Homework is Highly Overrated as Far as Brigid is Concerned

First, I have to say happy two-and-a-half-years birthday to Brigid. Can't believe our baby is two and a half! And she's every inch a two-and-a-half-year-old!

Well, we've all pretty much weathered the blight that passed through out house, although I still have a cold and cough. Brigid has the sniffles, which I'm treating at night with Benadryl. But this morning, she was such a log, I had to wake her up by dressing her in bed to get her to the child care center, I'm wondering if it isn't making her too sleepy. But once she was up, dressed and in the car with a toasted English muffin and cup of milk, she was perfectly happy. The drop-offs at Sibley have been better. She's still a clinging vine when we go in -- no more running down the hall to her room. She wants to be carried in. But she'll go to Gina or Jody without hesitation when it's time to hand her over. I think she looks at it as part of the routine now. The last few mornings in the car she's said, "Brigid go to Gina or Jody." And I'll say, "Yes, Brigid will go to either Gina or Jody." A lot of conversation with Brigid is repetition. She'll say something and I'll repeat it in the affirmative or negative. "Brigid so happy." "Yes, Brigid is so happy. I'm glad Brigid is so happy." She has a narrative when we get in the car on our way to school or after I pick her up. She'll say, "There's Brigid's playground" at the school, or "Goodbye, playground. Goodbye, friends, Goodbye, cars..." We'll pass a store on our way home that has a sign in the window advertising those slush puppy drinks. She'll say, "There's slush puppy." Every day, every time. We'll pass our church, which she says is her Uncle John's house (her Godfather, Father John). "That's Uncle John's house," she'll say, every time, every day. But last night, on our way home from the store, I went by her school and started on the route we take home every day. When I didn't turn down William Street like I usually do, she got all upset, saying she wanted to go home. I told her we were going home, just going a different way, she started saying, "Brigid go home a different way" with the emphasis on the word "different." Now she's been saying she's doing all kinds of things a different way. "Brigid wash her hands a different way."

What we'd like her to do a different way is express her frustration and exasperation. They told me yesterday at the center that they've had to speak to her about hitting and pushing her friends. I told them we're working on it at home, too, all the time. It isn't as pronounced as it was a few weeks ago, but she'll still go up and swat at you if she's upset.

Our lazy days of low involvement are coming to an end. Dance starts up soon, so we'll have tap and jazz two nights a week plus my own jazz class on Fridays. I'm trying to enjoy the time while we have it. The dance classes are great -- they're excellent exercise, and the girls love it. But it's a huge time commitment. At least we have one more year before Brigid dons her tap shoes and starts tap tap tapping for Miss Nancy.

Margaret and Patricia have weathered two weeks of school and have already had mounds of homework. Margaret had to write a short story last night. It was good, but it was very time-consuming. It's probably just the tip of the iceberg. She's getting along well so far, but she's certainly not as happy this year as she's been -- she didn't get the teachers she had hoped for and she's missing her friend, Maggie. They talk on the phone and email, but it's not the same. We're hoping to go to Buffalo in October for Columbus Day weekend. I suggested the possibility of Maggie joining us, but the logistics are compliated. Margaret jumped on the idea before it was even out of my mouth. I think it would do wonders for her morale, but I don't want her to get her hopes up too high. In the meantime, I'm hoping she'll spend more time with some of her other friends to help her over the hump. Patricia is flourishing as a sixth-grader. She seems to really enjoy being in the middle school with the big dogs. She's a pretty capable kid. She's been taking Brigid to the park many of these days afterschool. Brigid can hardly contain herself to wait for Patricia to finish her homework first. Brigid will say, "No, Busah, no homework. Park!" Maybe if we were to bring Brigid to the middle school, she could convince all the teachers, "No homework; Park!!" they would see it for the sensible command that it is.