Category: Neko

I know you all are probably really bored of all these bug photos, but, people, this is my life. It is a constant cycle of collecting, examining, and then coerced release of bugs of all varieties. There’s also some random philosophical discussion about the afterlife when some bugs don’t quite make it to that “release” part.

And I know these photos are really grainy, but I just couldn’t bring myself to go find the flash when Neko was already going to bed ridiculously late and then, when told to release her spider, declared that we must take a picture of her with her very good friend before she could say goodbye.

I promise tomorrow there will be no picture of bugs.

Neko keeps calling this a cricket. For a while she accepts that it’s a grasshopper, and then sighs an exasperated sigh and declares, “I am calling it a cricket!”

Which, okay, fine. To-may-to, to-mah-to—whatever. As long as it goes back to its home in the tall grass by bedtime, you can call it whatever you want.

I’ve been asking Tom to take the kids away for a few hours because I needed to throw myself in a black hole and hope I made my way back out.

Neko’s room. It scares me.

Those of you whose kids are under the age of three, you probably don’t know what I’m talking about, because when Neko was that age, I, too, was naive. Her room was a cute little nursery with everything placed just so. But then she got a little older and all of a sudden, it began. The HOARDING. Scraps of packages. The endless paper that comes home from preschool, toys that have trucked in from the playroom and never made their way back out, and weird little pieces of ribbon and pipe cleaners and goodness knows what else. It’s one of those moments when you think, “You have only been in this world for five years. How could you possibly accumulate this much stuff?” And then I break out in hives thinking about what the volume will grow to by the time she packs her bags for college.

When Tom took the kids to his mom’s this morning, I made my move. The first photo is all the stuff I removed from her room that did not belong there. Some of it trash, others I needed to move to the playroom, laundry room, or into the great beyond.

The second is the “after” photo. I removed a bookshelf that held baskets which were only enabling the hoarding problem, and replaced it with this IKEA coffee table, which I hope will also be used as a sitting-height desk.

Other than the bed and play-tent, her bedroom now contains the following:
books
Rudolph Christmas toys (loved so much they stay out all year)
Rudolph Christmas globe
Playmobil Ark
Toy Story family
one basket of small stuffed animals
beanbag of large stuffed animals
regular beanbag
Playmobil dinosaurs
Yo Gabba Gabba dolls
Little Einsteins rocket
two small suitcases
markers
paper
clock
the orchid

Okay, I know you didn’t really need to know the details, but the fact that the list is only 16 items long makes me beam from ear to ear.

And, yes, there are about a zillion other toys in the playroom, but I have control over cleaning those up. I can stack and sort and purge in the dark of night while the children sleep. The bedrooms? That’s trickier.

I know my days of being able to do this are numbered. As she gets older, a purge like this will be a violation of trust and boundaries. But for the moment? It was exhilarating.

Built by Neko, during quiet time.

Just in case you can't tell, the Tyrannosaurus Rex roars when you go past. Then you go to the top of the hill where you just barely clear the Triceratops and the Spinosaurus. And when you're done? You may pose for a photo with the Pteranodon if you'd like.

(Sunglasses on the Brachiosaurus was a last-minute addition which Neko insisted I document.)

I think we've got a winner. Chris has a friend who develops amusement park rides. We'll have to give Neko his number to schedule her pitch.

When we started pre-school this fall, I was anxious. I kept Neko out of school when she was three. I hadn't really found a program I felt good about and she was far from ready. I could barely keep her focused enough to take her dishes to the sink, much less be part of a classroom environment.

By the time she turned four she seemed ready, but I still worried. She was keeping herself under control more and more, but there were the inevitable meltdowns, and when they occurred, they were a full-on disaster. I had a conference before the year began, prepping the staff and discussing methodology and how best to deal with her personality.

But the meltdown never happened. She blossomed. She talked about what she'd learned and things she'd seen and friends she'd made. That last one, being especially important. She made friends who were GIRLS, something she'd had little experience with up until this point in her life.

I scoffed a bit at this whole idea of a ceremony for graduation. I mean, really, it's just preschool, right? But smack in the middle of it all, I found myself getting a bit teary-eyed. And not that she was wearing this miniature cap with a tassel, but like all graduations, it really was a reminder of how far we'd come. My crazy, untamed wild child was there in line with everyone else, smiling and singing and giggling with friends.

I give a great deal of the credit to the extraordinary Ms. Julie. I am hesitant when it comes to handing my children over to educators. Perhaps it's because I'm the daughter of teachers, but I am so painfully aware of how much your child is shaped by the people who teach them that it's not a decision I make lightly. She has been amazing from the first day to the last.

From here we head to kindergarten. I feel as though we're blazing new territory there as well. Her friends are scattering to different schools and grades, so it'll be like wearing a new pair of shoes—unfamiliar, yet exciting.

But after this year? I think we're up for the challenge.