Petri Dish

Here is Coleman with his best buddy Declan. Coleman has a collection of snot at the base of his nose. I'm sure a couple of days after this picture, Declan had a collection of snot at the end of his nose.

Let me tell you something about kids and germs. In the 3 weeks since Coleman started preschool he has had a cold, fever, chest congestion, runny nose, diahrrea, a febrile seizure (4am emergency room vistit, not fun but he's fine) and an ear infection in both ears.

Roz has had chest congestion, sinus infection, a really bad cough and some "female problem" that she won't tell me about.

I have had chest congestion, bronchialitis (the younger cousin to bronchitis), runny nose, fever, a root canal and a heel spur.

I probably can't blame the kids for the heel spur or possibly the root canal, but how do we really know for sure.

Send in the Clowns

Yeah we hired a clown!! I feel like such a sellout. First we weren't even gonna have a party for Coleman's 3rd birthday. He had cupcakes at his preschool with the entire class. Then we took him on a special trip to a farm where he had his first pony ride. That shoulda been enough. But for some reason, and I can't even blame Roz for this I felt it as well, we decided we needed to do more. So we planned a party - for Saturday - it was already Wednesday.

It was a great party. The genius of last minute planning is that lots of invited people had plans already, so there weren't too many kids.

So the clown shows up about an hour into the party. We introduced Bingo the Clown to everyone.
"Coleman, Bingo is here for your party."
Coleman took him in for a moment. "Why are you dressed like that?"
"He's here for your party."
"I know, but why is he dressed like that?" It was a very funny moment.

It was also a very telling moment. You dress them and undress your kids everyday, sometimes a few times a day and you think they aren't paying attention, but he knew the clothes that clown was wearing was different from the clothes everyone else was wearing. Coleman is learning how to recognize and verbalize things that are out of the norm. Clothing is obvious thing to learn. So many things aren't that obvious.

A noose hanging from a tree. A taxi passing you by on the street. Hanging chad.

Thank God for now it's just clowns.

Terrible Two's

It's almost over. The terrible two's. Coleman turns 3 on Wednesday.
Truthfully it really wasn't that terrible, and it probably really isn't over. Coleman is sleeping through the night - for the most part.
He's potty trained - for the most part.
He's a really good talker and communicator - for the most part.
Tantrums are few - for the most part - you get the point, we're in a really good place - for the most part.

Now we're getting the pressure, sometimes light, sometimes full court - When are you having another???????????

In theory, yes, absolutely I want more, maybe just one more. Almost everyone we know has popped out or is about to pop out the 2nd one.
"It's so much easier the 2nd time." "He'll have a playmate." "The time will fly by."
That's the crap we hear from those parents with two or more. I can see right through them, I can see through the bags underneath their eyes, I can see through the clenched teeth.

I can see the truth.

It's not easier, you're just more beat down, so you're not as quick to respond like you did for the first one.
Playmate - yeah right, they'll play in between fights and the fights last longer than playtime.

I made a list of pro's and con's.
Con's:
money,
time,
2 or 3 more years of no sleep,
we're not that young,
it may not be as easy this time,
physically,
mentally,
spiritually.

Pro's: Look at that picture.

Park It

I hate the park. It's soooo boring. Let's face it, it's not that fun if you're an adult. But I know how important it is for Coleman, especially now that Summer is coming to and end. I can't believe sometimes how much fun he has. Up the slide, down the slide, up the ladder, down the ladder, through the sprinklers and again and again and again and again. And I just watch. I can't work, I have to keep an eye on Coleman. Any conversation I have with equally bored parents, we always have one eye on each other, the other on our kids.

Chasing pigeons. That's huge fun for Coleman - chasing pigeons. He just loves to run after them and chase them and chase them until they fly out of the park.

I have to remind myself to treasure these moments. I really am fortunate that my schedule allows me to share these times. He's almost 3 and sooner than I know it, I won't be allowed within a 3 mile radius of him. So I'll keep going to the park, but damn it's boring.

Killer Poodle

It's late night, really late, 3am. Bloomingdale's shoe department. All the displays have been pushed back. Martha Stewart takes one more look around, everything is ready, she gives the go ahead nod to Christiane Amanpour, who taps a dinner bell.

From out of the racks of misses and junior wear, the ladies emerge. They all settle on either side of the runway. Naomi Campbell adjusts her ankle monitor. Madeleine Albright and Queen Latifah eat nachos off the same plate. Sheryl Crow takes out her guitar, "all I wanna do is have some fun." The Jimmy Choos, the Manolo Blahniks and the Christian Loboutins click, clack to the the beat. Diana Ross kindly puts her hair in a bun, so Natalie Portman can see, Natalie puts her scissors away. Lil Kim and Barbara Walters exchange business cards.

Lights up on the runway. Sheryl Crow stops strumming her guitar.

Kate Moss struts from behind the curtain, not far behind her without a leash is her silky terrier, Bon Bon. The ladies give Bon Bon rousing applause, Bon Bon responds in kind, yelping and yapping and chasing her tail. Bon Bon loves the spotlight. Kate Moss stops at the end of the runway. Bon Bon runs and leaps into her arms. They take a bow.

The lights dim. Spotlight Up.

Serena and Venus Williams emerge from behind the curtain. Serena is carrying a Luis Vuitton Pet Carrier, she sets it on the ground. Venus unzips the bag, she takes out a toy poodle. The most beautiful toy poodle you've ever seen, the color of burnt caramel. Her name - Sweet Tea.

Dolly Parton tosses hundred dollar bills onto the runway. Wynona Ryder covers one of the fallen c-notes with her Prada slingback.

Serena picks up Sweet Tea, stares into the doggie's now bloodshot eyes - "make mama proud." Serena hands Sweet Tea to Venus. "You my bitch?" Sweet Tea growls love as foam pours from her jowls into the crevices of her diamond studded collar. Venus sets her down, Sweet Tea surveys the room, she locks in on Bon Bon.

Christiane Amampour rings the dinner bell again.

Bon Bon leaps from Kate's arms, she gallops down the runway. Sweet Tea is calm, she walks in only a couple of steps. Bon Bon leaps into the air, straight at and into the powerful jaws of Sweet Tea.

It's over. Sweet Tea drags her prey into her Louis Vuitton carrier case. What happens in that case - you don't even want to know!

Martha Stewart collects winnings from the ladies.

I wasn't sure how to weigh in on this whole Michael Vic, dog fighting thing. People want to blame hip/hop, celebrity, poverty, weatlth, race.

My wife just read this blog, she doesn't understand it. She wants to know what it has to do with her or Coleman. My point is dog-fighting, cock fighting, country invading are all committed by the boys we raise. Our girls don't do stuff like that.

The first time someone wants to take Coleman to a dog fight, I don't want his machismo to take over. The reason there's no underground women's dog fighting ring sponsored by Bloomingdale's is because its STUPID.

Mexican Standoff

Most if not all parents have experienced nights like this. For whatever reason, Coleman just kept getting up and coming out of the room, "I want juice." We give him juice. Put him back to bed.

A little while later, he comes out, "Put the covers on me please." March him back to his bed, cover him up, start to leave. "I want the other blanket, I want two blankets." Cover him up with both blankets, leave.

A little while later, out of his bed again, "It's hot." March him back to his bed, cover him with one blanket.

A little while later, "I want milk." We give him milk.

A little while later, "I gotta poop." Take him to the potty, he sits there for a while, no poop. March him back to bed.

This nonsense continues for a while, by the time he completely settles down it's like 2am.

He then has the audacity to get up early, 2 hours before his normal wake time, like 6am. He climbs into bed with us. We try to ignore him, if we don't move, maybe he'll just sniff us and go back to sleep. No good. He's bright eyed, bushy tailed and ready for action.

Then the question becomes - Who is gonna get up and entertain him and let the other one sleep? Of course we're both waiting for the other one to make the grand sacrifice - no such gesture is being offered.

We both hunker down, neither one of us is sleeping but we're pretending like we are. She knows I'm not sleeping, because I'm not snoring. I know she's not sleeping because all I hear is
"Stop it."
"Don't do that."
Coleman is pulling her hair, putting his fingers in her nose, sitting on her head. Doing anything to get her attention.

If this continues, neither of us will get any sleep. I get up, lead him out the room, we get some milk. I turn on the TV, turn to NOGGIN (great channel, no commercials, designed for preschoolers, best show is The Backyardigans.) I lie down on the couch, he lies down next to me, drinking his beverage. Enjoying his morning television.

Mommy gets to go back to sleep - Daddy has made the grand sacrifice - AGAIN!! (It's my blog)

There Goes My Boy

Coleman takes to things so effortlessly. My mom came to pick him up to spend the night with her. I woke Coleman up from his nap, like many he is quite unsociable for the first few minutes. To help pull him out of the drowsies, I often entice him with an "Icee that we made." We bought from IKEA one of those ice trays, you pour juice in, put a stick in it, a few hours later you have a frozen pop sickle. Coleman calls them "Icee that we made."

I'm putting on fresh clothes, here come the questions.
"Where are we going daddy?"
"You're going to Grandma's house."
"I'm going to Grandma's house?" (He's a repeater.)
"Yes Grandma's house."
"Otay." "Why I going there?"
"It's a special treat."
"It's a special treat?"
"Yes a special treat."
"Otay." "You coming daddy?"
"No I'm not coming."
"You not coming?"
"No daddy's not coming."
"Otay." "Mama coming?"
"No mama's not coming."
"Mama's not coming?"
"No she's not."
"Otay." .... "Daddy?"
"Put your sweatshirt on."
"Put my sweatshirt on?"
"It's chilly outside."
"It's chilly outside?"
"Yes it's chilly outside."
"Daddy, what is chilly outside."
"Means it's cold outside."
"It's cold outside?"
"Yes it's cold outside." I strap him into the stroller.
"Coleman, I got something for you."
"For me daddy, you got something for me?"
"Yes."
"What is it daddy?"
I have a stash of lollipops from Commerce Bank (they give them away for free) I stick one in his sweatshirt pocket. "Save this for the ride to Grandma's house."
"For me daddy, that's for me?"
"Yes for you."
"Thanks daddy."
"Your welcome."
"Bye daddy."
"Bye, bye Coleman."
"Daddy kiss." I give him a kiss.
"Daddy hug." I give him a hug.
"Bye daddy."

I feel very lucky.

Endorsement Deal

Don't you think the Sesame Street people should give Coleman an endorsement deal?

I want to secure his millions before he gets caught running an illegal dog fighting ring.

All Judgemental

I'm noticing how other people parent their kids and I'm feeling all judgemental.

"How could they let their child talk to them like that?"

"Don't pick him up, let him cry." "Pick her up, don't just let her cry."

I gotta back away from the judgment, I know it'll come back to haunt me. But what are you supposed to do when you see an overweight 5 year old walking down the street eating an double scoop ice cream cone and drinking a Coke?

It's a tricky thing these days to discipline your child in public. We were in the park the other day and Coleman was picking up balls and tossing them over a fence. From across the park I yelled at him to stop. He kept going. I made my "mad daddy" march across the playground, he quickened his pace, getting a few more balls over the fence (giggling, laughing, having a great time.) As I got closer he saw I had my "mad daddy" face on. (In the old days, there would have been a slap or two across his bare legs - we can't do that anymore.)
So I got close, in my "mad daddy" whisper.
"I told you to stop, and when I tell you to stop, you stop."
I picked him up and dropped him on the bench for a time out.

I turned around, all eyes were on me. I walked back across the playground and resumed normal conversation. They were all a bit uncomfortable. After a sufficient time out, from across the park I told Coleman to come here. He walked across.
"What do you have to say?"
"Sorry daddy."
"When I tell you to stop, you stop."
"Yes daddy."
"Go play."
He skipped off, the time out already a distant memory.

There were about five mommies/babysitters there. I know they were judging me.

Coleman for President

Last year Harold Ford, a black man running for Senator in Tennessee, was on the verge of winning. Two weeks before the election, a TV ad appeared, a young white actress playing the stereotype of a “dumb blonde” talked about meeting Ford, a 36-year-old bachelor, “at a Playboy party.” At the end of the ad, she winks and says to the camera, “Harold — call me.” He lost the race. Just a couple of weeks ago, a video surfaced on You Tube of this very lovely young white girl singing "I got a crush on Obama. The whole black man, white woman thing is a very touchy subject. I blame OJ. Hopefully when Coleman runs for President, this won't be an issue. I want to get all the skeletons out of his closet now.

Family

Coleman with his cousin Hoyt Alexander King III.

Taken on the beach last week in Cape May, NJ during our yearly family vacation. Baby Hoyt, as we call him, just turned one. Coleman will be three in September.

I just love this picture.

I loved hanging out with my cousins. We all used to live so much closer to each other. Now we're all separated by states and time zones.

None of Coleman's cousins live close by, so we treasure these moments. Everybody is at least 2 hours away. In the grand scheme 2 hours isn't a lot, but when you start to think about spending 4 hours, probably in traffic, loading up the car - we live in New York, so that would be a rental - it's a huge effort. We have to start making more of an effort, look at those boys!!!

Gentle Giant

He's so big, what a bruiser, what a tank! I'm so tired of hearing that. Coleman is the same size, the same height and width as every other little boy his age. In fact there are definitely a couple of little boys who he plays with that are bigger. They have bigger feet, wear much bigger clothes sizes. Coleman wears size 3T very comfortably and since he turns 3 in September, he's right on schedule. The other bigger boys wear 4T and even 5T clothes and are almost exactly the same age. The other bigger kids are white.......................

Please and Thank You, Please.

I'm obsessed with teaching Coleman to say please and thank you. Also Yes. Not Yeah, or Yep. He has a little lisp - Would you like some more broccoli Coleman? Yessssssss! Too damn cute.

It's an easy thing to forget. We're constantly handing our children stuff - juice, snacks, toys. I see children all the time just snatch things from their parents and run. Then when you hand their child something and the child doesn't say thank you, the parent is always a little embarassed. "You know how to say thank you." They may know it, but it's not required of them, so why should he say it now. I make sure Roz and I say it to each other so he sees it's not just something he has to do.

It's important to me. Thank you.

School Daze

This whole pre-preschool thing is giving me a migraine. (Not really, I'm just being dramatic.) But seriously folks. Was it this complicated when we were kids? We're in a co-op preschool situation, which basically means you still have to pay, but you have to help do a lot of the grunt crap work in order to defray costs. Meaning we don't pay enough to hire people to do everything that needs to be done, so you have to pitch in.

My beef is we have to give 3 fundraising hours, if we don't, we have to pay an additional $150 or $50 for every hour we don't fulfill. So today I went to fulfill our last hour at a street fair where our school had a little booth. I promise you that if you added up everything that they had to sell in our booth it wouldn't come near $150. The hour I served, there were 3 other parents, if each one of us took a Jackson out of our pockets, we could have bought the whole lot and called it a day.

I'm really not sure what the point is of this fundraising effort, if it really isn't going to fundraise anything significant. And some of the parents are working sooooo hard. Lifting and organizing and labeling and transporting bins and buckets full of crap. It's a beautiful glorious Saturday in New York. If you've been working or hustling all week, wouldn't this day be better spent in the park with your family or beach or museum or just sitting on the couch watching baseball or golf or whatever floats your boat.

I don't want any of the parents or school leaders to be offended. I doubt they'll read this blog, they're too busy standing on a hot assed street corner trying to unload 50 hair ribbons for a $1.

Black Like Me

I don't get. There is a young black girl, 18 I think, who did a documentary where she got some black first graders together and put 2 dolls in front of them. One black doll and one white doll, she asked the children, which doll is better or nicer, all the little black children picked the white doll. I can't believe it's still happening, this documentary is based on a similar test that was administered some 50 years ago. The little black children picked the white doll then, and they're still picking the white doll today. I can't believe we haven't moved one inch.

I'm so baffled and frightened. How long will it take to undo the damage that's been done to those children, our children?

Coleman is going to be three in September. Coleman goes to a school where he is the only black child with two black parents!!! All the other black kids are either adopted or biracial. Granted, it's not a huge school, the preschool maybe has 50 kids in it, but that shows you how much the times have changed and yet they haven't.

They learn so much in these first few years, so much of their personality is formed and solidified. I don't want Coleman to have this ridiculous notion that white is better. Is it too late? Has it already happened? Can I stop it? I'm gonna have to go stand over his little bed while he's sleep and whisper in his ear - Black is beautiful. Black is good.

I'm angry right now. Stop the foolishness!!

Potty Time

He's doing it, we're almost there. Except for nighttime and nap time, Coleman is in his big boy underpants, no more diapers. I never thought we'd get to this point. But he really has got the hang of saying when he has to go to the potty. Once and a while he'll forget, either he's too tired, or he's in the middle of an intense play session and nothing else matters, so he'll just pee on himself. We don't make a big deal, we just clean him up and move on.

It's very interesting the whole potty experience. First he just pulls off his pants, that's our first indication that he has to go, so we'll rush to the bathroom, he has his own little potty that he sits on, it's across from the toilet, so I usually sit across from him, to keep him company. We sit in silence for a couple of seconds, staring at each other, trying to come up with something to say. After a few seconds I ask if he's finished, sometimes it's yes, sometimes it's "I got poop daddy," in which case, we sit in silence for a few seconds more, then I ask "finished?" Sometimes, he says "I got some more." So if I know we're going to be a while, I'll start a sing-a-long. If there's a book handy, I'll read it to him.

It's a very nice father/son bonding moment.

Parent/Teacher Conference

How do I rebel against this knowing your teacher by their first name crap? Coleman's preschool teacher is Valentina, I have no idea what her last name is. When we were growing up, wasn't it the opposite?? Some of my favorite teachers in the whole world, I still don't know their first name till this day.

Do you remember being in a store or a mall shopping with you parents and seeing your teacher? Remember how weird that was? You would say to your mom, there's my teacher Mrs. Anderson. And Mrs. Anderson would come over and some weird man would be walking with her holding a bunch of bags, and she would say hi to you and then introduce herself to your mother, using her first name!! "Hi, I'm Virginia Anderson." Virginia!!!! Like the state? And this is my husband Harry. Harry!!! She's married?? Who the hell would marry her? Remember you had this big goofy, stupid grin on your face, you couldn't believe you knew your teachers first name. Couldn't wait to get back to school and tell EVERYONE!!

I just don't like the first name thing. But I don't want Coleman to be the only one calling everybody Mr. or Mrs. Maybe other parents secretly want it too, but are too afraid. It's going to be hard, I'm just beginning to learn other parents first names, now I gotta learn last names!!! Forget it.

I get it

Freshman year at Morehouse College, Xmas break, I get off the plane from Atlanta and my mom picks me up at the airport. I'm wearing a brand new Guess Denim jacket, I don't remember how much it cost, it was a lot I'm sure, and it wasn't denim jacket wearing weather, but I didn't care. My mom, Miss Eagle Eye, notices right away. New Jacket? I smiled, nodded, shrugged. "Here I am walking around with holes in my stockings sending you to school, and you come home wear that??" I'm thinking to myself, stockings cost a dollar or two, what's the big deal?

Cut to... 20 years or so later:

Winter has arrived and I discover I have 4 left handed gloves. Not a right handed glove to be found. Oh well I thought, I'll get around to getting a pair soon. A couple of days later, Coleman pulls a right handed glove from out of his toy box and starts playing with it. BINGO! I have a set of gloves for the winter. That same day I lost the left hand of my only matching set of gloves. BUT... all was not lost, I now have a right hand and 3 other left handed gloves, so I still have a pair, they just won't match.

So my mom's stockings, I get it now.

Coleman grew out of his pajamas almost overnight, the 2T shirts were riding up on his little pot belly. So I went to Gap.com and OldNavy.com and ordered him about 10 nights worth. Some were on sale, some were not, it didn't matter, my boy needed PJ's. I've discovered the joy and challenge of parenthood - When do you take care of you?

How long to you put off even the simplest things, like new winter gloves because you keep forgetting to put yourself on your to do list?

Winter is over, I'll put gloves on my Xmas list.

Dr. Babysitter

Some University or College should offer a PHD in babysitting. We gotta come up with a way to give these people more money. You could certainly command more money if there is a doctor in front of your name. I think we ought to start paying people who watch our children like they were high powered attorneys or Derek Jeter. I'm just thinking out loud people.

Why is the most important job in the world the least respected, least compensated?

It's been almost 4 months since my last blog entry, busy, busy, busy. Good busy, Work busy. Making money busy. And Coleman has been hanging in there. Day care, baby care is such a huge issue. How do we get the best, most responsible, loving nurturing, caring person to look after our treasures, but not have to pay for it? And we do have to pay sometimes. We have a great babysitter, one flight down. Coleman has been going to Bruni and Felix, a retired couple with grand kids, since he was maybe a year old. I'd love to pay them $100 an hour, instead we pay $10/hour. On one hand I know $10/hour for a reliable, trustworthy babysitter is the deal/steal of the century, but on the other hand, if I know its going to be a busy week and he's going to be there 5, 6, or 7 hours a day, it adds up to a huge chunk of change.

We have my mom, he's been spending many weekends with my mom. God bless grandma's all over. We also have the best neighbors in the world, right next door, Leki and Lili, who take Coleman in whenever they can, whether it's for an hour or hours. He loves them and they love him and best of all they don't charge us. I would love to come home after an evening out and hand Leki and Lili a grand or so. "Thanks for loving and nurturing my child, keeping him safe, teaching him, entertaining him, feeding him, changing him, here's a thousand dollars. And are you available Friday night?

Don't get me started on what we pay teachers, even the ones with PHD's!!!

Eyes on the Prize

Two black coaches in the Superbowl. First time in history. Never before has a black coach lead a team to the Superbowl. Now we have two. One of them will be the first black coach in history to win a Superbowl. It surprised me. It also surprised me how little I cared. And I'm a huge football fan. I'm so tired of the firsts. The first black this, the first woman that, the first Hispanic whatever. Haven't we moved past this. White men must be losing their minds. Everything they've worked for is slipping away. The only thing they have left that truly belongs to them is Hockey and Horse Jumping and Woody Allen.

Every Monday night for 3 weeks. PBS rebroadcast "Eyes on the Prize," the groundbreaking documentary about the Civil Rights Movement. It was a few months ago, I'm still thinking about it.

Where are those young people? The Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) who sat at lunch counters and had slurs and food hurled at them for hours and days and weeks on end. Where are the kids who were blasted off their feet by unforgiving fire hoses, attacked by snarling police dogs?

Where are they now? The Prize was justice, the prize was equality, the prize was freedom. Are we there yet? Most days I like to think so.

Then I turn on the news and see that cops fired 50 bullets at 3 unarmed black men. Knocks the wind out of you, knocks the hope out of you.

It's complicated, I know. Those police officers wanted to get home to their families. So on a dark night, facing these dark men, in their dark car, they chose fear over reason. How do we fix that?

I see the problem very clearly, it's boys. I have a boy, I was a boy, still am at heart really. I know how boys think. Boys think that they can't talk it out, reason it out, they must fight it out or they will forever be boys.

Coleman was on a play date the other day with a little boy who is about a month older. Their play is at the very least competitive, often times violent. On this play date, Coleman picked up something that was apparently the little boy's favorite thing in the whole world prompting him to tackle Coleman from behind.

Immediately following Coleman was cranky and very clingy insisting on being carried. We had to take him to the doctor, he sprained something in his foot. It wasn't broken or fractured, but he limped around for a day and a half.

I wonder what is it about the way boys communicate that makes it so contentious. Coleman is so gentle with girls.

Maybe I'm worrying too much. Because after Coleman was better, the mother of the other boy insisted on a play date, to make sure there were no hard feelings. Coleman got so excited, he couldn't wait to get to the park to play with his "boy."

Look at the global situation, in every nook and cranny of our world, there are boys fighting, boys in conflict. Boys in Darfur who rape and burn villages. Boys in the Flavelas of Rio who steal and kill. Palestinian boys who want to kill Israeli boys and vice-versa. Boys from South Central to South Beach to the South Bronx are all in turmoil.

These problems involve race, history, religion, economics and a whole bunch of other factors. But I know 3 women would not have shot 50 bullets at 3 other women. Anybody want to argue that??

My son is 2, I need to fix this now. He's gonna be at the club, strip or otherwise before I know it. I want him to come home, every night.

He's my prize.

Pressure Cooker

We have succumbed, we have fallen, we gave in. Coleman starts preschool today. Three times a week, from 9am to 11am. And one of us has to be with him????? And we're paying for the privilege. It's not a lot of money really, it works out to be a little less than 8 dollars an hour from now until June. $8/hour for us to sit there and watch them watch our son.

The pressure was unbelievable. A spot opened up. It's a preschool in our building complex and a spot opened up. A little girl and her parents moved away and a spot opened up. We got frantic calls from mothers of other kids who are in the school, a spot opened up. From parents whose names I'm just beginning to remember, a spot opened up. The spot we thought we could get in August for a September start and were laughed at was now available. We had parents of the other kids lobbying on our behalf, the new spot, the spot, this spot, must go to Coleman.

We didn't have to jump through hoops, didn't have to promise our next born, didn't have to have Coleman run through a maze or take an IQ test or sing "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going." Roz and I had to get TB shots (so we won't contaminate the germ infested children), fill out some forms and hand over a check.

I caved, we caved, we had to take the spot. Out, out damned spot. All those parents were campaigning for us, we couldn't disappoint them, couldn't challenge them. It would have been the end of our social season. No more tantrum filled, Elmo themed birthday parties.

Really, it's OK. I'm fine with it. This means that next year he'll automatically have a spot and since he'll be three, it'll be longer days and we won't have to go with him. Of course that's more money.

Thank God he has a spot. We can rest easy, we won't have this kind of pressure again until kindergarten.