Days like this, I have my doubts about my abilities as a mother. Tonight marks the night for the annual Fine Arts concert here at school. Along with the many students who have sat in my classroom participating in tonight's event, my husband will direct a few of the ensembles as well. Really, in all honesty, I go to these things to support him. I want to do that. I even enjoy doing that.
However, I will undoubtedly be met with the question, "Where's Jude" as I make my way down the aisle to find a seat and sit with face practically glued to program in the hopes that no one will see me and pass judgment.
Of course, that's the curse of the woman with a pseudo-commanding presence. I say "pseudo" because I'm not necessarily afraid to speak my mind, and I do have quite the vibrant personality, especially here at Holmes, but I also have a pretty strong desire to remain unnoticed. Ask any student, though; I'm pretty live. If nothing else, they all remember the day I proclaimed "All of those bitches are lined up to have his baby" during a discussion of an assigned reading about a champion showdog and his breeding capabilities. So my meager efforts to lay low often fail.
So...where is Jude? Jude is with his baby-sitter, Ms. Lily, tonight. She graciously agreed to keep him for me while I attend this concert. In a way, I feel quite badly for leaving him. I miss him. However, this concert allows me two opportunities: a chance to support Jeffrey and all of the hard work he has put into this year along with the possibility of getting caught up on my grading. Lord knows, I need to catch up!
There are some women (maybe even some men) who, if they knew what I was doing tonight, would judge me. Why not just grab the baby and go home for the night? I have actually heard people so arrogantly proclaim,"I just couldn't send my child to a baby-sitter. I don't want anyone else raising him/her." (Give me a break. Using that same logic, I could always say "Well, I choose to work because I don't want my child to grow up and feel its fine to mooch off of someone else while he/she sits at home," so really, we could go tit for tat.)
However, I see the point, but I also believe in being my husband's biggest supporter. Maybe it's part of why he and I have been married nearly eight years yet we still got it. Besides, that's what Jude is going to remember, that his father and I are each other's biggest fans, not that I left him behind for a few hours extra for one night.I do believe mine and Jeffrey's relationship will (and maybe already does) impact our child and provide him stability.
So tonight, when I go pick my baby up, I will bring him home, give him extra kisses, work in an extra story, and hold him for a few more extra minutes before I put him in his crib. Jeffrey will probably do the same.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Somebody's Thinking: A Perspective on My House
Can a house be too big?
One of the biggest complaints I hear people say of their homes always points to space/storage issues. It has recently dawned on me that I do not have that problem.
Don't get me wrong; we do not live in a mansion. We do, however, have a pretty sizeable craftsmen style home with fairly large rooms, lots of cabinets and closets (though the closets are not big themselves), a basement and an attic. It also has two of just about everything--two dens, two eating areas, two full bathrooms, 2x2 bedrooms (really4), 2 points of entry, just lots of 2's.
Whoever built this house back in 1924 was thinking.
Anyway, I've known the house is big since the first time I had to clean it top to bottom. (Also, I have discovered that as I clean, my house actually does this magical trick where it gets bigger and bigger! Feels that way, anyway.)
So too big? You be the judge.
A few weeks ago, I took Jude into the guest bedroom to do some straightening up. That kid's eyes lit up like I had just offered him a bottle, a stroller ride, a light up musical device, and Sophie the Ridiculously Overpriced but Worth Every Penny Teething Giraffe while delivering news that every bit of rice cereal had gone extinct all at once!
Then it dawned on me. Jude had never been in that room before. That's why he was so excited.
So I got to thinking. Jude had never been in the guest bedroom, the purple bathroom, the formal dining room (well, he's be carried through it to get to Jeffrey's Man Cave, but never hung out in it), and has very rarely sat in the formal living room.
So then THAT got me thinking. Disney World? Shoot. Put my money away! We're just going to take this kid to a room in the house each year. That should tie us over for at least four years and and allow us to throw our money towards his Catholic school education that will inevitably leave us eating Ramen noodles and nothing else for the next 22 years (because we also have to factor in college). Am I economical, or what? My sister, with her binders of coupons and sixth sense for locating Double Couplon days, has nothing on this plan of financial ingenuity!
However, it hit me. Just like any vacation spot where a kid can get lost, so too could I lose track of Jude in this house. Shoot, I can't even keep up with Weezy cat most of the time!
Damn those two dens, two eating areas, two full bathrooms, 2x2 bedrooms (really4), 2 points of entry, and lots of other 2's!
What was that builder thinking?!?!?
One of the biggest complaints I hear people say of their homes always points to space/storage issues. It has recently dawned on me that I do not have that problem.
Don't get me wrong; we do not live in a mansion. We do, however, have a pretty sizeable craftsmen style home with fairly large rooms, lots of cabinets and closets (though the closets are not big themselves), a basement and an attic. It also has two of just about everything--two dens, two eating areas, two full bathrooms, 2x2 bedrooms (really4), 2 points of entry, just lots of 2's.
Whoever built this house back in 1924 was thinking.
Anyway, I've known the house is big since the first time I had to clean it top to bottom. (Also, I have discovered that as I clean, my house actually does this magical trick where it gets bigger and bigger! Feels that way, anyway.)
So too big? You be the judge.
A few weeks ago, I took Jude into the guest bedroom to do some straightening up. That kid's eyes lit up like I had just offered him a bottle, a stroller ride, a light up musical device, and Sophie the Ridiculously Overpriced but Worth Every Penny Teething Giraffe while delivering news that every bit of rice cereal had gone extinct all at once!
Then it dawned on me. Jude had never been in that room before. That's why he was so excited.
So I got to thinking. Jude had never been in the guest bedroom, the purple bathroom, the formal dining room (well, he's be carried through it to get to Jeffrey's Man Cave, but never hung out in it), and has very rarely sat in the formal living room.
So then THAT got me thinking. Disney World? Shoot. Put my money away! We're just going to take this kid to a room in the house each year. That should tie us over for at least four years and and allow us to throw our money towards his Catholic school education that will inevitably leave us eating Ramen noodles and nothing else for the next 22 years (because we also have to factor in college). Am I economical, or what? My sister, with her binders of coupons and sixth sense for locating Double Couplon days, has nothing on this plan of financial ingenuity!
However, it hit me. Just like any vacation spot where a kid can get lost, so too could I lose track of Jude in this house. Shoot, I can't even keep up with Weezy cat most of the time!
Damn those two dens, two eating areas, two full bathrooms, 2x2 bedrooms (really4), 2 points of entry, and lots of other 2's!
What was that builder thinking?!?!?
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Resolutions
For the past two years, I vowed to gain 30 pounds for the year. I had good reasons for this. In 2010, my logic behind the weight gain came from how every other year I vowed to lose, I instead ended up gaining. So why not use this reverse psychology (reverse-reverse psychology?)to have my body go the other way? Well, in 2010, I guess I did take the weight gain resolution literally. I got pregnant--no way I was losing weight that year. In 2011, my doctor told me to gain weight--probably the biggest pleasantry of pregnancy.
I actually never gained the full thirty pounds. Instead, I gained 26. But this year, I'm cutting the reverse psychology b.s., facing the truth, and am going to do the darn thing. I'm losing this weight. I want 40 pounds off of my person by the time New Years rolls around next year. Is that too much to ask? Probably. But I have my reasons: keeping up with Jude, being healthy, feeling good about myself, shopping for cuter clothes, and the thrill of a challenge.
I feel I have the makings to do this. I've picked up some insightful work out tips that I plan to implement this upcoming year, and I like eating healthy food. My biggest obstacles in this endeavor are time and energy. After a full day's work, I find it hard to want to do anything besides play with the baby and crash. However, I need to do this. I don't like the way I look now, and I'm a firm believer in making changes if something isn't going right. The first few weeks, maybe months are going to be tough, but I hope to see results that will keep me going.
I can do this. Surely, I can do this.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Working Mom
So I had to think long and hard about the title of this blog entry, and decided I would keep the "Working Mom" title after all, even if it means my husband will proudly link it to the Rush song. (I married Jeffrey for countless number of reasons; his fascination with the band Rush was not one of them.)
Also, it's been a while since my last post. Why? Well, it has to do with the content of this particular post. I am a mama, and I work.
Some may say we timed Jude's birth perfectly. The English teacher and band director had their firstborn in June, just after spring semester final exams and right before putting together a halftime show. The truth is, we would have welcomed a baby any ol' month.
I used to think the summer of 2001 was the best summer of my life. That summer I plunged wholeheartedly into independence. I had just finished my first year of college, moved to Oxford to live with my sister, held a job and took summer classes at Ole Miss. Between Trigonometry and my shift at Abner's, Amanda and I relaxed on the couch watching Springer, drinking rum runners, and smoking cigarettes. Those three vices equalled one perfect life. I put sleep on the backburner many nights in order to enjoy a party, earn a little extra cash for closing the restaurant, or carry on conversations about what my future absolutely did not hold for me (i.e. becoming a teacher like my mother--HA).
Fast forward ten years later, and my summer consisted of learning the ropes of motherhood. Once again, sleep took a hike, but this time, I wasn't going to a party. Instead, I was tending to the every need of the latest and greatest fellow in my life. Those eight weeks of learning Jude's different cries (hunger, wet, or just plain ol' pissed off), trying to keep the house in order (that shipped sailed about two weeks post partum), and bonding with my child were some of the most precious times I will probably ever have. However, just as I couldn't drink the rum-runners and smoke the menthols every day (luckily, those were just habits limited to my nineteen-year-old self. She was about a dumbass, by the way), so too did my glory days spent with Baby Jude have to end.
I have to say, I do not feel guilty about going back to work. When I dropped Jude off at Lilly's for the first time, sure I cried, but I knew what I had to do, and luckily I went back to work because I wanted to go back. I do miss Jude during the day, and I'm always excited to see him when I pick him up from Lilly's house. When I returned to work, I realized just how much I missed my colleagues and my students. This job was never just a paycheck to me but instead a really large part of who I am, something God has called me to do. Of course, I never was one to do something for anything other than the sheer fulfillment of it. For the past five and a half years, with very few setbacks, I have looked forward to coming to Holmes Monday through Friday and facing whatever challenge was in store for me that day.
Whenever I am home with Jude, I truly enjoy my time with him. We read stories, go for walks, hang out in the kitchen, and totally take advantage of learning about the new world he and I have both found ourselves.
Of course, I guess my glory days of staying at home didn't really end. Since I get an extended Christmas holiday and ten weeks off in the summer, I guess we could say the glory days are put on "Pause" for now.
Also, it's been a while since my last post. Why? Well, it has to do with the content of this particular post. I am a mama, and I work.
Some may say we timed Jude's birth perfectly. The English teacher and band director had their firstborn in June, just after spring semester final exams and right before putting together a halftime show. The truth is, we would have welcomed a baby any ol' month.
I used to think the summer of 2001 was the best summer of my life. That summer I plunged wholeheartedly into independence. I had just finished my first year of college, moved to Oxford to live with my sister, held a job and took summer classes at Ole Miss. Between Trigonometry and my shift at Abner's, Amanda and I relaxed on the couch watching Springer, drinking rum runners, and smoking cigarettes. Those three vices equalled one perfect life. I put sleep on the backburner many nights in order to enjoy a party, earn a little extra cash for closing the restaurant, or carry on conversations about what my future absolutely did not hold for me (i.e. becoming a teacher like my mother--HA).
Fast forward ten years later, and my summer consisted of learning the ropes of motherhood. Once again, sleep took a hike, but this time, I wasn't going to a party. Instead, I was tending to the every need of the latest and greatest fellow in my life. Those eight weeks of learning Jude's different cries (hunger, wet, or just plain ol' pissed off), trying to keep the house in order (that shipped sailed about two weeks post partum), and bonding with my child were some of the most precious times I will probably ever have. However, just as I couldn't drink the rum-runners and smoke the menthols every day (luckily, those were just habits limited to my nineteen-year-old self. She was about a dumbass, by the way), so too did my glory days spent with Baby Jude have to end.
I have to say, I do not feel guilty about going back to work. When I dropped Jude off at Lilly's for the first time, sure I cried, but I knew what I had to do, and luckily I went back to work because I wanted to go back. I do miss Jude during the day, and I'm always excited to see him when I pick him up from Lilly's house. When I returned to work, I realized just how much I missed my colleagues and my students. This job was never just a paycheck to me but instead a really large part of who I am, something God has called me to do. Of course, I never was one to do something for anything other than the sheer fulfillment of it. For the past five and a half years, with very few setbacks, I have looked forward to coming to Holmes Monday through Friday and facing whatever challenge was in store for me that day.
Whenever I am home with Jude, I truly enjoy my time with him. We read stories, go for walks, hang out in the kitchen, and totally take advantage of learning about the new world he and I have both found ourselves.
Of course, I guess my glory days of staying at home didn't really end. Since I get an extended Christmas holiday and ten weeks off in the summer, I guess we could say the glory days are put on "Pause" for now.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Working Out
When Jude was born, he took what little ab muscles I had with him. For the past four months, I've examined, poked, prodded, jiggled and sucked in this silly putty that sits in place of my abdomen. I've come to realize the strangest thing about pregnancy is not the disproportional look of being pregnant, but the aftermath of when the little booger moves out.
For all interested parties, I gained a total of 26 pounds during the pregnancy, and at my 5-6 week post-partum check-up, had already lost 24 of it. Let me tell you something I've learned. Numbers lie.
I may be back to my pre-pregnancy weight, but my body is certainly not back to its pre-pregnancy form. I have slightly wider hips and a mini-FUPA (this is basically a crass acronym that my friend Sarah and I once spent hours (literally--hours) laughing over. I won't tell you what the letters stand for, but it's basically a sagging stomach. And it is ugly.) I only have one pair of jeans that fit (well, they button and zip but produce a slight muffin-top). Once upon a time, I called those jeans my "fat jeans." Now I just call them "my jeans."
However, in recent weeks, I have seen some changes in my body--positive ones.
All of these changes come, thanks in large part, from Reggie Haralson. Four weeks, ago, I made a commitment. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I get up at 4 a.m., leave the house at 4:30, arrive to Goodman at 5, and begin an hour of grueling workouts created by Reggie. He trains the athletes here on campus, and most of my days working out, I think he mistakes me for one of those young, strong, strapping football/baseball/basketball/softball/whateverball players. After the workout concludes, I shower somewhere on campus (depending on vacancies--haven't thought much about what I would do on a day lacking in vacancies. Can't think about it, really.)
I'm not the only one suffering through the workouts, either. Four of us meet up each time with similar goals toward weight loss and fitness. I have to say that these folks make the waking up and facing the seemingly unattainable challenge a lot of fun. Another fun part I experience includes having Reggie demonstrate some exercise that looks like hell would freeze before I could get my body to move like that, and then I turn around and actually complete it (or something like it.)
Today's workout left me speechless and breathless. We had to do chin-ups (among many other things. O.k. simple enough, but no. Not even close. This contraption which we performed this exercise on required us to climb some 2-3 feet off the ground. (To someone as afraid of heights as I am, 2-3 feet may as well be 2-3 thousand feet.)Once we climbed up, we then moved our hands to the handles and stepped both feet into the elastic band (I wonder if others were as terrified of being the one to break the band as I was). With Reggie's assistance (how much assistance is beyond me since my arms were a hurtin'), we did 10 chin-ups. With my eyes closed the whole time, I tried not to think of plummeting to my death. After my last chin-up, I completely freaked out, so Reggie had to get me down. I should have been mortified, but I was actually quite pleased with myself that I didn't cry. I wanted to cry so very badly, too.
But days like today allow me to test my limits and to do what I initially deem impossible. Of course, I hope we don't do any more chin-ups for a while, but at least I know I can do 10 of them. My hope for Jude is that he will push himself beyond what he thinks possible. Just as I'm getting my body back in shape, Jude is starting to grasp the concept of mobility. And once he finally gets going for good, may nothing stop him from discovering what's beyond possible.
Now, for all of those inquiring minds wondering what happens to Jude while I'm G.I. Janing it at work: Jeffrey gets him up and ready to take to the baby-sitter. He totally understands my drive to exercise, and as a bonus, he gets in some quality time with his son, especially since he gets home late on so many of those days. Perhaps knowing that Jude is in great hands while I go about achieving this particular goal motivates me to push myself more.
No, I don't plan on entering any kind of body building contests any time soon (or ever), but I hope I can continue to exercise with these great people and this great trainer. Plus, maybe I'll get a better body than my pre-pregnancy one out of the deal!
For all interested parties, I gained a total of 26 pounds during the pregnancy, and at my 5-6 week post-partum check-up, had already lost 24 of it. Let me tell you something I've learned. Numbers lie.
I may be back to my pre-pregnancy weight, but my body is certainly not back to its pre-pregnancy form. I have slightly wider hips and a mini-FUPA (this is basically a crass acronym that my friend Sarah and I once spent hours (literally--hours) laughing over. I won't tell you what the letters stand for, but it's basically a sagging stomach. And it is ugly.) I only have one pair of jeans that fit (well, they button and zip but produce a slight muffin-top). Once upon a time, I called those jeans my "fat jeans." Now I just call them "my jeans."
However, in recent weeks, I have seen some changes in my body--positive ones.
All of these changes come, thanks in large part, from Reggie Haralson. Four weeks, ago, I made a commitment. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I get up at 4 a.m., leave the house at 4:30, arrive to Goodman at 5, and begin an hour of grueling workouts created by Reggie. He trains the athletes here on campus, and most of my days working out, I think he mistakes me for one of those young, strong, strapping football/baseball/basketball/softball/whateverball players. After the workout concludes, I shower somewhere on campus (depending on vacancies--haven't thought much about what I would do on a day lacking in vacancies. Can't think about it, really.)
I'm not the only one suffering through the workouts, either. Four of us meet up each time with similar goals toward weight loss and fitness. I have to say that these folks make the waking up and facing the seemingly unattainable challenge a lot of fun. Another fun part I experience includes having Reggie demonstrate some exercise that looks like hell would freeze before I could get my body to move like that, and then I turn around and actually complete it (or something like it.)
Today's workout left me speechless and breathless. We had to do chin-ups (among many other things. O.k. simple enough, but no. Not even close. This contraption which we performed this exercise on required us to climb some 2-3 feet off the ground. (To someone as afraid of heights as I am, 2-3 feet may as well be 2-3 thousand feet.)Once we climbed up, we then moved our hands to the handles and stepped both feet into the elastic band (I wonder if others were as terrified of being the one to break the band as I was). With Reggie's assistance (how much assistance is beyond me since my arms were a hurtin'), we did 10 chin-ups. With my eyes closed the whole time, I tried not to think of plummeting to my death. After my last chin-up, I completely freaked out, so Reggie had to get me down. I should have been mortified, but I was actually quite pleased with myself that I didn't cry. I wanted to cry so very badly, too.
But days like today allow me to test my limits and to do what I initially deem impossible. Of course, I hope we don't do any more chin-ups for a while, but at least I know I can do 10 of them. My hope for Jude is that he will push himself beyond what he thinks possible. Just as I'm getting my body back in shape, Jude is starting to grasp the concept of mobility. And once he finally gets going for good, may nothing stop him from discovering what's beyond possible.
Now, for all of those inquiring minds wondering what happens to Jude while I'm G.I. Janing it at work: Jeffrey gets him up and ready to take to the baby-sitter. He totally understands my drive to exercise, and as a bonus, he gets in some quality time with his son, especially since he gets home late on so many of those days. Perhaps knowing that Jude is in great hands while I go about achieving this particular goal motivates me to push myself more.
No, I don't plan on entering any kind of body building contests any time soon (or ever), but I hope I can continue to exercise with these great people and this great trainer. Plus, maybe I'll get a better body than my pre-pregnancy one out of the deal!
Friday, October 14, 2011
Four Months --Two rounds of shots down, many more to go
Last Friday, Jude turned four months old. That means one thing--another round of shots.
We got to the doctor's, stripped the boy down to his diaper, covered him with a blanket, and waited on the nurse to come in and check his height, weight, head, etc. True to form, Jude behaved practically perfectly--never even noticed his clothes were off (a future NASCAR fan I'm raising, perhaps?).
The nurse came back in to do her business, and we found out that Jude's head circumference is...I can't remember, but he currently weighs 13 lbs. 6 oz. (25 %) and is 24 3/4 inches long (45 %). He's a long, lean baby, that's for sure. Through all of that, he never cried, whimpered, anything.
So I figured I have a few good months left before Jude deduces that doctor=shots. He was doing so good and just flirting away with his nurse. This was a piece of cake.
I was wrong.
In came Dr. Stewart, and as soon as he took that baby, that baby hollered, and he didn't stop until that last shot was given--and that was about 30 minutes later. Yep. Jude rejected that doctor like Brett Michaels would reject a woman with conservative style and strong morals. How did Jude know?????
Dr. Stewart, whom Jeffrey claims resembles the lead singer of Staind, is actually very good with Jude. In fact, Jude has liked him the last two visits, but I guess he recalled those 6-8 week shots and won't have anything to do with Dr. Stewart any more.
Some things Jeffrey and I both learned from the doctor:
1. Jude is pretty advanced for his age, and we should go ahead and baby-proof the house--like right now.
2. Crawling is in our VERY near future.
3. The boy is strong. (He did kick the doctor a few times. We'll work on that later.)
4. and I'm excited about this one---time for solid foods that are not rice cereal (which actually translates to food pureed into a fine paste).
And a final thought on the 4 month check-up: I don't know who was more pitiful--Jude or Jeffrey. Hopefully, Jeffrey will come back with us for the 6 month check-up.
We got to the doctor's, stripped the boy down to his diaper, covered him with a blanket, and waited on the nurse to come in and check his height, weight, head, etc. True to form, Jude behaved practically perfectly--never even noticed his clothes were off (a future NASCAR fan I'm raising, perhaps?).
The nurse came back in to do her business, and we found out that Jude's head circumference is...I can't remember, but he currently weighs 13 lbs. 6 oz. (25 %) and is 24 3/4 inches long (45 %). He's a long, lean baby, that's for sure. Through all of that, he never cried, whimpered, anything.
So I figured I have a few good months left before Jude deduces that doctor=shots. He was doing so good and just flirting away with his nurse. This was a piece of cake.
I was wrong.
In came Dr. Stewart, and as soon as he took that baby, that baby hollered, and he didn't stop until that last shot was given--and that was about 30 minutes later. Yep. Jude rejected that doctor like Brett Michaels would reject a woman with conservative style and strong morals. How did Jude know?????
Dr. Stewart, whom Jeffrey claims resembles the lead singer of Staind, is actually very good with Jude. In fact, Jude has liked him the last two visits, but I guess he recalled those 6-8 week shots and won't have anything to do with Dr. Stewart any more.
Some things Jeffrey and I both learned from the doctor:
1. Jude is pretty advanced for his age, and we should go ahead and baby-proof the house--like right now.
2. Crawling is in our VERY near future.
3. The boy is strong. (He did kick the doctor a few times. We'll work on that later.)
4. and I'm excited about this one---time for solid foods that are not rice cereal (which actually translates to food pureed into a fine paste).
And a final thought on the 4 month check-up: I don't know who was more pitiful--Jude or Jeffrey. Hopefully, Jeffrey will come back with us for the 6 month check-up.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Never Too Early
So what's the one thing that's been on my mind since first learning I was pregnant? Education.
Education started with me.
I needed to school myself in taking care of my body to ensure a healthy pregnancy. I took a common sensical approach--if it's bad for you (in other words, if it tastes good), don't eat it.
Once I got that less than fun practice underway, I next learned how to have a baby. Lots of pictures, diagrams, anatomically correct models, and loads of tasteless jokes later, I wasn't what one would call ready, but I knew kind of what to expect.
Then there was the breastfeeding class. Skip ahead to the next one.
The point is, preparing for a baby, for me anyway, was much like preparing for my Masters Comps, except I didn't get three chances with a baby. I only got one shot (anyone else faintly hear Eminem's "Lose Yourself" playing in the background?). I was determined to make it count, and after all was said and done, I'd give myself a B+. ( I totally missed the part in childbirth class about the possibility of the epidural not working.)
Education did not stop with the birth of Jude either. I've gone from learning about baby bathroom habits to learning about clothing sizes to growth percentile charts to , my latest obsession, introduction to solid foods and how to prepare those foods at home (no jar crap for my kid, at least that's my stand for the moment. I've eaten many words since I've become a parent with "pacifier" being the toughest word to chew to date.)
I figure parenting will just be another one of those "continuing ed." courses. There's always something new to learn. Good thing I love school.
All the while I've spent learning how to achieve perfection as a mother (got a looonnnng way to go on that one), I've also dedicated time to Jude's education. Looking for a way to stress yourself to the point of pulling out hair and curling into a fetal position while rocking back and forth? Try comparing different schools' curriculums, tuitions, extra-curricular activities, and classroom/teacher ratios, wait-lists, and that'll do it!
Yep. Jude turned four months old this past Friday, and I've already researched different private schools where he'll start 4-K, driven by them, calculated how much I need to start putting back, picked up the phone and dialed before hanging up after the first ring (for fear someone at the school will discover what everyone else already knows about me--that I'm a weirdo), and mapped out several alternatives of how Jeffrey and I will get him to and from school since both of us commute 30 minutes from our home to work.
Let me back up and explain. Jeffrey and I live in Canton, MS--a place known for its historical Victorian beauty (although, our home is one of the newer ones--a craftsmen style bungalow built in 1924) and terrible public schools. Given that we stay in Canton (and we do really like the area and love our home even more), Jude will have to attend a private school.
Now, don't get wrong. There's always the possibility he will attend Canton Public Schools. See, these four years before he marches off to elementary are his trial run. During this time, Jeffrey and I monitor Jude's behavior and will take it from there. If Jude acts like a good little boy, we'll send him to private school--no questions asked. However, if he decides to turn into a little terror, he will need the survival training that only Canton Public could offer. Simple enough, and so far, Jude's been a perfect angel, as if he already knows Mama and Daddy's scheme.
Jeffrey and I have already selected a school for him--St. Anthony in Madison. We like the school for several reasons. First, Jude has the opportunity to learn our faith, Catholicism, every day, not just at home but in school as well. Second, St. Anthony takes part in the Whole Schools Initiative--a program through the Mississippi Arts Commission that integrates fine arts across the disciplines. My mother did her doctoral studies on this type of curriculum and serves as a field advisor for Whole Schools. In other words, Jude will have a little piece of family history invested in this sort of learning. Third, the student to teacher ratio is small, which is code for "Hurry up and get him on a wait list."
Anyway, of all the schools in our area, we like this one best. Of course, within four years, things could change. We could end up moving, Jeffrey could leave Holmes and take a job in Madison County School District (which has excellent schools as well), Jude could turn into a delinquent and find himself in Canton Public Schools, or we could have a change of heart about some of the other area private schools.
Of course, what we ultimately want is the best education for our child. Unfortunately, the school we really like as of now is expensive but not entirely impossible for us to send him there. Sacrifices will have to be made, but doesn't that hit at the heart of parenthood?
Every day, I compose a prayer for two things: Jude's education and Jude's future wife. I've long ago accepted (begrudgingly so) that my little boy will one day become a man. If these two things fall into place, maybe he'll turn out o.k.
Education started with me.
I needed to school myself in taking care of my body to ensure a healthy pregnancy. I took a common sensical approach--if it's bad for you (in other words, if it tastes good), don't eat it.
Once I got that less than fun practice underway, I next learned how to have a baby. Lots of pictures, diagrams, anatomically correct models, and loads of tasteless jokes later, I wasn't what one would call ready, but I knew kind of what to expect.
Then there was the breastfeeding class. Skip ahead to the next one.
The point is, preparing for a baby, for me anyway, was much like preparing for my Masters Comps, except I didn't get three chances with a baby. I only got one shot (anyone else faintly hear Eminem's "Lose Yourself" playing in the background?). I was determined to make it count, and after all was said and done, I'd give myself a B+. ( I totally missed the part in childbirth class about the possibility of the epidural not working.)
Education did not stop with the birth of Jude either. I've gone from learning about baby bathroom habits to learning about clothing sizes to growth percentile charts to , my latest obsession, introduction to solid foods and how to prepare those foods at home (no jar crap for my kid, at least that's my stand for the moment. I've eaten many words since I've become a parent with "pacifier" being the toughest word to chew to date.)
I figure parenting will just be another one of those "continuing ed." courses. There's always something new to learn. Good thing I love school.
All the while I've spent learning how to achieve perfection as a mother (got a looonnnng way to go on that one), I've also dedicated time to Jude's education. Looking for a way to stress yourself to the point of pulling out hair and curling into a fetal position while rocking back and forth? Try comparing different schools' curriculums, tuitions, extra-curricular activities, and classroom/teacher ratios, wait-lists, and that'll do it!
Yep. Jude turned four months old this past Friday, and I've already researched different private schools where he'll start 4-K, driven by them, calculated how much I need to start putting back, picked up the phone and dialed before hanging up after the first ring (for fear someone at the school will discover what everyone else already knows about me--that I'm a weirdo), and mapped out several alternatives of how Jeffrey and I will get him to and from school since both of us commute 30 minutes from our home to work.
Let me back up and explain. Jeffrey and I live in Canton, MS--a place known for its historical Victorian beauty (although, our home is one of the newer ones--a craftsmen style bungalow built in 1924) and terrible public schools. Given that we stay in Canton (and we do really like the area and love our home even more), Jude will have to attend a private school.
Now, don't get wrong. There's always the possibility he will attend Canton Public Schools. See, these four years before he marches off to elementary are his trial run. During this time, Jeffrey and I monitor Jude's behavior and will take it from there. If Jude acts like a good little boy, we'll send him to private school--no questions asked. However, if he decides to turn into a little terror, he will need the survival training that only Canton Public could offer. Simple enough, and so far, Jude's been a perfect angel, as if he already knows Mama and Daddy's scheme.
Jeffrey and I have already selected a school for him--St. Anthony in Madison. We like the school for several reasons. First, Jude has the opportunity to learn our faith, Catholicism, every day, not just at home but in school as well. Second, St. Anthony takes part in the Whole Schools Initiative--a program through the Mississippi Arts Commission that integrates fine arts across the disciplines. My mother did her doctoral studies on this type of curriculum and serves as a field advisor for Whole Schools. In other words, Jude will have a little piece of family history invested in this sort of learning. Third, the student to teacher ratio is small, which is code for "Hurry up and get him on a wait list."
Anyway, of all the schools in our area, we like this one best. Of course, within four years, things could change. We could end up moving, Jeffrey could leave Holmes and take a job in Madison County School District (which has excellent schools as well), Jude could turn into a delinquent and find himself in Canton Public Schools, or we could have a change of heart about some of the other area private schools.
Of course, what we ultimately want is the best education for our child. Unfortunately, the school we really like as of now is expensive but not entirely impossible for us to send him there. Sacrifices will have to be made, but doesn't that hit at the heart of parenthood?
Every day, I compose a prayer for two things: Jude's education and Jude's future wife. I've long ago accepted (begrudgingly so) that my little boy will one day become a man. If these two things fall into place, maybe he'll turn out o.k.
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