School Daze

Everyone knows Daniel and I procrastinate.  Therefore, it should come as a shock to none of you that although Karolina is almost three and a half, we have only just started to decide her high school/collegiate path.  This is the part where you chuckle politely, and I respond: No, I'm serious.  I know that this seems extreme, but someone has to decide what she's going to do with her life.  And what, I should let her make the choices?  The child who decided that our dog's behind looked like a good place to stick her finger??  No way.  And I'm sure she'll thank me, er, us for it later.  I mean, what adolescent wouldn't? 

First up is high school.  Public or private?  Daniel and I both attended public schools, and are no worse for the wear.  Would choosing a private institution rob her of the experiences I had?  I loved appreciated completed high school.  Certainly, the costs of a private education come into play.  It can vary widely according to location.  For example, the top school in Shreveport is approximately 7K a year.  In Dallas, it's almost 24K.  Is there really that much of a difference in educational quality? What am I getting for my extra 17K?  Is The Old Man and the Sea discussed on a yacht? Fun fact about this particular school: the PRE-kindergarten class is 16K per year, although I suspect they are utilizing the same crayons and paste as the rest of us commoners.  Oh, Dallas, don't ever change.  Daniel thinks this school would be most beneficial in preparing our girls for life on the outside.  Oh yes, nothing says the "real world" like a bunch of wealthy, white chicks in pleated skirts.  Did I mention this is an all girls school?  I personally believe the extra 17 grand goes toward testosterone removal, making the academy most attractive to fathers the world over.  In the end, I suppose my feelings on private education are similar to the opinions a lot of people hold on embryonic stem cell usage: I was against it and never really cared to look into it, until I needed it for my kids. 

Next up, college.  I'm not as uptight about this one as Daniel is.  I'd be happy with any school the girls' boyfriends are not attending.  Daniel, on the other hand, is only amenable to the Ivies, and Stanford.  I'm left wondering exactly which of our girls he thinks could actually get in to such schools.  The one who's running for drooling champion of Central Louisiana, or the one who absolutely refuses to acknowledge the existence of a toilet?  I know those schools are clamoring to admit white, middle-class people, but I still have my doubts.  For argument's sake, let's say K got accepted to Stanford.  We all know exactly what would happen.  She would immediately embark on the patented Hall Six-Year college plan.  Sometime in the middle of those six (ridiculously expensive) years, she'd declare a major- Theater.  Except Stanford probably spells it Theatre, allowing them to charge more money.  And then, one fine day, she'd receive her degree, and promptly move to Europe, (on our dime), to go find herself. 

I don't know what the future holds.  I have no idea where we'll be living when the kids start school.  But every month, without fail, Daniel and I put away money for high school and college.  Karolina's (and Evangeline's) future is coming fast, and she's going to love it... because we're planning it that way.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

So after finally tiring of people,(my parents),begging me to begin blogging, I decided that today was the day.  I was sitting at my computer, thinking of some catchy, alliterative blog names.  Kitt's Kitsch? Olivia's Observations? Squyres Scuttlebutt?  I felt I was on the cusp of genius, when I became aware of deafening silence.  Anyone with a toddler understands how truly scary those quiet moments can be.  My ensuing search for Karolina ended in the guest bathroom, where I found her sitting on the floor, surrounded by fluffy red curls.  Dear Lord.  She's cut her hair.

My relationship with that hair began at 1632 on January 3, 2008.  The midwife pulled K out of the tub, (that's a whole different blog entry), placed her on my chest, and asked, "What do you think, Mommy?"  I looked at my new daughter with love and wonder and replied, "She's got red hair.".  For months I assumed that her hair would fall out and grow back blonde like her father's, so I barely allowed myself to hope that the red would stay.  But when those eyebrows and eyelashes began to shine like newly minted copper pennies, I finally gave in to the love of all things ginger!  Immediately, every aesthetic decision I made revolved around those tresses.  Clothes, carseats, nursery bedding, it all had to look pleasing with K's hair.  And just when I thought I couldn't love those locks any more, they began to curl.

Three and a half years later, K's hair is something of a local celebrity.  When out as a family, Daniel and I are constantly stopped and asked about it.  People are always remarking on it, pointing at it, and even touching it (shudder).  In my opinion, red hair is not that big of a deal, but to my enjoyment/dismay, it has shaped K's personality.  She fully expects public attention, and if ignored, often resorts to cheap tricks like singing, dancing, and twirling to achieve it.  In fact, in the event that none of these tactics work, she has been known to walk up to a perfect stranger, poke him/her, and then point back to herself whilst making jazz hands.

I know that hair is insignificant.  But it is worth mentioning that the family portraits I have painstakingly agonized over for the past four months are coming up soon.  And, gentle readers, when I say soon, I of course mean tomorrow. TOMORROW!!  Remember when I mentioned my crazy tendency to make decisions based on K's hair?  Yeah.  Every outfit, every accessory, every prop, for EACH member of my family was chosen with that damn hair in mind.  Pink? No way, it will clash!  Hats?  You must be high- we need to see the curls.  I bought dresses from Paris, shoes from Italy, and the finest tiaras from China (now with extra lead!).  I scoured estate sales for jewelery, antique stores for tea sets and miniature table/chairs.  I've worked my considerable backside off to ensure that my family looks perfect, and now Karolina looks like an extra from Schindler's List. 

My mother told me to keep things in perspective.  I'm blessed.  My children are healthy and happy.  She said it's not a catastrophe.  And it's not.  It's a Kittastrophe.  A-ha!  A blog is born.