Bye preschool!!! Can I still pop by for drop off and pick up just to chat with my favorite people?

Posted on June 26, 2025 by Good Times with Jess

Everyday last week I was crying or on the verge of crying. My baby graduated from pre-k. We said goodbye to our beloved preschool where I’ve been taking both of our babies for six years.

All I have to do is look at a piece of art work and tears come to my eyes. And there is so much art work.

Although there’s one piece of art work that does NOT bring tears to my eyes:

Hard to say what Captain has done to edge me out for this win, but if it’s lifting up legos, I’d like to point out I’m also very capable of that. I have lifted many a lego.

The cut off for kindergarten is September 1st. RB is a fall birthday so she’s well on her way to 6. She would’ve gotten on the bus a year ago if someone had let her.

Last year the alphabet and her name were still very mysterious, so it was nice to make some progress there.

RB is ready. I’m ready. IT’S JUST SO NOSTALGIC!

After six years at this wonderful school, I feel a little beside myself. My baby is not a baby and I said goodbye to some of our favorite people.

When RB started, she was two and still in pull-ups. Now she thinks she’s ready for high school.

Meanwhile BB just finished her best year yet and got teary when she needed to say goodbye to her amazing teacher. Yes, I may have gotten a little teary too. It was A WEEK.

I don’t remember having any tears on the last day of school when I was 8. I just remember pure peace-out energy. So that’s a testament to her 3rd grade teacher!

The sweet, emotional tears are over and we’ve moved onto the banshee cries of the wronged sibling.

I’m not sure what this summer will bring. We’re functioning on a week to week basis. We’ve decamped for the Cape, but have already been back home twice. I haven’t booked any summer camps, but that doesn’t mean I won’t. We’re going sailing, but only if my kids can agree to not tear each other apart.

BB says,

“I need my alone time.”

RB follows her around for the next hour.

They both whine and complain.

I say,

“BEDTIME!”

BB says,

“Can we have a sleepover?”

“Really? You just spent the last hour trying to get away from your sister.”

“I know. I still want a sleepover with her.”

Three hours later everyone is asleep.

I’ve instituted a No-Tattling Policy. It really seems to have helped. But ask me again in August.

And as teary as I am about my babies growing up, it’ll be a beautiful thing to put both kiddos on the 8am bus in September.

Until then, Happy Summer!!!

What is going on with that leg? Is that a high-school leg?

That’s my beach bag on the kitchen table. This is how I solved the never-ending conundrum of “SHE’S LOOKING AT ME!!!”

Bye magical, outdoor classroom at preschool 🥹😭😭

Children? What Children? Haven’t seen them

Posted on September 26, 2024 by Good Times with Jess

I usually spend every weekend with my kiddos. I don’t try to, it’s just life, unless something extraordinary happens. And all of sudden there are three extraordinary things in a row.

First there was a family wedding on the Cape, kids weren’t invited. BYE!

Now there’s a friend getaway this weekend.

Then a different friend group going away next weekend.

And while it’s not ideal to have two friend weekends away in a row, especially after a wedding weekend away, I’m not saying no!

Bye! Bye! And bye again!

The best part of being away is sleeping all night and into the morning without any needy people.

RB is queen of the 4am shoulder tap to let me know she needs to go to the bathroom. She doesn’t require any support aside from wanting to share her experience.

At 4am I’d rather not share any experiences.

The morning of the wedding, I luxuriate in my morning aloneness. Captain meanders out eventually,

“I’m sorry I slept so late.”

Nothing to be sorry about! There were no blood curdling war cries from our children.

We are well into school and are knee deep in activities. RB marched out of swimming very happy.

“I told my teacher I’m 5 and that I’m in kindergarten.”

“Really?”

“Am I?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Almost five. In pre-k. And on a tear.

Mornings are a lottery. Today she demanded one small braid with a green clip, one pig-tail on the right with a pink, furry scrunchie and the hair on the other half of her head just down. I asked,

“Are you sure?”

“YES.”

I put the finishing touches on her wacko hairdo.

She admired herself in the mirror, let out a cackle and said,

“I look like a villain!”

“A villain?!” Does she even know what she’s talking about? “What’s a villain?”

She looks at me like I’m the odd ball,

“You know. Like in the movies.” She slides a pair of sunglasses onto the collar of her shirt and she’s ready.

As far as I’ve been told, my little villain is a somewhat quiet character at school.

The other day at dinner, BB ponders her sippy cup and asks,

“Do 8-year olds drink from sippy cups?”

“Depends on the 8-year old.”

Any item on our kitchen table goes flying at any point. BB has a knack for inadvertently flinging everything everywhere. After a routine breakfast of toast with Nutella it is not uncommon to find chocolate on her ankles, ears, chair rungs, and the wall.

Whole strawberries, pieces of chicken, green beans find cover under my table. BB knows they’ve gone missing, she just can’t be bothered to chase them down.

Liquids are the most exciting. A flying fork does not send me running, but a full chocolate milk sloshing across the dinner table is hard to ignore.

I understand that I’m raising BB to go out into the world without me and if all goes well she will drink from a cup.

I said ok to no sippy cup with a two-spill waiver clause. After two spills, we go back to a sippy. Also I’ve been giving her the shortest, fattest, heaviest glasses we have.

They may not withstand a solid arm swipe across the table, but so far they’ve held up to a few rogue elbows.

Three weekends worth of messes, hair-dos and activities that are not my problem.

And if RB thought she looked like a villain today, I can’t wait to see what she looks like after she gives her hair requests to Captain.

Bye!

Can’t go wrong with a little wedding swag!

How I thought I’d parent versus reality

Posted on February 14, 2023 by Good Times with Jess

Childless Jessica would be shocked by current Jessica. I was up on some high horse about the type of parenting I would do someday. It was an aspirational list that any childless person can get behind:

no screen time
no sugar
no princesses
no barbies
no bedsharing
no change to my sex life
no change to my wardrobe
no special meals for anyone

These didn’t all fall in defeat the moment BB was born, but I could hear their death knell over BB’s sound machine next to our shared bed.

My sex life and wardrobe were the first to go, but also the first to recover. There’s no way to make my kids untaste a Reese’s.

And as a dear friend noted: once you have cinnamon sugar toast, how can you go back?

The descent into Candyland was delayed, but this morning my kids had a box of chocolates for breakfast, so that’s how that’s going.

No special meals for anyone has turned into cereal for dinner.

No screentime has turned into: You get an iPad, you get an iPad and you get an iPad.

I don’t know who the third iPad is for, but I’m sure someone needs it.

The no Barbies has turned into 70% of Hanukkah, Christmas and birthday presents being Barbies. I like to think there is some redeeming value to there being Barbies of all races, shapes and abilities.

The Barbie wheelchairs are very popular with the mermaid Barbies. When I was surprised to notice this, RB gave an irritated sigh,

“Mo-om, they don’t have legs.”

And then the princess thing. There’s nothing empowering about an old fashion princess fairytale, but I’m on board with the recent releases.

So now we have a houseful of whatever dress-up gear you’re into: crowns, swords, gowns, wings. We have enough costumes for the whole neighborhood.

BB had a friend over the other day and she was thrilled to dress up. She told me she doesn’t have any princess dresses. Without meaning to, I exclaim,

“You don’t have ANY princess dresses?”

“Nope.”

I do not know this specific mom’s reasoning, but I’m sure I’m 100% on board, even if my current choices don’t reflect that.

Part of the problem is that princess dresses are everywhere. They’re even moonlighting as nightgowns.

When the mom arrived to retrieve her daughter, she was greeted by a houseful of royalty.

There was no time to explain. No chance to say,

‘I hear you don’t have any princess dresses; you’d get along well with my former childless self.’

And with that, we’re soon headed to Canada. My kids will be on their iPads eating whatever and I’ll be in the third row of my mid-size SUV cursing childless Jessica for refusing to get a minivan.

Let them wipe each other’s butts

Posted on March 18, 2021 by Good Times with Jess

I can almost taste this vaccine. And it feels like it’s going to be an amazing summer.

When the pandemic started, I had two little people who were determined to fight over anything no matter what. I went with the motto of not negotiating with terrorists.

Then at some point during the slog of this past year, as both kiddos screamed and fought over one puppy stool because the 5 other stools in our home are NOT the same as the puppy stool, I thought to myself: “Maybe life WOULD be better with TWO puppy stools.

I put it in my Amazon cart to think about it, then immediately clicked “buy now.” Sure, I’ll throw $20 at the wall and see if it brings us a little peace.

It did not.

It has proved my initial reaction correct. No negotiating. If they are determined to fight with each other, duplicate items will not appease. I’m better off saving my money for a rainy day or whatever day it is when we go out without our children.

I just read an amazing parenting book. It covered many tactics I’ve read elsewhere, but the way this book put everything together and told me exactly how to do it, really resonated. We’ve made changes and things are looking up.

The book makes the case for few or no toys. I’m not rushing to get rid of everything, but I sure wouldn’t mind scaling back on the gift giving. Why does the Easter Bunny already have a huge bag of gifts in my closet? We don’t have room for what we have. I climb over a trampoline to get to my couch.

And if I thought duplicate items would also be interchangeable. I was very VERY wrong. BB knows which puppy stool is hers and RB is NOT allowed on it.

This post has more all caps than usual. Maybe a reflection of the strong competitive feelings around here.

BB claims she and RB are “besties.” I want to believe that. And considering BB is now willing to change RB’s poopy diapers, maybe it’s true. And don’t get confused. Willing is very different from able.

One theory of the book is that allowing BB to “help” with the dirty diapers today, creates a go getter, self initiator who may, two years from now, wipe RB’s butt all by herself. And if that isn’t parenting success, I don’t know what is.

You’re right. They’re not EXACTLY the same. The original is missing some whiskers. It’s been noted.

Nature vs Nurture. I’m going to toss a lot up to nature

Posted on March 7, 2017 by Good Times with Jess

Will the truth survive four years of this? Will we recognize it after it’s attacked day after day? I have no new insights, but I need to acknowledge the pile of poop in front of me before moving onto Baby Bop’s cuter, more manageable poops.

I got my parenting job the same way I got my first bartending job. I BS’d my way into it.

My mom’s friend’s nephew was a bartender and he agreed to teach me how to bartend with no intention of helping me get a job. My first day with him a guy walked up to me at the bar and said,

“You’re new here.”

“Oh I don’t work here, So-and-so is just training me.”

“I have a restaurant and I need a bartender.”

“Oh.”

“Have you bartended before?”

“No.” Didn’t this guy hear what I just said? “I’m learning.”

“Have you bartended before?”

Ooooh. “Why yes. Yes I have.”

And off I went to my first bartending job.

Fifteen years later: do you have a uterus?

Why yes I do.

Alright. Let’s see what happens.

I BS’d myself into thinking I knew what I was doing.

“I took care of my baby brother.” I was five.

“I babysat plenty.” At 15 I rang in the New Year with a baby who had just fallen asleep on his parents’ bed. This should’ve served as a warning.

“I’ve read so many books.” I have. But reading about feeding solid foods is very different from watching your child get prunes everywhere but in her mouth. Baby Bop, don’t be mad at me when you’re still constipated later. I tried.

Trying. Maybe I’ll try this. Or I’ll try that. Or I read this on some obscure site, after hours of Googling. It’s worth a try.

My hormones have provided some basic parenting instincts, like the desire to keep my child alive, even though I want to eat her. But they aren’t helpful with the nuances, like what to do when my daughter does pelvic thrusts the entire time I’m trying to change her diaper.

Having more children would provide perspective on what’s personality and what’s parenting skills. But I am not trying to have a comparison anytime soon.

This morning Captain’s bare chest was tempting. I slapped it, then Baby Bop slapped it. That’s parenting.