tales from the cusp of a baby boom

(Let me start this long post with a note. If you’re a regular reader, you’ll probably want to read this whole post. But if you’ve found this because you’re a parent researching the Sara Curry Preschool at Little Missionary's Day Nursery, you may want to skip to the end. You’re already living what’s in the first half.)

My sister in Chicago emailed me the other day with a link to a TV program that will be airing sometime soon. I forget exactly what the details were, but the topic of the show was the cut-throat competitiveness required to get a child into a good New York school.

You’ve heard this story before, right? The media resurrects the story every year. The trouble is, it’s always presented wrong.

Every time I’ve seen any sort of “expose” of New York schools, it focuses on the Upper East Side of Manhattan and getting into the “right” school. Parents do all sorts of crazy and even unethical things to get their child into the preschool or private school of their choice. (Remember the Salomon Smith Barney equity analyst Jack Grubman who upped his rating on AT&T stock in order to get his twins into a certain preschool?)

Inevitably, this makes all New York parents look ridiculous. Personally, I would prefer that my daughter not go to school with well-connected social climbers of the moneyed set. I want her to get a good education and have a happy childhood, and I think it’s more difficult to do that when other parents of children in the class have different priorities.

I’ve mentioned this struggle before, but so far I haven’t really seen the story told of how regular parents fight (and often fail) to get what would be considered a choice-of-last-resort in another other American city—a slot in what’s no more than an average kindergarten or preschool program.

I’m going to tell that story. It’s not a sensationalistic one like TV producers prefer. I’m not going to set up a nouveau-riche, social-climbing straw man just to knock him down. But I am going to tell you about what’s happening today in New York because of the imbalance between supply and demand.

There was a story in the New York Times yesterday about the shortage of kindergarten space in New York City public schools. The article talks about how too many children are still on waiting lists for kindergarten assignments for next fall, and how their parents are panicking that there won’t be a school for their child to attend. Any school. No one at the Board of Education, it appears, tracks birth rates in the City and plans for what the school system’s capacity will need to be in coming years.

Some public schools in this city are good, and others are not so great. The situation is especially bad in neighborhoods with good schools. Parents with young children move into these neighborhoods to be able to send their kids to the local public school. But these schools don’t have space. The article talks about one family whose child is number 79 on a wait list that’s 90 children long to get into one of the two neighborhood public schools.

It’s that bad here, and it’s only going to get worse in the next few years. “Suck it up and send your kid to a private school,” you’re thinking. You don’t know New York, do you? Private school slots are as difficult to get here, and the median price of private school tuition in Manhattan is $32,000 a year. Yes, $32,000 a year. For kindergarten.

This is what we have to look forward to when we start applying to kindergarten programs for S next year. And while we haven’t even really entered the system yet, we’re already starting to see what the experience will be like.

We’re currently in the lottery for one of the coveted slots in a “Universal Pre-K” program for next year. That’s what they call it in New York State, but the “Universal” part is a misnomer. Since a pre-K program isn’t required by law (even though our lawmakers have said that they want pre-K programs to be available to all New Yorkers), there’s no guarantee that a child will get into one. (If you’re interested, there was a good article in the Times about this a while ago, too.) There are many, many more applicants than spots available. One of Tsia’s current classmates lives in a district in Brooklyn that will only have spaces for 10% of applicants.

So as a parent, can you hedge your bets by joining the lottery for the universal pre-K program and fall back on a private-school option if you don’t get in? Unfortunately, not. The way the Board of Education sets the timing for the process, it’s impossible to both go for a pre-K slot and register for a private pre-K program. Private programs require commitment and significant deposits more than a month before the pre-K applications are even due for the public school system.

Are you seeing a trend here? Any slot in any program is coveted. Nothing is guaranteed. No matter what you do as a parent, you run the risk that your child will be left without an option. But the competition for slots in any sort of program starts even early than kindergarten and pre-K. It trickles all the way down to preschool programs.

The exceptional co-op preschool where we send S will be closed for the months of July and August, and I need to find a spot for her for these months. Last month I registered her for a summer preschool program at a new school, the Sara Curry Preschool at Little Missionary's Day Nursery in the East Village. I’ve heard decidedly mixed reviews of the school from parents who send their children there, but when we contacted the school they told us they had plenty of summer openings and we were welcome to join. I figured it was just for two months. Even if the program was just OK, it was the bridge we needed.

We signed up for the summer, confirmed that we had a space, and were told to bring payment on May 1. Whew! What a relief. I’ve got a lot of projects this summer, and Tsia loves school so much I was afraid she would be bored hanging out with me for two months.

Yesterday I went to the school to pay my deposit. May 1, right on time as requested. When I went to the office they pulled my paperwork and informed that, in fact, no space was available for us afterall. The school gave me no advance notice of this—even though they must have known some time ago that they had oversold their program. There was no apology. No suggestion of other programs in the area that might still have space. They just told me that they now had too many students for the summer program and that we no longer had a space. Period.

I asked to speak with the director about this, to see if there was anything we could do. When the director, Eileen Johnson, was called she stormed into the room looking for a fight. She snapped that she was too busy to talk to me and that it was my tough luck that they didn’t have any space left. When I tried to ask her why this had happened, she repeated, “I’m busy. I don’t have time to talk to you.” I called my husband on my cell phone to see if she would speak with him. I got him on the line, and she said, “I’m not talking to your husband.” She turned her back on me, and as she was breezing out of the office she snapped, “Be sure to close the door behind you on your way out.”

Really? Can the director of a preschool that gets mixed reviews from parents who send their kids there get away with treating the families of potential students this way? What does this say about how she treats the children and families who make it into her program?

Unfortunately, in New York today this is how too many parents are treated by the educational institutions they are reliant on. And apparently many schools think that it’s fine because there is no shortage of children lining up for the rare openings at their schools—even at schools like the Sara Curry Preschool at Little Missionary's Day Nursery. When demand exceeds supply this strongly, it’s a seller’s market. Courtesy, ethics, decency, and professionalism be damned.

making me happy

cute selvedges:


funny quotes:

“If more homosexuals were in the Obamas’ lives, there is no way Michelle would have worn a twin set when she met the queen.”

--Max Mutchnick, co-creator of Will and Grace, quoted in The New York Times.

good books:

How did I not read Far From the Madding Crowd until now? Loved it, from the first word to the last. I was expecting F. Scott Fitzgerald and was completely surprised, especially at the subtle humor.

sun, sand and water in the middle of the city:



(in April, no less!)

eating out-of-doors:


vibrant paintings:

striding the line

I’m in the middle of writing one of the most labor-intensive sewing instructions I’ve written so far. The pattern itself won’t be difficult to sew, but perfecting all the pattern pieces and writing a very clear set of instructions can be incredibly challenging. The harder it is for me, however, the easier I hope it will be for our customers. And this is going to be a good pattern. I’m really excited about it.


I usually love my job, but there’s a point during the development of each pattern when I think to myself, “This is never going to work. What have I gotten myself into?” It’s a panicky feeling, but I’m gradually learning that it always works out if I give it time. Before having S, I designed very complicated outerwear with zipper garages, gussets, and all sorts of crazy technical details. The next time you go to a sporting goods store, look at the ski jacket shells (by which I mean, the outermost of the various layers you can assemble—the waterproof, breathable one). That will give you an idea what I’m accustomed to doing, from sourcing the fabrics to choosing the zipper pull. It’s the masochistic side of me that adores the pages and pages of elaborately detailed drawings which comprise a design packages of this nature. I think that quality lends itself well to writing sewing instructions, too, but sometimes I need to remind myself that I can do it.

Today I was thinking about my first day of design school. After years of sewing for myself and watching my Mom sew for us, it was quite a shock to enter the classroom. Our wonderful, almost-retired Italian draping professor gave us a polite dressing-down, telling us to ditch the pincushions and the cute little sewing scissors. What we needed was a box of stainless steel straight pins (no glass heads, please) and a pair of (giant-looking) 10” or 12” shears. And home sewing machines? Hmph. We should invest in an industrial sewing machine. (Industrial machines, by the by, weigh a ton, sit in a tray full of oil that keeps the machine lubricated, and only stitch straight stitches forward. I never bought one, even though my 60+ year old Singer nearly didn’t make it through the strenuous workout I gave it that year.)


Now that I have experience with both home sewing and working in the garment industry, I find that I bring a little bit of both to my current work. I still dip into a bowlful of steel pins regularly (which drives everyone crazy because we’re constantly finding pins on the floor at the studio and at home), but I keep a cute little pincushion (with glass-headed pins!) near the sewing machine as well, for when I sew more delicate fabrics or have the luxury of a little more time to spend. I still love my dressmaking shears, but I also still use a home sewing machine. I don’t own a serger (or merrow machine, as it’s called in the industry) because I suspect that many of our customers don’t own one either. It would make life much easier and make my sewing go faster, but I like to write patterns using the same sewing methods our customers use because I think it helps me to write a more accurate and realistic set of instructions.

It’s a funny combination, but it works.

the secret life of clothes

Did you have the same response as I when you opened your mailbox the other day? I think my voice dropped an octave with a breathless "No!" uttered in disbelief and awe: we just received a J Peterman catalog!

How thrilling to see this. It's the same crazy vintage-inspired stuff as ten years ago when the company was in its prime. I think it's exactly what the marketplace has been missing since Banana Republic went mainstream.




Do you remember the old Banana Republic catalogs? I adored their style, and this book (I found it on ebay a few years ago) about the company has been a source of endless inspiration to me. I love so much about safari style: the linens, washed cottons, brushed khakis, and rough twills are everything I adore about textiles, and the timelessness of the styles still appeal to me. I'm attracted by the adventurousness, the well-traveleled mystique of someone who had been everywhere and seen everything. Much of it, too, was questionable with regard to wearability. But it oozed rugged glamour.



So back to our friend Mr. Peterman's catalog. Some of it continues to be constume-y and nearly unwearable: witness the Great American Shirt. If I were an advice columnist I would tell my readers to avoid any man wearing this shirt, especially on a first date. It screams "I believe I'm attractive enough to wander my way onto the cover of a romance novel." Not someone with whom I would recommend you get involved, unless you're the fawning type who needs a man to take care of as a hobby (or a full-time job?). Or the Crinoline Dress? This dress seems suitable only for an evening of zoot-suited swing dancing, complete with fedora and speak-easy. But maybe my imagination is just too tired to comprehend kelly green underwired dresses today. I'll try again tomorrow.

On the other hand, I'm all over the Adventurous Shirt Dress. I've been meaning to finish a sleeveless shirtwaist similar to this that I drafted before the arrival of Tsia (four years ago, now...). It's sitting on the shelves of the studio, cut from pinstriped navy linen, just waiting for a quiet afternoon for stitching together. And I love the Latin Quarter Peasant Shirt, which feels a bit like a grown-up version of the 2 + 2 Blouse and which I would probably wear every single day if it were made in the light-weight grey-blue cotton I purchased last weekend with something exactly like this in mind.

I think the J Peterman catalog is important precisely because of the unusual items it includes. The non-conformity of the more exotic offerings are what make it unique, especially today when so much apparel looks the same. I love the possibilities it offers, even if I tend toward the more conservative, wearable (to my mind, anyway) items. So hurray for Mr. Peterman! I may still be mourning the death of the REAL Banana Republic, but I can celebrate the true purveyor of outlandish items; they're what make the sartorial world interesting today.

happy easter!

repurposed bluejeans

I'm pretty sure I've seen this in a store before but can't recall where. Anyway, I don't think this is an original idea. These are Tsia's bluejeans that fit her when she was about 2, but after losing the diapers she's still about the same circumference. Skinny kid. The jeans were in rough shape after being handed down repeatedly, so this seemed like a perfect project for them.

There are lots of on-line instructions for turning an old pair of jeans into a skirt. I ended up just winging it since none of the tutorials seemed to do it the way I wanted.


The yo-yos are quick to make, even without a yo-yo maker (mine were all the wrong size, so I just cut circles and stitched them the old-fashioned way). Then I hand basted them to the bottom edge of the skirt and used a fancy machine zig-zag stitch to secure them. Also zig-zagged across the yo-yos after they started coming apart--clearly I should have knotted them better when stitching.

Now I'm thinking about making one for myself.

telling stories

One of Tsia's teachers is an actor who, one morning a week, works with the kids on their presentation skills. By this I mean that they have Show and Tell, practice introducing themselves and greeting adults, and focus on telling stories and doing little performances.


I wanted to build on what Tsia is learning by helping to work on her narrative skills, so we've been making little books together in our spare time. These aren't elaborate projects, by any means. I make every effort to rein in my designer instincts when we make our books because I want them to be spontaneous and let us concentrate on telling a story rather than getting all fancy in the making of the physical book itself. As she grows older and develops a longer attention span maybe we'll have the opportunity to spend more time on the production and creation of the book. But for now we simply keep a stack of typing paper cut into quarter sheets, and we grab them along with the crayons whenever the mood strikes us.

We've been using two different approaches to our books: For the first one, Tsia dictates and I write. Then she illustrates the page before we progress to the next one. This works pretty well, but I've been noticing that she continues to develop and narrate the story as she's illustrating, so by the time we get to the next page we've somehow missed important elements of the story along the way. I'm finding ways to fill in a bit, but I was hoping to take straight dictation and it feels a little like cheating when I start to help with continuity. Our most recent book felt, Todd told me, like some sort of surrealist tale when actually there was a certain continuity in the story that got lost during its inscription.


The second approach we've tried is a fill-in-the-blank style of narrative, which I've learned works really well when I'm keeping a group of young children entertained at her school. If I tell part of the story and have them fill in missing words, their attention is terrific! The other day we collaborated on a rather long-winded tale about a duck named Duck who put on his swimsuit and went to the park to meet his friend for a picnic. However, as far as the book-writing project goes, this approach lasts for a maximum of two pages before Tsia really gets going and takes off on her own, leaving my sorry narratives behind. So I think she's too old for this approach. But it might work well with younger children who need a little help developing a story.


We use colored card stock for the covers of our simple books, and we've tried several different binding techniques from this book to assemble our finished pages. Most of the time we simply staple or use Japanese bookbinding technique. We haven't really settled on a favorite method yet, and I still want to play around with some of the fancier techniques when she gets older.

Tsia always write our names on the cover--since I guess we're the authors of the book.

I'm excited to see where she'll take this activity as she grows older, and it's rewarding to have a tangible little book at the end of our story-writing sessions. They're a lot of fun to read, and I think they'll be even more fun to look back on over the years. I'm making sure to date them for future reference. Eventually she may have a full library of books to review, from every age of her childhood.

stitching vacation

We have some friends whom Todd and I admire for many reasons--not the least of which is that, after being married for many years, this couple continues to enjoy spending time together but often vacation alone. He is an avid hiker and outdoorsman and goes backpacking in rough style for weeks at a time. She is an extraordinarily talented knitter (and I mean extraordinary--she often knits samples for Nicky Epstein) who goes on knitting cruises and spends vacation time with her close-knit (sorry-pun!) family.

Someday I hope that Todd and I will have the luxury of separate vacations like this. At present, our time together as a family is still somewhat limited due to our busy schedules and young daughter, and we look forward to vacation time spent together. But we also value time spent alone.

When, eventually, I have the opportunity to spend some vacation time alone, I'll tell you what I plan to do: I'll be headed to Alabama.

This past Saturday I attended Natalie Chanin's workshop in New York. We were approximately seven or eight women (a few visitors dropped by over the course of the day as well) who got together to spend the day stitching and getting to know each other under Natalie's excellent tutelage and with some delicious food. We each selected a project, and Natalie got us started with some pointers and instruction about her methods and techniques. As we settled into a rhythm we started talking and getting to know each other. I enjoyed getting to know each individual and made some wonderful friends in the process.

Time passes quickly when you're stitching by hand, and by lunchtime I was thoroughly relaxed and enjoying myself. And hungry! We paused for a delicious catered lunch of the best collard greens I've ever tasted, along with fried chicken and a variety of other southern-inspired food. With someone else making the meal, all we had to do was sew and enjoy ourselves for the day. It felt like vacation. None of us could believe it when, suddenly, it was 4:00 and we had spent the entire day with each other and our sewing projects.

I'm not ready to show you my project yet. It's a surprise, but I hope to be finished in a few weeks. And I'm already planning the next project. Natalie sells kits for a lot of the projects in her book on her website, but the project I'm planning isn't a kit (it's bigger than that, actually). Although I'm also thinking about making the little pincushion, since they're so cute.

(More photos from the day here.)

buttons

Purl always has such a great selection of buttons. I've managed to use dozens of their concave oval corozo buttons, but I'm having trouble deciding how to use these ones I picked up recently.


I had trouble selecting just one embroidered button; they're all so good, and Tsia wanted to take handfuls of them home with us. We settled on a dog with an apple because you can never go wrong with a dog and an apple. Right?


And speaking of interesting buttons from Purl, did you see the buttons we used for the Oliver + S samples in the windows of Purl Patchwork? They're felt. I can think of dozens of uses for felt buttons.

from the library

I came across the Dictionary of Children's Clothes at the library the other day. It's a slightly odd book because, as a dictionary, it seems to be missing some important terms. Or at least there were several items I was hoping to read about that I couldn't find.


That said, the book includes a fascinating history of children's clothing and an interesting series of spreads describing the layers of clothing comprising a typical child's wardrobe at various points in history. Of course this was interesting from a historical perspective, but it also surprised me to realize that even today we dress our babies in a lot of layers: diaper, onesie, pants and shirt, sweater, etc. It was surprising to see it all laid out in this manner because I tend to think of our wardrobes as such simple things compared to history. When you compare it all in an apples-to-apples manner, though, those Victorian wardrobes suddenly aren't quite as overwhelming anymore. Not that I'd want to be dressing a child in that manner anyway, but it was interesting to see.



I enjoyed the definitions themselves. But the best part of the book is, of course, the photos! So much to look at. After all, it's published by the Victoria and Albert Museum which, if you've ever visited, contains an amazing collection of design artifacts that defies simple description.

Take a look at the little girl in the corner of this photo. She looks so rounds and tumbly in her layers.


Of course the yellow Mary Janes grabbed my attention, too.


You can see how beautifully each page is laid out, with lots of space given for the photos. Visual candy, really.


I never thought I would give much thought to the design of swim suits for kids (especially girls' swimwear), but this suit caught my eye. It reminds me a bit of the leotard designs on the Wovenplay site. So great.