Madlibs

Do you remember Madlibs? I do. I remember going to slumber parties and staying up all night in my friend's basements, listening to music and screaming with laughter at the silly stories that we would make up. Those were good times. As I sit here in my kitchen on a Friday night, I think back to all those birthday parties and the great fun we had with madlibs, and even now - decades later - I feel a swell of mirth bubbling up, and hear the echoes of laughter in my mind.

And veering off on a tangent...(trust me, this will make sense eventually)....

M and I are investigating schools for Monkey (and Jellybean too, eventually). The public school we are zoned for sucks. No other way to put it folks, it sucks. It is the kind of school that you only send your kids to because you have to. Because you have no other choice in life. And I'm not being an over-educated snob: even our superintendant, who is originally from Albania and may never have attended college for all I know, shudders at that school and managed to work the system (OK, cheat) to get his kids into a better school elsewhere.

We are looking at both public and private, but since public isn't an option until fall of 2011 when she turns 5, right now our focus is on private schools. (more about the insane admissions process later, I promise)

Private schools require the normal forms you'd expect, but most also require a statement/essay from the parent(s). One school asks how you would describe your child (skipping the physical attributes) to another person so that the child could be picked out of a crowd of kids.

It's a pretty cool question - asking you to identify the defining attributes of your child: what makes Monkey unique, what makes Monkey who she is....and it reminds me of Madlibs!

My daughter is _______, and can often be found holding_______in her hand while _____ about ____________ with _______________.

My daughter is insane about her books, and can often be found holding two or more library books in her hand while walking about the city with her parents.

OR

My daughter is exceptionally polite, and can often be found holding a full glass of apple juice in her hand while attending a birthday party and talking about robots with her best friend Caleb.

OR

My daughter is pigheaded stubborn, and can often be found holding her ABC blankie in her hand while grinding down her mother's resolve to not let her watch TV while asking about movies with no scary parts in them.

I could go on. Instead I'll go to bed.

Recent photos

Her inner Tarzan

A few weekends ago, back when we were still familiar with that giant yellow ball of gas in the sky known as the sun (it's been raining here a lot. A LOT), we spent some quality family time in Riverside Park.

We had wandered over to dinner at the Hudson Beach Cafe, which overlooks/is adjacent to a manmade beach wtih a volleyball court and gymnast rings.

Kids were swinging back and forth, back and forth, moving from one ring to the next with the casual confidence of olympic gymnasts. They made it look easy.

Monkey was enthralled. So, without thinking about it too hard, M brought Monkey over and stood in line with her. When it was her turn, he lifted her up to hold a ring, and swung her back and forth. My only objection was that she was swinging over the upturned garbage can used as a launching point. (you know, if she dropped on it that would hurt more than the sand)

So when it was her turn again, M brought her out to the second ring, and she swung back and forth there. And I do mean swing. She was making it look easy.

Until she let go. And dropped 5 feet down, onto the hard packed sand. Ow. She cried, we comforted her, and she got over it. Home we went for a good bath before bedtime.

Only then, during the bath, did I realize just how hard she had hit the sand. She still had sand shoved up into her nose.

She is one tough toddler.

End of the school year

Last Thursday was officially the end of the "school year" for Monkey. So they threw a party!

All the parents were invited to attend a "social" which, loosely translated, means bringing tons of food, eating tons of food, and watching all the kids go crazy after they've had fruit, muffins, and apple juice. Good times.

I was expecting the usual mayhem. What I wasn't expecting was a short "slide show" put on by the head teacher, J. She took pictures from the year and put them to music. There were a few shows, each focused on a topic - working, running, sleeping, etc.

My favorite was sleeping. I loved seeing all those peaceful faces, including the one of Monkey. It flashed across the screen and I thought - awww, how cute, her best friend R is sleeping next to her.

Only later did I get the whole story. And I got a little choked up.

Apparently, when I was in the hospital after delivering Jellybean, Monkey was having a hard time at school. She was out of sorts because Mommy wasn't home, and because she knew her world as she knew it was changing. So she wasn't napping, crying for her mommy.

So do you know what R did? Every day he would go and sleep next to Monkey, to make her feel better. That's love.

Of all the things that Monkey's montessori is teaching her, I think that friendship has to be the most important.

out of the mouth of babes

This past Saturday night we drove out to Westchester to a birthday party. The birthday boy, as opposed to our more normal routine, was not an insane toddler, but rather M's boss. He has a lovely home, with a really nice wife, three kids, and an adorable little floppet of a puppy. The party was fun. The food (an assortment of Turkish items) was really good, there was plenty of wine and soda to go around, and there was even live music.

The live music was my favorite part. It was two guys with acoustic guitars, and they were awesome! I got to rock out to some Supertramp with Jellybean. She totally dug it, and was fascinated by the two musicians playing their guitars. If I could have put a lighter in her hand she would have been all over it. "Give a Little Bit" is officially her favorite song now. Come on now, rock out with me.... I think it cracked the musicians up that I was singing along with them...but come on, it was Supertramp!

Monkey could have cared less about the music, she got obsessed *cough sputter cough* OBSESSED I TELL YOU with.....a nasty piece of work called "My Pretty Pony." Ah, gawd, I think I just threw up in my mouth.

The funniest moment of the entire party came when we were getting into the car to drive home. I commented on the house, saying I liked it, and Monkey piped up with "Yeah, I want one!".....I about fell over laughing. M glowered and told Monkey to "stop egging your mother on...". It was hilarious.

Ok, I have two babes asleep right now. I need to go listen to some more Supertramp before they wake up! Happy Monday all.....