Playdate Pressure

It's been exactly a month since Otter began her academic career, and while some things have drastically improved (like actually wanting to go to school), other aspects of her socialization have um...plateaued (like, say playing with other children). To this end, her teacher suggested several times, that we contact one of the other parents in her class and set up the ubiquitous "play date."

Now as my friend Kate points out, play dates are a rather new invention. When we were kids, which admittedly was a while ago, but not THAT long ago, you were just friends with the kids on your street. But be it a question of progress or geography, cars abound and children running up and down our block are noticeably lacking. Which leads to the necessity of pre-planned spontaneous outings where the children play and the parents referee and (hopefully) bond for what may be a life-long - or an afternoon-long - friendship.

And therein lies the rub. I have a history of shunning forced socializing with strangers. Not that I mind meeting new people - but I had never joined a sorority. Or even a club, really. Networking was always more of a chore than a pleasure. And those Mommy and Me groups sent me running for the hills. It's not that I'm better than those people (ok, I might be better than a few of those people) but after 7th grade I've never belonged to a clique. And it seems odd to start now, when I've fairly mastered the skill set required for making friends organically.

I was hoping that during the orientation meeting at the school, I would naturally gravitate towards someone, whose child would naturally make a perfect playmate for mine. But as we sat pretending to listen to the teachers describe the school, while in actuality sizing each other up one thing became clear to me: I do not fit in with these parents. Jumping to conclusions? Perhaps. Judgey? Most likely. But there I was, with my bleached hair and combat boots. and there they were - in their sun dresses and rhinestoned sandals. So, I'm just saying...

And to be fair, I wouldn't doubt if they had the same initial, unfounded, utterly superficial assessment of me, thinking "Which hooligan did she birth and then enroll with my angel?!"

Which leads me to the little angels I have to pick from. Or rather, the ones Otter has chosen. So far I have been presented with 4 options:

First there was the "Sandbox Companion" - let's call her SC for short. SC seemed very promising - in fact, SC's mom (we'll call her SCM) seemed receptive to the idea. So much so that on the morning we were told of the unbreakable bond of sand toys, SCM suggested to Otter that she go and play play dough with SC. And when Otter didn't jump at the opportunity, SCM took my befuddled child and started leading her away. And that's when it all went south for me.

Really SCM? Do you see me manhandling your spawn into coming closer to the Little People House? Are you suddenly in charge of this classroom? Last I checked, you were just another parent dropping her kid off. So please take your mitts off mine, and note that as of this moment I don't like you, you pushy broad. SCM may have sensed my bristling - the second time the teacher reintroduced us (again, suggesting a play outing for the kiddies) she pretended to be surprised and not recognize me. Yeah, SCM is kinda full of it.

Option two is a young man who is quite proud of his Potty Training prowess. Which he announced (and someone demonstrated) in class. I know he's only three and yes, this is my "my kid is a head taller than everyone but won't potty train sour grapes" routine but come on. Ironically, I think I like PT's mom.

Option three is recovering from a case of Hacking Cough. Enough said.

Option four is Otter's Cubby Roommate. CR may have the most going for her though that is the full extent of what I know about her.

Though from what I'm hearing (much to my shock and chagrin), who I like is fairly irrelevant. Apparently its Otter who gets to gravitate towards friends and I get to do her social planning and follow meekly along. Better find that class roster and start dialing.

School Dayz

So with all the hub-bub of me starting a new job, and what with the travel and unexpected passings, I've completely dropped the ball on reporting on a major event in Otter's existence: the start of her schooling.

Now that the wheels that will take her down the road of unfathomable success or epic failure have started turning, I can step back and assess SB's reaction to the start of the journey.

The first day was met with dubioius interest. On the upside, from the open house, she knew there was a bunny and toy cars there. And paint. And cookies for snack. And a brand new lunch pail, shaped like an owl that she could take. On the downside, aside from those certainties, she had nothing to go on. And in our household, strange = bad.

The first few days went well enough, with us staying in the classroom and Otter tentatively playing with the myriad new toys available to her. And then we took a trip to see grandparents - followed by a "no kids" trip to Vegas. And though Otter continued to go to school while Bree and I did up Sin City, upon our return SB began the "I don't want to go to school," routine.

But after days of using every tactic to get her into the classroom - from pointing out all the cool stuff there to telling her she can quit, but has to tell her teacher in person - it seems that SB has found her stride. She's now playing "school" at home - which involves us eating a lot of "snacks," - eating up the aforementioned school snacks with gusto, singing songs, and mentioning what the other kids did that day.

This morning, she rushed me out the door, saying "It's time for school!"

Apparently to a good end or bad end, this school thing is here to stay.

Clocking the Competition

Today, we took our step down the road that will determine She-Blob's academic accomplishments, social standing and general happiness for the rest of her life. That's right - we're looking at preschools.

For those who have not ventured down this path (a group that included Bree and myself for the better part of 36 years), the concept of preschool can be an ambiguous thing. What is preschool, after all? Neither school nor daycare, preschool has evolved from a frivolity of the spending class to an institution without which further academic and social success are seemingly impossible. Rising from the ashes of the failings of generations past to properly socialize their rug rats in an evermore isolated world, preschool has offered to close the gap, turning our biting, grabbing, hitting, screaming offspring from wild animals into humans right in time to start "real" school.

I don't need to go far for real-world proof, for I, too, went to preschool - albeit in a different country. My most vivid memory is of pretending to be a passenger on a cruise ship, while being reprimanded for mistreating my doll by dressing her by holding her head tightly between my knees and shoving her dress over her feet. All I wanted to do was be one of the "sailors," a vocation reserved for the boys in the class. In one fell swoop, preschool socialized me - teaching me basic child care (or at least how to avoid charges of child abuse in the future) and reminding me of my place in the world.

But times and geography have changed since then, so it was I who led the charge to the first of 3 open-house/prospective parent meetings of the week. Why 3, you ask? How better to compare the student/teacher ratio, preschool philosophy (yes, they all claim different 'philosophies') and play-dough recipes available to us? If SB is going to be improving her finger painting technique to the tune of $700+ per month, I want to be sure we're getting the best finger paints.

And it's not only the teachers and craft supplies a modern parent needs to worry about. When I recently mentioned our impending tours to a friend, he asked me if it was to make sure the other kids were up to snuff. "Mostly it's to see if the playground is acceptable and make sure no bodies are buried in the yard," I replied.

But let's face it - he has a point. If this is where SB is going to be spending her days, the other crusty toddlers there are going to become her friends. Which means (the potential horror) that their parents are going to become our friends. And it was obvious as we all circled each other pretending to encourage our respective children's progress in the trough of cornmeal while casting surreptitious glances on our neighbors, that we were all there trying to weed out the close-talkers, infrequent bathers and other social outcasts.

We left satisfied - Bree and I with the answers to the probing and impressive questions we'd prepared, SB with the quality of the toy cars. Now all that remains is two more tours, and the agonizing decision which approach and classmates will best suit our child. Because we all know the rest of her life depends on this.