Julie’s Favorite Things for New Moms

The hunky guy outside the toy store was definitely checking me out.  He smiled, for crying out loud and–get this–lifted an eyebrow appreciatively.

Huh.

I looked down at my Fourth Trimester self: Nasty black leggings, spit-up covered T-shirt, spare tire sizable enough for people to wonder when I’m due.  Did I mention that I recently got a pin-head haircut that had the effect of making me look like the “before” picture in a Jenny Craig weight-loss advertisement?

Hot Guy sauntered over.

“Hello,” he said in a throaty growl. “Tell me about your buggy. It’s really something.”

Girls, this is what happens when you’re 35 years old and you live in the suburbs: Men pick you up for your stroller.

I must say, my buggy is something to be admired.  It is an aubergine Bugaboo Frog, as seen rambling down Rodeo Drive being pushed by celebrities. It sports a comfy, full-sized bassinet, rugged over-sized rubber wheels that can traverse either sand or sidewalk and a souped-up suspension system the Princess and the Pea would admire. My girlfriend Donna sold it to me used for $350. Lord knows she probably had to take out a home equity line to purchase it new.
I have been fantasizing about something similar since I was in Scandinavia five years ago and developed a bad case of Pram Envy. At the time, I was pushing a Graco Duo Glider, a horrible 70-pound lug that made the worst grocery cart like a Maserati. As it turns out, baby gear in general and the vendors who provide such stuff have come a long way since 2004 when my twins were born. Not only has Bugaboo brought the pram back to America, but I’ve been pleased as punch to find half a dozen new inventions and people who make toting/cuddling/entertaining Lovey much more convenient.

Consider, for instance, the Sleepy Wrap.  I had half a dozen slings for my twins that promised to do everything for me but pay for their college tuitions. Unfortunately, I have no sense of geometry and could never master the art of hanging said togas securely enough to ensure I wouldn’t drop my children.  Somehow, the people who make the Sleepy Wrap took the challenge out and produced a stretchy piece of fabric and directions for using it that actually make sense. You can swaddle Junior in a number of positions and be reassured he won’t end up falling through a trap door onto the black top. The positions deliver: Charlotte takes one look at her wrap and promptly passes out cold. Furthermore, the wrap works on all body types, even that of my strapping husband who is broader than a double door. It comes in several stirring colors, too, so you can add a little hootzpah to your Fourth Trimester black separates.

My next favorite item is the Brest Friend nursing pillow with terry cloth tarp.  Mind you, I was prejudiced against this find due to its ridiculous pun-y name. Yet, after I trying it at the behest of my lactation consultants, I ran down to the closest Babies R Us and bought one.  The tall foam pillow boosts Teensy up to your boobs so that she can properly latch on. A seat belt wraps around Momma’s waist so the pillow won’t slide or sag, as others do. Moreover, the broad platform is so dense you can carry Baby from your rocker to her bed allowing you to transfer her easily without waking her.  The terry cloth slipcover is washable and includes a thoughtful pocket for stray pacifiers.

Once you’ve spent enough time with the Brest Friend, you’ll want to get yourself some Soothies.  My gal pal Jeannette rushed me these breast pads in the maternity ward when she learned Charlotte was chomper.  Made of some type of miraculous space-age cooling gel, these little gems slip inside your nursing bra and heal the damage done by overzealous suckers. Better yet, they are reusable and smell sort of herb-ly which cancels out the scent of fear you’ll likely emit, especially if you’re a first-time mom.

After you get your mammaries under control, you’ll realize you are starving. And when the neighborhood casseroles run out, you might want to check out Subway.  I have long overlooked the fast-food giant (again, I have a problem with ridicuous advertising campagains, which in my opinion, includes the ever-cheesy Jared.) However, I shouldn’t have been so snotty: It turns out the chain just started offering substantial breakfasts along with a variety of healthy luncheon sandwiches. My favorite condiment is the sweet onion sauce which adds an element of fancy to any cold cut. Believe me when I tell you you won’t want to be cooking anytime soon and that Subway five times in three days is no sin.

After her lunch and yours, you might want choose to memorialize Cherub. For a fresh take on baby pictures, I met with Toni Elmer of Urban Photo.  The Dallas-area photographer and mother of four is an endlessly patient baby whisperer and hugely creative. Her artwork has appeared in glossy magazines and celebrates the unique traits of your little one. For instance, she pointed out that Charlotte’s cavemanlike black arm hair is dainty and sweet rather than cause to a visit to the esthetician.  Moreover, Toni does home visits which means she can catch your child on her best behavior. In my case, she waited for nearly an hour as Charlotte enjoyed a meal atop the Brest Friend.

It turns out that Toni isn’t the only one who will come to you.  A breastfeeding crisis at 5 p.m. on a Saturday night gave me cause to ring the women at the Nesting Place, a Southlake breastfeeding support center and boutique. For a $100 fee, a veteran lactation consultant hustled through traffic to diagnose Charlotte’s case of tongue-tie. She gave me now-and-later strategies as well as written instructions so that I wouldn’t have to rely on my sleep-deprived brain to recall them.

Once all that was taken care of, Charlotte could relax in her Fisher-Price Hoppy Bouncer. Of all the baby seats I’ve owned–and at one time I had one chair per room–this new option offers up the best angle for a remarkable $34. It supports Little Bit’s floppy neck yet is reclined just enough so that she can nap comfortably. The seat also offers optional battery-powered, soothing vibrations and a removable playtime bar with small toys to spy. While the froggie motif might be too cutesy for those with modern sensibilities, note that you’ll soon be too tired to care.

Now, if only the baby engineers would dream up a solution for eliminating the effects of sleep deprivation. That would be one product I’d definitely buy.

The Obama Indoctrination Speech to School Children

My five-year-old twins won’t view President Obama’s education address in their kindergarten classroom on September 8 because school administrators in our Texas district have deemed that it would “interrupt instructional time.”

Instead, the district will stream the video online. Families can then opt in–or out–of the national dialogue.

This safe compromise was likely made to soothe conservative voices here who worry the President’s short speech would aim to indoctrinate their youngsters into the Democratic party–or worse–a “socialist way” of thinking.  And while I haven’t yet seen the speech as I write this, I can tell you from my professional experience covering local, state and national education issues as a newspaper reporter for more than 10 years that few presidential addresses of this type given in the classroom release bombshells. My prediction is that Obama’s speech will be fairly neutral in tone and offer nice photo ops for the press corps.

As a parent of three, however, it is greatly refreshing to see the public’s interest in the content our children are exposed to in our nation’s public schools–I only wish we as a group would pay more attention to the subtle types of indoctrination that happens every day.

For example, last week–on the second day of kindergarten–my twins bopped home from our tony community’s premier elementary school with camouflage-colored dog tags hanging around their necks from metal chains.  While my kids thought nothing of this, I brought context to such symbols.  Dog tags, after all, are an indelible symbol of warfare. In fact, such dog tags are manufactured to be thin and small so they can be sewn into the mouths of dead soldiers and thus help those in field mortuaries identify the fallen. By sending home such a symbol, my public school is sending a subtle message that they not only approve of warfare–but wholeheartedly endorse it. Moreover, they’re telling my young children to be proud foot soldiers.

On the fourth day of kindergarten, my children returned home with fliers listing half a dozen fast-food restaurants that will return a portion of our bill to our public school in an effort to raise funds for educational endeavors.  “Mom,” said my daughter Elizabeth, “we have to go eat pizza tonight to help our school!”  As it turns out, we can spend every night this week–and every night for the remaining school year according to these fliers–at fast-food joints raising money for our school.   Of course, nutritionists–many who work for the state’s department of health–would tell us that to take the advice of our premier elementary school would be to risk the health of my family. My children would become obese, contract diabetes and ruin their hearts.  Yet, the subtle message from the public school is ‘Do your duty and help out your school.’

On the sixth day of school, instructional time in our kindergarten was handed over to two uniform-clad high school football players who signed autographs in promotion of their first big home game. They also read two books to the children, but this last detail was forgotten by my kids who reported only the shimmering uniforms and the deep, impressive voices of the handsome players.  It is likely, too, that they subconsciously picked up on the school’s subtle message that sports are of the utmost importance here in Texas, that male athletes should be revered above others, that strength of body trumps strength of spirit or mind.
This is why, even as a longtime card-carrying member of the Democratic party and big Obama supporter, I’m thrilled to have passionate conversations about indoctrination. But let’s not limit the discussion to the President’s 10-minute speech. As parents, we need to be aware of and address the subtle everyday messages our public schools are giving our kids.

I only wish our school district would give us the option of streaming some of these other messages via video.

Julie Blair is a Dallas-area freelance journalist who graduated from both public and private institutions. She continues to support her local public schools with her most precious commodities–her three children.

The Tonsillectomy

The Ballet Moms

It wasn’t, most of us acknowledged, the best time of day to take a dance class.

The seven four-year-olds were often sluggish at 3:30 p.m. on Mondays, their toddler siblings in tow downright cranky from being awakened during deep slumbers. Natalie, the oldest of the tiny ballerinas by only a few months, was often carted asleep sack-o-potatoes style over her mother’s shoulder into the studio following the end of her kindergarten day.

Of course, by the time the slippers were on and Miss Tera cranked up the princess theme songs, the girls were happily re-energized and we, the Ballet Moms, took our places atop zebra-striped chairs facing the glass.

Granola bars were opened. Coloring books were appropriated. Toy cars were freed from deep purses.

Ryan, the oldest of the toddlers, found the stash of lollipops on the front desk. This began, in the mind of the Ballet Moms, the Great Lollipop Management Issue of 2009-10.

Despite this, it was a no-brainer of an afternoon for us. As busy stay-at-home mothers, we were forced to stay in one place for a whole hour with few interruptions. The luckiest of us even got to sit down for most of it.

At first, we mostly paid attention to our dancing daughters. We watched, acutely interested, to see how well they listened in a group then to  how well they appeared to execute moves requested from the teacher.

Then, we witnessed buds of friendship form. Elizabeth poked Maddie. Addison smiled at Natalie’s twirl.  Sydney reached for Katie’s hand.

So the Ballet Moms relaxed.

And, like birds on a telephone wire, we began to twitter.

Who knew how to score tickets to the Princess character dinner at Disney World?

Who was holding their kid back from kindergarten?

Who had read the vampire thriller “Twilight?”

By Christmastime, the zebra seats became a front porch of sorts and no one was more thrilled to hear of my third pregnancy than the Ballet Moms. I learned about their c-sections and their long labors and their milk production.

“Well,” I told my obstetrician as he recorded the pace of my unborn baby’s heartbeat, “the Ballet Moms say that if the heat beat is fast, the child is a girl.”

He looked at me like I was crazy, but ultimately the Ballet Moms were right.

Of course they were.

By Valentine’s Day, I was looking more forward to lessons than my child.

Baby Grayson began walking. Two-and-a-half-year-old Rachel, so chubby with a thumb in her mouth, started preschool mid-term. There was discussion about Maddie’s family’s possible move with her military family and a crisis over another child’s presumed hearing loss.

Next, sweet Koral and little Lillian joined the class. Their mothers quickly found seats in the lineup.

Spring sprung and Miss Tera measured the girls for their recital dresses for a routine to be performed to “Babyface,” a Mowtown hit from the 1960s.

The Ballet Moms wondered if any of the girls would actually remember the steps.

On May 30, they at least looked the part wearing  green and pink polka dot ruffled skirts, huge pink bows looped into their shiny black tap shoes.

Lillian’s mom sprayed clouds of glitter in their hair and on their shoulders; Sydney’s mom swiped lipstick on them; Maddie’s mom ushered them behind the red velvet curtain in a line like paper doll cutouts holding hands.

They remembered some steps but not all, of course.

It was good enough for the Ballet Moms, though, who rewarded the girls with hugs and kisses and overpriced flowers which were definitely worth the cost.

Afterwards, I deployed our family to the lobby to wait while I retrieved Elizabeth from the backstage holding tank.  As we descended down the steps with a tide, I saw Addison’s mother bobbing along up the stairs, part of another.

She reached out as she inched forward and patted my belly.

“Good luck,” she said, “with the rest of your pregnancy.”

She was moving North, probably towards soccer practice and gymnastics and a summer vacation while I was going South to art lessons and preschool camp and long nights with a newborn.

Children, it seems, are great ambassadors. But their circumstances and thus ours force untimely endings to new beginnings.

We will, however, hold onto the snapshots of four-year-olds in polka dot dresses for the rest of our lives. It is my guess, too, that we’ll all remember the zebra-striped chairs each time we hear the song “Babyface.”

Julie Blair is a Dallas-area freelance journalist who loves hot pink and glittery hairspray. She once donned pink tights and a black leotard to fulfill a college liberal arts requirement.

Thirteen Hours a Day

It is Day #9 of Quarantine and I’m completely, utterly depleted.

My feet look like sausages and my energy could be trumped by a corpse.

Still, I’m proud of myself for not relying on television or the computer to fill our 13-hour-long days. I have, after all, killed myself to put down big boundaries around screen time and I’ll be darned if a little swine flu is going to wreck five years worth of work.

In fact, I’m proud to say that my five-year-old twins and I have invented all kinds of new activities which we just might return to after we’ve been sprung from captivity.

Then again, some ideas were born of complete desperation.

Remember, now, I have thirteen hours to fill each day, so be kind in your criticism.

Laundry Train: Each child loads a small plastic wagon with folded laundry then makes “stops” to drop off their “packages” at various “stations.” When the “train” is empty, it must return to the depot for a refill. Making train noises is mandatory; those who ram a sibling on the tracks with their trains must go to the round house for repairs.

Funeral Director: Lots of critters fall into our pool and endure an untimely death, but lucky for them we have caring professionals on hand during their time of need. Using a net, the child scoops said party out of the skimmer, notes time of earthly departure, chooses a backyard burial plot and digs a grave. Nondenominational prayers are said. Weeds are planted.

Boutique Owner: Using various scraps of gift wrap, the children choose a “gift” from our playroom “store” and swaddle it. The more sticky tape employed in the endeavor, the better. Each present is then delivered to a deserving stuffed animal.

Bus Boy: Making meals is a lot of fun at our house, but no one ever wants to clean up the 45 spatulas used in cooking. Hence the birth of “Bus Boy” in which “waiters” earn big tips (Tootsie Rolls left over from Easter). The booty is dealt out based on the amount of items each child takes to the sink and scrubs. Waiters at “five star” restaurants not only scrub, but classify their dishes by type, material and color in the dishwasher.

Historian: In this game, I ask the kids to give me an object and I detail how it came about. This has lead us to discussions about the ancient Roman Empire (coins and aqueducts), an explanation of clogged arteries (why french fries are a “sometimes” food), the origins of rubber and protection of the Brazillian rain forest (car tires). (Note: This game has been curtailed due to the limitations of my liberal arts degree.)

Scatologist: Children go forth in the backyard wearing rain boots to identify animal poop and make educated guesses as to what the animals recently consumed. Close examination of poop in home bathroom potties is not encouraged but, alas, often discussed.

Dancing with the Stars: Children dress up and perform “routines” to various mixed CDs. (Possible parent bonus: You get to listen to your own music! Downside: You might have an obsessive child like my son who is currently jonesing on Lisa Loeb’s compilation of kiddie camp hits. You will also have to explain why everyone on the T.V. show is nearly naked all the time.)

Furniture Movers: Children push, pull, flip over, de-cushion all major pieces of furniture in the house, including antiques bequethed to you by your late grandmother. The aim is to “re-arrange” things and “make them new-ish.”

Name the Baby: There is much debate over what we’ll call Baby #3 (a girl). Competition over who can come up with the most ridiculous name affords hours of fairly quiet contemplation. Options now include “Hen,” “Wren,” “Sven,” “Violet,” “Pillow” and “Shoe.” (Potential downside: You have to get pregnant again.)

“I went to the store…”: Lay out this starter phrase and let the children add on details. The point here is to be silly. We’ve purchased pink elephants, 497 bottles of nail polish, wigs for dogs, beavers.

Swiss Family Robinson: The children unearth rope from the garage and tie it around all remaining Easter baskets. Next, they climb to the top of the swing set and loop the rope around the roof. Snacks and/or dinner can be pulled to the top of swing set. (Parent bonus: No dishes!)

Santa’s Sleigh: When it begins to rain–and invariably it will do so for days at a time during your next quarantine–bring the rope inside. Loop the rope around folding chairs allowing lots of lead rope to dangle in front. Have one child play Santa and the others the reindeer. (Do not attempt this on hard wood floors.)

Drive Mom Crazy: Try laying down for a well-deserved 32-second nap on the couch and children will immediately find ways to interrupt your slumber. They will find forgotten feathers to tickle your nose, alternately pull at your toes, sing song about poop and drag chairs to the pantry to plow through bags of baking chips.

Julie continues her swine flu quarantine due to physician recommendations.  She will either go completely insane or more likely write an award winning parenting book entitled, “Mom, I am bored!”  Burb Mom promises to be the first to promote it.  Until that time you are going to have to check out her blog, Chocolate Covered Pajamas.

Spice Up Staycation with Cheap, Creative Thrills

You aimed to rent a beach house the Big Island this summer for your family, but alas, the economy has downsized your plans to include only cold showers at home.

That said, you and your kids can substitute a costly vacation with a smashing “staycation” here in Texas. All it takes is a little imagination and perhaps some phone calls. And just think: You’ll have the luxury of your own washing machine, which, when enjoyed with a frosty margarita, is a beautiful thing.

Diary of a Quarantined Mom

It is officially Cinco de Mayo, but we’ve renamed it Cinco de Swine-o here in Quarantine.

Jim had long planned to take off Friday to cover the kids while I was OOT, so we had plenty of Daddy fun to ease us into our new duck-and-cover lifestyle.

The children took to the new holiday with abandon.

There was, for example, a Wii tournament in which five “lands” were opened on our new amusement park game, a Monopoly marathon (yes, they now make a version for those under age and at least four hours of rigorous tent play (my favorite upholstered chair was employed, but I figured this is no time for tsking).

Having grown stir-crazy by 2 p.m. on Saturday, we figured it was safe to find an abandoned neighborhood park. We first coated the monkey bars with Purell, of course. Upon our return, we all stripped and threw our clothes into bleach before doing a pre-surgery-style scrub.

I managed to get in not one but two extended naps and thus am feeling well-rested as I go into Day Four of Quaranatine.

I mean, could it really be worse than two full months of bedrest?

Read the beginning of Julie’s quarantine saga here.

Julie is a DFW mom who DOES NOT have swine flu, but has been ordered home for her unborn child’s safety. You can virtually visit Julie through her blog – Chocolate Covered Pajamas – where no Purell is needed.

Diary of a Quarantined Mom

I had planned to get on a flight to Cleveland, Ohio, this afternoon at 2 p.m. to throw a big bridal bash for our beloved Aunt Cindy.

Instead, I’m fretting for the safety of my unborn baby as I sit in quarantine for the next two weeks in my own home under doctor’s orders.

Let me be clear: I do not knowingly have swine flu. Nor are my kids, husband or parents ill, so far as I know.

Furthermore, it is my understanding that swine flu–when caught early–can be headed off with powerful medications. Even pregnant women like myself who are in the fifth month of gestation can take an antiviral prescription to ward off sickness.

That said, three separate doctors told me today to stay off airplanes; one told me there is a chance that this robust virus, if contracted, could adversely impact my unborn fetus creating lifelong problems for my child. He added it would be a good idea to pull my kids out of the public mix including their preschool so that I would not contract swine flu from them.

This doctor said he is conservative.

That I should make my own decisions.

I told him I appreciated his candor and hung up the phone.

Two hours later, I was still shaking.

I have now regained some of my composure, but I can’t help but think of the preschool open house we attended last night…or the ballet class I trucked my daughter to earlier in the week…or of the man who made my lunch on Wednesday at a local deli.

I am trying to do what I can to “REMAIN CALM” as the governor of Texas has told us.

I am doing what I can to prevent contamination, to make myself feel in control.

My husband came home tonight to a self-styled hazmat zone. He’s to change his suit in the garage and stash it in his car before running to our guest bathroom and showering before greeting anyone else. His underclothes go into bleach.
This ruthless virus, the doctor told me, strikes those with apparently healthy immune systems–especially between the ages of 25 and 45–then attacks the lungs.

We can take no chances: Another generation is at hand.

Julie is now a prisoner in her own home in Flower Mound.  She can be consoled by phone, email and commenting on her blog, Chocolate Covered Pajamas.  Whatever you do, don’t stop by and say “hi” – she will make you go through her garage haz-mat zone and bleach your underwear.  Burb Mom feels her pain and will use her plight as entertainment over the next few weeks…

Man vs. Food

Adam Richman eats crazy foods in crazy amounts for a living on the Travel Channel’s televised series, “Man v. Food.”

My husband, a culinary daredevil, watched entranced earlier this month as the cable host attempted to eat a seven-pound burrio without throwing up. Mr. Richman has also been known to suck down a dozen milkshakes, several piles of pancakes, layers of crabs peppered in insanely hot spices, etc. In addition to enjoying severe indigetion, the chief reward appears to be earning his name atop a hand-scrawled list at the local joint in which served the meal. (Not to mention a handsome paycheck from the Travel Channel.)
But I have task that will make those meals look like kiddie lunchbox fare: Adam Richman, I challenge you to try–just try–to swallow two prenal vitamin pills without vomiting.
To the unindoctrinated, this might sound easy.
However, as someone who has endured–and uncermoneiously “rerouted”–several versions of prenatal pills, I assure it is an assignment not to be taken lightly.

Before we begin, we must treat Mr. Richman to some local color–and that color in the first several months of pregnancy is, of course, green.  We’ll serve him eight to ten vodka shots per day for four weeks prior to the challenge so as to simulate the nausea that afflicts those who consume prenatal pills on a regular basis.
Just before downing the pills, he’ll then spin himself in circles for upwards of 15 minutes and/or ride a Tilt-a-Whirl to level the playing field further.  Next, our fair host will eat some bad shellfish topped with overly sweet Rocky Road ice cream.
Finally, we’ll ask him to swallow the pills.  Despite advances in modern medicine, I regret to inform our contestant that the majority of prenatal pills are the size of Mini Cooper cars. It must also be noted they smell like poop and are the consistency of chalk. If our host doesn’t choke on the mere size or smell of the pill, he’ll find it will lodge at the back of his throat like an errant chicken bone. No amount of water of milk will be able to wash away its presence.
Then, it is time for the DHA supplement, which apparently aids brain development in fetusus but causes most pregnant women to pray for an out-of-body experience.
Unfortunately, the pill is packaged in a floating, round disc and is oily.  This, is combination with the gigantic first pill, causes problems for those with even legendary iron stomachs.  We are not unkind, however. We will promise to stage the challenge in a bathroom laid with cool tile flooring, which we are sure Mr. Richman will enjoy pressing his forhead against following his consumption of said pills.  Of course, we will open keep the toilet lid open at all times.
Should Mr. Richman perform admirably–and we do hope he’ll master this mission–we will treat him to plastic surgery that will include implanting an eight-pound bowling ball into his gut.
Mr. Richman, let me know when you’re ready for the challenge–I’ll be happy to share my supply of prenatal pills with you.

Julie Blair is a Dallas-based freelance writer who no longer enjoys eating anything except extra sharp cheddar cheese. She is, apparently, due to give birth to a mouse in September. Her personal blog can be found at: www.chocolatecoveredpajamas.blogspot.com.

Academic Redshirting

Flower Mound and Highland Village Parents Waiting to Launch Kindergartners

Sam Van Ooven and his twin sister Anna were newborns when their parents began discussing kindergarten placement.

Like many well-educated couples, Steven and Laurie Van Ooven knew that their kids’ late July birthday would likely make them some of the youngest children in their class–and perhaps put them at a disadvantage academically and socially when competing with chronologically older peers.

So by the time their twins were five, the decision was almost a no-brainer: Following an additional readiness assessment, the siblings would do an “encore” year of preschool at Trietsch Enrichment Center in Flower Mound before moving on to kindergarten. This would give the siblings time to mature before taking on the rigors of an elementary-school curriculum.

“I think we almost decided at birth,” Mr. Van Ooven said. “They were summer babies. And since we had a boy coming, well, it was something that was pretty straightforward.”

Sam and Anna have plenty of company.

Six percent of all children eligible for kindergarten under state statutes in the Lewisville Independent School District are held back by their parents–a practice nicknamed “academic redshirting” by educators.

While that number is comparable to those in other communities nationwide, it is noteworthy that more than half of all children redshirted in LISD live in the affluent communities of Flower Mound and Highland Village, said Kathy Haule, the district’s Early Childhood Supervisor.

This means that on average, every kindergarten in these communities has at least one or two children who might be upwards of six and a half years old–a whole 18 months older than his or her classmates.

“I moved here from another part of Texas three years ago and it wasn’t even an issue, but it is quite a big topic here in LISD,” said Ms. Haule, whose position was created to coordinate the district’s pre-K and kindergarten programs.

Meanwhile, national experts are at odds over whether or not such practices help or hinder individuals.

“The research is mixed,” said Donald Easton-Brooks, an assistant professor of Teacher Education and Administration at the University of North Texas in Denton who has studied redshirting. “If you’re an impoverished community where parents can’t provide meals, then schooling…would be beneficial. If you’re a child in an affluent community, I don’t know how delaying a child would be a benefit.”

Moreover, Easton-Brooks worried about the societal impact on ethnic minorities, who are far less likely to be redshirted than their white peers and thus are competing with significantly older children. Pitting such children against one another is simply unfair, he said.

He said one thing is clear: The trend will continue–and escalate–especially in communities like Flower Mound and Highland Village where parents have the money to make choices.

READY OR NOT?

Currently, 125 of LISD’s 3,810 kindergarteners who started school in the Fall of 2008 have been previously redshirted, though parents’ reasons for doing so isn’t clear from district data, Ms. Haule said.

While the district does not currently keep track of redshirting trends, it seems as though more families become more concerned about kindergarten readiness when the district moved from half-day to full-day kindergarten in the 1990s, said Dean Tackett, a public information officer for LISD who served as an elementary school principal for 17 years.

“Parents began worrying about the demands and the endurance needed,” Mr. Tackett said. “When you’re in the suburbs, parents want kids to be stronger, faster, brighter.”

Despite interest in the topic, the district’s policy is in line with state laws and thus administrators encourage those with children who turn five years old by September 1 to enroll them in kindergarten, Ms. Haule said.

“Our official position is that any child legally of the age has a right to be education,” she said.

Still, many practitioners throughout the district including Ms. Haule encourage families to assess their children themselves for signs of readiness, consult with preschool teachers, day care providers and pediatricians before making any decisions.

Brandi Valor of Flower Mound talked to her daughter’s preschool teacher then opted to redshirt Isabelle, who was born August 13, based on the belief that she needed time to master academic fundamentals.

“Our daughter has always excelled socially, with her vocabulary, her conversation skills and the like,” Ms. Valor said. “We felt the extra time to master her letters and numbers would be time well spent. We want school to be a fun, exciting experience for our kids, not something they have to struggle with.”

Marion Greer of Lewisville was sure her “sweet, sensitive son” was ready academically for kindergarten even though he had a late August birthday, yet she was concerned he didn’t quite have the social skills necessary. Thus, she held him back.

“It was the best decision we’ve ever made–he bloomed in that extra year,” the former kindergarten teacher said. “I truly believe allowing students to have maturity when starting school is the greatest gift we can give.”

She added that the benefits have been long-lasting: Not only did he have a positive kindergarten experience, but he also excelled in first and second grades and is performing well now as a third grader.

While parents like Ms. Greer often make such observations, early childhood education advocates aren’t so sure children who are redshirted gain anything from it.

“There is no research to support the idea that holding a child back helps them in school–even if the kid is young,” said Jerlean E. Daniel, the deputy executive director at the Washington-based National Association for the Education of Young Children.

Ms. Haule, of LISD, countered that even if there is an advantage early on, “the bottom line is that any gain the child seems to have socially or emotionally going in seems to diminish by middle or high school.”

She added that “research shows that academic gains…begin to even out by third grade.”

Furthermore, Ms. Daniel contends that some of the very children who parents aim to help are actually hurt by redshirting.

Families have to ask themselves, “is my six-year-old going to be bored (academically) or really far ahead in terms of life experience?” she said.
If so, hanging out with five-year-olds is going to be a drag, Ms. Daniel added.

Furthermore, children who are bored often become behavior problems, she said.

ASSESSMENT KEY

The best thing to do, then, is to assess the individual child and remember that kindergartens include a diverse group of students, said BeLinda Nickel, who has served as principal of Heritage Elementary School in Highland Village for 11 years. “Some kids come very, very prepared and others don’t know letters or have number recognition.”

This is expected, she said, and addressed by kindergarten teachers who aim to help all children gain the knowledge an skills needed to move on to first grade.
Moreover, a child who has a strength in one area will likely have a weakness in another, added Robin Macke, the principal of Wellington Elementary School in Flower Mound. Thus, a student who has mastered the alphabet can work on learning to sit quietly during story time, she said.

Remember, too, that age won’t change a child’s personality, she said. Those who are shy might always be shy–and they’ll gravitate towards others who are quiet, too.

“If you can rule out possible learning issues…and everything else is intact, bring ‘em to me,” Ms. Macke said.

As a mother of six children, she admits this is easier said than done.

“The hardest thing,” Ms. Macke said, “is to stand back and say ‘It’s going to be fine.’”

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Julie Blair is a freelance journalist based in the Dallas area. She has written about local, state and national education issues for more than 10 years. Ms. Blair is also the author of the book “Building Bridges With the Press: A Guide for Educators.” Julie writes a personal blog, Chocolate Covered Pajamas.

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