You get a bag!

Im doing this from my phone, so I have no idea how it's going to look on your computers... So, here's what I did: Those who said they wanted the bag went in a list. 

Then I used the number generator at random.org. I did it once and I don't think I've ever been more nervous. I've also decided I don't like picking, even though I didn't really pick. I felt like I had too much power and it made me itchy. 

Ann-Jennifer! Come on down!

Email me at desireesdaydreams@gmail.com so I can get your info. 

I hate hate hate that I don't have more stuff to give. But justdiaperbags.com does have 20% off with the promo code shop20. I emailed their customer service yesterday to see if I could do anything more for you guys and they laughed in my face because I am a nobody blogger. I looked for their corporate number I see if I could talk to someone higher than customer service but I didn't find anything. *sad clown*

They're in Fairfield county in CT, if anyone can find a number for me to call. I'm way better at asking for things on others' behalf than I am asking for myself. 

Ok, there you have it! Thank you so much for reading and being awesome. You guys are the best!!

That time a miracle happened

Me and my hormones have been fighting, y'all.  Last night I was bawling my eyes out because I don't know how to dress a newborn and I gave away all of my winter newborn clothes, so of course New Baby is going to have a terrible start in life and it's going to be all my fault.  My lovely husband does not have the first clue about pregnancy hormones and sat there bewildered at why I was crying over our lack of newborn socks.  He kept asking me what was wrong.  Hmmm, I'm almost five months pregnant, it's 9 o'clock at night and I'm sitting on the bed crying because we have no newborn socks.  What in the world could possibly be wrong here?  How about, I'm five months pregnant, it's 9 o'clock at night and we have no newborn socks.  That's as good a reason as any to bust out crying, wouldn't you say? 

And just as quickly as it started, I went to bed and woke up refreshed and happy and 'normal' again.  I tell you what, these hormones are a trip.

It is in this state, the happy normal state, that I'm going to write.  The other state is just ridiculous and I have fun stuff to write about!  This first one you're going to need to sit down, it's that serious.

About a year ago, I was on the hunt for the perfect diaper bag.  My original bag was gorgeous and I loved it but it wasn't cutting it, so I surrendered to a formal diaper bag.  It was still stylish and cute and it carried everything I wanted it to, but there was still a longing in my heart.

Kate - I love you, I miss you, I think of you often.

I still randomly thought about ways that I could bring Kate home to me; I thought about what I could sell, be it my clothes, my shoes, my hair.  But then I got pregnant again and Sofia started school and we need to do another nursery, and we redid our bedroom and we need to get stuff for that, and we're redoing the laundry room, and the stuff we needed pushed my Kate further and further away.  Ah well, such is life.  For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I could wrangle a Kate out of Drew as my push present.

Then one day, I got an email from a friend of mine.  She said I could tell this story, but she didn't say if I could use her name so for now she's going to be 'a friend of mine.'  She reads the blog, but we have totally bonded over our stellar, rock-star parents (can you see your brain because you rolled your eyes so hard?  Good.)  I emailed with her for hours on the 4th of July just talking about parents, kids and life stuff.  She's a super cool chick and of course she lives on the other side of the country, because that's how these things work.  

On this fateful day, I opened my email and she was like, So hey, would you be interested in a Belle?  It's not the Kate, but it's nice too.  I emailed her back that I would love a Belle, but Drew would most certainly divorce me if I spent money on something I didn't need, as there are so many other things that we have to get right now.  

Ok, I have to collect myself, because here's where I start squealing and hyperventilating.

........

She was like, No, I'll give it to you.

Now, what I really want to do is put that previous sentence in giant bold neon pink flashy letters because that's how major that is.  But I'm trying to be cool here, so please read that in giant flashy letters because that's how I felt.  I nearly fell out of my chair.  Actually, what I did was get up from my computer and walk to the other side of the house, because I was certain that my computer was going to explode or something after a statement like that.  People don't just give you your dream diaper bag.  Things like that don't happen in real life and I just knew my computer was possessed.

I tiptoed back to my computer to see that it hadn't exploded.  I responded to the email with lots of caps locks and exclamation points and stuttery sentences.  Somehow I gave her my address; I can't be sure because I was in a fog.  I insisted on paying for shipping; she said no, that she had enough money for postage in her couch cushions, which is really funny because I use that exact same phrase all the time.  I smiled out loud when I read that.  We use the same phrase!  We're practically twins! (Don't act like you don't do the same thing.)

And then I waited, certain that the bag would never come, that this was a trick of some sort because these types of things just don't happen.  Yet, one day a box was on my front step and I brought it inside and didn't open it for nearly a week, because I knew what was inside and I was afraid that if I opened it, the bag would disintegrate because it was never real in the first place.  

Then I opened the box, and commenced to squealing and hyperventilating because sitting there, in real life, was the most beautiful bag I'd ever seen.  I actually took a video of me opening it, but I quickly erased it because it sounded like a porn.  There was lots of heavy breathing and lots of whispered 'Oh my God' and things like that should never be subjected to your delicate ears.  So I took pictures instead.

    It's everything I dreamed it would be and more.

Love at first sight.

Another photoshoot, a couple of days later, after I'd calmed down.

Also, I swear I'm pregnant.  For some reason, I don't feel like I'm showing

as quickly this time around, although the baby is measuring a little bigger than the dates.

I'm definitely not complaining, it just makes it hard to take belly pictures.

18-ish weeks and there's just not much to see yet.

And I really need to quit taking pictures in the Bathroom of Hate

but it's the only place with a large enough mirror.

And then it sat in my bedroom for another week because I was afraid to soil its grace 

and beauty with my lowly peasant possessions.

So it sat, perched atop a throne of dirty clothes.  

This bag deserved more than that, I know.

I was so in awe of the amazing kindness of my friend and I kept questioning how it was that I came to be so blessed, that it took over a week to dawn on me.  I'm sure you saw it the second you saw the first picture, but it took me a while longer because I was in such a daze.

This bag was not the Belle.  In fact, it was the KATE.

When someone offers to give you a diaper bag that magnificent, you don't bother with the details.  You get down on your knees and give a prayer of thanks that you have been blessed, and you sure as hell don't scrutinize your amazing gift. That's why it took me a minute to realize that this bag was my ultimate dream diaper bag, not simply another amazing bag from the same bad-ass designer.  Then I got all squealy and started hyperventilating all over again.  

I ran to look at the email again.  My friend said she was getting the Kate and did I want the Belle, yet the Kate was sitting in my bedroom.  There was only one explanation.  She'd given me the wrong bag.  I fell over myself running back to my computer, barely typing fast enough to explain the mix-up, reassuring her that I hadn't even used the bag, I'd barely even breathed on it and I would put it back in the mail to her that day.

She lol'd, told me she ended up going a different way, and that the Kate was mine to keep.

Please read that in giant neon flashy letters.

I reverently walked into my bedroom, gently lifted Kate from her throne and ceremoniously began to transfer my things from my Marilyn to the Kate.  My Kate.  It's smaller than the Marilyn, but everything fit and there was even room to spare.  That's the magic of the Kate.  

This bag is so beautiful, it's insanely well-made and it's easily the prettiest thing I own.  And it was a gift.  From an amazing awesome friend to whom I am forever grateful.  For real and for serious.

So here's the thing - I need to pay this forward.  I cannot be the only person who gets to be this happy.  That's why I want one of you to have my Marilyn.

I just went on the Timi and Leslie website and this is a discontinued style.

So you can say it's a limited edition, and be even cooler.

Then in a few years, you can say it's vintage and people will bow down to you.

A few years after that, it becomes a classic.  That's how these things work.

Anyway, I want one of you to have it.  I have no idea how to do this, as I'm typing this as I'm thinking it up.  I'm not a big time blogger who does giveaways once a week.  I've never in life done a giveaway because I hate the thought of only one winner; I love you guys so much I wish I could give you all a diaper bag.  But since I have zero dollars to my name, this is the best I can do because I want to do something and this is what I came up with.

The bag is as good as new and it's gorgeous - you know I wouldn't have chosen it if it wasn't awesome.  It has all the accessories except for the bottle holder; since I breastfed I never bothered with bottles and I didn't get too concerned when it got lost in the move.  Although, I'll look around and see if I can't find it for you.  I think I may have seen it in my closet.

ANYWAY!  I'm so rambling right now!  Leave me a comment but I don't know, try to say something more than 'Gimme yer bag!'  Even though I'm going to use random.org to pick a number for me, I just wouldn't feel right giving it to someone I've never heard from before who was all, Gimme gimme!  Although if that's how you want to be, I don't suppose I can stop you, but I will hope that the random number picker doesn't pick you.  But you guys are so amazing and wonderful that I know that won't happen.  I've just seen giveaways where the greedy ugly people come out and it's just greedy and ugly.

Good LORD let me stop typing already!  Ok!  Leave a comment, get a bag!  I'll take care of shipping it to you; I've got postage money in my couch cushions.  Except, don't hate me, but it's got to be someone in the lower 48.  I don't have enough postage money to be sending things to Australia and stuff.  We'll do this until Wednesday, I'll pick Thursday morning, get your info and I'll put it in the mail on Friday.  Sound good?

Once again, my friend, you are beautiful and I thank you so very much.  Every time I pick up my kick ASS diaper bag I stand a little taller and I smile a little bit.  You did that.  

Thank you.

Admissions

Some downright extraordinary things have happened this week and I want to write about them but there's this that I have to write about first because, well, it's major.

It's about Sofia and her education.

As much as I wanted to have Sofia hold a little chalkboard that

said "My First Day of Preschool", this was the best I could

do because the kid would not hold still.

A while back, I wrote about Sofia's school and how I was disappointed in the quality of their 'teaching.'  To be fair, it was a glorified church nursery and Sofia loved her teachers and that definitely counts for something.  But I wanted more for her, so I looked around and found a school that had more of a curriculum-based structure with an emphasis on the arts, and Sofia started her new school a couple of weeks ago.

At orientation, I got my first clue that this was going to be more serious when the teacher referred to herself by her last name.  At the old school, her teachers were Miss Michelle, Miss MaryAnn, Miss Stephanie.  At the new school, her teachers are Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Jones (not their real names.)  It's a small thing, but I sat up a little straighter nonetheless.  Mrs. Smith outlined her goals and expectations for the kids - no such thing at the old school.  There was a curriculum and schedule to each day.  This was the real deal and I found myself getting nervous for Sofia.  Would she be able to cut it?  Would this be too much structure?  Would she buckle under the pressure?

The first day I stayed with her while she got acclimated to the classroom.  All us parents alternated standing around and playing with our respective children.  We were also sizing each other up and barely hiding it.  I was doing it too - I compared my outfit to the other moms, making sure I was striking the right tone.  Casual, but not sloppy; you want to look put together but they look sideways at you if you go overboard, and I think I passed.  Sofia also had an appropriate outfit on too, one that I purchased just before the first day because at the last minute I decided that nothing in her closet would be acceptable for the first day of school.  

She could have cared less.

She was busy checking out the joint and making sure the babies were fed.

And this bottle feeding thing?  I never taught her this and I have no idea 

where it came from, but it sure is adorable.

After that first day, we were no longer allowed in the classroom.  You drop the kid off at the door and the teacher brings them out at the end of the day.  That was far more traumatizing to me than Sofia - I felt like I was abandoning her, and walking away while she cried was incredibly hard.  Yet, the first day she cried, the second time she whimpered and the third time she walked right in without a backwards glance.  

I'm happy with this school, Sofia seems happy, but I couldn't help but wonder if there was more out there that I should be researching.  And boy howdy, welcome to the rabbit hole.

Apparently, preschool is right up there with college admissions and I had no idea.  I mean, I knew but I didn't know.  You've got your teaching philosophies - Montessori vs. Waldof vs. Reggio Emilia.  Then you've got your homeschooling and unschooling.  They've made movies about the preschool process - trip out on that shit because this preschool thing is no joke.  I started looking around and found a Spanish Immersion Waldorf-based program that now I'm convinced my kid has to be in, or she's going to end up picking up garbage on the highway for the rest of her life.

This is not the face of a highway garbage collector.

But the Spanish school is 30 minutes away.  It's a 9am-1:30 setup versus the two hours she's in school now.  And if I do Spanish immersion in preschool, then I have to find a Spanish immersion kindergarten, because what's the point of doing it in preschool if you're not going to follow through?  And what about math and science based programs?  Math and science are super important, but so is the arts - she must have exposure to the arts!  And sports!  She needs physical activity, she needs to learn teamwork, discipline, and whatever the heck else you get from sports that you don't get from other stuff.  

And how do you tell which philosophy is right for your kid?  Maybe I'm just behind and I know nothing, but I can't really tell how Sofia learns.  She seems to absorb everything in every way.  We play with blocks so she can learn spatial reasoning, cause and effect (building and knocking down), we paint and play with playdoh to stimulate the artsy creative part of her brain, we read because reading is fundamental (!), and she seems to like it all.  I can't point to any one thing and be like Sofia likes to do things with her hands or Sofia is a visual learner.  All I can say at this point is Sofia is an awesome kid.

I read somewhere, and of course I can't find it right now, that the education philosophy at this young age doesn't matter.  No one can really find a measurable difference between any of the teaching methods to clearly say one is better than the other.  But still, you have to choose something.  Even by not choosing anything and just putting them in the school around the corner because it's around the corner is making a choice.  

I just want to do right by her, I want to give her the best opportunity for success, and what parent doesn't?  And I know that the kid matters more than the school, that brain surgeons can come out of inner city schools and delinquents can come out of the best boarding schools.  I also know you can have awesome teachers in crap schools and crap teachers in awesome schools, which really doesn't help when you're trying to narrow stuff down.  *sigh*  

It's important to me that Sofia learn Spanish, but that's my personal story.  I speak Spanish and French because I have an affinity for languages.  I didn't learn them until high school, but I loved it so much I got my degree in it; I see it as a gift and I want to give that to my daughter.  I want to introduce her in preschool to the love that I found in high school.  I love that I can understand other languages and it has undoubtedly enriched my understanding of English and I want the same for my daughter.  If I was all about math and science or sports or arts or dance, I'd have the same feelings and would be researching the preschool versions of MIT or Julliard.

But do I want to start the craziness that is 'getting ready for school in the morning' at three years old?  Going to a school that is 30 minutes away means an early-ass morning for us, and we all know Mama's not so great in the morning.  Right now, Sofia is doing so well sleeping through the night, and when she wakes up at 7:30, she gets in bed with me and we cuddle for another half hour.  That time is priceless and I'm not so keen on giving that up just yet.  Granted, if she goes to the Spanish school, she wouldn't start until next fall.  Which is another trip, because if I want her to go there I have to start getting my shit together like yesterday.  I have to fill out admission paperwork for my three year old, and possibly put her on the waiting list to ensure she has a spot.  It's madness, you guys.

I am also fully aware that freaking out over an education path is a privilege, and that so many right here at home don't have options and don't have access to quality education.  That's why I feel even more strongly that I have to make the right choice with my privilege; I don't want to squander what others would give their left pinky toe to have.

I wasn't ready to think about this; I'm not ready to jump into this ring, and I suppose I don't necessarily have to.  I guess I could homeschool or unschool her, although I have no idea how either of those work.  I could leave her where she is until kindergarten and put her in the assigned public school in our district and pray for the best (not that I wouldn't be praying for the best no matter where I send her.)   I'm just so passionate about education; I believe knowledge is power and I want to set her up with the best possible chances for success.

All I want, and probably all any parent wants is to give their kid the best shot they can with the resources they have and pray that their kid leads a good and happy life.  

In the meantime, I'm just going to be over here, brushing up on my, I mean Sofia's essay-writing skills.