seem to smile more, are less rude. Well, maybe not less rude, but maybe I noticed it less. Maybe it was me smiling.

Max and I spent a great day in town yesterday. We rode the commuter train in. We took the subway. We arrived on time. Max had a checkup at his ENT and the doctor said,  ”Everything looks good.” It’s not every day you get a declaration like that. EVERYTHING LOOKS GOOD.

We headed back downtown on the subway and met a friend of mine near the American Museum of Natural History. Max and I had planned to go, but it was just too beautiful out. Plus there were so many school buses with class visits, tourist buses with throngs of visitors—it didn’t make any sense to go inside.

My friend told us about the fountains right next to the planetarium building, and so we went up the stairs and discovered this incredible place. Max went right into the fountains.

He ran and splashed and got soaking wet.

I patted myself on the back for having brought him a change of clothes.

When Max was done splashing, I got him dressed in dry clothes and he continued to play; running back and forth on the grass. Exploring every part of where we were. He started conversations with other kids and their parents. In between, he chatted with my friend. Hours passed.

The friend was someone I used to work with a long time ago. It was great to reconnect and catch up, and also to introduce Max to someone from my past. I spent years in NYC. Then I left. It is always good to be able to go back, to show Max the city I knew, to rediscover it, and to then find something new.  It made me grateful.  I could remember what I had done. I could be happy with my choices. I could soak in the sun and watch  Max be  happy and free. I felt happy and free.

Max was incredibly well-behaved all day. There was not even one tantrum, or meltdown, or fussy moment. I thought, who is this child? Lately, we’ve  been having more of this kind of day. He has grown up.  He reminds me, “I’m almost five and a half, Mommy. I’m a big boy.” He’s been counting down to his half birthday for weeks. Now it is tomorrow. When do we stop counting forward and up? Children want to be older. Then we get older and we want to go back. I’m constantly aware of time, of wanting to stop it, of wanting some things to never change, and understanding they will change and accepting that, but then immediately  wishing things could stay the same.

I wish Max’s innocence, his smallness, his skin, everything he sees and feels and everything I see and feel during these moments where EVERYTHING LOOKS GOOD could somehow be protected and kept forever. The minute I  get a handle on something, it seems it’s time to move on.

Yes,  it is bittersweet and  so much fun to spend time with Max like this. To have had all this time together, and to have gone through the more difficult years of neediness, of carrying, of the weight of things; I can carry less now. There is less unreasonable (or reasonable) whining and screaming. To come to this, another day where Max  cooperated easily, where he understood when plans had to change, where I didn’t even  raise my voice once, where I was just proud, so proud to be walking alongside my boy, my little guy, who I adore more every day. Who breaks my heart. Who fills my heart. Who still holds my hand. Who lets go of my hand.

The cliché — childhood goes by in a flash. It is true. Just yesterday was years ago. Max is always moving forward, even in those moments where he retreats back, needing my reassurance, needing to know I love him no matter what. I do, no matter what. When things are difficult, when he’s  hurting, those are the times that require more of me. To show love, patience, understanding. Even in limit setting, to be firm, but not unkind. When Max lashes out, when he tests me, it is on me to help him.

I also feel it is very hard to do.  To stand strong and firm and calm and patient in the face of a child who is out of control, or afraid, or sad, or whatever  big feeling it is—to stand in that and not crack is often hard to do. But when I’m able to do that, to show him repeatedly, we may not hurt ourselves or others. To use his words. To find safe ways to self comfort. To find ways to express how much it hurts, how much we are frustrated, or angry—and not use intimidation, not use threats that could hurt even worse—I am proud. I am. Because  it seems that strategy is working. Some days anyway, sometimes.

Maybe I’m calmer now. Maybe I understand things a little bit better. Maybe it’s just that I’ve been  a parent to Max for five and a half years and that is not just a milestone for him, but for me, too. Maybe I trust myself a smidge more. Maybe I see that when I do trust myself, and I do what I believe is right, I can convey that to him with less doubt. I want to do right by him, and I always fear I will come up short. Maybe I’m not coming up so short. Maybe I know what I’m doing sometimes. Maybe I cope better when I make my daily mistakes, learn from them, and move on. Maybe I forgive myself, him, everyone —just a little bit more. I don’t know. It’s  one step at a time, looking for the sunny spots.

We took the bus downtown. Anything to stay above ground, to look out the window. I pointed out one building where I used to work near Lincoln Center. I showed Max the route I used to walk home, down 9th Avenue. And all the way downtown, he pointed out buildings and exclaimed to me, “Look, Mommy, look at that building. And that one!” At the intersection with 49th Street, my old block, we took pictures.

49th and 9th

I lived in NYC for so many years, but I rarely took pictures. Digital wasn’t big yet, and I don’t know why, but I lived there and didn’t take pictures, probably because I was afraid I’d look like a tourist. Not that there’ s anything wrong with that. So, now, I take pictures, and it is mostly to recapture something for me.

I didn’t recognize many of the new restaurants. Some stores were the same. I was happy to see the Seven Brothers Deli still there on the corner.

I wasn’t sad. I don’t miss my old neighborhood anymore. But memories popped up. The day we found out I was pregnant.  And the day Andy said to me, “Your life is too big for this space.” The day I realized that was true. And then the day I packed up my tiny apartment and moved and didn’t look back. Max was around six months old. It was here.

We stayed on the bus all the way downtown to Chelsea Market. And we went to another place I used to work, and someone I knew from the show I worked on opened the door for me, and we hugged. It was  nice to see him. So good to remember that I had worked here and I had made friends here, too.

Max was tired by then, so we did our rounds at Andy’s job, saying hello and goodbye quickly. We went downstairs and got delicious grilled cheese sandwiches for the ride home. Max took these shots on 10th Avenue as we drove out of town. I didn’t know he took them until after we got home. I appreciate that he wants to capture what he sees. I appreciate that he is able to take pictures and see, and feel, and be so present and that like many photographers and artists in our family, he has a need to document things on his own terms because it helps with remembering.

When we got home, Max asked me for his hero cape. I had made this for him when he was around two years old. He’d worn it once or twice, and it was my choice to put it on him. Max  was never interested in it again, so it lived in my closet.   I figured, oh well, it was still fun to make; it is a relic of his past. But, suddenly he asked me for it. This was his choice. And so after his bath, I put it on and he ran back and forth down the hall squealing, “I’m SuperMax!”

Yes, he is The Maximizer,  maximizing everything. Max exhausts, delights, frustrates, and surprises me. Yes, I cannot believe how big he is, but still how small relative to the massive city buildings, to grown ups, to the world, to everything that is unknown.

The cape I made him years ago still fits. Which means it was probably way too big for him back when I made it. Perhaps heros grow into their capes exactly when they’re ready. “I can fly, Mommy. Watch me!”

The Magical Mystical Time Machine Box

Parenting, Uncategorized, , , , , ,

Dear Readers,

I’ve been thinking about time— past, present and future. I’ve been noticing how Max relates to time, what it seems to mean to him. A few days ago as he was playing, I asked, “What’s your favorite game?”

He replied, “The one I’m playing right now.”

Things grown ups say: Time marches on. Time flies by. There’s not enough time in the day. I’m running out of time. Time for bed.

I’ve found more boxes from the ongoing unpacking sessions that I do periodically— artifacts and pictures from long ago. From so long ago, it feels like I’m looking at another life, or another dimension. Memories comes back. Some are better left alone. Some are precious. It reminds me of  The Kinks song by Ray Davies, “People Take Pictures of Each Other.”

We call Ringo’s cat carrier, The Magical Mystical Time Machine Box. We have for years, long before Max got here. Oh, he loves that. One day recently, he wanted to “be a cat and be in a magical mystical time machine box and you can carry me.” The giant cardboard box we’ve kept for him to play in was not an acceptable option. It was not OK with Max that I said, “I can’t pick you up and carry you like that.” I tried to explain that people aren’t carried around in cages, but he hated my reasoning. He wanted to “BE A CAT IN A BOX RIGHT NOW!” Pretending wasn’t working. Max was frustrated, heading into a meltdown.

I offered another option. “Max, we can draw a picture and write a story about whatever you like; about you being a cat in a box.” He whined. He grumbled. Then he came around and asked me to help him.

So, first I drew exactly what he asked me to draw. And he added some to it.

Magical Mystical Time Machine Box

Then he drew on his own. Meltdown averted. New pictures and some  imagining saved the day. Just as it always has worked for me, time and time again: Write. Paint. Laugh/Cry/Laugh.

MMTMB by Max

24 years ago, on March 16, 1988, I arrived at JFK airport in NY on a flight from Dublin, Ireland, where I had lived for almost a year. Before that, I lived in Israel for eleven years, and before that, in the Boston area of MA, for ten. The day before St. Patrick’s day, I remember looking down on the brown landscape of almost spring in NY. I had $20.00 in my pocket. I had a backpack. I had dreams. I had no real plan. I stayed with a kind and generous cousin in Bayside, Queens for a few months, and then I made my way.

What else about time? Max has gone to school for three whole weeks in a row. It is the first time since he was in camp back in August, that he’s  attended this many weeks in a row. I notice how I’m changed from having time back when he’s in school regularly. I see how he’s  always changing and growing. It is good when he’s healthy.

Max knows he’s going to “big school” kindergarten in the fall. He’s  told me, “Mommy, I don’t want to leave my school. I want to keep all my friends.” These conversations about what will change and what will stay the same are hard sometimes. This is life: one thing ends, another begins. Along with it comes the unknown, the fears, the excitement and anticipation.

“I want to be a cat. I want to be carried in a Magical Mystical Time Machine Box.”

I get that. And so I grab on to the magic of what is right in front of me. Plow through the upsets to land on the other side of understanding. What is the hurt about? How can we understand it better? Please let us enjoy this moment where we can imagine whatever we like. Please let me stay present, not wanting to rush ahead in worry or concern. Here is where a blue marble has powers to heal. Here any object can be something else. Things transform in an instant. I have to pay attention.

There are big dreams. Max tells me what he wants to be. This week: “A police officer. And a doctor. Oh, and a Power Ranger. I can be more than one thing. Right, Mommy? I want to help people. I want to get the bad guys.”

I say, “Yes, you can be more than one thing.”

I say, “Those are good jobs to have.”

I reach down and hold his hand. Or he’ll reach for mine. He still has that soft skin children have. He has a tender touch when he is kind and gentle. His innocence, disappointments, sadness, anger, fears, and joys are wrapped up in the softest skin, with bruises covering his knees. He  will lose friends, and friends will lose him and that hurts. But he leaps faster and higher now. He isn’t afraid to climb up high.

There will be some friends we get to keep. And new friends and new adventures. We will have to get to school on time. That alone makes me squirm a bit. There will be no more preschool bubble. The cubby. The small scale tables and chairs. All the familiar people, things, and routines. The decisions we make about things that matter and don’t matter will continue.

Max & Charlie with their "Take Apart" school project

Max’s class took apart old computers, radios, phones, etc. for a “Take Apart” project. Then they built their own inventions out of the many parts and their Invention Museum is open for business. Max told me that “Parents are VIPs and are invited to visit anytime.”

Max & Charlie's invention

Max was a baby. Wasn’t it just yesterday? But last week in the city, (Max loves going to the city), as the C train pulled into the 50th Street and 8th Avenue station, I said, “This was my subway stop. Someday, I’ll show you my old apartment building.” Max’s eyes lit up. I can show him NYC.

So, I have been here, back in the US for 24 years. And some dreams have come true. Some have not. Then there were the dreams I didn’t even know I wanted, that materialized.  Most of my biggest dreams have come true. I haven’t dreamt much for me the past few years, but that’s changing. I still have more it seems and it’s been good to discover that.

Max has his dreams and what he wants, and we try to make his dreams come true. Some of them become stories or pictures. Some of them become real and some don’t happen at all. Time passes too quickly, yes. Time marches on, yes. There aren’t enough hours in the day. We’re all running out of time the minute we get here. But since time is all we have, really all we have, I dive into Max’s  imagination because it is a place filled with possibility, hope, silliness and fun.  All the wonderful things in a 5-year-old’s  mind.

Yes, the dark side is also there, but today, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather celebrate this anniversary. That I arrived here 24  years ago and made a life for myself.  And in my life there are friends, family, and my beautiful husband, son, and cat. We have our Magical Mystical Time Machine Box. In it, we can dream big, be anything we want, and go anywhere. And the good guys always win.